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freezerbrldes · 2 days ago

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short n’ sweet - part 2

“i can do a lot in 15 minutes”

PART 1, PART 2,

PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader

SUMMARY. keeping the promise you made to spencer almost a year ago, you decide to pay him a visit at the bureau…

WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, semi public sex, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, slight angst at the end

AUTHOR’S NOTE. the long awaited sequel to my last fic is finally here! i got a lot of requests to keeping writing about these two so i delivered. sorry it took so long for me to drop this, life has been pretty crazy recently. anyways i hope you enjoy and ill definitely keep writing more parts to this if y’all want.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 2,337

also on ao3

You smiled to yourself as you were led through the halls of the bureau, adjusting your sunglasses and scarf to conceal your identity. It wasn’t that you were a criminal on the run or anything; revealing your true identity right now would be less than ideal.

You had just finished your concert in DC the night before, but there was no way you were leaving without seeing Spencer, even if you only had a few minutes to spare before your tour bus departed.

You met Spencer backstage at one of your shows about a year ago. That night, he asked if he could see you again if you were ever in town, so you—like any sane person—planned an entire 2nd US leg of your tour, because catching a random flight to visit him just wasn’t romantic enough for you.

As you step out of the elevator and are led into a conference room just outside the bullpen, you wait in silence until the door opens again, revealing the man you had yearned for for months. He looks so much different from before. You remove your disguise as he stares back in shock.

“Y/N?” Spencer stammered, “what are you doing here?”

“I had promised you we’d meet if I ever found myself in DC, so here I am!” You smiled as you gazed up and down at Spencer. He had changed so drastically in a short span of time, and you were thoroughly enjoying it.

“Y-yeah, wow—I never actually expected to see you again. I figured you’d forget about me after we-“ Spencer trailed off—trying to organize his thoughts and not to think about the night you shared together all those months ago.

“Of course I’d remember you,” you chuckled, “the long hair threw me off a little bit but I’m digging it.”

Spencer laughs along with you before speaking again.

“D-Do you wanna get coffee or something?” He asks.

“Unfortunately, my tour bus leaves soon so we might have to skip the coffee, but don’t worry, I can do a lot of in 15 minutes.”

You walk over to spencer, practically pushing him up against the door as your fingers played with the tie around his neck.

Spencer's breath hitches as your body presses against his. He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The sudden closeness and intimate contact send a shiver down his spine.

"W-we shouldn't..." he manages to stutter, even as his body responds to yours, a flush rising to his cheeks. “I mean, this isn't... I’m at work.”

Despite his protests, Spencer finds himself leaning into you, craving more of your touch. His hands come up to rest on your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your clothes. The rational part of his mind knows they should stop, that they're in a public place, but the desire burning within him overrides any sense of caution.

"I want you," he admits, his voice low and husky.

“Don’t worry, It’s only gonna take 2 minutes to make you finish,” you grin mischievously as you slowly dropped onto your knees in front of him, slowly undoing his belt teasingly.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees for him. He watches, transfixed, as you unzip his pants with agonizing slowness, his pulse racing with anticipation.

"Oh God," he whispers, his head falling back against the door as you tug his pants open. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, aching for your touch.

Despite the urgency coursing through him, Spencer makes no move to hasten your actions, content to let you set the pace. Your skilled hands and wicked grin are enough to drive him wild with need.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop," you murmur, your hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his thighs as you pull his boxers down. “I'll listen."

Spencer gasps sharply as your warm hand wraps around his stiff member, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of your touch.

"N-no, don't stop," he stammers, his voice thick with desire. "Please..."

He's acutely aware of their surroundings—the door, the hallway beyond, anyone who might pass by and discover them in this compromising position—But the thrill of the risk only adds to his excitement.

"Your mouth..." Spencer whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "U-use your mouth.”

The request comes out more as a plea, desperation lacing his tone. He needs to feel your lips wrapped around him, needs the intense pleasure only you can provide.

"Please..." he repeats, his grip tightening on her shoulders as he urges you closer.

Spencer's moan echoes through the small space as you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. He throws his head back against the door, fingers tangling in your hair as he guides your movements.

"Yeah, just like that," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly as you take him deeper. "Fuck…”

The sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him is almost too much to bear. Spencer's mind goes blank, focused solely on the pleasure radiating through his body.

"Don't stop," he begs, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close already..."

He knows he shouldn't let himself get this carried away, not here, not now. But the feeling of your lips and tongue driving him towards climax is irresistible.

"I'm going to cum.”

Suddenly, you pull away, causing Spencer to let out a pained groan at the loss of contact.

Spencer's eyes fly open, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The abrupt withdrawal leaves him feeling bereft and frustrated, his cock throbbing with unfulfilled need.

"What... what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with confusion and disappointment.

He reaches for you, desperate to recapture the pleasure you were providing, but you evade his grasp with a playful laugh.

"Not yet, Spence," you tease, “we still have 10 minutes left."

With that, you lean in and capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth to claim him thoroughly. Spencer melts into the embrace, surrendering to the passion that consumes him.

As your tongue dances with his own, Spencer's senses ignite once more. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as he loses himself in the kiss. Your taste, the feel of you curves pressed to his body, it all blends together in a heady cocktail of desire.

"Need you," he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back and sides, yearning to explore every inch of you, "I need to be inside you."

Spencer's words are punctuated by hungry kisses as he nips and sucks at your lower lip. His arousal pulses insistently, begging for release, but he's determined to make this moment last.

Spencer's breath hitches as you pull him towards the desk, his heart racing with anticipation. When you hop up onto the cold surface, he's immediately drawn to you, his hands settling on your hips as he steps between your legs.

"Oh God," he groans, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at you. “You're so beautiful..."

Without hesitation, he grips the hem of your skirt and slowly peels it up your thighs, revealing smooth skin and the lacy edge of your panties. Spencer's fingers trace the delicate fabric, his thumb brushing against your damp heat through the material.

"You're soaked," he marvels, his voice low and shaky. "I-I need you so bad."

“Well, take me then, we haven’t got all day,” You teased, chuckling to yourself at his desperation.

