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reginaphalangelobster · 21 hours ago

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Bucky Barnes SFW Alphabet

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Warnings: trauma, angst, fluff, mean Loki (I love him but I needed someone to be mean!), lightly proofread sorry, I got so excited and had to post this!

Word Count 5.5k

Requested

I have been wanting to write a SFW alphabet for ages so thank you so much for the request! I haven't written for Bucky or anything MCU for that matter in MONTHS so this got a little out of hand. 5.5k is the most I've ever written for one thing in one part so yay!!!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Bucky is NOT very affectionate. Not at first. He is absolutely terrified of hurting you so he will never have his metal arm anywhere near you. He'll keep his distance for a long time, making sure he's not in the same room as you unless he has to be.

But eventually he'll show affection through other things. Whenever it's his task to do the weekly grocery shopping for the team he'll buy anything and everything he remembered you liked, even if it was just a passing comment to Nat once that he overheard.

He'll do the little things like making sure your favourite mug is always at the front of the cupboard. Or having dinner sitting on the stove for you after you get back from a tough mission or tedious meeting. He never let you know who was doing it but eventually you caught on.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

We all know about the unbreakable bond of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, they're best friends from childhood, hard to top that. But when Bucky meets you? He knows that he can make room in his life for two best friends. And if you get along with Steve that's wonderful in his book. AND if you love Steve like Bucky does, if you'd punch when he's being and idiot but slaughter anyone who threatened him, if you'd die for Steve? Bucky would instantly know that the three of you would make an unstoppable team.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

As previously stated, he kept his distance and never let you near his metal arm. That was, until, you insisted. Most people would call it pestering or annoying but Bucky found it endearing, if a little naive. The way you'd stand on his left side every time you were near him. They way, after he got comfortable having you near him, you'd seen him out. After a bad day, or during a good one, you find a way to be near Bucky.

One afternoon the two of you were walking around the compound's perimeter, Tiny said something about a hole in the fence and Bucky volunteered, mainly to have some time to himself. You invited yourself along, not wanting to overcrowd him but also excited about the chance to have some time alone with him. He didn't mind, apart from Steve and occasionally Nat, you were the only person he could stand.

You walked along the perfectly cut grass, standing in Bucky's left side of course, and your hand swung loosely by your side. When you finally saw your moment, Bucky was distracted by the search for the broken fence, you made you move. You slowed down you arm so it was barely moving and you shifted a little closer to Bucky. You let your fingers brush against his gently, he barely flinched but you could tell that he did. You pulled you hand back and stuck it in your pocket.

You finally found the illusive hole and patched it up. On the walk back, you hand was by your side again, you didn't mean for it to brush against Bucky's again, but it did. You sat in your thoughts, praying that he didn't notice this time, or that he just didn't hate you but then you were pulled from them abruptly. You felt Bucky's cool metal palm against your suddenly a little sweaty one. You felt his fingers intertwine with yours and you felt his thumb bruss across the back of your hand lightly. You looked down, away, any direction in which Bucky couldn't see how flustered the small action made you.

Once the two of you finally, I repeat, finally, got together, cuddles became your new favourite thing. Any time Bucky was sitting on the couch or even at the table, you would make your way to his lap. You both loved it. You loved the warm solid feeling of his chest against your back and he loved snaking his arm around your waist and gently caressing either your side or your stomach.

You also loved cuddles during movie nights. Whether it was just the two of you watching your favourites, you, Bucky and Steve catching up on everything they had missed out on or full on Avengers family movie nights, you were always tangled together.

And on those rare occasions, late at night, usually in bed, when Bucky would let himself be completely vulnerable with you? You'd hold him all night long. You laced your fingers through his hair, gently weaving through the strands. His head would rest on your chest, directly over your heart as the rhythm of it's beats calmed him. It lulled him into a deep sleep where he finally felt safe.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Bucky Barnes craves domesticity. His dream is to settle down with you, in a little house in the country. Nothing too fancy but not tiny either, just enough for the two of you, Alpine and any little bumpkins, if you wanted them.

When you went to Clint's house he stood there in awe. He never thought anyone with a job like this could have such a perfect life. Clint gave him hope for himself, and you. You saw him, staring at it all, dreaming of having something like it one day, and you couldn't help but silently agree.

Bucky was a soldier. He was exceptional at cleaning. You never had to ask him to give you a hand with the dishes as they were always done. Along with the mopping, dusting and sweeping. You had a vacuum but he preferred to use a broom since it reminded him of his home in the 40s, when there wasn't a gadget for absolutely everything.

He had learnt a few Romanian recipes over the years that were very tasty. He'd make them for you whenever you were tired or it was one of those cold, cuddly, at home days the two of you loved. His favourite thing to cook thought? Anything that reminded him of his childhood. There were still some memories he couldn't recover but he managed to scrape together one of the recipes Steve's mother used to make for them. As for the rest? Gone. But luckily he had you. Whenever you saw one you snatched up as many cook books from the 30s as you could. You special ordered some. Bucky couldn't love you more.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He was terrible with emotions. He wouldn't say anything. It would go one of two ways, he'd either:

Be so distant, cold and mean that you'd break it off with him. He would avoid you like the plague, make mean, not just rude but mean, comments here and there. He's make you hate him so that he didn't have to break your heart.

If he wanted, or probably needed, something quicker, he'd just leave. He might leave a note, something short, saying that he didn't deserve you or that he 'just had to go'. He might not even leave a note at all. He might just pack a bag while you're sleeping, press a gently kiss to your forehead accompanied by a whispered 'I'm sorry' and never see you again.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Bucky was commited to you the second he fell for you. He knew he'd spend the rest of his life with you if you'd let him. Marriage wasn't something he ever thought he could have until he met you. He pretended not to care about it but all he could think about some days was how devastatingly beautiful you would look walking down the aisle towards him.

When he eventually did propose, after some light hearted teasing from Steve, it was in the most Bucky way he could. It wasn't flashy, no fantastical firework show, no fancy restaurant, no Eiffel Tower. Just him and you.

You were cuddled up on the couch, spending another Saturday night in the best place on earth, hell, in the galaxy. You were watching the TV, but at some point it just became white noise, playing in the background. You were just there, with him, and he knew.

"Marry me" He said like it were the easiest thing in the world.

"What?" You huffed out a laugh, thinking it was some kind of joke.

"Marry me, doll" He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb swiping gently over your cheek as he stared deep into your eyes, his home "Marry me and make me the happiest anyone could ever be"

You looked up at him, his icy blue eyes stared back at you with pure and utter love.

"O-okay" You stuttered "Yes Bucky, I-I will marry you"

His lips curved up into the biggest smile you'd ever seen him give. He pulled you right against his chest, just a little too tight.

"B-baby" You wheezed "Try not to squish me before the honeymoon"

He let go with a chuckle "Sorry, doll, I just, can't believe you said yes"

"Of course I did Bucky, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I always have"

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, deeply, reverent, saving the moment, wishing he could live in it forever.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

EXTREMELY. This man's absolute worst nightmare is harming you in any way. Like I said before, he keeps his metal arm away from you a fair bit but as your relationship progress he gets more comfortable.

When he touches you? It's feather light. When he holds your hand, rests his hand on the small of your back or lightly grips your side, when he brushes a strand of hair out of you face, when he cuddles your cheek in one hand and his thumb ghosts over your lips, memorising how truly amazing you are? It's so light you can barely feel it but it's so perfect at the same time.

Emotionally, well emotions are not Bucky's strong suit. He'll keep his bottles up most of the time but you bring it out of him sometimes. You get him to tell you about his nightmare or about a memory he forgot he had or just about how Sam is annoying the hell out of him. You get him to open up and tell you what's on his mind like no one else has ever been able to.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Did you see how much I wrote in the cuddle section? That was just a fraction. Bucky Barnes' love languages are Acts of Service and Physical Touch, I will die on this hill.

Bucky gave tight hugs. Not rib shattering, 'I can't breathe' tight, but tight enough that you knew he'd never let you go. He was always warm, even in the dead of winter, that super soldier serum felt like a godsend on those icy nights.

The first time you hugged Bucky, really hugged him, it was after he got back from a bad mission. He went with Steve and of course Steve had to do his self sacrificial Captain America thing and Bucky, being Bucky, had to go after him, only, guess who doesn't have a shield?

You were outside, waiting anxiously for the quinjet to land. When you finally heard the engine and saw it land in front of you, you had to hold yourself back. You waited for the door to open and there was Bucky, bruises and cuts on his face and he walked out with a slight limp.

He didn't see you straight away, but he felt you. You sprinted up to him and threw your arms around his neck. You tried to be gently but you were so overcome with the relief that he was alive that you didn't think. He winches slightly and you loosened your grip. Just as you began to pull away you felt his arms encompass your back. You felt his fingers curl into the fabrics of your shirt and you felt him breathing heavily against your neck.

He felt safe in your arms, he felt like the terrible mission he had just been on hadn't even happened. He didn't know what it was about you but the entire time he was out there he was only think of Steve, and you.

"You worried about me, doll?" He asked in a joking manner but through gritted teeth, still sore.

"You bet your ass I was, what happened?"

"Long story, first, I gotta sit down"

That was your first of thousands of hugs with Bucky.

Once you started dating he could barely keep his hands off you. If you were standing at kitchen counter? His arms were wrapped around your waist before you knew he was even in the room. Standing pretty much anywhere and talking to someone? His hand found its way to your hip and he tucked you into his side just a bit.

If you were sat in an abnormal spot, on a table or kitchen counter or on the floor hunched over? He'd pick you up. Yes, that's right, he's a super soldier, you could be eight feet tall and he'd pick you up like you weighed nothing. You'd squirm a little whenever he did it, wriggling in his grasp a little but never seriously, your giggles making that point for you. He'd hold you tight, you legs wrapping around his waist for some kind of stability even though you knew he'd never drop you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Bucky is extremely cautious and resistant towards love, especially saying the actual word. He knew he loved you very early on, he tried to deny it but he couldn't, he loved you. Him, the terrifying murderous 'Winter Soldier' had fallen in love. He was certain he didn't deserve it, he was positive, but yet, he couldn't stop the feeling. He tried distancing himself from you but that really didn't work. One day he just accepted it, he loved you and he was okay with that.

Then onto the big trouble, telling you. Using his mouth to make words, something he was awful at. He thought about all of the different ways he could tell you, with a gift you'd love, maybe a picnic, or was that too corny? Then it just happened. He didn't mean for it to but did he sure as hell mean it.

You were sitting on the kitchen bench while he made dinner, one of those hard to pronounce but delicious Romanian meals. You were telling him about your day and asking about his. It was all very sweet and domestic and he could stay like that forever.

You told him about your training session with Sam and Clint. How they decided to have a bit of fun and hide your clothes while you were in the shower, like children. Then of course, you told Bucky about how you got back at them. You took their clothes as they showered too, except you took them to Loki. You asked him to put a spell on the clothes that would make Sam and Clint feel like fire ants were eating their asses, he happily agreed and you took the clothes back. Sure enough, the spell worked. Their screams echoed through the entire compound as they ran around like idiots. Bucky was very amused.

"That's my girl" He said proudly as he stirred the pan.

"Oh but that's not the best bit" You said with a mischievous grin.

"Well what is then?"

"I recorded it all" You pulled your phone out to show him, and he saw. He saw the two 'bird bros' as the team called them, running around the locker room, through the training room and out the door, jumping into Bruce's meditation pond.

"That's gold, you gotta send it to me" Bucky said through his laughter.

"Already did" You grinned.

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I love you" He didn't even feel the words slip out but he heard them. He froze up immediately as he saw your shocked expression, nearly breaking the handle of then pan in his grasp.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

He was cut off by the press of your lips to his. You held this kiss for as long as you could before you pulled away out of breath.

"I love you too, Buck"

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Bucky is the king of jealousy. You could be talking to anyone and he'd be jealous. Chatting with Wanda about old sitcoms? His eyes would be glued to you from across the room. It was the worst with Tony and Loki, the notorious flirts. All it would take was for one of them to share a glance with you and Bucky would get jealous. If you chatted to them? He would be stuck to you in an instant. He would wrap is arm tightly around your waist and if he was feeling extra jealous he'd lean in for a little kiss. Nothing demonstrative, just a small peck.

But if someone was hitting on you it was an entirely different story. He'd get close to full on making out with you the second some random guy said two words to you, not that you minded all that much though.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Anywhere and everywhere. Bucky certainly had a few favourites, your lips being top of the list. He kissed you softly most of the time, slow and reverent, savouring you. But there were other times, times when he need you and it was hurt, hard and fast.

Next in the list was your forehead, he was a sucker for forehead kisses, giving or receiving. He also favoured your neck. It thrilled him to see little purple and red marks dotted over your throat. Marks that he left.

He loved when you returned the favour, primarily because he didn't bruise easily but you wouldn't give up without a fight. As stated, forehead kisses are gold for this man. To him they were a simple and sweet way of saying 'I love you'. He absolutely adored it when you kisses his knuckles, especially after a fight. He hated his hands for what they had done but you made him feel like he was finally in control of them again. Whenever he had a little scrape or cut in his hand you kissed it gently. Warm and soft and loving and entirely you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He was very awkward around kids to start with, when he still didn't trust himself. But when he did? He was a natural. Whenever you had to deal with kids in cases everyone was surprised by Bucky's skill and care. They all wondered why but it was pretty obvious, Steve. He had taken care of Steve so much when they were younger than now he had wonderful parenting skills. So much so that Clint and Laura asked him to babysit a few times.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Lazy Sunday mornings curled up in bed, what more can I say? A lot, I can say a lot more.

Bucky woke up to the warm feeling of sunlight dancing across his cheek. His eyes fluttered for a moment before they fully opened and he saw you. God, he had the best view in the world. He glanced down and saw your sleeping form curled up to his. Your head rested on his arm, cheek flush against his bicep. Your closed eyelids twitched every now and then, signalling that you were dreaming. Your mouth was parted slightly, lips brushing against his warm skin as you breathed calm and shallow breaths. His eyes travelled further down and he smiled as he saw what you were wearing, one of his shirts. You didn't care that it wasn't quiet long enough to call a nightshirt, you were just happy that it smelled like him. The worn material fell across your body gracefully. He turned extraordinarily carefully and wrapped his free arm around your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and snuggled in closer to you. He laid like that until you woke but he would have stayed there forever.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights weren't easy for Bucky. While you were both awake it was fine, having dinner, curling up on the couch watching a movie, having a shower and putting pyjamas on, it was all fine until his head hit the pillow. When you were away or just not touching him it was hard, all he could think of was the atrocities he had committed and he fell away, alone, cold and in the dark. On nights like that, the only thing that could bring him back was you. You could tell when he was like this so you sat up a little and held his hand until he returned to the present.

"Doll? You okay?" He asked, noticing your shoulders were up against the headboard.

"I'm fine Bucky, but" You paused and got a little quieter "Can I hold you? Just for a little while? It helps me sleep"

It didn't. At least, not as much as it helped him. You had tried to comfort him before but when he thought about all that he had done he wouldn't let you. He wouldn't let himself feel okay. So you lied. You never lied to Bucky unless it was this. You knew that the feeling of you holding him, grounding him, was the only thing that would get him to sleep so you lied, pretending it was for you. He wouldn't do anything for himself but he'd do everything for you.

He rested his head against your chest, sometimes in your lap, and he drifted off to sleep eventually. You ran your fingers through his hair and curled them gently around the brunette locks, soothing him. This was a lie you could both live with.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Not open at all. We all know that Bucky cannot deal with emotions or openness.

Eventually you get him to open up, a little. He tells you about what it was like in the 40s and when he was a kid. He told you stories about Steve and his mother. After a long time together he started to tell you about what he remembered about HYDRA and as the Winter Soldier. He told you what he remembered doing to people and he told you about when he didn't remember.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Very. Sort of. Bucky has an extreme level of patients when it comes to you. No matter what he will keep his cool, but with others? Not so much. Sometimes all it takes is a look from Sam. Basically he only has patience for you and Steve, anyone else is on thin ice, even before he's met them.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Bucky's head is still a little messed up from HYDRA. He remembers the way you smiled just for him, he remembers the movie you loved as a kid but he forgets some things sometimes. He forgets your family members names, he forgets the way you like your eggs, he forgets that you hate (or love) peanuts. Usually pretty random stuff, not of much importance but he still feels guilty.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

There were a lot of wonderful moments in your relationship but picking a favourite was easy for Bucky. The first night you slept together. Yes slept, actually slept.

He shot up out of his sleep in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. He always had them but this one was particularly startling. He dragged a hand across his face and steadied his breathing. His mouth was incredibly dry so he snuck out of his room, quiet as a mouse, and headed to the kitchen. He walked down the hallway, turned the corner and took a glass out of the cupboard, filling it up and downing it. He placed it on the edge of the sink and began to leave the room. He turned back to the doorway and caught a glimpse of something, a dark figure by the window. Not threatening, not dangerous in any way, just present and a little small. He approached slowly and realised that the hunched over, sad figure belonged to you.

"You okay?" His whispering voice was hoarse and thick with sleep.

He startled you slightly, jolting you from your imprisoning thoughts.

"Hey, Buck, didn't see you there"

He could hear the crack in your voice, the tinge of pain. He lowered himself to be at your eye level as you sat, curled up in an armchair. He could barely see the now dried trails of tears on your cheeks.

"You okay?" He repeated, the solid tone of his voice breaking through you.

"No. Not really"

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No. You?"

"What do I have to talk about?"

"Why you're up at one in the morning too?"

"Same as you, I think"

A silence settled between you, not uncomfortable, just, knowing.

"You going back to bed anytime soon?" He asked, somewhat hoping you'd say no.

"Mm-mm" You shook your head slightly "Too lonely, you?"

"Don't think so"

You reached out and held his hand for a moment.

"Wanna be alone together?"

"That'd be nice"

You shifted in your seat, making room for Bucky to sit next to you, and he did. You rested your head on his shoulder and his arm found its place around your waist. You stayed there for hours, eventually falling asleep as you listened to each other's heartbeats.

Sam teased you both relentlessly when he found you there the next morning. He called Bucky 'Buckybear' which soon became your new favourite nickname for him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Bucky was painfully protective. It went perfectly with his jealousy. He stared down anyone who so much as looked at you. If anyone came anywhere near you he'd use his body as a shield. He did everything in his power to protect you on missions, even if it meant someone else got hurt. That's how Tiny instated the 'no couples working together' rule.

He never got protected. His entire life he always looked out for Steve and no one looked out for him. It was a very foreign feeling but he treasured it. The first time it happened he was more than confused. Loki was in one of his moods so whoever got in his way was his new target, the next person he encountered was Bucky. They bumped into each other and that set Loki off.

"Get out of my way you pathetic excuse for a soldier" He hissed, alerting you immediately "I should kill you here and now, put you out of your miserable existence"

You were just a few feet away in the kitchen and you heard every word. You moved like lightning, positioning yourself between the two as you stared down Loki.

"You may be a God on Asgard but here on earth you are nothing and I will make you feel that way if you ever speak to Bucky like that again"

Bucky stared at you, surprised by how protective you were over him. You hadn't really shown any signs of this, never speaking to anyone that way before but he liked it. He loved it. He loved that you cared so much about him that you would provoke a God.

Loki was about to do, something, you weren't sure if he was going to insult you or kill you but he didn't get the chance to as Thor pulled him away, mumbling something about Jotun mood swings.

Bucky turned to you "Doll, you didn't have to do that, I can take care of myself"

"I know but I wanted to, you shouldn't have to take care of yourself all the time. You deserve to have someone looking out for you, even if you don't technically need it"

The words fell from your lips like it was the easiest thing you had ever said, which just made his heart melt even more.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Bucky was more of a dinner at home kind of person. Just you and him on the couch with a good meal was his ideal date night. That being said, if you ever expressed even the slightest interest in going to a nice restaurant he'd have a table booked before you could blink.