A shiver runs down Spencer's spine at your word, his breath catching in his throat. The mixture of teasing and urgency in your voice only serves to heighten his arousal, making his cock throb with need.

"Right, okay," he stammers, his hands shaking slightly as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Just give me a sec..."

With a swift tug, he frees you from the constraints of the fabric, baring you to his eager gaze. Spencer drinks in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he whispers reverently, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your lips. "You’re so gorgeous..."

Slowly, he makes his way upward, kissing and nipping along the tender flesh until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

Spencer's nose brushes against your slick folds as he inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent. With a low growl, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most intimate part to his ravenous gaze.

"So perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could look at you forever..."

Before he can lose himself in your beauty, Spencer dips his head and laps at your clit, reveling in the taste of you.

"Mmm, you taste incredible," he praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he begins to circle the tiny bud with increasing pressure. "Let me make you feel good, baby-“

Before Spencer’s mouth could reach your aching heat, you pull him away by his hair, causing him to let out a husky groan.

“We don’t have time for that right now, Spence, I need you to fuck me,” you demand while still holding him by his hair, reminding him of who’s truly in charge.

Spencer's eyes flash with a mix of frustration and hunger. The commanding tone in your voice sends a thrill of excitement through him.

"Y-Yes, I ma’am," he says quickly, his breathing heavy with pent-up desire.

As you releasing your grip on his hair, Spencer positions himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. “I don't want to hurt you..."

You grip Spencer’s tie and pull his face down to yours, your free hand guides Spencer's cock to quivering entrance.

"Fuck me, Spencer Reid," you demand, biting your lip as you stare deep into his eyes.

With a low groan, Spencer surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat in one swift motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the tightness that envelops him, before beginning to thrust in and out of you.

"Fuuuck, you feel amazing," he gasps, his hips snapping forward with increasing intensity as he loses himself in the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. “So tight and wet... Shit…"

Spencer's hands find purchase on your hips, gripping tightly as he pounds into you, driven by a primal urge to claim you, to make you his.

Only you’re not his, and you never will be…

Spencer's pace becomes erratic as he chases his impending climax, his strokes growing shorter and more forceful. The slick sounds of their coupling fill the air, mingling with their ragged panting and the creak of the desk beneath them.

"Close, so close," he grits out, his muscles coiling tight with tension. “Gonna... gonna cum inside you, Fuck..."

“Me too,” you whimpered, “Come for me, Spencer.”

His name rolling off your lips was enough to send him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, Spencer buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as cums.

The feeling of him filling you to the brim sends you over the edge, your moan out as you clench around his softening cock.

"Oh god, yes," he moans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The sound of your phone buzzing on the table breaks the silence between the two of you. It was your manager.

“Fuck, I got to go,” you say as you push Spencer off of you and quickly redress yourself. “I’m sorry to run off like this but i have a plane to catch.”

Spencer's expression falls as reality sets in, the post-coital bliss rapidly fading. He watches, dazed, as you scrambles to put yourself back together.

He tries to process the sudden shift, the abrupt end to their passionate encounter. Spencer feels unmoored, as if he's been plunged into a nightmare where everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down.

"I... I should probably get cleaned up too," he mutters, his gaze drifting mess left on the desk. “My team is probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

As Spencer starts to gather his scattered belongings, you approach him, a look of apology on your face despite the lingering hint of satisfaction in your eyes.

"I really am sorry, Spence," you say, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. “I didn't mean to leave things like this, but this is just how my life is at the moment.“

Your words are a bomb to Spencer's bruised ego. He nods slowly, trying to muster a smile even as his heart aches at the thought of parting ways so abruptly for a second time.

"Yeah, I get it," he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself, and thank you... for today."

You flash Spencer one last smile before exiting the office.

As the door closes behind you, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts, the weight of the encounter settling heavily upon him. He stands there for a long moment, frozen in a state of emotional limbo, before finally forcing himself to move.

With leaden steps, he trudges back to the bathroom, his reflection in the mirror a pale imitation of the man who made love so passionately mere minutes prior. As he cleans himself up, Spencer can't help but replay the events of the day in his mind, analyzing every word, every gesture, every fleeting glance.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Spencer feels a strange sense of disconnection from the world around him. Everything seems muted, his mind racing with the exhilaration of what went down in that cramped office, the sting of abandonment, and the gnawing uncertainty of what lies ahead.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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rain-water-flowers · 3 days ago

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Let Me In

vampire! sunghoon x vampire!niki x afab!reader

WC: 2986

Synopsis: Sunghoon and Niki have been watching you for a while. After a terrible date with an asshole, they finally make their move to stake their claim over you.

Warnings: unprotected sex (pls dont do), smut, dom!niki, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, biting (lots and lots of biting), marking, claiming, breeding, creampies, stalking, oral (f. receiving), pet names, profanity, threesome, overstimulation, forced orgasm (if you squint), reader isn't the best at self preservation, slight mentions of blood, terrible date, the guy is an asshole, I think that's it? lmk if I miss something

A/N: I am currently working on some asks as well as just free writing. It might take me a minute because it's finals week, but I'm thugging it out and doing my best. If you have a request for a story lmk!! Thanks to my beta @midnighthazee who struggled to read this because it was her biases. Enjoy :))

Enhypen Masterlist

You always felt a chill run through you when the lights were out and you were in bed. Something about the darkness made it seem like you were being watched.

But that’s crazy right? You locked your doors at night, made sure your windows were shut. Even with those precautions you couldn’t help but feel gazes burning into you. It wasn’t that it was necessarily creepy, it was more so…arousing. Sometimes you even felt a whisper of contact on your cheek. A slight little touch. Barely there and barely noticeable.

You knew there was something there, just like when you were walking home from work at night and you felt eyes on you, the energy of someone else. But whenever you looked back, there was nobody.

This feeling started a couple of months ago — taking an afternoon walk through your secluded neighborhood and feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Then it was creepy.

Now, it kinda makes you feel nice. Like you had protectors. You didn’t know for sure that there was someone there, but you had the strongest hunch that there was — and you were seldom wrong.

Tonight, you weren’t thinking about your watchers. You were too busy trying to tame the butterflies in your stomach brought out by the knowledge that your date was tonight. Sam asked you out a couple of weeks ago, and you had been making excuses to keep pushing the date back until you finally ran out. So tonight, you’re going.

He told you that morning to dress nice, make sure to ‘finally get yourself together’ and be ready by 7. You didn’t know what he meant by finally, but you decided to let it go and get yourself ready.

When he picked you up outside of your apartment complex, he simply unlocked the door and told you to get in.

Manners must be hard to come by these days. You thought to yourself.

He then sped off and kept silent until you reached your destination. It was a nice little Italian restaurant, not the fanciest — especially not for the dress you’re wearing — but still cute.

As you sat down at the table with him, you realised why you kept pushing the date off. He was the most boring person you’d ever met. Getting through a conversation felt as draining as getting a dead body through a dense jungle by dragging it by the hand. Most of the conversation was him talking and you nodding silently, sipping your water slowly and simply trying to get through the date.

As you finished up your meal at the end — and he finished up the last conversation about himself — you let him pay the bill and stood up.

“Thanks for taking me out, Sam. Let’s do it again sometime, hm?” You said, grabbing your coat and your purse.

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you know my schedule and tell you when we can meet up again.” He replied, an ugly smile on his face. Little did he know this was the last he was seeing of you.

You nodded and started walking away, already telling him you’ll walk home instead of ride with him. He had agreed easily — not surprisingly — and said something about not wanting to waste the gas.

What an asshole.

As you turned down the road to get back to your neighborhood, you felt that same feeling that you started having a couple of months ago. The feeling of eyes. More intense than usual. Your shoulders tensed out of instinct and you tugged your jacket closed, holding it tight against you.

You could hear a whisper of footsteps — close, quiet, quick.

All of the sudden you were yanked back into one of the hidden alleys along the road, mouth covered by a large hand to muffle your scream.

You were so caught off guard you didn’t even realise how fast you were dragged into the alley or the strength of the person who snatched you.

You were struggling against the hold, thrashing and yelling despite the hand covering your mouth. In the midst of your fight, a face appeared in front of you. You stopped your frantic movements upon seeing his features.

He was so…pretty. Long eyelashes, pretty lips, soft black hair, and gosh his smile, it’s so pretty it makes you have the urge to smile back and— oh.

Are those…fangs? You wonder to yourself, eyebrows furrowing.

Why did he have fangs? They weren’t just slightly sharp teeth either, no. These were long fangs, the tips of them looking sharp enough to puncture your jugular.

You were so focused on his fangs you didn’t even notice his eyes change color, the shade blood red and glowing in the darkness of the alley.

You flinched when you made eye contact, feeling your core tighten. He smirked at your little movement.

So much felt like it was happening and you still hadn’t even seen the person behind you. You brought your hand up to the one covering your mouth, gently placing your hand on it.

The man behind you let out a soft hum. “You gonna be quiet for me? No screaming?” He asked softly in your ear. You nodded gently and he slowly removed his hand, fingers lingering in your bottom lip.

Your breathing was uneven as you continued eye contact with the man in front of you.

“A-are you kidnapping me?” You ask hesitantly.

The one in front of you chuckled, his fangs making him look like he was gonna devour you. MMMM PLS

“No, baby. We’re just…claiming what’s ours.” He said, biting his lip and flashing his fangs after finishing his sentence.

You felt your stomach flip, core filling with arousal. What is wrong with me? You think to yourself.

The man in front of you continues. “If Ni-ki lets you go, are you gonna be good and stay right here? Not gonna try and run? Hm?”

You nod, eyes not able to leave his red ones, feeling as though you were in a trance. The man behind you — Ni-ki, you now know — lets you go slowly, stepping from behind you and joining the man in front of you, finally revealing his face.

He was just as pretty. Features sharp and eyes piercing. His lips drew your attention the most. You wanted to kiss him so bad despite not knowing this man at all.

He smirked at your obvious staring at him and raised his hand to ghost his finger over your cheek.

Oh.

That felt familiar. That tiny whisper of a touch on your cheek. You blushed, and looked up into his eyes, also glowing red.

“Let’s bring her home with us, hyung. Can we? I wanna claim her, make her mine.” Ni-ki said eagerly.

Claim you? What did he mean by that?

The other man nodded, looking back into your eyes, gaze feeling like he was looking into your soul.

“You wanna come home with us, pretty girl?” He asked, grabbing your hand in his and softly gliding his thumb over the top of your hand.

His touch felt cold, no warmth in his hands.

You nodded without thinking, your brain obviously malfunctioning with his gaze on you. There was one question that was sitting in the back of your mind since you saw his fangs.

“What are you?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes looking back and forth between their glowing eyes and fangs. You could take a wild guess, but you wanted to hear them say it.

“Vampires, darling. Sunghoon-hyung and I have been watching you for quite some time, and we know you know.” He responds.

So they were the ones.

You feel butterflies in your stomach at the admission.

“How come you’re just now showing yourselves?” You ask. Why had they been hiding this whole time? Just to come out now?

The older looking one, Sunghoon, raised his eyebrows, his soft gaze on you turning into a glare and making you curl in on yourself.

“Because that asshole had the nerve to touch what’s ours. He shouldn’t be talking to you– let alone think he has a chance with you.” He gritted out, fists clenching by his sides.

You casted your eyes down, nervously avoiding eye contact as his harsh tone ran through you. They seemed jealous, angry enough that it showed in every aspect of their body language.

“Come home with us,” Ni-ki said, grabbing your other hand and looking into your eyes sincerely. The annoyance in their glares faded, and their gazes were soft on you again. How could you say no to them? You were obviously theirs — whether you liked it or not.

As soon as you nodded, Sunghoon picked you up, your legs straddling his waist, and with inhumane speed he brought you back to their house. Ni-ki was right behind as you and Sunghoon came to a stop right in front of their front gate.

Your eyes widened as you saw the house. It was so grand, the architecture of it telling you how old it was. 18th or 19th century if you had to guess.

Sunghoon set you back onto the ground and grabbed your hand. Ni-ki came from behind you and grabbed your other one. With that, they led you into the large house and introduced you to their brothers.