Acts of Service, one of Bucky's too two love languages. He'd do any little task you asked him to do, most of the time you didn't even need to ask and it would be done.

He never really knew what gifts to get you. He often turned to Tony or Nat, asking what people 'nowadays' as he so adorably put it, liked.

Anniversaries were different though, he'd go all out. He had a moonlit picnic once, a trip to Paris another time, absolutely anything you thought was romantic, he'd document and save it for later.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Bad sleeping patterns

Jealousy, jealousy

Over protective (barely a bad thing but can get a bit annoying)

Still kind of a soldier (tidiness etc.)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not really at all. If you ask him to dress nicely because you're going out he will but at home it's generally jeans and Henleys. His hair though, he is pretty protective of his hair. You're the only one who can touch it, that's how you got him to have a haircut. You convinced him after a long time to cut his hair, it had gotten completely out of hand and you begging him to cut at least some of it off. He agreed on one condition, you did it. So you did and it turned out surprisingly well. For the next week's he would stop calling you his 'little hairdresser' but you didn't mind much.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

You filled the hole in Bucky's soul. He felt like a fraction of a man before he met you. After a long time together he finally felt whole. He knew that if you were to ever part he would never be the same and he would never be while again.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Best cat dad in the world. He spoiled Alpine shamelessly. New cat trees, new toys, the best treats he could find. Sometimes you wondered if he loved Alpine more than you, obviously you were his number one but Alpine was a close number two.

Once, you bought Alpine a tiny leather jacket that looked just like Bucky's. He nearly fell apart. He was even more in love with you, if that were possible.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

You gotta love Steve. They're a package deal. You can't have Bucky without Steve. If you didn't get along with Steve, or worse, disliked him? (how could anyone?) You wouldn't even register as a blip on Bucky's radar.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Not doing it. Bucky's sleep schedule is non existent, until he meets you. He had nightmares every single night before he met you. Then you took them away. He still had the occasional one but you were there to comfort him every time. He slept through the night with you next to him, for the first time in far too long.

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lilysqueaks · 3 days ago

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The Night of Kinks

So recently my Mistress instructed me to write about a fantasy of mine that has yet to be fulfilled, so i thought i'd write out one of my biggest dream scenarios.

The day starts by going out into the city with my partners on a hot day, everyone wearing socks, and some might even wear a pair of nylons below the socks. We enjoy an amazing day together, walking through the city, going to a cafe, getting us some boba, sitting in the sun, and just embrace the company together.

After a few hours we're all quite exhausted and are about to head home, and as usual the bus home feels like 40 degrees as they never turn on the AC, and so we're sweating even more than we were before.

Finally we arrive at home, we all grab us something cool to drink, and take a quick breather, after which one of my partners commands me to lay down on to the bed, which i gladly oblige.

The moment i lay down, everyone starts taking the cuffs that are around the bed, and immediately tie me into place into an X shape. I immediately start fantasizing what happens next, until the first person sits down onto the bed next to me, and takes their shoes off, at which point i realize that nobody besides me took their shoes off when we entered the apartment.

So immediately after taking their shoes, and socks off they press their sweaty, stinky, still wet feet into my face and order me to inhale, which i immediately do. They smell absolutely glorious! A smell i just can't get enough off.

While they get comfortable resting their feet on my face, and start relaxing after this tiresome day, i'm completely absorbed in the smell of their feet, and barely realize how everyone else also started sitting down on the bed. Taking their shoes, and socks off. And suddenly… there were multiple soaked in sweat bare feet in my face, and all i could smell, all i could think of were these beautiful soft feet and their smell right in my face.

While barely aware of my surroundings, someone started taking off my chastity cage, and started taking my hen into their hands. I shall note that i haven't cum in months which is the usual, and i'm incredibly sensitive to even the slightest of touches, instantly a loud moan escapes my lips. Someone starts taking my balls into a super tight grip, massively stretching all the skin around it, meanwhile someone teases me with the lightest of touches just right around the frenulum.

They not just keep to this part though, swapping between teasing touches, stroking, licking, using a vibrator, and whatever else that comes to their mind to edge me, to make me even more desperate than i'm already are.

Even though i'm already barely aware of everything that's happening, 2 pair of feet suddenly start covering my mouth & nostrils, leaving me unable to breath. This hasn't been the first time we've done breath play, so i start tapping my hand against their legs to signal that i'm still conscious, and so they keep going. Forbidding me air. I'm almost at the brink of passing out when they finally allow me to breath again. I desperately gasp for all the air i can get, inhaling even more of their divine foot stink.

After having already lost count of how many times i got close, someone suddenly asked if i want to cum. And of course i want to scream yes, my hypnotic conditioning makes me even more horny, and desperate when i'm getting asked to. But my conditioning also causes that whenever i'm asked to cum, that the only thing i can respond with is begging to stay denied. And so, against every fiber in my being, i scream no.

This keeps going, and repeating for a really long time.

After who knows how long we take a break, we hydrate, and all take a moment to come down.

For the next few hours we fulfill some fantasies of my partners, things they always wanted try, and never had the chance to. We do everything from impact play, temperature play, bondage positions, pet play, anal, hypno, and a whole lot more.

Someone said that one of their fantasies is to be tied to someone else while the others play with the two, and my eyes rise open & light up, as this has been one of my oldest fantasies. Being tied to someone else, both unable to move, maybe the only thing they can do is kiss each other, or maybe both their heads are kept just out of reach so whatever to try, they can't fully reach the other persons mouth. Maybe both are tied back to back, and a double sided dildo is inserted into both of them, making the two feel immense pleasure on every tiny move they do. These and more ideas immediately shoot into my head, years of fantasizing about this specific scenario, and this night, they all became real.

After a lot more things have happened, it is my turn again to fulfill one of my deepest fantasies. Getting mercilessly tickled by multiple people all over my body. A laughing that's almost screaming, while writhing in my ties, trying to escape my tormentors though there's no escape for me. I have to endure the tickling everywhere at once, with just tiny breaks in between to make me think i can regenerate, just before they start all over again.

And so the night continues, taking turns with everyone's fantasies and desires.

Towards the end almost everyone already had an orgasm, or multiple, and was satisfied, well… except me. Having been close to the edge numerous times, pleasure the only thing left on my mind. I don't even expect to cum anymore. After all… i can only beg to stay denied even longer, so there's not really a chance for me, right?

As a final act my Princess says she wants to fuck me, dump all the cum she's left into my ass. So i am on my fours, butt towards my Princess as she starts pounding me. By now my ass is quite loose, and she enters easily. Lost in the pleasure i barely recognize as someone slides below me. One of my partners starts taking my hen into their mouth, giving me a blowjob while i'm getting pounded by my Princess. Suddenly someone else slides their cock in my mouth, pounding my mouth over and over. And if that wasn't enough, someone else starts pinching my nipples, and groping my breasts.

At this point i'm utterly overwhelmed with everything that's happening, and i barely realize how i'm once again getting closer, and so i warn my Princess. Once again she asked me if i want to cum, and once again, all i can do is begging to stay denied, but she doesn't stop pounding. She puts on a pitying voice, asking me if after everything i still don't want the blissful release, getting closer, and closer in the meantime. But yet again i can only ask for my denial, and after being allowed to just say this the cock starts pounding my mouth again. And my Princess keeps on ramming my p-spot, over and over again. Getting dangerously close i warn my Princess by tapping her that i'm really close, but instead of slowing down, she rams herself into my ass even deeper, and screams "Cum for me!".

I suddenly start to loudly moan & scream, and shoot my load into my partners mouth, while my mouth & ass gets filled with cum as well. The moment feels like minutes, as we're all feeling the pleasure of our orgasms.

Slowly we all come to our senses. Fall onto the bedsheets next to each other, exhausted, satisfied, happy. We cuddle up to one another, enjoying the bliss, enjoying the closeness.

While we're laying there we think about all the crazy things we did over the past few hours, all the kinky, some disgusting, and sometimes silly fantasies we tried throughout this night.

After a whole while of which nobody can really recall how long really, we get out of bed, take a shower, and grab one of Princess' amazing self made meals. Sitting down together, talking about the fun we had, laughing, and maybe even feeling a tiny bit ashamed, but in a good, laughable way.

And just we're about to head to bed, the sun already starts rising again, but we're going to sleep anyway… although… there isn't enough space for everyone in the bed, so 2 of us gotta sleep in the kennel overnight, and tightly cuddling each other.

So these have been my biggest unfulfilled fantasies ever.

In short Having multiple sweaty, smelly feet playing with my face, my body. Being edged & denied for hours on end. Being tied together with someone. Getting mercilessly tickled by multiple people. Being spitroasted.

But most importantly, i want to enable others to fulfill their fantasies. It's what makes me happy the most, i'm an enabler through and through, and want everyone to be able to experience the things they've only dreamed about.

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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Gonna try to get stuff out this week for Wyll Week. It's a week late, but I only now have the time to actually write and focus on it

As a little treat, an excerpt from the smut I teases on Valentine's <333

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

There was something so utterly lewd in the soft command you gave him to lick, but he answered without hesitation. He ran the flat of his tongue along your slit, groaning at the taste of you. It was nothing like he’d ever tasted before, and it was addicting. He looked up the length of your body, watching your face contort in pleasure as he licked again, dipping the tip of his tongue along your entrance. One of your hands falls from his hair as the other gently pulls him away. He watches enraptured as you part your folds with two fingers, exposing more of yourself to him, and use your middle finger to circle your clit. The barest touch has your breath catch in your throat. He can hear it even as his heart thuds in his ears. “Here,” you gasp out. There is not a cell in your body that can find the desire to be embarrassed. Not when Wyll’s eyes look over your hand touching yourself to meet your eye, utterly enamored with you. “Lick here.”

#i forgot how much i love writing this #i haven't had a chance to just write something in so long #also there will be a masc version of this!!!#gonna try to make a gn version too but if i cant then i will mix and match chest and genitalia so its more inclusive <333 #fanfic #fanfiction #wyll ravengard #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #smut

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peridots-pixiwolf · 1 year ago

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[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

#survivor rain world #monk rain world #hunter rain world #nightcat rain world #gourmand rain world #artificer rain world #rivulet rain world #spearmaster rain world #saint rain world #enot rain world #slugcat rain world #rain world #peridots-art #< feels like too long since that last tag's been used. i can say with certainty that the majority of the reason i haven't been just as #active here (not to mention not drawing as often since that's relevant) is just due to my life getting busier with a new school year but i #do miss putting my stuff here! and would like to reblog more on top of that.... so forgive not remembering exactly how to tag everything #(and how to write everything up there but to be fair it's not like long textposts were a staple of mine. i mostly just rambled and it was #fun hehehe.....some of those notes (parts of riv/spears mostly) were written around the beginning of the drawing itself)#OH i messed something up with the drafting and really did not mean to post it while tags were in progress! but regardless. i would've liked #to post it tomorrow to mirror how i was going to post it on JAN 29 a month ago......but it's not like i'm unhappy with this outcome :]#to sum it up really though it's been strange working on this for so long.....unfortunate to not get a chance to let it be seen and keep #experimenting with odd biology much earlier but i'm just glad it's out now cause i am proud of these!! it's been a lot of fun and slugcats #are still my go-to doodles :] if i had to end this off promptly though what's up with that secret pipeyard shelter as gourm that's not on #the maps. connected to vs_a04. doesn't appear on the miraheze or interactive maps for anyone strangely but i've only been there as gourmand #anyway! i'm sure there's a lot i could've said in the rush but goodbye dear reader anyway :]#i forgot spearmy initially. i'm so sorry #peridots-described #< NOOOO THAT DOESNT SHOW UP THERE'RE TOO MANY TAGSS.......

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yellowlaboratory · 5 months ago

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omg you’re active! how are you girly? how has life been treating you?

LMAO hello!!! I'm doing okay!!! certain things in my life are going really really well and I'm very grateful for that but it's at odds with the overall existential dread I feel about the state of .... everything else. so. there's that!!!!!!!!!

I've clearly been around a little less (lol) just because of the sheer amount of stuff going on in my life but every once in a while the hyper fixation bug is poking its head out. I haven't sat down and written in a minute and I feel like there's a missing piece of me. here's to hoping that 2025 has a television show waiting for us that is so jaw droppingly good I'm back to bugging your dashboard everyday 🫶🫶🫶

how are you doing???? are we all hanging in there???

#file this under the latest in a long line of signs that I should come around more often LMAO #I am usually hovering in the margins and stalking but I guess I haven't been reblogging like. anything. ASKJDHFLKAJSHDF.#anyways a lot of that ties back to the fact that I got a new boss at work #which !!!! I don't talk too much about the specifics of my job on here other than telling y'all all the annoying bits LMAO #but without going into it too much it's a good thing I have this new boss and it's something I've been asking for #for literal years now #and I REALLY like my new boss #there's just a certain expectation for the amount of work I need to do that's been raised #not necessarily by my new boss directly but mostly by myself because I want to impress him LMAO #so I'm busier than I have been #anyways!!! that's on oversharing!!!#I also discovered the genre of adhd relief music on Spotify and my productivity has been forever altered #I haven't yet had the chance to turn the power of that music to writing but I'm hoping I will soon #between the music and a pair of noise cancelling headphones..... I'm unstoppable.#also I was just walking around the place where I live this morning thinking that I'm so thankful for so many things #even when I'm so angry about so many others #like I live in a place that I love and I have friends who I love both here and around the world and I just #idk #the sun was shining today and I was like a plant photosynthesizing #cue Justin Bieber singing life is worth living!!!!#ALSO. everyone go watch my fault London right now and tell me what you think!!!!!#poor anon I know you did NOT ask for all of that but here I am!!!!

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casual-eumetazoa · 9 months ago

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The job search is sucking the soul out of me. I've started looking into various online gigs/work from home opportunities and it is a sea of slop that I'm drowning in. It pisses me off so much because like, I know I have valuable skills, I have two degrees, I speak three languages, and even after burnout I still have a decently functioning brain. I just have no idea how to apply any of it to a paid job -_-

I literally need like. 500$ a month to survive. That's it. I'd be fine doing 20 hours a week at minimum wage of my country. I just cannot find anything suitable for myself. I still have time to find something but jesus christ, it is exhausting.

#random #personal #was looking into science/medical writing today #but looks like you need experience for that #and there's not a lot of part time opportunities #tutoring is probably out because the sites i've checked are super crowded and i doubt i would get consistent hours #i was looking in AI training as well which is like. i'd hate contributing to the industry but it's money i guess #but all the websites that are legit are not open for EU citizens #i was thinking about going back to writing commissions but it's not gonna make me enough money probably #there are so many options and i feel like i have no chance at getting any of them #do i go to a recruiter or something? i already had a mentor for the job search from an autism charity and they did not help me much #we just worked on my CV and strategies for job search but it didn't go anywhere #anyway. i am so tired #and i haven't been looking for very long at all

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jontheredrc · 1 year ago

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Well, it's about that time again...and it's going to be about that time for the foreseeable future. As you may have heard, I've taken on a consistent opening shift at perhaps the most conspicuous of stations. There's a lot of pressure being implied, but I'm doing my best to not let this bother me. All I have to do is...my job, right? I stand at a register, I provide a welcoming and attentive atmosphere for customers, I ring up their carts and occasionally grumble at the poor quality of the programming I face in the store's internal systems, and...well, they're already pushing me to be more rent-a-cop about it too. Okay, so maybe the pressure does chafe sometimes. Maybe this isn't the post I'd choose, if I could so choose. But of course not--if I could choose any damn thing to do with my day, it would be writing. But this is the path that gives me enough hours to pay rent and all, and the routine my mind and body need to best face that many hours. This is how I achieve work-life balance, by coming in for an opening shift at more like the middle of my day. This is how I duck the summer heat as best I'm able, by guaranteeing myself a post indoors near a water cooler, and a commute that lines up with the sunrise. (And when I do go out in the afternoon, it's almost all downhill, and either straight home or maybe a stop at the grocery store.) This is what it takes, I'm told, so I'm at least trying.

Have a great day, everyone! Love you! May you all find a niche as best you are able, a way to fit into this harsh world of ours without being broken! 👋💕

#workday sendoff #i'm hoping the routine helps my mind #that was one of the perks of my previous job--i came in asking for a schedule consistent week-to-week and i got it #at my current job i very much haven't had that #sometimes i'd have too much time off and not be in a headspace where I could use that to further my writing or something #sometimes i'd have too much going on or one week would cram up unfavorably against the next #and of course it was tough to see my friends because the only time work never asked for was the time that worked the best for them #and thus i was frequently asleep at all the worst times in regards to something as simple as watching a friend play a game #it doesn't sound like much but it means so much to me when we as people can just sorta vibe together #it's simpler to pull off in person and it's hard to find chances to do it over distance when i'm asleep for most of those chances #but just look at how long i've gone on in the tags #clearly something is happening and dare i already say working

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mwphisto · 3 months ago

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I’m not sensitive!

Pairings include: Xavier x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Sylus x Reader | Caleb x Reader

Warning, this post includes: breast play, nipple play, breast kissing, nipple kissing / licking / and biting

A/N: as a girlie that was convinced her boobs we’re not sensitive, I present you this lmao. Of course, it is totally normal for your breasts to not be sensitive and for you to not be into breast play!!!! I am just writing based on my own experiences, and even then, it can be a 50/50 for me lol. Bigger chest = less sensitivity from what I've heard, but it's different for everyone! Much love!!

Moving Banners from @cafekitsune | LaDs men banner by me!

Xavier

A lazy weekend afternoon, comfy clothes, lots of snacks, and some cheesy horror movies playing on Xavier's TV screen. You were more engulfed in each other than anything else, the conversation flowing naturally as you lounged against the armrest of his couch.

"I'm serious, they're not sensitive." Your feet rest on his lap, his long fingers gently stroking up and down the skin of your calf. "I highly doubt it." Xavier countered with ease, blue eyes sparkling as a smirk curled his lips. "I just think you haven't met the right person."

Some way, somehow, the conversation had turned towards intimacy. What parts of you were sensitive, what parts weren't, the whole nine. Tension had been growing, but neither of you were willing to bite just yet. Even as you fought the urge to squeeze your thighs.

"The right person, huh? You're saying you can prove me wrong?"

You boldly proclaimed your breasts were not sensitive, your nipples not all that appealing to yourself when you had time alone. You didn't really touch them, like ever, even when masturbating.

"I believe I can give it my best shot..." Xavier started, using one finger to trail up towards your knee. "... that way, we can be positive that it's not... user error." He grins, something boyish and full of mischief and dammit you're a goner. "Well, you have my permission, Xavi."

Just like that, he's tugging your legs as he lunges. Crushing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. The hand that had been playing with your ankles and calves now splayed over your exposed thigh. Sneaking under your lounge shorts and reaching up towards your underwear.

His other hand snuck under your hoodie - one you had stolen from him - and didn't stop until he cupped one bare breast. "No bra?" a murmur against your lips, he didn't give you a chance to answer before his tongue was slipping into your mouth.

You arched into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your skin making your lips tremble as you tried to keep up with Xavier's needy kisses. He squeezes, not hard enough to hurt but enough to elicit a gasp, a triumphant smirk already curling his lips.

"See... you needed the right person." Saliva keeps you connected as he pulls away, blue irises nearly devoured by his dilated pupils. "The right person with the best touch..." His thumb and pointer finger find your nipple, squeezing it a few times experimentally.

A gasp flees you, body jerking away from the shock of pleasure that zapped up your spine. You'd tried this before, when you had been so convinced that playing with a woman's chest was a key part of her arousal, and you had been so disappointed when nothing really... happened.