The five other ones were also vampires, you learned, and they had all been living together for centuries. Through their introductions, you discovered Ni-ki was the youngest.

After introducing yourself as well, the two vampires took you up to Sunghoon’s bedroom, the lighting dark and sensual, and the large windows on the far right wall making the room feel bigger. You sat down on his bed, his sheets were silk and soft, perfect to snuggle up and sleep in — but sleep wasn’t what they wanted right now.

As soon as you looked up at them from your spot on the bed, the men moved toward you slowly. Once you were within their reach, they snapped, crushing you between their bodies. Their mouths found yours in a rushed kiss, Ni-ki’s mouth finding your collarbone and sucking marks into your skin, while Sunghoon took your lips passionately — claiming you.

You moaned into their kisses, arching against them as their hands roamed your body with bold possessiveness. Clothes were torn away in a frenzy, lost somewhere in the shadows of Sunghoon’s room. You gasped as the cool air and the cold touch of their skin reached yours, the gasp immediately followed by Ni-ki’s mouth on your nipple.

He sucked hard, drawing your nipple between his teeth and biting down slightly, careful not to hurt you.

At the same time, Sunghoon worked his way down your legs, pushing them apart to expose you. His tongue dragged through your folds, flicking over your clit and making you cry out. He ate you out greedily, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he feasted on you like a man starved.

You were lost in a haze of pleasure, unable to tell where one man ended and the other began. They moved around you like a well-oiled machine, Ni-ki’s mouth on your breasts and neck while Sunghoon fucked you with his tongue and, now, fingers.

When Sunghoon stood and pulled you into his arms, you whimpered at the loss of his mouth on you. The complaints didn’t last long, however, because then you felt Ni-ki's hard cock pressing against your pussy, and all the thought left from your mind. After your deperate whines for him to just fuck you — due to him pushing his tip in and out, but never giving it to you fully — he finally thrusted into you with one smooth, hard motion, filling you completely and making you scream at the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck,” Ni-ki groaned, pulling out and slamming back in again. “You’re so tight, baby. So perfect.”

Sunghoon captured your mouth again as Ni-ki started to move, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the bedroom, mixing with your moans and the men’s growls of pleasure.

Sunghoon pulled away from the kiss, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “We’re gonna make you ours,” he rasped. “Forever.”

You could only whimper in response, your mind too fogged with lust to form words. But some deep part of you knew that this was right, that you were meant to belong to these men for eternity.

As if reading your thoughts, Sunghoon struck, his fangs sinking into the soft skin of your throat. Pain exploded through your veins, followed immediately by a rush of euphoria unlike anything you’d ever experienced. You cried out as you came, your nails digging into Sunghoon’s shoulders as he drank deeply from you.

At the same time, while Ni-ki’s hips were still moving frantically against you, he bit into the other side of your neck, his fangs piercing your flesh and releasing a fresh flood of endorphins and arousal as you orgasmed around him again. You were dimly aware of your blood leaving your body, but it only heightened the pleasure of the fucking. Each pull of their mouths on your throat seems to tug at your core, making you clench around Ni-ki’s hard cock.

The world narrowed down to the point where your bodies joined, to the slide of flesh on flesh and the hot press of fangs in your throat. You could feel yourself climbing toward a third orgasm quickly, your body tensing as Ni-ki’s thrusts grew more erratic.

“Cum for us,” Sunghoon commanded against your skin, his voice a dark growl. “Scream our names. I want everyone to know you’re ours.”

You obeyed, crying out their names as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your vision went white as pleasure consumed you, every nerve ending exploding with ecstasy. Ni-ki snarled as he followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his cum.

As you floated in the aftermath of your earth-shattering orgasm and Ni-ki slid off of you, breath heavy and a satisfied smile on his face, Sunghoon’s hands slid down your body possessively. He cupped your ass and hoisted you up, flipping you onto your hands and knees and gripping your hips to pull you closer to him.

“Again,” he demanded, his voice a dark rumble against your ear. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

You whimpered as you felt his hard cock pressing against your sensitive pussy, still slick with Ni-ki’s cum. “I don’t know if I can,” you gasped. “It’s too much.”

Sunghoon only chuckled wickedly, nipping at your earlobe. “Oh, I think you can, darling,” he whispered in your ear. “And you will. Over and over again until you can’t even remember your own name.”

With that, he thrusted into you, stretching you on his thick cock and making you scream at the sudden invasion. He felt even bigger than Ni-ki, stretching you to your limit.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Even after Ni-ki fucked you so good, baby,” Sunghoon growled, pulling out and slamming back in again. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else.”

You could only moan brokenly as Sunghoon set a punishing pace, his hips slapping against yours as he fucked into you with brutal force. His hands gripped your ass hard enough to bruise, spreading your cheeks and exposing you to his vision.

Ni-ki moved to your side, his lips and tongue exploring the bite mark on your neck. He soothed the wound with his mouth, making it heal even as Sunghoon’s thrusts jostled you and reopened it.

“Look at you,” Niki cooed, his voice thick with desire. “Taking both our cocks like such a good little girl.”

Sunghoon groaned, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you cum for us again, baby. Want you to be an overstimulated mess.”

You shuddered at his words, your pussy clenching around Sunghoon’s throbbing cock. You could feel another orgasm building already, your nerves raw and sensitized from their relentless fucking.

Sunghoon reached under you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “Cum for me,” he commanded harshly. “Cum all over my cock, baby. You can do it.”

You screamed as you came, your body convulsing with the force of it. Beside you, Ni-ki bit down hard on your neck again, sending a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through your system.

But Sunghoon didn’t let up, continuing to pound into you as you rode out the aftershocks. “That's it,” he growled, his eyes glowing red with lust. “I’m gonna fill you up with so much cum you’ll be dripping for days.”

You sobbed, mind going blank as Sunghoon used you for his pleasure. You were dimly aware of Ni-ki’s hands on your body, tweaking your nipples and fondling your breasts as he drank from your neck.

Again and again, Sunghoon pushed you over the edge, fucking you through orgasm after orgasm until you were a mindless, shuddering mess. Each release brought fresh blood from the wounds on your neck, the coppery taste mingling with the salt of your sweat on Ni-ki's tongue.

By the time Sunghoon finally found his own release, you were barely conscious, your body limp and unresponsive in his arms. With a guttural growl, he buried himself deep and flooded you with his cum, marking you as his own.

You collapsed together in a heap, your bodies sticky with sweat and blood and cum. As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you felt Ni-ki and Sunghoon curl around you protectively, their hard bodies shielding you from the cold night air despite their icy skin.

You knew You should be afraid, should be screaming for help and running as fast as you could. But you couldn't bring yourself to care. All that mattered was the feeling of being claimed, of belonging to these men completely.

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slimesludge-space · 2 days ago

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All because of some stupid pants? -part 1

《Simon misunderstood who's pajama pants and shirts the reader has in her closet. Nothing but misunderstandings》

Note: first writing thing and terrible at spelling °~° sooo apologies if I didn't fix all of them °×°

This will be sliced into bits considering it ended up longer than expected.....enjoy??? °~°

Warnings: cursing, implied cheating, miscommunication, agnst

°~~°~~~~~~~°~~°~~~~~°~~°~~~~°~~°

Simon Riley was a dense man, never really understood it until now. You always came back to his place with a book in hand and bag of spare clothes. Dating a small little bird like you for 6 months now before you began inviting him back to your apartment. It was a bit bigger than his place and a hell of a lot more books than he originally thought.

To Simon it was strange being there at first before he also started to bring a few of his things along. You fussed about always going to his place when yours was closer sometimes after dates. Even giving him a key which sealed the deal for him. Sure they might have been going fast but you were gonna be his bird. He knew it the moment he took you back to his place the first time. You always kept him on his toes and he never knew what to expect from you.

Simon had gotten used to bringing you home to his place. Pulling you close and making you forget about where you placed the duffle bag so you would always end up in his clothes....even when he'd hide it and put it back as if it was always there in the first place and maybe you just didn't see it before?

Like a gentleman he is, he offered you his clothes. A T-shirt too big for you and the bold letters on the back that showed off 'RILEY' had always managed to turn him feral and bending you over the closest surface for some quick fun.

One day he stayed longer than a few hours at your place, coming back from a nice brunch and hanging out while his pretty bird talked about the new book you just finished. So imagine his surprise when his girl came out from the bedroom in another guy's pajama pants and a size or two too big of a hoodie he's never seen before. He felt his heart drop and his blood boil. His jaw locked tight while suppressing a growl as you innocently plopped down next to him and started the movie they were supposed to watch that day. At this point Simon didn't give a damn about the movie and more focused on what the fuck type of pants you were wearing. Stupid baggy pants with an even stupid pattern on them. He had to clear his throat from saying something else besides grunting out a question

"what are you wearing?" In as smooth of a voice he could muster while wanting nothing more than to burn everything you were wearing. His little bird had the nerve to innocently look up with the biggest grin as you stood up in front of him to show it off.

"What do you think? These are my favorite actually and look how deep the pockets are! I can literally fit a bag of Swedish fish in these" you stuffed your hands in the pockets like it was the most fascinating thing in the damn world.

Simon wasn't angry anymore....this man was PISSED as he glared at the revolting pants in front of him. Fuckin black pajama pants....MENS pajama pants with the pattern of Homer Simpson running for a fuckin donut and partially bitten donuts scattered around them. Simon's eyes flicker up a bit and clenched his teeth harder and finally read the hoodie for the first time 'peace is irrelevant' with the most stupid drawing of a goose with a knife he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. The only thought going through his head was 'the fuck am I looking at? Fuckin hell, soap would wear something this stupid'

Simon Riley was baffled, wondering what kind of douchbag had managed to fuck his bird before him and what possessed her to KEEP it? All he could do was grunt out half a reply that sounded close to a 'yeah' before turning back to the movie. What used to be his bird only managed to tilt your pretty head and shrugged before snuggling back to his side.

His anger was boiling over more than he cared to admit, struggling to keep his cool before looking down and seeing you fast asleep. Letting out a deep sigh and grabbing the remote and flipping the TV off. Deciding to just ask you tomorrow about the owner of the clothes as he picks you up and heads to the bedroom.

He stopped at the door, taking in the sight of knickknacks and books scattered on display around your room. He couldn't help the chuckle that managed to spill out when his eyes landed on the bed. Pillows and blankets to swim in and a large grumpy looking tiger plush standing proud on the bed. He gently tucked you into bed as his eyes flick up to notice the open closet, making his anger come back tenfold. Silently stalking towards your closet as he slightly nudged the shirts and revealed what he hated most. Yup, more fuckin men shirts than he could care to count. But what hurt the most was seeing a few of his inside the mix, like it was a fuckin collection of all the guys you've fucked in the past. But it didn't. God it didn't end even when he really wished it did.

The terrible bright patterns that managed to peak from his Peripheral vision made him want to punch the wall. He really wanted to give his girl the benefit of the doubt as he pulled the drawer open only to find more stupid looking pajama pants.

Simon's mind raced, his bird was loyal. Never gave the impression of anything otherwise. But even he couldn't deny that this room had enough clothes to show that someone else was definitely sleeping here besides you. His heart ached and cracked in two before hardening shut. He stiffened as he heard a muffled moan of his name slip into the air from the girl he thought was his.

rubbing your eyes before sitting up "sorry, I really did wanna see the movie. We could still cuddle though, I think I have some sweats you can borrow-" your words mumbling at the end and shifting to pull the covers off only to freeze at Simon's sharp tone

"No need. I gotta go, talk later" he pushed the drawer shut with a bit too much force that made your drowsy nature snap wide awake.

"Wait....what?-si hang on!" Your mind was trying to catch up as he was already out the door. Scrambling out of bed to try to catch him but he was already gone.

Heart sinking as you tried to call him, watching each text being left on sent. Pacing in your living room, scrambling for an idea of what set him off. Bottom lip bitten raw, just waited for something- Anything at this point. Thinking back to the entire day yet nothing seemed out of place. Your eyes burned as you pressed over his number one more time. Gripping your hoodie to ground you as the line went dead as soon as the second ring could even end.