Now, Xavier was doing all the things you had tried and quickly given up on, and he was getting the reactions you craved. "Xavier h-how... oh!" You're panting as he rolls the bud between his fingers, adding more stimulation by sucking along your jaw. "You just needed the right person to prove you wrong." it's muffled against your skin, a sigh of annoyance leaving him a second later.

"Take this off." All at once, he leaves you. Just long enough to yank the hoodie up and over your head.

“Let’s try this…” Xavier wasted no time, not bothering to tease you by lingering his kisses. The cool air of his apartment caused your nipples to harden, and Xavier was quick to pull one of the buds into his awaiting mouth.

Your head fell back, hands shooting to grab his head as a feeble cry of his name fled your lips. Heat pooled deep in your belly, leaking slowly and ruining your underwear. You didn’t think it was possible for your breasts to feel this way, never mind for it to cause such a reaction to the rest of you.

“X-Xavier, fuck me, please.”

“Someone’s eager.” He lets go of your nipple with a slick pop, a cocky grin now sneaking up his lips. “I’ve barely got to have my fun, you need to be patient Ms. I’m not sensitive.” You want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

Rafayel

A study of anatomy, sketching various bodies in various shapes, colors, and sizes. You couldn't even pinpoint how or when the conversation switched to personal weak spots, but... "What about your chest? Most people list their chest as a sensitive spot."

"Not me." You pout a bit, hands coming up to cup your chest before meeting Rafayel's eyes. "Maybe I'm just broken."

Your chest had never been all that sensitive from what you could tell. You'd tried a handful of times to make it feel as good as it looks, books, movies, and even porn videos put so much focus on stimulating a woman's breast that you assumed it had to feel good.

And when it fell flat? You had concluded your breasts were simply less sensitive than others. "You're certainly not broken." Rafayel sets his sketchpad down, pushing up from his seat on the floor to stalk towards where you had been lounging on his bed.

"Your body is way more responsive to someone else's touch opposed to your own." You feel your eyebrows raise, glancing between where he towered above you and where his hand was heading. "Can I show you? Or perhaps, prove my theory?" Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip, nodding a little to fast for your liking.

Rafayel sits himself down on the edge of his bed, a hand sliding over the thin material of your tank top. "You get too lost in your own head, of course, you won't be able to focus on how good it can feel." And your breathing stutters as his hand gingerly cups your right breast.

"Just relax, I've got you." As Rafayel speaks, he gently kneads the pliant flesh, silently noting that your nipples harden under his touch. "I-I just see these girls that can't go braless because their nipples are so sensitive and it just doesn't ma-oh!" Rafayel cuts you off by using his pointer and middle finger to squish the prominent bud.

"Ah-ah, what did I say about relaxing? Just enjoy..." Heat is starting to seep into your cheeks, your hand coming up instinctively to clutch Rafayel's wrist as he toys with your breast.

"They're so pretty, can I lift this up?" he's using his free hand to tug at the elastic material of your tank top, smirking when you nod your approval. "Atta girl, let me see these beauties...shit." His cheeks are turning pink, pupils dilating wide as he uses his other hand to cup your neglected left breast. "Fuck, they're so perfect."

You want to open your mouth and retaliate, but you think they are far from perfect. But you swallow it, knowing better than to dare contradict him when it comes to statements about your beauty. "And so responsive, see what happens when you listen to me?"

He seals the deal with a pinch, tugging both of your perked nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers before leaning down to kiss your sternum. "So damn beautiful." Another kiss, one closer to your right breast. "And so not broken, don't ever say that again."

This time, the kiss lands on your nipple, and you're mewling, cheeks burning hot as you clutch his wrist just a little tighter. Rafayel doesn't pull away this time, instead he removes his hand completely so he can suck the now-sensitive bud between his lips.

You're not sure how long he stays on you like that, but you know your panties are drenched and your nipple is swollen by the time Rafayel finally eases up. "Can I?" he swallows, chest heaving as he looks at your chest. He needs to mark them first and then sketch them.

"Can I fuck these after I show you how sensitive they can be?"

Zayne

You loved watching him type his reports, finding his meticulous typing to be both adorable and hot. Maybe it was just because you were so deeply in love with him, but dammit you could watch Zayne work all day. So, when he dragged over a human anatomy chart while typing on a patient file, you felt the need to pop the question.

"Zayne?" You sounded hesitant uttering it, so naturally, Zayne's attention was immediately focused on you. "Is something wrong?" Immediately, you wanted to swallow your words. "I-Uh, no, but I just kinda... had a question." You feel like you're going to die.

"Go on." He relaxed a bit, a telling sign that he could see your anxiety and wanted you to feel comfortable. "Ah, well." You look away, swallowing the lump in your throat before trying again. "I was just wondering if it was normal for... for breasts to not be sensitive."

The surgeon's eyebrow twitches upwards at that, and now you really want to melt into the chair you had been lounging in.

"Well, medically speaking, yes. It depends on the person. Sometimes chest size factors into sensitivity; sometimes it really doesn't. But, overall, it's pretty normal and fairly common...why?" Concluding his answer, Zayne seemed to really process what you were asking.

You felt a tad relieved upon hearing that it wasn't a one-in-a-million chance that you deemed your chest to be lacking sensitivity. "Oh, well, my breasts aren't all that sensitive, I kind of worried it wasn't normal, you know?" Zayne nodded, ears turning a shade of red. "Many forms of media have set unrealistic expectations."

"Tell me about it. I really felt self-conscious." You were ready to resume your lounging, but Zayne was still eyeing you.

"Would you like me to perform an exam?"

You swallow, eyes widening in surprise, but your head is moving faster. A nod escapes you before you can stop it, clearing your throat, you add, "That would be great, actually. I'd appreciate it."

Somehow, you're shirtless and braless on Zayne's exam table. The cool air of his office makes your nipples pebble. "They look perfect." He states it plainly, leaving no room for debate, even as your cheeks begin to burn. With skilled hands, the surgeon cups both of your bare breasts in his hands, kneading and squeezing meticulously.

The sensation sends a shrill of arousal straight to your tummy, and you find yourself gripping the edge of the exam table. "It's also quite common for your brain to pick a side. If you squeeze your own breast, your brain may focus more on what your hand is feeling rather than your chest." He squeezes them both to send the point home.

"And..." Zayne's head lowers, a gentle kiss placed on the top of each breast before he squeezes your nipples. "... different forms of stimulation can really shake things up."

In the blink of an eye, your back is against the cool leather of his exam table. The same table is now creaking as Zayne climbs up on it with you. "Z-zayne, what are you-" But his mouth descends on your breasts again, and suddenly all words die on your tongue.

His nose drags along your skin, inhaling your scent before suckling on one of your nipples. His hand comes up to toy with your other breast, determined to not let it go neglected during his exam.

"Some women find breast stimulation to be more effective when..." he swallows, angling himself so his free hand can slide down your stomach and towards the waistband of your pants. "...vaginal stimulation is provided at the same time."

Sylus

"Your chest is pretty sensitive, huh, Sy?" Your fingers dance lazily across his pecs, watching his expression for any signs. Sure enough, his brows pinch together briefly before relaxing again. "I guess you could say that." A gentle murmur, one that is full of exhaustion despite his eyes scanning over the pages of a book.

You were both supposed to be sleeping, but some days this was the only time you two could really spend time together. Snuggled into the crook of his arm, you found your brain wandering.

"Why are you asking, anyway?" his finger marks the spot he left off on, carmine eyes sliding to look down at where you peered up at him. "I just wish my chest was as sensitive as yours." You said it almost dreamily, as if you didn't realize what that statement did to him.

"Your breasts aren't sensitive?" Sylus countered, the book in his hand being tossed onto the nightstand so he could focus everything on you. "No, not really. I've tried but... nothing really works. I don't get how girls get so worked up when their breasts are touched."

He seemed to think it over for a moment, a small smirk curling his lips. "Do you care if I try something before you come to such a conclusion?" He turns towards you, his free hand resting on your shoulder and pushing you to your back. “You know what? Sure, go ahead. I doubt the outcome will change what I said.”

A little bit of defiance, sure. But Sylus caught the hint of sadness too. Now, he was even more determined.

"Don't be so quick..." His hand cups your breast through the silk of your nightgown, eliciting a small gasp. "...to doubt me, kitten." He's warm, hands that are honed to kill are now gentle as they massage your breast tenderly. "Just relax, let me take care of you."

Your lips are wobbling as he tugs the silky material down, letting both of your breasts spill out for his viewing pleasure. "If it doesn't work, if this doesn't feel good..." he pushed upwards, hovering above you slightly so he could lower his head and begin kissing your chest. "...I'll make it up to you in a way I know you love."

He tugs a nipple into his mouth, and you're arching off the mattress, the sudden sensation making your eyes water. The idea of not being sensitive has simply given Sylus the green light to be rougher.

"Sylus!" Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging as he bites down on the pebbled bud. His tongue lathers your nipple a moment later, soothing any pain from his bite. He lets go a second later, saliva connecting him to your breast even with the new distance.

"Let me..." he's tugging at your nightgown again, instead of your neckline, he's shoving the bottom hem up towards your stomach. "...fuck you while I do this. Nothing but the best, right?" Fuck, your head was spinning, legs parting as you welcomed his offer.

"I'll make you feel so good, promise." Sylus' lips are back on your breasts, kneading and sucking as he fishes his cock out with his free hand. "Sylus, I need you, now." dammit, maybe he was right. Your mind was going fuzzy from the attention he was giving you.

"I know, and you have me. Just..." he's nudging your entrance, sending you into a spiral as he bites down on your nipple and pushes himself inside. A shrill cry leaves your lips, hands gripping his biceps in a feeble attempt to remain grounded.

"Stick with me, Kitten. We've got a long night ahead, I need to be thorough with my research."

Caleb

You were lying on Caleb's bed, phone held high as you scrolled mindlessly. Caleb lies beside you, reading through some pilot magazine you had picked up at the convenience store earlier. A video on your feed has your mind going, chewing on on your inner cheek as you ponder your question out loud.

"I wonder what it's like to have a sensitive chest?"

"You uh... You asking me that, pip?" Caleb was caught off guard, one eyebrow twitching upwards as he turned his head just enough to look at you. Realizing your mistake, you can't help but laugh out of embarrassment. "More so talking to myself."

"Your chest isn't... sensitive?" Caleb jumps right to the point, suddenly more intrigued with your answer now that the initial surprise has worn off. "No, not really. I mean, I've tried like everything and it just doesn't... do all that much."

"Like doesn't feel good at all? Or just not what you expected?" The magazine is long forgotten, Caleb is rolling onto his side to really study you. "I guess... not as good as I hoped? I just feel like they're not as sensitive as they could be." You attempt to shrug it off, but Caleb doesn't seem to want to let it go.

"Can I... give it a shot, pip?" And suddenly it all clicked into place. You click your phone off, tossing it to the side and sighing. "By all means, Caleb. Have your fun." Like a dog who just got praised, Caleb is quick to get to work. Not bothering with touching you over your shirt. In one motion, he has tugged the clothing up and over your bare chest.

"Let's see..." calloused fingers are running up your stomach, his eyes focused on the way your nipples harden due to the exposed air. "...it's not odd for breasts to lack sensitivity." Even as he speaks, goosebumps erupt over your skin. "But sometimes, you just need the right touch to prove you wrong."

Gingerly, your right breast is cupped in his warm embrace, earning a sharp inhale as you flicker between his hand and face. "And hands aren't always what is needed." His head is descending on your chest before you can process it, a shrill cry of his name leaving your lips as he nips at the fat of your chest.

"Different sensations invoke different responses." A lick to soothe the bruise he had made. His tongue is wet and warm as it trails up to your nipple. "Some prefer ice..." a lick "...some prefer heat or wax" a kiss directly on top of the pebbling bud. "Others like tickling." His nose nuzzles it before pulling back. "And others like pain."

Caleb's teeth sink into your nipple, and your back arches off the mattress. "It's all up to you, whatever you deem best." You're seeing stars, a whimper leaving your lips as you guide his hand over to your neglected breast. "Just make me feel good, please."

"At your service, pip."

2K notes · View notes

saymio · 6 months ago

Text

Guns Aren't Toys

Pairing: Kang No-eul (guard 011) x Fem!reader

Summary: noeul loves you, she truly does. she wants to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and all hers. so when you try to gain some independence from her....she decides its time to scare you into being hers forever.

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, gun play, carving/knife play, blood kink, dubcon, light bdsm (tying you to a bed), noeul is giving heavy yandere vibes, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. english isn't my first language and I haven't written in so long, I'm sorry if its bad (MDNI)

6.1k Words

...

you befriended noeul not long after the games ended, at first you had no idea what she did..or who she even was. you didn't know where she came from, where she worked, you didn't even know her exact age. but nonetheless something about her compelled you to her. maybe it was the way she carried herself..she stayed lowkey but wasnt a pushover. or how cool and attractive she was...it always seemed like she knew what she was doing. whether it was something small like cooking an egg or folding clothes...she seemed so knowledgeable and aware of everything around her. to you noeul was your dream girl, she was so mysterious but also so interesting...so quiet but so compelling...

she was a regular at the coffee shop you used to work at. always ordering the same thing, a black coffee with no sugar. it fit her..sleek and to the point. she quickly became part of your daily routine... check out the hot older woman that would pass by everyday... but suddenly in the middle of the summer she stopped appearing at the coffee shop. at the time, you knew nothing about the woman, less than when you finally became her friend. only her face, coffee order and where she always sat. at the left corner of the cafe, she always seemed to ponder about something. she didn't look distressed when she would but.. she didn't look calm either. you wondered if she was on a vacation.. you hoped she was. you were getting nervous about the idea that she moved out of the city, she wouldn't leave just like that right? she'd be back, right?

days and days have passed and still no sign of noeul. you started to give up on the idea that she would be back, its been a week since she left and summer was nearing its end... it made you sulk and pout at the thought, not even getting the chance to have a real conversation with her... what a bu- ding..ding the sound of the door cut you away from your thoughts, at first you didn't even realize. maybe its been so long and your memory has started to get hazy, or you were just so tired you didn't bother to look at their face that much... but once she was Infront of you..you realized.. shes back!

"one black coffee with no sugar please." her monotone voice sounded like an angel just sung to you. you didn't even know her but god did you miss her sexy face. "you're back" you stared at her with soft eyes and a smile as you handed her the change from her drink. you didn't notice then but it caught her off guard. someone had noticed she was gone..were they welcoming her back? did they want to know why she was gone? why'd they even care..she didn't know them like that....but it still made a small part of her heart beat a little bit faster... "what happened to your cheek?" you were getting out your comfort zone, you were usually timid and too anxious to attempt small talk to a customer. especially one as attractive as the one standing Infront of your eyes. "nothing. thank you for the coffee." she rubbed her right cheek and walked off...usually youd leave it at that. you wouldn't interact with her again because it was clear she wasn't interested in your small talk.. but... what if she disappeared again? and what if this time she never came back? you didn't want to risk fumbling someone as perfect as her. the epitome of a seemingly perfect woman... you looked around the shop, making sure the coworker that never showed up that day didn't randomly appear...and making sure there wasnt any customer on their way inside. you slipped your apron off and slowly made your way to the corner noeul always sat at. "a..ahem...can I sit here...?" clearly nervous you shuffled with your fingers, looking away as to not make eye contact with her...it'd probably make things 10x more embarrassing if she said no. "yeah, you can" ... and with that the two of you formed a friendship that only grew as days passed. not knowing what kind of future awaited the two of you.

timeskip

its been around 2 years since the two of you met and well, you're both dating now. and have been for the past year.. you obviously know more about noeul now but shes still as mysterious as ever, you think its attractive though. and it seems a lot of her background is touchy so you don't push on it...shes only mentioned that she isn't from south korea once and that's about all you've gotten surrounding that...but what isn't attractive to you is how controlling shes been lately. at first you though it was cute. she wouldnt let you go out alone for too long or befriend anyone new without her knowing when you first started dating. that was pretty normal for a girl that had her strange tendencies, right?. what isn't normal is how she made you quit your job so you could be 'safe' at home. she wont allow you to be out alone at all. she doesnt even let you have any social media account..you were banned from all of it. you have to ask her to do everything if you can shower, watch TV, if you can eat. and its really starting to scare you. she put a lock on the bedroom door from the outside, and only she had the key. so you cant go anywhere when you two sleep unless you wake her up for permission. you never even realized how bad its gotten until it was too late. you were wearing rose tinted glasses, not letting yourself see how toxic shes gotten. and now that you've taken them off, you're far too deep in the rabbit hole to just climb your way out. she waits for you outside the bathroom, she doesn't let you lock any doors, you cant even be in a different room from her for more than 10 minutes before she barges in. the only time you truly feel safe and alone is when she leaves for around a week every summer.

youre nearing your 2 year anniversary with her. you'd be ecstatic if it weren't for the fact shes basically taken over your entire life. if it was bad 1 year in, it's horrible now. you can barely even breath without her staring holes into your face. you feel trapped and you're starting to regret ever approaching her that day. what happened to the noeul that was calm and well kept? the one that would help you with your uni work and tell you small stories about her life as a 19 year old. stories she thinks you can relate to since you're the same age. what happened to the noeul that would laugh at the jokes you'd make of her age. not minding it when you'd call her old because she knew you loved her age. now even mention it and she 'calmly' asks you "isn't this what you wanted? an older woman to slut you out?" normally your panties would've been soaked and you'd just ask her to eat you out at that moment but it feels so aggressive.. you're on edge around her, you don't want to make her upset... but you can never tell when you have because of her stoic face. she never seems to break the calm facial expressions she always has. either a smile or just no readable expression at all...

but there is good news, news that could maybe get you out of this mess. you were scared of her, not only that but you had no money. she was the one taking care of the both of you... so what if...you got a job? if you applied and they accepted you no way she would just force you to quit right? and maybe..maybe she'd change...so you wouldn't need to use the money to buy a small apartment for yourself

...

"I'm going now." noeul stares at you with a soft expression, one that will always melt your heart no matter what has happened between the two of you. "okay baby, please stay safe. I love you" you run into her arms, hugging her tightly before getting onto your tippy toes to give her a loving kiss. even though you're scared of her, scared of what she might do in the future...you still love her. with your entire life, and you really do mean it when you say it. her cold hands cup your face as she kisses your forehead. her soft lips leaving a warm feeling not only on your head but in your heart too. "here.." she pulls her right hand from her pocket, showing 2 silver keys and a small phone. ones for the front door, and the other is for all the other rooms in your apartment. "you already know the rules, right doll?" you hesitantly nodded as your smaller hands grabbed the two keys and phone from hers. "I'll still repeat them incase you forgot one. you arent allowed to leave the house unless you need to buy food, you cant stay up past 8pm, the phone is only for important calls, and you cannot talk to anyone. no one at all... you understand princess?" you nod your head slowly, looking up at noeul as she smiles. her smile isn't that genuine though. its more of a cold, forced smile... maybe one that's supposed to intimidate you into obeying her rules... but you already have a plan. and that plan breaks all those rules.... "I'll be back in a week like always, I love you. okay y/n?" she kisses you once more before leaving the space you two were once in, filling it with silence before you heard the soft click of the door closing.. you knew exactly what you needed to do now, you need to escape the tight grip she has on your life.

its been a day since noeul left to go do her weird murdered job. you know about the games but it doesnt phase you too much. not even when you first heard about it. you even thought it was a little thrilling.. your girlfriend kills people for money...shes scary..scary and hot. not only that but you were so in love you didn't even care. maybe she knew that. maybe that's why she told you, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger. but you were different now, you took off the glasses that diluted the world. you were facing it head on it with the hard truth. you love noeul with all your heart but...you don't want to be in a relationship where you're scared for your...life

you were so distracted in your thoughts you didnt even realize you walked past the store you wanted to apply to work at. the coffee shop you met noeul at .. where you found love.. you walked a couple steps back before you faced the brown and green door, the one you would see every day in the morning and night.. ding ding the sound of the door opening rang in your ears, the same sound as always. you should be happy at this moment, you're going to apply for a job.. you'll be able to escape noeuls crazy controlling life style... you should be happy...but why weren't you. you felt nothing but dread walking into that store. your stomach was doing flips, your palms were getting sweaty and you felt your heart beating outside your chest. thoughts started to flood your head as you stood there inside the cafe, like your feet were glued to the ground. .....but- noeul..I shouldn't do this. I'm breaking her trust. she trusts me I- but I need to get away..shes scary...but but but..... "y/n?" the familiar voice cut you away from your thoughts..you looked up and it was the lady you used to always work with. she was only a few years older than you but she was always the more childish one between the two. the both of you shared the same shift and you weren't friends but you were.. close strangers maybe? "a- minyoung... hello" you bowed awkwardly. not wanting to be rude but also not trying to come off as too respectful "y/n, hi! I thought I'd never see you again after you quit haha.." she joked, a little unsure but she has the compassion. "uh..are you here to apply for work?" she stared at you, anticipating your answer.. it felt like the same eyes you were giving noeul when she came back to the shop that day.. waiting for her to say yes to you. 'yeah I am..can I?" min young softly smiled at you and nodded. as if welcoming you back to the cafe. you felt a pang in your chest, like your heart was telling you no. to just listen to noeul and you'd be safe. but you had a feeling that wasnt true. you wanted to do your own things even if it meant leaving the woman you loved most. because at this point, you dont even recognize her

it didn't take long for you to get accepted..like at all. when you got home from the cafe you saw you already had a text message. "hello y/n, I'm pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted. thank you for applying. you come into work starting tomorrow :)" it was honestly no surprise to you that they accepted your work application so quickly. not to sound cocky but you were undoubtedly the best worker they had, if someone didn't show up you'd come in their space, you wouldn't flirt with customers you made the coffee perfectly, you'd clean up the cafe before closing the store up, you never made mistakes. and it was even more impressive when your coworkers almost always didn't show up or do anything..other than minyoung. you smiled to yourself, was this truly the start of a new life? were you finally going to be free from noeuls grasp? you still felt sad, like you were breaking the trust she had in you but...you just wanted to be free...and maybe...maybe this could change her mind and she'd be less strict with you. it could go back to when you first started dating..she wouldnt control every aspect of your life. that's all you wanted right now.

you were losing track of how many days you'd been working. not paying attention to if noeul overstayed her work trip, or if it was even the day she was coming back. you were just happy to finally be back at work, with minyoung. the two of you were a lot closer now..closer than before. you two again shared the same schedule. right now she was drawing on the palm of your hand, you had no idea what it was but you were holding in your giggle and trying your best to stay still since the pen was tickling your palm. it seemed as if she drew a cat and was drawing numbers, you weren't really paying attention now though. you were staring outside the window..looking at the now setting sun. minyoung would drive you home everyday, your shift didn't end until it was dark and she didn't want anything to happen to you.. but you suddenly felt a strong sense of dread, like something bad was going to happen...and it was going to happen quick. "uhh..minyoung" you spoke with an obvious edge to your voice, it was almost shaky with nervousness. but it seemed she didn't pick up on that as she only hummed at you and stayed focused on your palm. "do you feel nervous too? I dont know...I just feel scared right now" minyoung stared up at you confused and worried.. "huh? I dont feel it..no.. do you want to go home early? maybe you're sick" you shook your head no and stares down at your palm, the ink started to smear a little. your palms were getting sweaty..you were only getting more nervous.. before you could mutter another word the cafe door flung open, a loud bang over powering the ding the door usually made when opened. you and minyoung flinched and jumped back as you stared at the person there. it was noeul..she clearly ran her way here on foot..you had no idea from where but she was gasping and sweat lined her forehead..not only was she sweating but a scowl covered her face. she was angry...and she was angry at you. minyoung leaned into your ear and quickly whispered something... "isn't that the lady that used to always come by? sh-" noeul loudly interrupted your coworker, the loudness of her voice startled you both. it was like there was a megaphone connected inside her throat.. "y/n. come here. now." she stood right in front of the cafe door, you were stunned. you didn't know what to do. it was like your mind was focused on only noeul because for a bit you forgot minyoung was even there. "don't make me ask again, doll." her voice was stern but gentle. it wasn't loud and upset like just a moment ago...but you were still scared of her...of what she'd do.. you gulped down the lump forming in your throat and took off your apron. you opened the small door that separated the baristas and the customers, with a light click it was free... you slowly walked towards noeul, you were anxious..and nervous. she wouldnt do anything to you right? especially not Infront of someone else.. you were now facing her, her sharp features stared at you like daggers. her seemingly dark soulless eyes only made you shake harder..you were terrified. "noeul i-" before you could even muster the rest of your sentence she gripped at your hair and pulled you out of the store. you shrieked and clawed at the hand that griped at your hair but it was no use..noeul was a lot stronger than you and you knew now that you messed up..big time. "p-please noeul stop AH! please please stop noeul that hurts that hurts it hurts please!" your pleas fell on deaf ears as she only dragged you down the street before stopping infront of a taxi. "take us to ----- please" you were blacking out, your head was fuzzy. you didn't know what to do you were so scared. you never thought noeul would actually hurt you, but she was. she was hurting you. and it hurt...alot... the man stared at noeul and at you, wary of letting a potential kidnapper inside his car. "this is just a kink of ours. don't worry" he stares at you waiting for any kind of response...you didn't know what to do...so you just nodded.. noeul opened the taxi door and pushed you inside.

just as noeul was moving her way inside the car you heard someone yelling your name..it was minyoung...she was running down the street frantically waving her hands at the taxi driver, trying her best to get him to not go so she could save (?) you from noeul. but it didn't work.. "go, I'll pay you more if you get us there quickly." noeuls deadpan voice only sent shivers down your spine, she was so calm. even when she was basically kidnapping you. "yes ma'am." and like that the car started and drove off, leaving minyoung there as she slumped down onto the ground..crying out of fear for you.

you were at the apartment you two shared, you were sitting on a chair at the dining table. occasionally shifting in your chair, causing it to creak under the pressure...youre only staring at your lap, refusing to stare at noeul. you're scared that if you do, youll fall into pieces in front of her...that's only an opening to getting taken advantage of. "why'd you try leaving me. why'd you break my rules. I told you clearly, but look at you now. do you know why I put up these rules?" right at the other end of the table sat noeul. her dark eyes drilling holes into your head, her voice was calm but irritated. all she wanted was for you to stay safe, so why. why dont you want to obey? "i-..I just want freedom..you're always behind me..supervising me like I'm some delicate child..I don't want it anymore" the two of you barely started speaking but you were already tearing up, you just want noeul to love you normally. you want your relationship to be normal. "y/n. you are a child. you are a helpless child. you're barely in your twenties. do you really think you can strive alone in this cruel world? you live comfortably with me because I take care of you. I keep you safe. you don't need freedom. you need safety and that's with me." her voice only got deeper and more aggressive. she was getting upset, just hearing you say you wanted to do your own things made her want to lock you inside your bedroom forever. "you're so naive y/n. you really think the world would be as nice as I've been to you? you're wrong. you wont survive without me and you know it. stop trying to be independent because we both know you'd be dead without me." tears started to stream down your plush cheeks, your nose was getting runny and your voice was getting shaky. you felt your throat close up, you felt like you couldn't speak. you didn't know what to do. "i-..I just want to be free..i- dont feel safe around you i-" a loud bang filled the small living room the both of you were sat in. noeul had slammed her hand onto the table, startling you and making you jump. this just caused you to cry harder. you were just scared, you were scared of her. you just wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide. "scared of me? you? you're scared of me? who approached me first? who told me she liked me first? who make the first moves? it was all you y/n. you did everything. it's you're fault you're with me and now you have to deal with it. cant you just realize I'm keeping you safe? you were born to be mine. why cant you just let it process in your brain?" aa..there it was. she had a habit of turning things and pinning it onto you. you were tired of it, you were tired of this. "you always end up blaming me! why am I always wrong? why cant you just admit what you're doing is wrong! I cant even breath without you staring me down! I'd just be better off without you...not living in fear.." you sobbed into your hands, you were shaking and crying. was this a break up? were you breaking up? noeul hasn't said anything, she wasn't even moved..so maybe it was... but what you didn't know, those words to noeul were like stab into her heart. if you thought you were better off without her. then she had to show you that you truly weren't. youre nothing but a lost puppy without her... you wiped your salty tears with your sleeves, you eyes felt puffy and you were tired..maybe you'd just sleep in an alley way tonight and figure the rest out later...you got up slowly, and made your way to the front door...you were going to leave..you were doing it..you were free from her grasp.. just as your soft hands touched the cold door knob you felt something hard hit you in the back of the head...and before you knew it you fell to the floor and blacked out.

you woke up gasping for air, you were hyperventilating.. gasping loudly and uncontrollably, looking around and all you saw was darkness you couldn't see anything. you tried to get up and you felt your hands being tied down...you were handcuffed to the bed.. you started freaking out, crying as you tried to calm yourself down. "noeul..please...I'm sorry.." your words were barely over a whisper, you choked out quiet sobs as you just let yourself lay there. you had no way out. and you're slowly starting to realize this... click noeul turned on one of the bedroom lights, giving it enough light for you to look around. but not enough to light up the whole room. "princess..." your eyes snapped up, staring at the figure in front of your bed...lean and tall..it was noeul.. the shadows of her face making her features even sharper than before. she was like a wood carving..every detail was meticulously carved and shaped... "n-noeul..please..I'm sorry.. let me go.." tears staining the collar of your sweater, you stared up at her. desperate for her help. "nope." she deadpanned, but her face wasn't stoic. she was smiling..the same smile she gave you before she left for her job. it wasn't genuine. it was sinister..and intimidating. "who was that girl? the one that chased after you when we left. was that your new girlfriend? is she why you're trying to leave me?" your eyes widen as you shake your head frantically. the last thing you want her to assume you're doing is cheating..especially right now. "n-no I'm not close to her like that! shes just my old co worker.. she isn't even my friend..." you gulp, your throat feels dry and your head is getting fuzzy. she believes you right? she'll let you go once she realizes you're telling the truth.. right? her icecold face feels like its burning you, you cant tell what shes thinking. and it scares you shitless. "yeah. so is that why she wrote her number on your hand? or are you gonna keep acting stupid." wait..what? you stared at her with genuine confusion, unsure what she was talking about. and its not like you could stare at your hand to check..and she caught on your confusion. she knows how you act. you've been together for 2 years now..she knows you. "she wrote her number on your hand. I guess you didn't know though...why would you let someone else touch you though. or speak to you." you stared at her...you didn't know what to say...so you just looked away and stayed quiet. you didn't want to trigger her even more.. "I guess I'll just have to show you that you're mine. and mark you while I'm at it too.." she smiles, her eerie smile..as always... she turned around and walked towards a nightstand near the bed, she opened the top cabinet and took out two things that made your breath hitch in your throat. a knife and a barrel. you started to kick your feet and squirm under the restraints she put on you. you dont want to die...you don't want to die like this.. "don't worry doll, I wont you....I'll just..show you that you belong to me" he sets the gun down next to you before lifting your skirt and grazing the knife on your plush thighs. you started to cry, the feeling of the cold metal touching your skin was terrifying. what if she cuts deep? what if it gets infected? what if- your body jolts up at the stinging feeling that's overwhelming your right thigh. you cant look at it. you cant. but you can feel warm blood drip from your thigh and on to the blanket under you. youre shaking uncontrollably now..you don't know what to do..you cant do anything either way.. you stare down and watch her as she carefully moves the sharp knife on the skin of your thigh. your blood painting the knife red as she carves her name on your thigh.. KANG NO EUL the cuts are large, it takes up half your thigh...you can feel the stinging..it hurts...the blood...you feel dizzy... and if the fact noeul just carved her name onto you wasn't bad enough, her licking the blood off of you made it worse. "your blood tastes nice...i can only wonder how you taste. hm?... I already know ofcourse.. but I forgot already."

she smiled up at you, but her smile was different..not full of anger..but desire. maybe it was how her eyes looked. or the context of what just happened but..it made you feel some way. "a-are you done now..I'm scared..." noeul stares at you, a blank stare and leans down and licks ur cheek so slow that it makes you almost uncomfortable .. "youre so cute when you're scared. it makes me horny.. did you know that?" she gave you her infamous smile before quickly grabbing the gun next to you and pointing it at your head.. if you weren't scared before you definitely were now. "you wanna live, right baby?" you nodded like a madman, your eyes looking up at her. pleading with her for your life with just your eyes... but if noeul had a dick it'd be ripping through her pants right now, staring at you so vulnerable and scared..it makes her so horny. you're so weak..she needs to ruin you.. she tapped the tip of the gun onto your lips as she looked at you with a creepy wide grin, her soulless eyes scrunching up in the corner. "deep throat the gun and you'll live." what...w- you cant do that.. its a gun...guns aren't toys to mess around with..you...you don't want to.. "if you dont want to that's fine. ill just pull the trigger and leave you here dead. are you gonna be smart, or stupid y/n." you gulped down, your mouth was dry and you felt like you'd die of dehydration at any second. your lips quivered as you opened your mouth wide enough for noeul to push the gun into your mouth. you started to suck at the gun, occasionally gagging as noeul pushed the gun too far into your throat. your movements were limited as your arms were still chained onto the bed frame. wet noises filled the room and you sucked on the gun as if it were a dick. your spit dripping off your chin and the gun. "ffucck..if I knew how hot this would be before i wouldve made you do this ages ago.." your face started to heat up, your face pounding inside your chest as you stared at noeul. her breathing was getting heavy and uncoordinated... she was getting turned on. your mouth made wet slurping noises, you were doing good and haven't stopped..until you flinched and took the gun out of your mouth.. noeuls thumb sneaked under your skirt and had started to make circles around your clothed clit. you held in your noises but some snuck their way through. noeul looked up at you, face a bit flushed and stared at your mouth.. "who told you could take the barrel out of your mouth?" you flinched eyes zapped around the room, as if looking for someone who could potentially be looking at the two you before stuffing your mouth with the gun again. you started up at her with wide dilated pupils, your huge eyes now burning holes into her head. and God did she love it. your face was flushed red as you felt noeuls fingers slip your panties off, the cold air of the room hit your pussy as you shivered under the cold air. the stinging, the cold air, the metal of the gun.. all your senses are getting overwhelmed you don't even know what's happening. noeul takes the gun out of your mouth, giving you a chance to properly breathe. your rabid breaths and wet lips would drive any sane person insane. "fuck you're so sexy, js wanna ruin your body.." her other hand walked its way up your torso and your lips, she opened her mouth slightly..instructing you to do the same. you opened your mouth and let noeul shove 2 of her long fingers inside your mouth. the cold skin was a contrast to your warm wet mouth...you started to suck at them harshly, like you would die if you didn't. noeuls other hand started to rub your clit, causing you to shake and shiver under her touch... she was playing around with you, teasing you...until you finally felt two of her fingers go inside of you.. you moaned embarrassingly loud against her fingers as she moved her fingers in a rough pace. curling them, making a scissoring motion, plowing them in and out... it all hurt you, it felt like she was trying to split you in half.

your pussy made disgusting wet sounds, it was so loud it filled the room.. not only that but the sounds your mouth made as you were sucking on her other fingers made it considerably worse. "n-noeul ah- mh..fuck it hurts s-stop..." your words were a little muffled but the message still got out..it hurt and you didn't like that... noeul stared at you before slamming her fingers in and out of you insanely fast. it made you choke out a mix of a moan and screech because it just hurt so bad but also felt so so so good. noeul leaned down and was inches away from your face, her hot breath tickling your soft skin.. "you don't get to decide what I do to you. I'll ruin your body today and you wont be able to do shit about it." she grinned before taking her face away from yours. she shoved her fingers out of your mouth with a pop before slapping her hand hard against your tender cheek. leaving a red spot before rubbing the warm skin... "you understand?" her soft eyes stared into yours, you felt...weirdly safe? you couldn't pin point what you felt but it was nice.... "y..yeess ah- oh....noeul...fuck.." you arched your back against the bed, you felt yourself getting closer and closer..her fingers filling up your cunt as your juices dripped onto the blanket underneath you, some of it mixing with the now dried blood there too. "are you getting close baby?" her fingers goings faster and faster, at a speed you weren't sure was humanly possible. you nodded frantically, trying your best to grind onto her fingers even if you could barely move with the restraints tied to your wrist. "nope!"she gave a creepily happy expression before taking her fingers out of your cunt. "you don't really deserve it yet."

the two of you were at the dining table again, she had uncuffed you from the bed. and now you were sitting at the table you sat at only a few hours ago...your legs forced open, showing off for noeul. "you're so pretty...and delicate.." noeul got up from her chair and walked over to you grabbing the knife she used to cut your thigh. she traced it along your skin, making small patterns with it but never pressing hard enough to actually cut you. "you'd do anything for me right? you've realized how important I am to you right?" your voice feels shaking and sore, you don't know if you should say yes or no...but you had a feeling you'd die if you said no.. "y-yes mommy..i-..id do anything for you... m' entire world..." you looked up at her, you had no idea what was taking over you. you were just so fucking horny for her. you needed her so bad even if you were terrified. you raised your legs a little and used your fingers to spread your pussy for her. "u-use me up please..." she grinned at you, she stared at you like a proud mother... like the mother you never had.. "good girl..." she patted your head, like she was petting a stray dog she found off the side of the street...like you weren't nothing more than a little pet for her to use. "then fuck yourself with this gun." she reached her hand behind her, setting down the knife and grabbing the barrel that sat at the table. usually you'd be freaking out right now, squirming in your chair and pleading with her to just pick anything else but..you weren't. you were just so needy for her, you needed to make her proud. forgive you for being bad...and..its not like its much different compared to deep throating one right?

your slick juices covered the cold metal of the gun as you started to insert it in you. it was large and it felt a lot more..unique..than what you're used to.. you pumped it in and out of your cunt, it was making loud noises and you were moaning and gasping at the feeling...it felt surprisingly good...you wanted more..more..more...you shoved it deeper and deeper inside of your gummy hole until you just couldn't put more inside, you were grinding onto it. moaning and letting whines and whimpers escape your mouth. you stared up at noeul noticing her usually calm stoic face flushed and scrunching up. she was touching herself to you. rubbing her clit as she watched you fuck yourself with the gun shes used to kill a few people in her life..it was so thrilling...so fucking hot. "n-noeul..can I cum..please ah-.." you were gasping, squirming and panting. you wanted to cum...she didn't let you cum on her fingers and you were twitching with neediness. you wanted to release..you could feel it coming and you weren't sure if you could hold back any longer.. "y..yeah..go ahead sweet heart..cum for me..ffuuck.." based on her breathing and the shakiness in her tone..she was close too...you moved it in and out of your cunt, sticky wet liquids all over your inner thighs, gun and some on your hands...you need this..you needed to release you need to.. "a-aah aou..ahh~ mm..yes..yes...ou m cumming m cumahh~!" your loud voice echoed throughout the apartment. your back arching against the chain as you came all over the gun, it felt so good..so fucking good... "that was so hot y/n...fuck...I need more of you.. now."

...

Another note:was the ending too abrupt? sorry if it was fue fue T T n sorry if the story seems too rushed esp the ending...bc it was.. I haven't written in a while so,, sorry if most of this sucked or felt repetitive>.< ....

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vamplvs · 22 days ago

Text

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

INCLUDES -> bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader WARNINGS -> jealousy, pining, alcohol, bradley is an idiot (lovingly) WORD COUNT -> 4.7k SUMMARY -> bradley has long since been the designated performer for the daggers, and that's no different when he's jealous, pining, and well past tipsy.