Your heart stuttering in hope as it buzzed with a text, only to be stabbed and tossed into the trash as you read the text over and over

"With Sophia. So Stop texting already will you." It was short. Cut and dry and straight to the point as you slumped on the couch and gripped your phone. Vision blurring and a whined sob ripped out of you like your bleeding heart. Dropping your phone as your chest tightened in disbelief and betrayal.

Covering your mouth with your sleeve to muffle the sob as your own anger finally snapped. Heading to your bedroom and yanking his shirts and jackets out of your closet, the hanger snapping from the force before you threw them into the living room. A few of the gifts he had gotten you weren't that far behind in meeting the same fate. The cute jewelry thrown just like his spare boots he kept at the front of the door. Yanking trash bags open to shove any of his products in from the bathroom. Your anger snuffing out as fast as it came when you went back to the mess in the living room, slumping on the floor as you looked around. Hiccuping and sniffling back tears as you shakily opened your phone, wishing, hell....praying that it wasn't real but there it was. A new message, sent of the so called Sophia taking a selfie with his phone at the bar. His hand gripping her side as he looked mid conversation with the bartender.

Whatever hope you had was rightfully tossed out the window with that image. Swallowing the knot in your throat and silently blocking his number before heading to bed and crying yourself to sleep.

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader

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cocqaine · 2 days ago

Text

proving toji you could actually dominate him. dom!reader. sub!toji. usage of good boy. whimpering. riding

toji’s cocky grin doesn’t budge when you push him back onto the mattress. he lounges like he’s entertaining a joke, arms propped behind his head, letting you climb over him with all the patience of a man who thinks he’s still got the upper hand.

“what’s this, sweetheart?” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “gonna try and take charge now? that bratty little mouth finally got the guts to back it up?”

you straddle his waist with a calm he doesn’t expect. no flinching, no blushing. just slow, confident hands grazing down the hard lines of his chest. he’s warm under your palms, scarred, strong—but he isn’t unmovable.

“i’m not trying,” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw. “i am.”

his cock twitches against your thigh, and he shifts like he didn’t mean to react. the smirk stays, but there’s tension in his jaw now.

“bold words,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re lucky i like that mouth.”

you grind down against him—slow, full pressure, just enough to make him grunt, low and sharp in his throat.

“still think i’m playing?”

he opens his mouth to respond, maybe to snap back, maybe to flip you onto your back and fuck the attitude out of you. but your hand closes around his throat—not choking, just a light, possessive pressure—and then you sink down onto his cock in one smooth, perfect stroke.

his entire body tenses.

“f—fuck.”

he groans it like it’s ripped from his chest, hips jerking once beneath you. you don’t move—don’t need to. just sit there, stuffed full of him, and smile like you’ve won.

“what was that, baby?” you ask sweetly, tightening your grip just a little. “didn’t catch that.”

he scoffs, trying to hide the way his breathing’s gone uneven. “tch. i’m just lettin’ you play, princess. you think i can’t flip you over any time—”

you rock your hips once, just the barest movement, and his sentence cuts off with a strangled grunt. he swallows hard. his hands twitch against the sheets.

“don’t touch me,” you order, eyes burning into him. “just lie there and take it. be a good boy for me.”

his eyes go wide, his throat works, jaw clenching. he looks like he wants to say something—maybe tell you to fuck off, maybe growl another threat—but all he manages is a shaky, breathless: “don’t say that shit.”

“what, good boy?” you whisper, dragging your hips in a slow circle. “say it again, toji.”

he groans, deep and wrecked. his hands fist the sheets, muscles twitching like he’s desperate to grab you, but he obeys. doesn’t touch. doesn’t fight.

you start riding him in earnest, taking your time, watching him break open beneath you. the way his abs flex, the way his head tips back—he’s holding back sounds like they cost him something.

you lean forward, kiss his neck. “look at you,” you whisper. “thought you’d wreck me? you’re shaking.”

“you’re fuckin’—” he gasps when you clench around him—“fuck, you’re tight, you’re fuckin’—”

“what?” you murmur, biting his earlobe. “can’t finish your sentences now?”

his head whips toward you, eyes glassy and wild. “evil,” he pants. “you’re fuckin’ evil, holy shit.”

you cup his face, almost tender, running your thumb over the curve of his cheek.

“say please.”

his eyes flutter. his voice drops, hoarse and desperate. “…please. don’t stop.”

you hum, pleased, picking up the pace. riding him hard now, taking everything you want. his hands finally shoot up, but not to stop you—no, he’s grabbing the headboard, bracing himself, moaning like a man possessed.

“you feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans. “fuck, i’m gonna—‘m gonna cum—”

“then cum for me,” you growl. “cum inside me like a good boy.”

he breaks.

his whole body jerks, cock pulsing deep as he cums with a rough, shattered moan—your name torn from his lips like a prayer. he’s trembling under you, thighs twitching, hips bucking uselessly.

but you’re not done. you keep riding him, slower, deeper now—dragging it out, dragging him out.

“no, fuck, fuck, baby—too much—” he gasps, voice cracking. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“what happened to flipping me over?” you mock sweetly. “what happened to ‘letting me play,’ huh?”

he whimpers. toji fushiguro fucking whimpers.

he looks up at you like you’re divine, like he’d drop to his knees if his legs still worked.

“…you’re fuckin’ unreal,” he breathes, lips parted. “you feel like heaven.”

you lean down, kiss the sweat from his jaw, and smile against his skin. “and you feel perfect when you break.”

#jjk smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader

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heliosunny · 20 hours ago

Note

hiiiii, i hope your doing good, i adore how you write charecters and was hoping that you could write Alhaitham for the lucky egg series. Thank you

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The sky split open like a wound as the alien armada descended. Their ships were vast, silent monoliths of silver and obsidian, drifting through the atmosphere.

Governments collapsed within hours. Resistance was met with annihilation so swift, so absolute, that humanity had no choice but to kneel.

You watched from your window as the streets filled with towering figures—elegant creatures with skin like polished onyx and eyes that burned with distant light.

"Compliance ensures survival. Each of you will be assigned an Overseer. They will guide you. Ensure order."

An egg was pressed into your hands. It was heavier than it looked. The alien who delivered it tilted its head, studying you with those depthless eyes before speaking again.