NOTES -> i've been sitting on this for so long but here she finally is <3 it's a little corny, and a little trope-y, but i had a blast writing it. the songs are "layla" by derek & the dominos and "i want someone badly" by jeff buckley! originally the first song was going to be "slow hand" by the pointer sisters if anyone wants to give that one a listen, too. as always: comments & rbs are much appreciated, and my asks are open!

it's been a year now since the mission from hell, and everyone is scattered across the continent. hangman and coyote are stationed out in the midwest, bob and phoenix are in south carolina, and everyone else has found a new crew.

you and bradley have been lucky enough to stay stationed in san diego. bradley, of course, is still flying with the navy, while you spend your days teaching at top gun. safe to say, the two of you have stayed close between the occasional movie night, brunches with mav, and beach days—when you have a day off anyways. when you don't, bradley finds a way to visit you at top gun despite it.

it isn't easy to coordinate yearly leave among the rest of the crew, but when they finally manage it during the dead of summer, the hard deck is already full of life. people crowd around the bar and the tables, chatting and laughing over the music.

bradley catches the wide grins on mav and penny's faces when they see the daggers walking in, ready to wreak havoc. their smiles only grow wider when the group pulls mav into a group hug, bradley leading the charge.

it's the first time in a long time that they're all in the same place at the same time, and hell if it isn't making people nostalgic. there's some classic rock song from mav's old piloting days ringing through the jukebox. hangman has, predictably, started up a betting pool around the billiards table, dragging mickey, javy, and a reluctant bob with him. the others hover in their own circles, leaving you, natasha, and bradley to catch up at one of the high tops.

it's been exciting talking to her again after so many months have passed. she and bob have been stationed out in south carolina, and it comes with story after story about the antics that the two of them get up to—well, more like the ones natasha pulls bob into.

by the time you decide to get more drinks for the three of you, your stomach is aching from laughter.

bradley just watches as you wander up to the bar. he takes in the sway of your hips, your easy confidence, all of it.

"still haven't done anything about that, then?" natasha asks, leveling a deeply accusatory look at him.

"about what?"

"rooster, you can't be serious." when he looks at her incredulously, she bursts into laughter. "oh, come on, you two have been dancing around each other for a year now! we all see it."

his ears go pink. "that's not-"

"oh, don't you deny it. i have eyes."

"i am serious!" bradley is sure you have no interest. it's been a year—more than that if you include your time at top gun together and a few sparse meetings between that and the big reunion last year—and he's been quietly pining all the while. if there was even a chance with you, he would have taken it by now.

"whatever you say," she replies, her head turning to you.

and when bradley follows suit, he sees you standing all-too close to a man at the bar. he's tall, classically handsome—all in all, the kind of guy you'd expect to see in a rom-com—and he stands so close that his arm is nearly brushing yours. you laugh and smile at something he says, and the hand he puts on your arm sends a chill through bradley. it sinks like a pit in his stomach, churning through the several beers he's had and their subsequent buzz.

the chill turns into a sickening haze when he sees the man pass you a napkin that surely has his number on it.

"told you so," bradley mutters, turning away to face the game of eight-ball that jake is still running. the clattering of the balls and the cheers are more than enough to drown out the pulse roaring in his ears.

he entirely misses your polite rejection, the way you nod your head back to the team, and the hop in your step when you finally turn to bring the drinks back.

"ugh, sorry i took so long. poor penny is still teaching mav to make cocktails," you say with a laugh when you return. you hand them their beers with little ceremony, before following bradley's eye line. "bagman still running the betting pool?"

"you know it," bradley replies, keeping his eyes locked ahead of him. the thought of seeing that man's number in your hand makes his palms sweat.

"you'd think he'd learn that bob kicks his ass every time." that makes bradley and natasha laugh. "his entire job is aiming a laser at a tiny pinprick, pool is no big deal."

"and yet, he insists on betting against him," nat sighs.

the night continues with more drinks, more pool, and more stories from their deployments. jake tells some story about his greatest exploits—which javy quickly interrupts by informing the entire team just how spectacularly jake fumbled only a week later. the team laughs, and it's back to business as usual.

eventually, javy and jake push bradley to the piano, insisting he play something good—citing the first time they were all at the hard deck together. nostalgia is one hell of a drug after a few beers. he warms up, hammering down a few notes and a glissando into an opening chord.

the bar's attention is caught on him and the piano. a handful of older couples immediately recognize the song, standing to dance—which would include penny and mav if they weren't manning the bar. but they sway to the song, mav against penny's back with his arms around her waist. he whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh.

"what'll you do when you get lonely and nobody's waiting by your side?"

your eyes are stuck on bradley, too. his glasses sit comfortably on the end of his nose, his standard patterned button up is open, and he bleeds a confidence so easy that it's impossible to take your eyes off him. he looks good doing what he loves, and he knows it. and maybe there's some self-satisfied part of him deep down that's pleased to see how he's stolen you're attention.

"you've been running and hiding much too long you know it's just your foolish pride."

as he ramps up to the chorus, the bar is ready to sing along with him. "layla," they all cheer, you included.

"you've got me on my knees"

his eyes drift over to yours for just a fraction of a second, his wide grin splitting even wider before he flits his gaze away to where natasha, bob, and mickey are all shouting the lyrics. well, natasha and mickey shout the lyrics at bob, while he sort of mumbles them quietly, embarrassed by the attention.

it's only a few minutes of bradley performing, but with the pressure of your eyes on him, it feels like an eternity. he's not sure he's ever been more aware of who he's looking at when he sings. there's a woman who has sidled up to the piano, singing every lyric with tequila on her breath, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at her and find yours in the crowd.

he finishes the song with one final, dramatic chord, and the bar erupts into cheers. his eyes lock onto yours and you tip your drink toward him like a salute, whooping along with the rest of the bar. you gesture to the space next to him with a raised brow, and he turns to see the same woman from before leaning against the piano with a nearly empty cocktail glass in her hand.

she introduces herself, but bradley's mind is elsewhere. his eyes scan the space you were just in to find you gone. were you really playing wingman just now? the woman is saying something about his hands, but bradley can't care less, not with your apparent disappearing act. he excuses himself politely, ignoring her pout and the way her friends urge her to find another guy to hit on.

people are packed tightly around him, patting him on the back and clapping for him. he smiles politely in return. the longer he searches for you the more concerned he gets. you aren't by the bar or with the rest of the team by the pool table. hell, he doesn't even find you by the jukebox despite the ever changing cycle of music it goes through.

when he finally takes a step outside, he sees you sitting at the stairs leading down to the beach. it's a lot quieter outside, with the chaos and noise of the hard deck trapped within its walls. you're mindlessly twirling your drink in your glass.

"nice playing in there," you say with a glance over your shoulder.

"thanks," he says simply, taking a seat next to you. his glasses hang from the neckline of his old, white tank. the silence between you is thick, and right when he's going to break it by saying something that'll probably be stupid, you interrupt.

"no luck with that girl?" bradley is taken aback.

"what?" your eyes stay focused on the beach in front of you. the crash of every wave is steady and familiar.

"she spent the entire song singing at you, rooster," you tap your shoulder against his in what's supposed to be a playful gesture, but it falls flat.

"oh, yeah," he responds dumbly, "dunno, she's not really my type." he nearly winces as he hears himself say it.

you fall silent again, and bradley joins you in it. it's not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it's heavy. there's so much more he wants to say. that she's not his type because you are, because he's spent a year looking into your eyes, laughing at your jokes, going warm when your hands touch him. that he's spent a year wishing he could say something to you without messing what you have up.

it took ages for you two to get to where you are with the easy banter and the quiet movie nights. the two of you have spent long enough laughing about your almost-rivalry back in your top gun days that he knows you care about this friendship just as much as he does. and the last thing he wants to do is lose that by running his mouth.

"i should get going," you say. "i have to prep for next week's classes."

bradley watches as you leave for a second time that night, mumbling a quiet goodbye after you.

on leave, the team spends time exploring san diego again. they go to wine and beer tastings, try new cafes and restaurants, and even find the time to hike through the torrey pines natural reserve—that one is bob's request, and boy, does it deliver. it has the entire team winded by the end of it—except, miraculously, for bob, who brought a camera to take pictures with.

but bradley's favorite, of course, is the afternoon they spend at the beach in front of the hard deck. dogfight football is up and running the minute people put their bags down. jake just can’t resist the urge to goad people on, so bradley gets wrapped up in the competition, too. initially, it's shirts versus skins, but with the hot san diego sun beating down, everyone is stripped to their trunks pretty quickly, not that it does much to dissuade the heat from tearing through them.

all the while, you're trapped at top gun teaching classes until later in the day. bradley's not even sure you'll be able to make it with the way things have been going with the new class of pilots. so, he puts you out of his mind, focusing on the game at hand—and how badly he wants to knock jake down on his ass just to teach him a lesson about talking shit.

when penny brings out lemonade for everyone, the sun is still bright overhead and unbearably hot. bradley's skin is sticky with sweat, and he holds the icy glass to his cheek with a sigh. sitting on his towel with the drink in his hand is easily the best decision he’s made all day. natasha takes no time in jogging over to him with a smug grin.

"saw you chase the love of your life outside after layla the other night," she sips on her lemonade like it proves something.

"she's not the love of my life-"

"oh, yeah? then why do you follow her around like a lost puppy?" he doesn't have a response for that and clears his throat, trying to pretend that his ears aren't burning. "she totally dug it."

"nat, she tried to set me up with another girl. i got wing-manned." the memory of your raised eyebrow and the way you asked if he had any luck with her make his stomach churn.

natasha snorts. "oh, please, if she was actually wing-manning you, she wouldn't have run outside to avoid the aftermath." bradley tries to formulate some kind of intelligent response, but gets cut off by natasha perking up. "speak of the devil!"

bradley turns to see you walking over with your towel in hand. he tries not to stare, god, he tries. but you're wearing a button up you borrowed from him months ago, and it's open over your bathing suit. there's something about that and the shorts you're wearing that makes the blush spread from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck. you look unfairly good in his clothes.

"all good things i hope!" you reply with a smile so bright bradley swears you've stolen the sun for yourself. natasha is quick to pull you into a hug—one that you're ready to reciprocate.

"rooster was just telling me how much he misses you," she nudges him, and he has to fight the urge to strangle natasha.

"it's only been a week, bradshaw, missing me that bad already?" you toss down your beach towel and sit next to him, still laughing at her words.

he tries to play it off with a shrug. "what can i say? i've been spoiled." natasha gives you a cryptic look that he can't decipher. as a matter of fact, he doesn't even get the chance to try before jake is calling everyone to the shoreline for a rematch. half the beach groans, complaining about the heat, and the other half start up their goading once more.

“c’mon, rooster, afraid of getting your ass handed to you?” jake calls, tossing the football in the air in a way so cocky only he could manage it.

you laugh when natasha drags him over to jake, already placing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to sit and watch from afar. he shrugs apologetically at you. "get his ass, bradshaw!" you cheer.

the game only officially ends when the sun starts to set. it's been on and off for the rest of the afternoon, with people taking breaks to swim and cool off throughout. somehow, you and bradley never quite end up in the same place at the same time. it isn't until everyone is packed back into the hard deck that you get the chance to talk properly.

the two of you sit at a high top by the end of the pool table, drinks in hand once more as the team's usual chaos unfolds around you. it’s like a do-over of the week before: the betting pool going strong around the billiards table, the same old rock songs playing through the jukebox, and you and bradley tucked into a corner of your own.

"i thought you said you weren't going to make it today," he prompts, looking at you over his beer.

"that was before the admiral interrupted with some group punishment for breaking the hard deck," you say with a laugh.

"oh, you've got a maverick, then?" he nods his head over to where mav is desperately trying to wipe down a spill on the bar top that he no doubt caused.

"something like that," you reply, "there's always some kind of rivalry at top gun, but these two..." bradley laughs at your grimace.

"no worse than us, i hope." he taps his bottle against your glass in a mock toast.

"bradley, they are so much worse." he watches you launch into some story about your students, your smile echoed on his face.

and so conversation flows along with the drinks, the two of you wrapped up in your own world until jake—being the bastard he is—interrupts to drag bradley away to the billiards table. for a second time that day, bradley is pulled away from you against his will.

he is going to tear jake to shreds for this, beers be damned.

he relishes in your cheers whenever he knocks the stripes into the pockets. until your attention is taken from him, that is.

somehow, between his turn and the next, the same man from the weekend before has found his way to the table bradley left you at. he's taken up bradley's seat and is apparently content to just chat you up without any care for the rest of the crew observing this newcomer to their night out. even bob is prickling at his presence.

and if bradley breaks when the next game starts with a little more force than strictly necessary, no one says anything about it. if he plays a little harder, if he's a little snappier, every time he looks over and that man is closer to you, then quite frankly, it isn't anyone's business but his.

he drops his cue on the table and marches off to get another drink when he sees you lean in to hear the guy better. he hears jake call after him, but he pays him no heed. god, he needs another beer if he's going to put up with this tonight, too.

mav gets bradley a drink with a raised eyebrow. "trouble with the girl?" mav asks, nodding over to where you're sitting.

"how'd you-"

"bradley, i've known you since you were a kid," he responds like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "just say something."

"it's not that simple, mav, she's..." bradley trails off. perfect? is that what he means? unattainable? uninterested? he takes a long swig from his beer, a comfortable buzz settling in his chest. whether that's the beer or the thought of you, he's not sure.

"if you want to keep pining, that's on you." mav shrugs. "but take it from me, doing something about it is better than nothing."

"now you're playing wingman?" mav scoffs at that, but it doesn't have any heat.

"i'm trying to play dad, but whatever works for you, kid."

bradley goes quiet and lets mav get to the other patrons asking for drinks—which he is almost certainly going to ask penny for help with. he watches as they dance around each other gracefully, like despite mav's inexperience behind a bar, he knows exactly where penny's going to move. he watches the gentle hand that mav puts on her waist, and christ, he's in deep. all he can think about is you.

he thinks back to that movie night you had a few months ago. the two of you maneuvered around your small kitchen making popcorn and hot chocolate. he had pulled the same stunt—a hand on your waist to guide you out of his way. a hand that you hadn't pulled away from. he remembers the warmth of you next to him and your smile when you finally got to curl up on the couch with a warm mug and an oversized bowl of popcorn between you.

he thinks about the brunches you've had with mav and penny, and how they almost felt like dates. you had made a joke about getting introduced to the parents so soon, and the tips of bradley's ears had gone warm. if he were introducing you as his girlfriend, it would have gone spectacularly. you hit it off with mav immediately, somehow. even though you technically had met him before at top gun, there was a difference between captain pete “maverick” mitchell and mav, the closest thing bradley has to a father—even if he’d never outright say it to mav’s face. but getting that man friendly outside of a plane-related situation was a feat he could have kissed you for.

he thinks to last week. the grin on your face when he looked at you while he was playing, while he sang at you—no, sang to you.

and that's precisely where the too-loud, too-tipsy, only slightly jealous part of bradley's mind kicks straight into overdrive. he slams back the rest of his beer and takes a glance over his shoulder to where you're sitting. the man still sits across from you, but like you sense him looking, your eyes meet his with a concerned furrow to your brow. he's not sure how long he's been standing at the bar, but based on the look you give him, it's been long enough.

he turns and marches over to the jukebox, unplugging it unceremoniously. the bar lurches into a chorus of groans until bradley takes a seat at the piano.

"now i-" he starts, his voice ringing into the near silent bar.

"i want someone badly"

the first chord he strikes on the piano summons a round of whoops from the pool table.

"got a girl here tonight, want someone new"

he pretends not to notice the way your attention is focused on him again, pretends that the heat on his face is from beer and beer alone. his head is down, intent on staring holes into the piano keys. couples around the bar are starting to sway together, and he dreads the thought of you getting up with the guy you've found. he's sure that the man is offering you a hand right about now, that you'll take it, and bradley will have to walk off to drown his wounds with another drink.

"'cause i, i cry all over madly don't do anything, do it for me."

the daggers have found themselves by the piano, arms thrown over shoulders and swaying. they sing along and it's a small comfort in a sea of strangers. he hears natasha's voice above all, singing the lyrics with a passion that she always carries with her when he does this.

"i wanna know am i sure that i have your love?"

and that's when bradley figures it's a good idea to look out into the crowd that's around him. it's cruel how easily he can find your eyes amongst the throng. you stand a ways away from him, alone and glowing under the warm lights of the hard deck. your mouth is slightly parted, but he can't figure out if its shock or something else. and then there's that look in your eye. he'd almost believe you're in love with him.

or maybe bradley's just drunk.

"if you're leaving, just make sure it's right now i want someone badly"

the crowd cheers when he hits a high note, but his eyes are locked on the way your jaw clamps shut.

"could it be true that someone is you?"

the final chord rings out along with varied forms of praise from those around him. natasha asks him a question, but he's already on his way outside before he can hear it properly. adrenaline is crackling through him viciously, bringing a shake to his hand that he hasn't felt since he first started training in the flight sims.

he sits on the steps of the hard deck with a thud. the porch is blessedly empty, leaving him to process exactly what he just did. the cool ocean breeze is doing wonders to sober him up. or maybe that's the dread pooling in his stomach. he can't tell anymore.

did he seriously just fucking serenade you? what kind of rom-com bullshit-

"you um, you played really well in there." your voice, gentle and soothing, pulls him from his spiral, and his head whips around to face you.

"thanks," he replies shortly, and his tone makes himself wince. there’s a distinct sense of deja-vu that hits bradley suddenly, like he’s entered some fucked up kind of parallel universe. the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite ends of the deck. your hands fidget, and tomorrow, bradley will surely blame the beers on the way his eyes linger on them.

it takes you another moment to move toward him, taking a seat by his side. you're so close that he can smell your perfume over the breeze, and isn't that just the cruelest trick yet? that he can't reach over to you and kiss you breathless, that he can't hold your hand in his. instead, he just sits miserably next to you, reliving his own stupid idea to play jeff buckley in the hard deck.

man, if he's thinking like this, he must really be gone.

"was that-" your voice cracks, "nat said i should come out and talk to you."

"of course she did." he picks at the corners of his nails.

"she said that was for me." your voice is indecipherable, and bradley's not sure he can stomach looking you in the eye right now.

he sighs, running a hand down his face. it's too hot out, now. the cool breeze from before has been sucked away by your presence.

"i just didn't want to see you with him, anymore," he mutters. there's another horrible, tense silence between you, and it's not one that he's in any rush to break.

"was that what this was? jealousy?" your voice is impossibly small.

"no, i-" jealousy made it sound like he had any kind of claim over you. jealousy sounded like he thought he had a chance at keeping the careful balance of his sanity and your friendship.

"so you sing that for all the girls in there, then?" you press, and in a world where he isn't head over heels for you, it would have been infuriating.

it still is infuriating, and bradley can't help but laugh.

"no, god, no." his laugh is shaky and a little dejected. he finally turns to face you, trying his damnedest to suck in every anxiety he has about this. he thinks, quite possibly, that this is the only time tonight he's been grateful for the alcohol.

that same heavy silence fills the air between you.

your eyes are wide when he looks at you, filled with something unreadable and maybe a bit of hope. his eyes flit between yours, and maybe, just for a moment, they linger on how your lips are upturned ever so slightly.

"just kiss me already, bradley."

and he does. by god, he does, and it's like a breath of fresh air. your lips are soft against his, and if it's a little clumsy, he doesn't mind. not when his hand is on your cheek, and yours is in his hair, and you taste like heaven on earth. the kiss lasts a lifetime, or it feels that way to bradley, anyways. it's the entire year he's spent wishing to be by your side wrapped into one small moment.

when you finally pull away from him, the two of you are panting. your foreheads rest against each other, and bradley can't seem to get his hands off you. the same one stays on your cheek and rubs small circles while the other is tentative against your waist. he's nearly giddy at holding you so close.