"In three days, it will awaken. Do not resist."

Then it was gone, leaving you standing there, clutching the egg as if it were a bomb.

-Day 2-

You placed the egg on your desk, half-expecting it to move. But it remained still.

That night, you dreamed of whispers.

"Soon."

You woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to your skin.

The news feeds were a graveyard of grim updates. People who had refused their Overseers had vanished overnight. Those who obeyed were rewarded—food, shelter, safety. But at what cost?

-Day 3-

Crack.

Your eyes flew open. The egg on your nightstand was fracturing.

The egg soon split open, and the figure inside unfolded itself.

Fluid dripped from silver hair, evaporating into mist before it could even touch the sheets. The man—because it was a man—lifted his head.

You flinched, fingers digging into the sheets. "Who—what are you?"

"Alhaitham."

He rose. His fingers brushed your cheek, cold at first, then warming unnaturally fast.

"You are my master"

A slow smile curled at the edge of his lips.

"Protect. Guide. Own." His grip tightened, just slightly, as if testing your reaction. "The terms are interchangeable."

-----

You quickly realized that Alhaitham was… different.

The other Overseers, hatched from their eggs in the days following the invasion. A man down the street had one who never smiled, who watched his charge with unblinking precision, correcting even the slightest deviation from the new world’s order.

But Alhaitham?

He was calm.

And he loves reading.

“You have a collection of books,” he remarked, fingers trailing over the spines on your shelf.

You hesitated before answering. “Yes. I like to read.”

He hummed, pulling out a well-worn novel. “This one is annotated.”

“I… mark my favorites.”

Then, to your surprise, he sat in your armchair, flipping it open. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

“You are my master. I am to learn from you. So teach me.”

So you read to him.

You saw the way the others acted.

Your neighbor, a nervous young man named Eli, had an Overseer who monitored his every move. She stood by the door as he ate, as he worked, as he slept.

“She won’t even let me choose my own clothes” he whispered to you one day, when she was momentarily distracted.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because Alhaitham, in contrast, had merely glanced at your wardrobe that morning and remarked, “The blue sweater suits you better.”

It became a habit.

Every night, without fail, he would select a book and wait for you. Sometimes you read to him. Sometimes, when your voice grew tired, he took over, his smooth baritone filling the room as you curled against the armrest.

One evening, exhaustion from the day’s labor dragged you under before he’d even finished the chapter. You woke hours later to the soft glow of lamplight, the book still open in his hands, his other arm curled around you.

You jolted upright. “I—I fell asleep?”

He turned a page, unfazed. “You did.”

“Why didn’t you… move me?”

“You were comfortable.”

Something warm settled in your chest.

The others feared their Overseers.

You… didn’t.

----

The monthly check-up was as clinical as you expected.

You stood in line with the others as the aliens inspected each human and their Overseer. Their hands were cold when they touched your wrist, scanning something beneath your skin that you couldn’t see. Beside you, Alhaitham stood perfectly still.

When it was your turn, the alien tilted its head, studying you both.

"Report"

"No irregularities. Compliance is maintained."

Then, the alien released your wrist and moved on.

You barely breathed until you were outside.

The walk home was tense. Alhaitham’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

Once you were far enough away, his voice dropped low.

"Don’t react."

You kept your steps even.

"They were watching us more closely than usual."

"Why? What’s happening?"

His fingers pressed slightly against your spine. "Not here."

So you stayed silent the rest of the way, your pulse loud in your ears.

The moment the door closed behind you, you let out a shaky breath.

Alhaitham didn’t relax—if he ever did—but his shoulders lost some of their rigid tension. He moved to the window, drawing the blinds shut before turning back to you.

"They suspect something" he said simply.

"Like what?"

"It doesn’t matter yet. Just follow my lead."

You wanted to argue. To demand answers. But the look in his eyes stopped you.

So you nodded.

And then, because you needed something to distract yourself, you turned to the chores.

You were scrubbing dishes when he appeared beside you.

"Let me help."

"No, it’s fine. I’ve got it."

"You’re tired."

"I’m fine."

Reluctantly, he let go. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you worked.

"You don’t have to hover"

"I’m not hovering," he said, "I’m observing."

That night, curled under the blankets with the lights dimmed, you finally dared to ask.

"Do they know?"

Alhaitham glanced up from the book in his hands. "Know what?"

"About how you’re different."

"It’s complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"We’re not meant to be too attached."

You frowned. "But the others—their Overseers control everything."

"Control isn’t the same as attachment"

You hesitated before asking the next question. "Do you… know the other Overseers?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

"We’re aware of each other," he admitted after a moment. "But we don’t… interact."

"Why not?"

He closed the book slowly. "Because some of them wouldn’t approve of how I handle you."

You didn’t ask anything else after that.

----

The television was your one escape.

In this strange new world, where every move was monitored and every choice scrutinized, the flickering glow of the screen offered a sliver of normalcy.

Celebrities still performed, still lived their lives—albeit with their own Overseers hovering just off-camera.

Tonight, the entertainment news was buzzing about a rising star—a young singer with a voice like spun sugar and a smile that could melt glaciers. But it wasn’t her who caught your attention.

It was her Overseer.

Blond hair swept back in elegant waves, eyes like molten honey, dressed in a tailored suit that shimmered under the studio lights. His one hand resting lightly on the singer’s shoulder as she gushed about her new home.

"Kaveh designed everything himself," she said, "He knows exactly what I like!"

The camera panned to him, and he smiled.

You leaned forward, intrigued.

"Huh. I didn’t know Overseers could be so…"

You trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Obnoxious?"

You jumped. Alhaitham’s voice was dry as dust, right beside your ear. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

"I was going to say ‘expressive,’" you muttered, eyes still glued to the screen.

Kaveh was gesturing now, explaining some architectural detail with animated flair.

"He’s very…"

"Loud" Alhaitham supplied.

"I was thinking ‘attentive.’"

A hand covered your eyes.

You yelped. "Hey—!"

"Change the channel"

You batted at his wrist. "I’m watching that!"

"No, you’re staring at him."

You could hear the frown in his voice.

"Are you jealous?"

His grip on you tightened, just slightly.