"you have any idea how long i've been waiting for you to do that?" you ask.

"probably about as long as i have," he replies with a hoarse voice.

"didn't think you were interested." you give him an incredulous look when he starts laughing, but that only makes him laugh harder.

"i should've listened to natasha so long ago." at that, you join him, head tilted back, and laugh into the sky. it's a long moment where the two of you giggle like schoolgirls outside the hard deck, and bradley wouldn't change it for the world. "think anyone will notice if we leave?"

you think for a moment and reply, "nat definitely will."

"she'll consider it a win." and that sends another round of laughs through you both.

the next morning, the team makes a plan to get brunch at a little cafe nearby, and if they notice that you and bradley arrive together and sit just a bit too close, no one says anything about it.

no one except for natasha, that is.

she finally catches a moment with bradley alone when people are saying their goodbyes.

"you finally did something about your pining?" she asks, a grin already spreading across her face.

bradley shrugs, but the smile he dons is telling, and the gentle kiss he places against your temple when you walk over to him, even more so.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you #top gun x you #bradley bradshaw headcanon #rooster headcanon #top gun headcanons #top gun maverick headcanons #miles teller x reader

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lunasfics · 2 years ago

Text

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it?

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back.

“Good. Nightwing?”

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent.

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for.

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom.

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.”

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read:

Attempt 1: G6B24

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown)

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass.

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did.

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick.

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind.

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him.

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you.

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file.

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?”

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.”

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?”

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised.

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up.

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’”

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on.

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.”

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave.

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?”

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry.

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?”

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well.

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.”

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different.

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first.

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile.

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.”

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.”

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you?

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state.

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.”

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile.

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.”

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.”

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.”

“Wayne.”

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares.

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response.

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.”

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…”

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper.

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.”

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement.

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you.

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.”

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain.

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.”

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.”

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change.

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over.

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you.

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase.

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first.

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.”

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.”

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own.

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there?

“How?”

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first.

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.”

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.”

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.”

Bruce simply gave a nod.

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all.

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian.

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe.

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest.

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!” he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you.

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.”

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?”

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own.

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.”

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her.

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.”

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.”

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.”

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front.

“This better be good.”

Tim mumbled, “Finally”

“Miss me Timmy?”

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away.

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce.

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.”

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.”

“Holy shit, man.”

“Jason, will you shut up?”

“Never.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.”

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.”

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.”

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.”

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.”

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you.

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her.

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit.

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-”

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled.

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.”

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.”

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone.

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.”

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.”

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.”

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do.

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered.

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.”

“I want time with her, Bruce.”

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.”

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?”

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile.

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless.

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.”

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away.

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?”

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.”

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.”

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.”

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–”

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news.

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him.

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated.

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done.

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.”

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“We’re just buying training clothes.”

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.”

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.”

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site.

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that.

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself.

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself.

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about.

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings.

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere.

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off.

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.”

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.”

He nodded, walking away to change as well.

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill.

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense.

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.”

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing.

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine.

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite.

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit.

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying.

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction.

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.”

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?”

You nodded.

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds.

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you.

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner.

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking.

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case.

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor.

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother.

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in.

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there.

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough.

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled.

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal.

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it.

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine.

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow. Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

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Not Just a 'Stylist' | Bangchan 1.1k Followers special!! <3

Pairing: Bang Chan × Stylist!Reader

Word Count: 9,145 Words | Reading Time: 33-ish mins

Genre: Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Idol AU | Romance

Trope: Second Chance · Miscommunication · Lovers to Strangers to Lovers · Forbidden Love

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues & industry pressure, Angst-heavy themes, Harsh words, emotional fallout, Mental health struggles (insecurity, self-hate), Mild suggestive content, Strong language, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: She was never just their stylist. She was the one who made sure their voices were heard—even if it meant putting herself in the line of fire. Bang Chan didn’t know how much she mattered until she walked away. Now, two years later, a sly plan, an awkward reunion, and a very overdue confession might be what brings them back to each other… if their wounds can finally heal.

Author’s Note: This one’s for the parts of us we try to hide—because insecurities aren’t flaws, they’re just softer truths we haven’t learned to love yet. Chan’s story in this fic is a reminder that vulnerability doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. And that’s where the real beauty lives. 🤍 I hope all are doing fine! {I know i was gone for a little too long! Sorry lovies, i was trying to heal and keep up with myself first cause it was reflecting on my writings and i didnt wanna write so much angst, i haven't been feeling to write and post since a few weeks its just complicated lol, i hope its just a phase... And i am sorry if this one is a bit of more angst than fluff..}

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The K-Pop industry was a dazzling, often bewildering, kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, synchronized choreographies, and the relentless hum of constant activity. For many, it was a dream factory, churning out idols worshipped by millions. But beneath the glittering facade lay grueling schedules that stretched days into sleepless nights, and an often unforgiving set of beauty standards that could strip an idol of their individuality faster than a stage light could flicker. Perfection, in this world, was not just admired; it was meticulously engineered, often at the cost of authentic self-expression. Yet, for you, a stylist barely two years into the unforgiving depths of this demanding world, it was also something far more profound: a blank canvas, ripe for a quiet, yet revolutionary, change.

You hadn't simply landed in the K-Pop scene; you had carved out a niche, not with aggressive self-promotion, but with a philosophy that was both innovative and deeply empathetic. Your reputation had spread like wildfire, not just for the avant-garde, trend-setting ensembles you conceptualized, but for an almost fierce, unwavering dedication to the idols' comfort, well-being, and genuine self-expression.

In an industry obsessed with a narrow definition of perfection, your rebellion was subtle but potent. Whitewashing, the pervasive practice of lightening an idol's skin to an often unnatural pallor, was your personal nemesis—a cultural erasure you fought tooth and nail against.

You saw it as a deliberate act of stripping away an idol's natural heritage and unique beauty. Unnecessary layers of makeup on already flawless, youthful skin felt like a crime against nature and authenticity, smothering their natural glow under a mask of heavy product. And the rampant destruction of natural hair, often through harsh chemicals, relentless heat styling, and aggressive bleaching, was a personal affront you simply could not tolerate.

You championed originality, seeing each idol as a unique individual with their own inherent beauty to be amplified, not erased. Your mission was to ensure they felt seen, celebrated, and authentically themselves, rather than merely being packaged into a marketable, albeit homogenous, product designed to fit a preconceived mold.

This philosophy, initially met with skepticism and quiet resistance from management, slowly began to take root among the idols themselves. The members, accustomed to a more rigid, company-driven approach to their appearance—where they were often told what to wear, how to pose, and even how to smile—gradually adjusted to your radical kindness. They started to trust you, to see you not just as a technician of trends, but as an ally, someone who genuinely had their best interests at heart. Slowly, tentatively, some even began to confide in you, whispering their preferences, their discomforts, their secret desires for a different look, a softer fabric, a bolder color—preferences you always, without fail, honored and fought for, often pushing back against directives from higher-ups.

Among them was Han, a whirlwind of creative energy, known for his rapid-fire raps and boundless stage presence. Beneath his vibrant exterior, he carried a canvas of intricate tattoos that told stories only he truly understood, a deeply personal expression of his journey. He had silently endured countless applications of heavy, industrial-strength body tape, used to conceal his art for various concepts, leaving his sensitive skin raw, red, and irritated after every single performance. It was a silent agony he'd simply accepted as part of the job.

One afternoon, after a particularly long photoshoot for a new album, Han approached you cautiously, a faint wince on his face as he gently peeled a corner of tape from his inner arm. "Hey, [Y/N]," he began, his voice low. "Could… could we possibly try something different with this next time? The tape… it's really tearing up my skin." He showed you the angry red marks, some already forming blisters.

You immediately knelt, examining his reddened torso with a frown. "Oh, Han, that looks painful," you murmured, your concern genuine. "Of course, we will. Show me exactly where it hurts, where the tape causes the most irritation. We'll find a way around it, I promise. Your comfort comes first, always." From that day on, you made it your unwavering mission to ensure his clothing was stylish, often strategically covering him in ways that felt natural and chic, using round tops and under mesh that seamlessly integrated into the concept. But there were times, moments of pure, unadulterated playfulness on stage or during content shoots, when Han, swept up in the moment, wanted to show off his tattoos, to let his true self shine through. In those instances, you would take the fall, absorbing the inevitable scoldings and frustrated sighs from management with a calm, unyielding demeanor, a silent shield protecting his artistic freedom and personal comfort. You were their advocate, their quiet guardian against the industry's more suffocating demands.

Yet, despite your growing influence and the trust you had cultivated with most of the members, there was one who struggled profoundly to adapt to your different approach: Bang Chan. The group's leader, he was the embodiment of tireless dedication and relentless self-improvement, but years of relentless industry conditioning had deeply ingrained a specific, often self-deprecating, image in his mind. He couldn't reconcile with the idea of embracing his natural curly hair, which he saw as unruly, messy, and unprofessional, a stark contrast to the sleek, sharp looks favored by many K-Pop idols. Similarly, his slightly tanned, sun-kissed skin, earned from hours in the dance studio and occasional outdoor filming, was something he believed detracted from the desired "idol aesthetic" of pale, ethereal beauty.

After a particularly bright outdoor shoot under the Seoul sun, Chan approached you, rubbing his arm with a towel, a hesitant smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, [Y/N]," he said, almost apologetically. "Could we… maybe go a bit lighter on my skin for the next concept? Like, a foundation shade or two up? I think it would suit the theme better, give it a more… polished feel."

You met his gaze directly, your expression gentle but unwavering. "Chan, your skin tone is beautiful," you countered softly, your voice firm. "It's healthy, it's natural. There's no need to lighten it. You're just fine the way you are." You watched a flicker of disappointment cross his face, quickly masked.

A few days later, during a hair styling session for a variety show appearance, he tried again, running a hand through his slightly damp, springy curls. "My curls are… a lot, aren't they?" he mumbled, tugging at a particularly unruly strand near his temple. "They always seem to have a mind of their own. Maybe we should straighten them out for the comeback? Or at least heavily slick them back? It would look more… put together, I think. More professional."

You smiled, gently pushing his hand away from his hair. "Chan, your curls are incredible," you insisted, beginning to work a light serum through them to enhance their natural texture. "They have so much character, so much life. The fans adore them, you know? They talk about 'Chan's curls' all the time. We can define them, keep them healthy, but why hide something so unique and beloved?" He mumbled something noncommittal, still looking unconvinced. The irony was not lost on you: the other members, and even their incredibly devoted fanbase, Stay, absolutely adored his natural curls, often praising them in fan calls and online comments, begging him not to straighten them cause he is damaging his own hair. But Chan, locked in his own internal struggle, his self-perception deeply rooted in years of industry expectation, remained stubbornly unconvinced, a silent battle being waged beneath the surface of his charismatic stage persona. You knew he needed to see himself as truly "fine" before anyone else's opinion would matter.

The air after the concert was thick with the lingering buzz of fan cheers and the exhaustion of performance, a faint scent of sweat and stage smoke clinging to everything. The dressing room was a hive of activity: members peeling off stage clothes, makeup artists packing up their kits, and staff bustling about. You were meticulously helping Felix unhook an intricate, albeit slightly heavy, ear cuff, your fingers nimble as you navigated the delicate clasp. It was a moment of quiet focus amidst the post-show chaos, when snippets of a staff conversation, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the general chatter.

"Honestly, I don't know what our new stylist is thinking," a voice, unfamiliar but clearly disgruntled, grated from a few feet away. "She absolutely refuses to cover up Bang Chan's slight tan. It's distracting, especially with the concept photos coming up."

Another voice, a little higher pitched, chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And his hair! It's never properly styled. Those curls just don't suit him. He looks… unpolished. It's not the image the company wants."

The words hit you like a physical blow, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. Your hands stilled on Felix's ear. Without a second thought, driven by instinct and a fierce loyalty to the idols you protected, you straightened up, turning slowly towards the voices. "Excuse me?" you interjected, your voice deceptively calm, though your eyes, you knew, flashed with a dangerous glint. "Chan's skin is perfectly fine. It's natural, and frankly, beautiful. It makes him look healthy and strong. And his curls are adored by fans. My job is to highlight their natural features, not erase them to fit some outdated, unrealistic so called toxic shitty standard."

A sudden, uncomfortable hush fell over the immediate area. Jeongin, who had been quietly packing his bag, looked up, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of alarm. Han, who had just walked over to grab a water bottle, stopped dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over the cooler.

"Exactly!" Han exclaimed, stepping forward, his voice rising in defense. "Have you seen how many fans comment about his curls? They love them! They're iconic! And his tan? It just makes him look healthier, more real. It's part of who he is!"

"Yeah!" Felix chimed in, stepping away from you, his usually bright demeanor replaced with a stern frown. "And [Y/N] always makes sure we're comfortable. That's way more important than some old-fashioned beauty standard that makes us feel bad about ourselves!"

Changbin, who had been listening from a distance, his arms crossed, nodded firmly. "She helps us feel like ourselves. Chan Hyung looks great. He looks authentic and cute and sexy and the stays and we love him just the way he is."

But it was too late. Chan, who had been walking past the dressing room entrance, having just finished a quick call, paused. His back was to you, but the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head, told you he had heard every single word. His face unreadable, he turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over you, the hushed staff, and then his fiercely loyal members, before he simply pivoted and walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

You glared at the gossiping staff, a silent, chilling promise of retribution in your eyes—a promise that your next styling choices for them would be… unflattering. Then, without another word, you quickly pushed past the startled members and followed him. You found him standing against a cool, brick wall just outside the building, gazing up at the indifferent night sky, his shoulders hunched, radiating a palpable tension that seemed to crackle in the air around him.

"Chan, wait," you began, reaching out a hand, your voice soft, but he cut you off, spinning around to face you. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his voice was tight with frustration, barely above a whisper, yet sharp as a knife which was just sharped as in to slit throats and then hearts.

"I told you… I told you I don't wanna be different!" he exclaimed, his words laced with a raw edge of pain and exasperation. "I just wanna fit in, like everyone else! I just want to be normal! But you wouldn't listen to me! You never listen!"

You stepped closer, trying to reason, to soften the blow, to make him understand. "Chan, listen to me. No matter what you do, no matter how you look, no matter how much you change yourself, people will always find something negative to say. You can't please everyone, and you shouldn't try to erase yourself for them. Your worth isn't determined by their opinions."

But he snapped, the dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of cruel words that felt like physical blows, each one landing squarely on your chest. "Don't you get it, [Y/N]? I don't care about what they say when it means I look like this! I don't care about 'authenticity' if it means I'm constantly being criticized! I need a stylist who understands the industry, who doesn't nag me about my personal choices. Someone who will just… do their job! Someone who will just make me look the way I need to look! Pale skin. Straightened hair. I don't need someone like you! I don't want a new style. Maybe the others do, not me!" His voice cracked on the last words, but the venom was clear, sharp, and undeniable.

The words stung, a deep, nauseating ache spreading through your chest, echoing the painful truth that he truly meant them, at least in that moment of raw anger. You knew he was upset, deeply so, frustrated with himself and the pressures he felt, but it still hurt. Of course, it did.

You had liked him the most, perhaps even loved him, in a way that transcended the idol-stylist dynamic. You had witnessed his entire rise, his struggles, his countless "Chan's Room" lives on YouTube where he’d openly expressed his insecurities about his looks, his hair, his identity, his constant battle with self-doubt.

You loved him more than you cared to admit, not as an idol, but as the genuine, vulnerable person you knew him to be beneath the bravado and the leader's facade. He stormed off, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with the bitter echoes of his harsh, cutting words in the cold night air, a profound sense of betrayal settling heavy in your heart.

The next week was their much-needed break, a rare window of respite in their relentless schedule. For you, however, it was a blur of silent, agonizing pain. The raw wound of Chan's words festered, preventing you from facing him, or even his concerned members.

Your phone remained stubbornly on silent, vibrating with unread messages, your fingers hovering over them, unable to bring yourself to respond. Each buzz was a fresh reminder of the chasm that had opened between you and a desperate plea to bridge it, but the hurt was too deep, too fresh. The guilt, meanwhile, gnawed at Chan, a constant, dull ache in his chest, a poison he couldn't flush out.

He replayed the scene in his mind over and over: the surge of anger that had driven his cruel outburst, fueled by years of internalized insecurity, and the shattered, heartbroken look in your eyes as he stormed away. That image, the way your expression had crumpled, haunted his waking hours and infiltrated his restless sleep.

That night, unable to shake the feeling of dread, he paced the dorm living room, the quiet too loud, too heavy. "Has anyone heard from [Y/N]?" Chan finally asked, his voice strained, a raw edge of desperation he couldn't quite hide.

Han, scrolling through his phone, shook his head, his own face etched with worry. "No, Hyung. I've sent like, five texts. And checked every social media she used to have. Nothing. No reply. Lix has called her, too, probably a dozen times."

Felix nodded sadly, his usual bright demeanor dimmed. "Just goes straight to voicemail, Hyung. Every single time. I don't know what to do. This isn't like her."

The members, sitting in their living room, exchanged worried glances, a silent conspiracy of concern. None dared to explicitly ask either of you about what had truly transpired that night. They had heard it all, after all, the sharp words and the sudden silence. The chilling silence from both sides was deafening, a tangible, suffocating weight in the dorm, replacing the usual easy camaraderie.

The very next day, a cold, formal email landed in everyone's inboxes: the company announced your resignation. There was a terse, uninformative notice posted internally, stating only that you had "decided to pursue other opportunities." You hadn't given a reason, not to management, not to the members, not to anyone. Just a clean, sharp break, like a snapped string. But the members knew. Every single one of them. And Chan, oh, Chan knew with a searing certainty.

"What do you mean, she resigned?" Changbin asked, disbelief coloring his voice, staring at the stark text on his phone screen as if it might spontaneously change. "She just… left? Without a word?"

"She wouldn't just leave," Jeongin whispered, looking genuinely distraught, his eyes wide and clouded with unshed tears. "Not without saying goodbye to us. Not after everything."

Han slammed his fist lightly on the table, the muffled thud echoing the frustration in his voice. His gaze was fixed on Chan, a mixture of raw anger and deep despair. "It's because of what happened, isn't it, Hyung? Because of what you said! It broke her, didn't it?"

Chan flinched, the accusation hitting him squarely, like a physical blow. His face was ashen, his jaw tight. "I… I know," he mumbled, his voice thick with guilt, barely audible. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, a dizzying wave of regret. You weren't just their stylist; you were someone who always put their needs first, their comfort first, their problems first, even before the company's often rigid directives and relentless bottom line. You were a true friend, an advocate, a safe space they had implicitly relied on, a rare source of genuine care in an often impersonal industry. Now, that friend was gone, not exactly, but you never replied to anyone's messages, no matter how many they sent, how desperate they became, how many pleas for a simple 'I'm okay' went unanswered.

Months bled into each other, each one feeling heavier than the last for the group. The stylist changed, a new face taking your place. This person was efficient, professional, and entirely detached. They just "did their job," rarely spoke beyond necessary instructions, and worked solely for the company, not for the idols' individual well-being or comfort. The careful considerations you had put in place slowly eroded, like sand slipping through fingers. Han's body tapes reappeared, along with other unwelcome changes to their styling that prioritized concept over comfort, leaving the members feeling like mannequins, stripped of their individuality.

One evening, after another long day of taped-up skin and restrictive, itchy outfits, Han sat on his bed, frantically texting you, a silent, desperate prayer. "Please, [Y/N]," he typed, his thumbs flying across the screen, his face drawn. "Are you okay? We miss you so much. This new stylist… it's not the same. My skin is raw again, just like before you came. Please, just reply. Anything?" But the messages remained stubbornly undelivered, stuck on 'sending,' or simply unread. He had been closest to you, relying on your understanding and empathy more than anyone. Your silence was a constant, gnawing void.

Tours came and went, a dizzying cycle of stages and cities, airports and hotel rooms. The high of performing was always followed by a lingering emptiness. Occasionally, the members would catch glimpses of you, a fleeting figure working with other idols and groups at music shows or industry events. You looked good, professional, sometimes even seemed to laugh, but always just out of reach, a distant figure in a bustling crowd.

"Look, there she is!" Felix exclaimed one day, his voice a mix of excitement and longing, pointing across a crowded backstage area. You were laughing with a girl group, adjusting a sparkling top for one of their members, your head thrown back, a genuine smile on your face.

Chan watched from afar, a sharp, physical pang in his chest. You seemed so vibrant, so at ease, so happy, even if the smile didn't quite reach your eyes like before when seungmin would friendly bully chan about his age, but it was in the same profound way he remembered. It twisted something inside him to see you thriving, knowing it was a world he was no longer a part of, a happiness he had pushed away.

Han, though initially unable to forgive Chan for what he'd said, the unspoken resentment a thick wall between them, eventually did. The silent tension between them was too heavy to bear under the constant pressure of idol life, a crack in their brotherhood. One late night, he found Chan staring out the dorm window, lost in thought. "Hyung," Han said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I… I'm still mad about it, believe me. It hurt me too. But I miss you too. We need to be okay. As a group, we can't let this break us." Chan just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of forgiveness and shared pain, a fragile truce. The other members, too, slowly, resignedly, reverted to their old ways, accepting the discomforts as an inevitable part of their careers. They missed you, desperately, but the hope of your return dwindled with each passing month, replaced by a quiet resignation.

And Chan, through it all, finally understood. The empty space you left behind wasn't just a missing stylist; it was a void in his life, a silent reproach to his own insecurities, a constant, visceral reminder of his harsh, cutting words. He had fallen for you long ago, slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments behind the scenes, during late-night recording or editing sessions where he'd often find himself thinking of your gentle corrections, your unwavering support, your quiet strength.

He had always made sure not to hurt you, to never cross that line, to protect that unspoken bond, that fragile trust… and that's exactly what he had done. He wasn’t afraid of losing you, not exactly, not in the typical sense of fearing how he would be without you, how it would affect himself. That kind of fear, he now realized, was selfish.

But hurting you?

That pained him to his very core. That was a different kind of terror. He had always believed that being afraid of losing someone meant being afraid of how one would be without that person, how it would affect themselves. But being afraid of hurting someone meant being afraid of leaving a mental scar, a painful memory that they would carry forever, a wound they might never fully heal from. And he had hurt you. Brutally. He had watched you walk away because of his own words, his own self-doubt, his own inability to see his worth. The realization was a torment he carried every single day, a constant, gnawing regret that ate at him from the inside out, a silent scream in his chest.

Two years had passed by in a blow, each day a slow, grinding testament to the void you'd left. The memories of your easy laughter, your firm but gentle touch during styling, and your fierce protection had faded slightly around the edges, but the impact of your absence was a constant, dull ache for all the members. Chan, especially, carried a heavy burden. Han had keenly observed his Hyung's quiet torment – the way Chan would replay old videos of them, of you effortlessly styling other groups at music shows, his gaze lingering on your figure. He'd catch Chan scrolling through old fan photos, zooming in on your fleeting appearances in the background. Everyone had picked up on the signals; it was clear, painfully so, that Chan was suffering and that he missed you more than words could say.

"He's never going to move on, is he?" Felix whispered to Han one night, watching Chan stare blankly at a screen. "It's like he's stuck."

Han sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He won't. Not until he gets a chance to fix it. He messed up, yeah, but he's been kicking himself for two years straight."

He hatched a plan, a desperate, audacious gamble, unsure if it would work, but it was worth a try. He knew you'd blocked all their numbers, even the company's official lines. You’d probably changed yours too. But he also knew you were meticulous, always checking for new opportunities, especially if they came from an unfamiliar but professional source.

"Okay," Han muttered to himself, scrolling through his contacts. He found an old, burner phone number he’d used for a brief, ill-fated prank war months ago. Perfect.

He crafted a message carefully, trying to sound as un-Han-like as possible, adopting an overly formal, slightly stiff tone.

To: [Your old number & a guess at your new number] From: [Fictional Company Name] - Mr. Jin Subject: Urgent Styling Opportunity

"Dear Y/N, I hope this message finds you well. My name is Jin, manager at [Fictional Company Name]. We have an urgent project requiring a stylist of exceptional reputation and innovative vision, specifically with a keen understanding of idol comfort and authentic expression. Your name has come highly recommended. We are looking to revolutionize our group's image. Would you be available for a confidential meeting to discuss this potential collaboration? Please reply to this number at your earliest convenience. Regards, Mr. Jin."

He re-read it, wincing at the overly formal phrasing, but deciding it might just sound legitimate enough to pique your professional interest. He pressed send, holding his breath.

To his utter surprise, that very night, his burner phone buzzed. A text message, short and to the point.

To: Mr. Jin From: [Your new number] "Dear Mr. Jin, Thank you for reaching out. I am available for a meeting. Please propose a time and location suitable for your schedule. Regards, [Y/N]."

Han almost dropped the phone. It worked! A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face, quickly followed by a rush of nerves. Now for the hard part: getting Chan there, oblivious, and then getting out of the way. This was either going to be the best plan he'd ever concocted, or the most catastrophic.

A few days later, after a particularly grueling dance practice that left the members drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, their muscles aching, Han, surprisingly cheerful despite the workout, casually approached Chan. "Hey, Hyung," Han said, swinging his arm around Chan's shoulders, a mischievous glint in his eye that Chan, in his own weary state, barely registered. "I'm starving. Absolutely famished. Wanna grab some coffee? There's this new, not-so-famous cafe down the street I heard about – supposed to have really good pastries."

Chan, still feeling a vague, persistent sense of unease from the unresolved tension of the past weeks, and the constant, throbbing void in his life where your presence used to be, simply grunted in agreement. "Sure, why not. Anything beats staying in the dorms staring at the ceiling, thinking." He was simply glad Han was talking to him again, without the usual subtle undercurrent of disappointment or coldness that had been present in their interactions for so long. It felt like a fragile truce, a tiny crack of light in his self-imposed darkness.

They dressed quickly, pulling on hoodies and baseball caps, the familiar disguise for anonymity, and walked the short distance in the crisp evening air. The city lights began to twinkle, blurring into streaks as cars rushed past. As they neared the cozy-looking cafe, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement, Han paused, feigning a sudden, panicked realization. "Alright, Hyung, I actually need to run back to the dorm for something I totally forgot. My phone! You know how I am – useless without it." He gave Chan a wide, innocent grin, almost too innocent. "Mind going in ahead? Just tell them you're with 'Mr. Jin.' We have a table reserved. He’s already there, probably."

Chan's brow furrowed in confusion, a tired sigh escaping him. "'Mr. Jin'? Who on earth is Mr. Jin?" he asked, scanning the cafe's unfamiliar facade, a vague suspicion tickling the back of his mind, but he was too tired to argue.

Han just shrugged, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. "Ah, you know, we're well-known, brother. Company connections, maybe? Just go in, I'll be right there. Don't worry about it, Hyung, just grab the table." He gave Chan a light shove towards the entrance, a gesture of fraternal encouragement.

It was a flimsy, almost ridiculous, but seemingly reasonable enough excuse, especially coming from Han. Chan, still a bit confused but trusting Han, pushed open the cafe door. The warm, inviting aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, tinged with a hint of cinnamon, filled the air, a comforting contrast to the lingering chill outside. A young waiter, bustling but polite, approached him with a professional smile.

"Reservation for Mr. Jin?" Chan asked, feeling a little silly saying the name out loud, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

The waiter's smile brightened. "Ah, yes, right this way, sir. Your party is already seated." He led Chan through the cozy, dimly lit interior, past the gentle murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups, to a secluded table nestled in the back, near a large window overlooking the street.

You were sitting there, nursing a half-empty latte, scrolling through your phone, completely engrossed in something on the screen, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration. As the waiter gestured towards the table, you looked up, your eyes meeting his across the small, round surface. Time, for a heart-stopping moment, simply ceased to exist. Both of you froze, a silent, electric shock rippling through the air. The gentle hum of the cafe faded into an indistinguishable buzz, swallowed by the sudden roaring in Chan's ears. You lowered your phone slowly, almost reverently, your mouth slightly agape, a mixture of profound surprise and something akin to a guarded curiosity flickering in your eyes. Chan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, dizzying rush of blood to his head. It was really you. After two agonizing years, standing right there, looking both utterly familiar and heartbreakingly distant.

Outside, pressed against the glass wall like a grinning gargoyle, Han watched the scene unfold. He saw the instant recognition, the collective paralysis, the unspoken tension that hung between you two. A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He pumped a silent fist in the air, a quiet victory dance, before turning and practically skipping back to the dorms, his mission accomplished, a hopeful lightness in his step.

Chan slowly, almost mechanically, pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, his limbs feeling heavy and disconnected, as if gravity had intensified. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, a silent plea in his gaze, a desperate hope blooming in his chest. You, meanwhile, were already holding up your phone, displaying a text conversation. "This is you, isn't it?" you accused, a wry eyebrow raised, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a ghost of the old warmth he remembered so vividly. "Trolling me over texts, pretending to be 'Mr. Jin' from some random company? I almost took the bait, you know. I even looked up their fictional website."

Chan leaned forward, peering at the screen, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him, followed by a surge of gratitude towards Han. He recognized Han's overly formal, slightly ungrammatical writing style instantly. "Oh my god," he mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck, warmth flooding his cheeks, not just from embarrassment, but from the overwhelming proximity to you, the sheer reality of your presence. "Han! I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. He set me up completely. I swear. I would never…" His voice trailed off, lost in the enormity of the moment.

You sighed, a small, exasperated sound, but nodded, a flicker of something in your eyes – perhaps understanding, perhaps resignation, perhaps a hint of the old affection. "I figured as much. He always was a menace, that one. And surprisingly dedicated when he sets his mind to something." You began to gather your things, reaching for your bag, the brief amusement fading, replaced by a familiar, guarded distance that chilled him. "Well, since this was clearly a setup, and not a legitimate meeting, I should probably go—"

"Please wait!" Chan blurted out, his voice thick with a sudden, desperate urgency, a raw, primal fear that you would disappear again. His hand instinctively shot across the table, lightly, almost reverently, holding your wrist, stopping your movement. His fingers were surprisingly warm against your skin, a jolt of familiar contact after so long, sending shivers through him, a stark reminder of everything he'd lost. "Ten minutes. Please. Just ten minutes. That's all I ask. Don't leave again." His voice was raw, pleading, a crack in his usual composure, utterly exposed. He felt like he was suffocating, this one fragile chance to explain, to atone, slipping through his grasp.

You hesitated, your eyes searching his, seeing not just desperation, but a profound vulnerability, a deep, silent anguish there that truly surprised you. The grip was light, but firm, a silent plea that resonated deep within you, touching a dormant chord of concern. After a long moment, watching the raw emotion play out in his eyes, the unshed tears reflecting the dim cafe lights, you slowly released your bag and sat back down, a small, resigned sigh escaping your lips. "Ten minutes," you conceded, your voice soft, almost a whisper, a fragile thread of hope linking you.

He nodded, a visible wave of profound relief washing over his face, as if he'd just been granted a stay of execution, a reprieve from an unbearable sentence. He pulled his hand back, then, driven by a sudden nervous energy that made him incapable of sitting still, he got up from his seat and began to pace the small area around the table, his words tumbling out in a sincere, rapid-fire apology, a confession he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his head, each word weighed and re-weighed, now bursting forth with unbridled emotion.

"I know… I know what I said was messed up," he started, running a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for just a glimmer of the kindness he remembered. "That night… I was just so frustrated, so angry. But it wasn't about you, not really. It was all about my own stupid insecurities. My own hang-ups about how I looked, how I was perceived, how I felt like I was never enough. Like I always had to be perfect for everyone else, even if it meant hating myself. And I hated that I hurt you. I saw your face," his voice cracked here, a raw, exposed nerve, "and… and I knew I messed up so badly. The look in your eyes… it just shattered me. It still shatters me every time I close my eyes. You didn't deserve that. You were only ever trying to help me, to protect me from the very things I was too blind to see, too conditioned to accept about myself. And I just… I threw it back in your face like a complete idiot, like a coward." He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, his gaze intense, earnest, pleading. Tears welled in his eyes, though he fought them back fiercely, blinking rapidly. "I know you're not supposed to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it, to be honest. I’ve lived with that regret every single day."

He took a shaky breath, then continued, his voice dropping, his confession raw and vulnerable, laden with years of unspoken feelings, a dam finally breaking. "But I just… I don't know what to do without you around. It's been two years, [Y/N], and it still feels like… like there's something fundamentally missing. Like a part of me just… wasn't right when you weren't there. Everything felt… muted. Less real. The colors drained from everything. The jokes didn't land right. Even the music felt a little emptier. I missed your presence, your perspective, your just being you."

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "And… and I liked you. More than 'liked.' I tried to deny it, tried to push it down because it felt wrong, complicated, impossible. Because you were our stylist, and I was an idol, and there were rules, and fear. But I…I fear that I love you, [Y/N]. I know it's crazy. I know it's wrong, you were our stylist, and I’m an idol, and it's all so messed up and complicated, and I’m probably going to regret saying this later, risking everything, but… I’m fucked, [Y/N]. I truly, deeply, unequivocally love you. I missed you more than I can even begin to say. Every single day was a struggle, a constant reminder of my own stupidity, my own foolish pride. And I’m still a mess, okay? A guy filled with insecurities, a heart that can't quite explain what it is or what it wants… but even then, even though I'm all that… I would always be yours, no matter what. My heart belongs to you, always has, even when I was too stupid to realize it. But if you gave me a chance… I want to get to know you again. Not just as an idol and a stylist. As a friend, first. And then… if it's okay… if you could ever find it in you… I want to try for something more. Something real. Something honest. With you. Always with you." He finished, breathless, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you, raw and exposed, a silent plea for forgiveness and a future he desperately craved.

You stood up. The ten minutes he’d begged for were over, but the weight of his raw confession hung heavy in the air, vibrating between you like a plucked string. Every agonizing word, every exposed vulnerability, echoed in the quiet space.

"Ten minutes are over," you stated, your voice calm, betraying nothing of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you—the profound surprise, the lingering hurt, and the unexpected tenderness his raw honesty had stirred. The urge to stay, to reach across the table and bridge the chasm that had formed between you, was immense, almost overwhelming, but the hurt of the past two years, the cold sting of his cutting words, was a formidable wall, still too high to easily climb.

You turned and walked past him, heading towards the exit, the faint scent of his cologne, a familiar comfort, now tinged with the desperation that had clung to his every plea. You reached the door, your hand resting on the cool metal handle, the decision to leave or stay warring within you.

Just as you were about to push it open and step back into the anonymity of the bustling street, you paused. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your posture. Then, slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. A small, knowing grin, a ghost of a smile he once knew, a hint of the playful teasing he remembered so fondly, played on your lips. "See you soon… Christopher."

Then, without another word, you pushed the door open and walked out into the late afternoon bustle, disappearing into the crowd like a fleeting shadow. Poor Chan was left utterly confused, rooted to the spot, staring after you, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The cryptic farewell, the almost-smile, the use of his full name – it tore at him. Did it mean something? Or nothing at all? Was it a promise, or just a polite dismissal?

The next week passed in a blur of anticipation, doubt, and a gnawing uncertainty for him, each hour stretching into an eternity as he replayed your words, your smile, that single, enigmatic glance. He found himself dissecting every syllable, searching for hidden meanings, for any sign of hope. Sleep offered little solace, his dreams filled with your face, both near and impossibly far.

It was time for their next tour, a sprawling schedule of concerts across multiple continents, a whirlwind of flights, rehearsals, and performances. The usual excitement was overshadowed by an underlying tension, a silent worry about the impending change in staff. As he was meticulously packing his suitcase, folding clothes with obsessive precision, trying to decipher the cryptic meaning of your parting words, the dorm room door burst open without a knock. The other members piled in, an unusual seriousness on their faces.

"Hyung! Urgent meeting in five minutes!" Jeongin announced, his usual bright energy replaced with a grim, almost apprehensive tone.

"Yeah, the manager sounded super serious," Felix added, his usual cheer subdued. "He said it's about the tour staff, specifically about the new stylist."

Chan's stomach twisted. He braced himself for another cold, impersonal professional. As confused as the others by the sudden announcement, he quickly zipped up his bag and headed to the main office where their manager sat, a stern, unreadable expression on his face. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, heavy with the collective dread of the unknown.

"Alright, boys," the manager began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, his eyes sweeping over their anxious faces, seeming to relish the dramatic reveal. "I have an important announcement regarding your upcoming tour. As you know, we've been looking for a long-term solution for your styling needs." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're getting a new stylist, effective immediately for this tour."

A collective groan, low and heartfelt, filled the room, a wave of palpable disappointment washing over them. "Oh, no," Seungmin mumbled, slumping further in his chair, already picturing the rigid, impersonal approach they’d come to dread, the return of uncomfortable outfits and forced looks.

"Not another cruel one," Han muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, exchanging a worried glance with Changbin. The memory of the past two years, with the cold, detached stylist and the relentless return of old discomforts like Han’s body tapes, weighed heavily on them all. Their hopeful spirits had been slowly chipped away.

Just then, as if on cue, the office door opened. All heads snapped towards it. And then, you walked in. Your gaze swept over the surprised faces of the members, a faint, mischievous glint in your eyes as you took in their slumped postures and glum expressions, a knowing amusement playing on your lips. Your eyes finally landed on Chan, and a subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably knowing smile played on your lips, a direct, unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation, a silent question hanging between you.

"Seems like you all don't want me… sure then, I will go b—" You began, your voice laced with playful challenge, a hint of teasing that was so uniquely you.

Before you could even finish the sentence, a roar of pure, unadulterated relief and joy erupted in the room. Han and Felix, moving with a speed that belied their earlier exhaustion, had already sprung from their seats, practically tackling you in a synchronized, relieved hug. "You're back! Oh my god, [Y/N], ahhhhhh, I swear we missed you too much!" Han mumbled into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion, careful not to let the manager hear the sheer, overwhelming happiness in his voice. "We thought you were gone for good! We thought we messed up forever!"

"Don't you dare go anywhere ever again!" Felix exclaimed, tightening his embrace, his voice cracking with relief. "We hated the others! They made us wear itchy sweaters!"

The rest quickly joined in, a tangle of arms and excited exclamations, their previous gloom instantly evaporated, replaced by a radiant collective joy. "No! We do want you! We need you!" Seungmin exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin, tears glistening in his eyes. "We really, really do!"

"You have no idea how much we missed you, Stylist-nim!" Hyunjin added, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness, a rare unguarded emotion. Even I.N., usually the quietest, was beaming, his usual reserved demeanor replaced with pure delight as he clung to your arm. "It's so good to have you back."

As for Chris, he simply stood, rooted to the spot, a profound sense of utter, unburdened relief washing over him, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. A genuine, unadulterated smile, the first truly free one in two years, spread across his face, lighting up his features and reaching deep into his eyes. His heart swelled, a warmth spreading through his chest, seeing you there, safe and sound, surrounded by the joy you brought to the group. He just smiled at you, a silent, heartfelt welcome home, a wordless apology and a renewed promise echoing in his gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything.

They soon backed off, untangling themselves from you, though Han still kept an arm loosely around your shoulders, as if afraid you might vanish again. The manager, looking distinctly put out by the blatant display of affection and the interruption to his formal announcement, cleared his throat loudly, regaining his composure. He looked at you, then at the group, his expression still stern, attempting to reassert control. He began rattling off all the "rules" and expectations for the tour, the company's directives, the strict guidelines for their image – rules you, of course, had no intention of following if they compromised your principles or the members' well-being. You just smiled sweetly, meeting the manager’s gaze with a confident, knowing look, a silent promise to yourself and to the boys that things were about to change for the better, once again. This time, for good.

The tour was a whirlwind, a triumphant blur of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and adrenaline-fueled performances. With every passing day, the group grew closer, their bond strengthening, mending the cracks that had formed in your absence. You effortlessly slipped back into your role, not just as their stylist, but as their confidante, their shield. The manager's "rules" quickly became polite suggestions you creatively circumvented. Han's body tapes, once a painful reminder of past discomfort, were gone for good, replaced by innovative layering and clever fabric choices that allowed his tattoos to peek out when appropriate, or be subtly covered without irritation. The other members felt a renewed sense of confidence, embracing their natural hair textures and varied skin tones under your encouraging guidance.

Chan and you, in particular, grew closer than ever before. The initial awkwardness after his confession had quickly melted away, replaced by a comfortable, almost electric familiarity. There were stolen moments backstage, whispered conversations on long bus rides, and shared glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes. The members often caught you two being "too close," their knowing smiles and raised eyebrows a constant, playful commentary. You'd laugh it off, still calling yourselves "friends," a private joke that only deepened the unspoken understanding between you.

It was a delicate dance, navigating the professional boundaries of your roles with the undeniable pull that drew you together. The trust was back, stronger than ever, built on the foundation of his raw honesty and your quiet forgiveness. His lingering insecurities about his appearance began to fade under your consistent affirmation. He found himself looking at his curls in the mirror not with disdain, but with a new sense of appreciation, remembering your gentle touch, your unwavering belief in his natural beauty. The memory of his harsh words still pricked, but now, it served as a stark reminder of how far he had come, and how much he valued the person who had brought him back to himself.

A year slipped by in a joyful blur, marked by the steady hum of a rekindled connection. The tour ended, but the closeness between you and Chan only deepened. It became a cherished routine: late-night sneak-ins to each other's hotel rooms on tour, or hushed tiptoeing down the dorm corridor after the others were asleep. These secret rendezvous were filled with movie nights, deep talks that stretched into the early hours, and even soft cuddles on the couch or a shared bed, a comforting warmth radiating between you. Intimacy, however, remained a silent, unspoken promise, a tender line you both respected, a slow burn of anticipation that made every touch, every shared glance, electric.

Until…

It was October 3rd, his birthday. A significant day for both him and Stay. After a long day of live streams, fan greetings, a special broadcast of "Chan's Room," and being out of the dorm for various schedules, he returned, utterly exhausted but content. As he pushed open the door to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was transformed. Balloons in silver and black floated near the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow, and the unmistakable aroma of his favorite comfort food filled the air. A small table was laden with drinks and snacks, but what truly caught his eye was a human-sized, clumsily wrapped gift sitting conspicuously on his bed. A note, written in familiar handwriting, was taped to the door: "Suggestion: lock the door, don't want the kids in."

He giggled, a genuine, delighted sound that bubbled up from deep within him. "Oh, you guys," he murmured, his heart already swelling with affection. He carefully closed and locked the door behind him, a sense of playful anticipation bubbling in his chest.

"My human burrito!" he exclaimed, hovering over the immense wrapped present on his bed, his eyes wide with curiosity and a growing hope. He carefully tore away the layers of wrapping paper, his fingers fumbling in his eagerness. As the last sheet fell, a burst of laughter erupted from within the paper, and then, much to his utter astonishment, Han unfolded himself from the box, bursting into laughter himself at Chan's priceless, crestfallen expression. Han had seen the brief flicker of disappointment, the way Chan’s eyes had gone from wide expectation to utter bewilderment. He had been hoping, oh so desperately, for you.

From the bathroom, where you had been hiding, barely containing your own amusement, you too erupted in uncontrollable laughter, stepping out into the room.

"Get off him, Chrisie, unless~" Han teased, his eyes dancing with mischief, already wiggling out of the box and heading for the door. "Don't want to interrupt anything!" He shot a knowing wink at you both, giggling like a maniac.

Chan, totally embarrassed, backed away from Han, his face a fiery red. "Yah, Han Jisung!" he protested, a mock glare on his face. He had been tricked! The little menace! Han walked out, still cackling, leaving the door ajar. Chan quickly moved to close and lock the door again, a more deliberate, hopeful click this time.

You emerged fully from the bathroom, dressed in a sleek black satin dress that shimmered in the soft fairy lights, clinging to your figure in all the right places. You were still laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny, hm?" Chan said, a playful smirk twisting his lips as he pinned you gently against the wall beside the bathroom door, his hands resting lightly on either side of your head.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle your laughter, your eyes sparkling up at him. "Sorry, Channie~" you cooed, the affectionate nickname rolling off your tongue naturally.

"Nope, won't forgive ya," Chan said, feigning seriousness, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Whyyyy? It was a prankkkk, Chrissssss," you whined, leaning into his space playfully. "What do I do so you forgive me, you evil man?"

Chan's smirk deepened, a slow, predatory warmth entering his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Simple," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. "Kiss me like you own me, darling. Just like the one you always have been wanting to. Just like the way your thoughts go straight to hell when you look down at my lips and then away. You think I won't notice, love?" He lowered his head, his gaze intensely fixed on your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question. Then, with deliberate slowness, he grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him, the soft satin of your dress brushing against his clothes.

You didn't need to be asked twice. The unspoken promise of a year, the yearning that had simmered between you, finally erupted. You kissed him, rough, raw, hungry, a culmination of years of longing, of unspoken words, of pain endured and hope sustained. His lips were soft, yet firm, tasting of coffee and the lingering excitement of his birthday. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if to meld your bodies together. It was a kiss that devoured the past and ignited the future, a symphony of desperate need and profound love.

After the passionate make-out session, breathless and flushed, you pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other. You whispered, your voice husky, "I love you, Chris."

He opened his eyes, a radiant, triumphant smile breaking across his face. He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. "I love you more. Don't argue, it's my birthday."

You just rolled your eyes, a wide, utterly contented smile gracing your lips, and hugged him tightly, finally home, finally, truly, in his arms.

…The End

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Second Chance At Love Epilogue

Warnings: none, maybe slight mental health issues

A/N: sorry for the wait, writing fluff doesn't come easy to me... but damn, I am incredibly thankful for everyone that has been engaging with this fic! 💌 it's been a pleasure, and I can't wait to create more for you wonderful people! ✨️

[Six Weeks Later]

"Had a nightmare again?"

Mark's half-lidded eyes were locked on you, wiping his wettened lashes dry before nuzzling against your chest again. He had fallen asleep on top of you while cuddling on the sofa, seeming rather peaceful until suddenly he had started getting restless and whisper concerning things in his sleep.

Those present days his only trouble was an irrational fear that he might hurt you during one of his night-terrors, and yet he was also too anxious of losing you again to not be at your side 24/7. So he had taken on the habit to simply hold you in his arms as and forcing himself to stay awake, admiring and protecting you even throughout the whole night.

Most of the time he'd just randomly pass out due to exhaustion, just like it had happened earlier. It's a miracle how he can even be functioning on so little rest, but Mark kept assuring you he's had it worse before and sadly, you did take his word for it.

"Mhh..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shun out the unpleasant memories haunting his dreams and instead concentrates on your heartbeat in order to calm his own.

You're alive. You're here with him. This is real.

"A true nightmare would be waking up and see you gone" your boyfriend mumbled shyly as his panicked breathing slowly evens out, trailing an absentminded path of kisses along your collarbone.

Sometimes doubt would overcome him, thinking this was too good to be true, that maybe he just completely lost his mind and made it all up in his head.

"Hey, I'm with you" you coo sweetly, planting a wet kiss on the crown of his head. It's like you always have the words he needs to hear on the tip of your tongue.

"I know, I know..." Mark's grip on you loosens a bit, although his hands remained possessively hooked to your body. "Thank you."

You try sitting up but a noise of protest drang to your ear, making you giggle as the man climbed on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

"Mark..." His mouth plays with the shell of your ear, making a pleasant shiver run down your spine. You let out a sensual sigh, hands disappearing under his shirt to feel up his muscular chest, before softly pushing him away. "We're already late..."

Your boyfriend sat up, still straddling your waist as his eyes darted throughout the room, trying to look anywhere but your face. "Are you, uh...are you sure William is okay with me accompanying you to his birthday party?"

"He specifically asked me to bring you along" you snicker, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to pull him in for another kiss. He practically melts when he feels his lips move against yours, even after all this time. He'd never get tired of this, of you.

Mark's face is adorably flushed when you finally break contact, and you poke his chest in a teasing manner, offering him a cheeky grin. "So don't worry too much, okay?"

"Alright..." he murmurs under his breath, letting himself dramatically plummet onto you again. "Ugh, this is gonna be so awkward..."

Indeed...

With the sheer endless rebuild and trying to figure out your boyfriend's place in this world, there wasn't really much time for you to have a long overdue talk with this world's Mark and his girlfriend Eve.

"We need to get it over with eventually, right? The party is a great opportunity."

Those past weeks have been rather eventful, and frankly a lot is still complicated.

You haven't even let him meet your parents yet, since it'd be hard to explain why the man you're dating looks exactly like your childhood best friend down to the last minicule detail. A long lost twin, maybe? Damn, Cecil better earns his taxpayer's money and come up with something - it's a exhausting to keep your relationship a secret as technically, your boyfriend shouldn't exist in this dimension.

But ever since he was officially allowed to stay and roam freely, he's relentlessly working to make amends for his deeds.

He once confided in you that he's afraid of his father- no, Nolan's return to earth - because even though it's not the same version that tormented him all these years, he was afraid to relapse and lose control at the mere sight of him.

But that's a worry for another day. One step at a time.

Initially Cecil wanted your Mark to become the Guardian's new leader, however that 'the strongest leads' mindset was too similar to Viltrum culture for his liking. Not to mention he has yet to earn their trust, and is still not completely mentally stable.

When he first joined the team, everyone was - and frankly, still is - pretty wary, if not downright hateful towards him. After everything they needed to endure because of the variants, it's no wonder really. And yet, up until now they managed to swallow their feelings and treating him polite and respectful, though distanced, which is more than he could dare asking for.

A small victory is that the knowledge he got from his own timeline proved useful against many foes to come. Like that he's already indirectly averted so many dangers and saved countless lives!

One would think that after defeating an enemy as ferocious as Conquest through shared efforts, the two Marks would get along by now, right? But actually they were far from it, neutral at best.

Cecil insisted that both Marks could share their identity as Invincible, down to having the same costume and all. You were surprised that the original Mark had declined, as it would've certainly worked in his favor to have more free time and less responsibility. Seems like he was against having a variant - with questionable morals at best - act in his stead. You got the sentiment.

Your Mark on the other hand was willing to accept whatever circumstances he was handed, as long as it meant that the two of you could stay together. Besides that, he didn't really care about anything else.

Much to your delight at least, he's slowly but continuously getting better, with the help of a therapist the GDA had provided. You're a little distrustful of anyone working for them, but they basically owned your boyfriend by now - and also, there's no regular therapist on this earth that would be able to unpack all of his issues.

All that counts is that it's working. He's been unrecognizeable compared to his former self, getting out of his shell lately and cautiously opens up to other people and experiences again. It's truly heartwarming to see him try to enjoy life again, because he deserves nothing less.

You were so incredibly proud of the progress he made, and would do anything to support this wonderful, resilient and kind man leaving his dark past behind.

One prolonged shower the both of you took together later, and you were almost ready to leave for the evening.

"At least in my empire didn't have to wash the dishes anymore" you hear him whine ironically as he rummaged the kitchen, making you snicker. "I was soaking them!" you said in a fake offended tone, but you knew he was just stalling. "We can do them together later. Let's go!"

Looking around your rundown apartment sure makes one wonder how luxuriously he probably lived in his world. You were just glad to afford anything to live alone, but this sure must be a downgrade for him. "Now that you finally get payed by the GDA we could affort to move somewhere nicer? I mean you basically live with me already."

"Don't overthink it, I was just trying to be funny." You sulk a little, almost smearing your lipstick while applying. "Yeah, we need to work on your humor too apparently..."

"You know I wouldn't trade this- you for anything in the world...we could be living in a trashcan and I wouldn't complai- woah..." As Mark stepped into the entrance area his jaw dropped at your getup.

His eyes couldn't stop raking up and down your form, admiring how your outfit highlighted your body in all the right places. Anything from the way you wore your hair over the necklace he got you with his first paycheck, it was a sight to behold.

The most important accessory however was the radiant smile that appeared on your face when you noticed his reaction, so warm and bright that it felt as if bathing in sunlight itself.

"Wow, you, uh...you look incredible."

Only now he realized for how long he has been staring, and your innocent smile turned into a wide, amused one as you noticed the effect you had on him.

"The compliment goes right back!" You wink at him and Mark swings an arm around your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "How do I even deserve you?"

"It should be me asking that question" he insists, ignoring the way his stomach churns at the thought of meeting all of your friends. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

7:20 pm and you're finally at the bowling alley, not even half an hour too late. A new record. And as you were soon told, the party didn't start until 10 minutes later - you were just given an earlier time since they knew Mark would be late in any dimension.

To be perfectly honest, you were surprised that William invited your boyfriend, yet kept quiet to not worry him any further. But a few weeks prior you tried to get them acquainted, and of course William had pestered Mark about his counterpart's fate - until the latter finally confessed having gruesomely killed him at his father's request.

You reassured him that it was William's fault for riddling him with so many uncomfortable questions, and that he shouldn't have asked if he can't handle the truth. Seems you were right at least, there's a reason they were best friends across so many timelines.

The two of you were the first to arrive, before the actual birthday boy even, and still you needed to coax your boyfriend - who was currently spiraling - inside like one would lure in a timid animal.

You could only imagine what went through everyone's mind as they entered one after anothe - especially since not only them, but also Amber and her new partner had come. Feeling the anxiety radiating off of him, you remained at your boyfriend's side, squeezing his hand ever so slightly to remind him you're not going anywhere.

"Kinda awkward, huh? The relationship dynamics are all over the place" William teased, before turning around and busying himself with playing. "Try to act like adults, I'm busy destroying all of you with my skills."

"You wish!" Eve seemed the least rigid out of all of you, jumping up and materializing a custom bowling ball as she joined the couple. At least she seemed approachable...you'd rather not want to be on the receiving end of such a powerful being's wrath.

To be perfectly honest, seeing the original Mark - your former and hopefully soon again friend - after all this time wasn't nearly as strange as you imagined it'd be. You were glad to see him of course, but other than that you felt nothing but a siblinglike bond between you - the heartache and unrequited love you had felt for so long had vaporized completely.

He wasn't your Mark after all.

A few drinks later the mood loosened up eventually - at least for those of you who could still be affected by alcohol.

"They seem to get along surprisingly well" Amber noted, taking a seat next to you and clinking her bottle with yours, before nodding towards the two Marks conversing in the background. "What are they taking about?"

"They're complaining about the animation of the new Seance Dog season, I think?" You roll your eyes and both of you break out in laughter. "It was the first thing he did after the whole war. Made me sit through the entire thing in one night."

"Glad to hear our world's Mark is not the only hopeless nerd" Eve commented as she joined you two, now effectively trapped in between Mark's ex and his current girlfriend.

You took a deep, shuddered breath, before trying to explain yourself. "Eve, hear me out, before you say anything, I didn't-"

"I know" she interrupted you anyways, shooting you a sympathetic look. "I think we all understand. No matter how crazy the situation is, I think we're used to stuff like this by now..." You huffed an uncomfortable laugh, but she was right wasn't she? "Amber and I have been through similar things not long ago. I had a crush on Mark when they were still together, but we talked it out and are still friends."

"Why would we even be mad?" Amber added, "You never acted on your feelings and respected our relationship with Mark."

"Still, it's just...weird, isn't it?" You're fidgeting with your fingers, eyes darting between your boyfriend and the floor. "I mean, I'm dating a different version of Mark, that's just-"

"But he's his own person. It's not like you're setting for him just because you couldn't get the original, right?"

"Of course not!" you blurt out mildly upset, though you had also once accused your boyfriend of using you as a rebound. "He's not a replacement. He's himself. Even though they look alike and share similar memories, my Mark is different in so many ways...I didn't even plan to, we just happened to fall for each other."

Yeah. It may have started wrong, but the two of you got to know each other beyond your unhealthy obsession for the concept of your other variants.

"I'm glad to hear that" Eve and Amber both lay a hand on your shoulder, proclaiming they're very happy for how things turned out for you and the alternate Mark...

...but were rudely interrupted by the TV volume increasing due to emergency news about a villain rampaging in a nearby city.

"Mark!" all three of you yell in unison, and both of them flinch at the sound and rush towards you.

"We may need to give them nicknames..." You chuckle at Eve's idea, turning your attention to your partner. "Maybe I should call you 'Sebastian' from now on, so we can distinguish you two better?"

"Whatever you say, babe!" he chirps like the lovestruck fool he is, before realizing what was going on. "Oh. I'll go take care of it!" He turns to the original Mark, determination present on his face. "You can stay with your friends."

"You mean our friends" the original corrects him, and both crack a appreciative smile at each other. "And I don't think so. How about we go together?"

"Sure!" his counterpart chants happily, giving you a last quick embrace from behind before going outside. "Should be quick work with the two of us, see ya soon!"

Later this night the two of you were entangled under the sheets, long since stripped of any clothing as you enjoyed the warmth of each other's body. Your boyfriend absentmindedly caresses your skin, raising goosebumps as his fingertips trace little paths across your curves.

"Sooo..." you ask curious, now facing him while you pepper countless kisses across his face. "Did you enjoy the evening after all?"

"You have no idea" he admitted, feeling as content with himself as never before. "It's been forever since things felt so...normal. Also..." His thumb gently stroke your cheek and you eagerly leaned into his touch. "Mark said that our- uh, his mom and brother want to meet me."

"Oh?" Seems like things were progressing even better than you anticipated. "Well, what did you say?"

"I couldn't object even if I wanted to. Opened my mouth and he directly cut me off by saying something like 'what's one more half-viltrumite to accept into the family?'"

"Yeah, sounds like them." You snort with laughter, tears of happiness forming in the brim of your eyes. "But I'm glad, really. There's so many good people who welcome you into their lives now. You are so, so loved, do you know that?"

Mark leans his forehead against yours, briefly closing the gap between your lips. "All thanks to you" he claims, his voice wavering with almost worship-like reverence.

"No, that was all you." He tends to take all the blame but rarely gives himself credit. After the tragic turn his life took, throughout all the pain and loss...in the end he chose to do what's right.

If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him - and you will make sure he gets it.

"Do you think Angstrom will return one day?" You ask cautiously and in an instant your boyfriend has securely cradled you against his chest.

"Of course, that bastard is tough. Being driven by insanity does that to a man, I know what I'm talking about." His joke only caused you to frown, but the sanguine smile plastered on his face was contagious nonetheless. Not to mention you were too drunk and tired to argue anyway. "Don't worry. This time we're two Invincibles, and I'll make sure nothing happens to this world. It's my home now...because you are on it."

Mark proceeds to rub a soothing pattern between your shoulderblades, draping the blanket over both of you as he watched you slowly drift into sleep. He leans in to plant a last, lingering kiss atop of your temple, closing his eyes as well to indulge in this peaceful closeness.

"...maybe I should be thanking Angstrom, for making me meet the true love of my life..."

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