"I’m ensuring you don’t develop poor taste."

You snorted. "Oh, so now you’re an art critic?"

"I don’t need to be a critic to recognize gaudy excess."

On screen, Kaveh laughed at something, head thrown back, golden hair catching the light.

Alhaitham’s fingers twitched.

You smirked. "You are jealous."

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the remote from your hand and switched the channel.

A nature documentary. Elephants.

You groaned. "Really?"

"Educational" he said flatly, settling beside you.

You elbowed him. He didn’t budge.

----

The streets were quieter these days.

Not out of peace—but out of fear.

The Overseers walked among them, their presence a constant reminder of the new order.

You kept your pace brisk, arms wrapped around yourself as you turned the corner toward home. The sun had barely set, but the alleyways were already swallowed by gloom.

You heard it.

The rustle of fabric.

Then, a gasp.

Your steps faltered.

Curiosity warred with instinct, and against your better judgment, you glanced toward the sound.

Two figures pressed against the brick wall, tangled in each other. A woman, her fingers clutching the collar of a man’s shirt—her Overseer—as he kissed her.

Alhaitham was waiting by the door when you stumbled inside, your face burning, pulse hammering in your throat.

He took one look at you and arched a brow.

"You’re flushed."

"It’s—it’s nothing," you stammered, toeing off your shoes with too much force. "Just walked too fast."

He didn’t move. Just watched as you all but fled to the kitchen, busying yourself with the kettle like your life depended on it.

"You’re a terrible liar."

The kettle clattered against the stove. "I’m not lying."

"Your pulse is elevated. Your breathing is uneven. And you won’t look at me." He stepped closer. "So. What happened?"

"I just saw something… unexpected."

"Define ‘unexpected.’"

"Why do you care?" you snapped, finally turning to face him.

"Because," he said slowly, "if something—or someone disturbed you, I’d like to know."

You exhaled sharply. "It wasn’t like that. I just… saw a couple. In the alley."

A pause. Then, understanding dawned.

"Ah."

"Yeah." You rubbed your temples. "Can we just… not talk about it?"

"As you wish."

Life went on.

You worked. You ate. You read together in the evenings.

But sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d catch him studying you.

Neither of you mentioned the alley again.

----

It was your day off, and the apartment was quiet without Alhaitham.

He had left early.

So you did what any sane person would do in a world where sanity was a luxury.

You turned on the TV.

The News: Love, Obedience, and Rebellion

The first channel was a broadcast of some government-approved talk show.

"Today, we discuss the beautiful bonds between humans and their Overseers!" she chirped, gesturing to a panel of guests.

A woman in a pastel dress clasped her hands together. "My Overseer knows me better than I know myself. He anticipates my needs before I even realize them!"

A man nodded fervently. "Resistance is pointless. Why fight when they only want what’s best for us?"

Then the screen cut to footage of a protest—or what used to be one. The rebels were being dragged away, their faces bloodied.

"Those who refuse harmony must be… corrected" the host said.

You changed the channel.

The next channel was pure entertainment.

There they were again—the rising starlet and her dazzling Overseer, Kaveh. They sat on a plush couch, her fingers laced with his as she giggled at some interviewer’s question.

"We’re just so in sync," she sighed, leaning into him. "It’s like he was made for me."

Kaveh smirked, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "I was."

The audience swooned.

You rolled your eyes—but couldn’t help the twinge of curiosity. Was this… real? Or just another performance for the cameras?

A knock at the door startled you.

You fumbled for the remote, switching off the TV just as Alhaitham stepped inside.

He paused in the doorway, gaze flicking from you to the darkened screen.

"You’re tense"

"Just watching junk TV," you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest.

Alhaitham set down a bag of groceries. "What did you see?"

You hesitated. "The usual. Rebel crackdowns. And, uh… your friend Kaveh."

"He’s not my friend."

"You know him, though."

"We’re aware of each other. That’s all."

The commotion outside was sudden.

You and Alhaitham exchanged a glance before rushing out, joining the crowd gathering in the street.

A group of rebels had been cornered, their faces desperate as they fought against their Overseers. One of them, a woman, raised her hands, and a surge of violet energy erupted from her palms, aimed straight at the enforcers.

But the blast went wide.

Straight toward you.

A shimmering barrier of geometric green energy materialized in front of you, absorbing the attack.

You turned, stunned.

Alhaitham stood with one arm outstretched, his eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly teal hue.

The rebels were subdued moments later, dragged away by their Overseers. The crowd murmured, some in awe, others in fear.

But all you could focus on was him.

Back inside, you finally found your voice.

Alhaitham didn’t answer immediately, pouring tea with deliberate calm.

"All Overseers have abilities" he said at last.

You stared.

He sipped his tea.

A long silence stretched between you before he spoke again.

"They’ve offered me a promotion."

You blinked. "A… what?"

"Better resources." His gaze met yours. "A safer district."

You hesitated. "Oh."

"You don’t seem excited."

"I just…" You fidgeted with your cup. "I didn’t realize Overseers could get promotions."

"Neither did I. But it would mean better living conditions. For you."

"Do you want to take it?"

"I want to know what you want."

You exhaled. "I’m fine either way. As long as…"

"As long as?"

"As long as you’re still you."

He nodded.

"Then we’ll stay."

----

The knock at the door came when you least expected it.

You had been lounging on the couch, flipping through an old book, when the sharp rap of knuckles against wood made you jump. Setting the book aside, you peered through the peephole—only to see a tall, uniformed officer standing stiffly on your doorstep, his Overseer hovering just behind him.

You hesitated.

Then opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” the officer said, “I’m here for a routine follow-up.”

“A follow-up?” You frowned. “On what?”

“Your Overseer’s recent… declination of a promotion. May I come in?”

You swallowed hard but stepped aside.

The officer strode in, his Overseer following like a ghost. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

“You have a lovely home,” the officer remarked, though his gaze was sharp, scanning every detail—the books on the shelf, the half-drunk cup of tea on the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Can I ask why this is necessary?”

“Just ensuring everything is in order.” He turned to face you fully. “Your Overseer is an exceptional case. His refusal was… unexpected.”

“He has his reasons.”

“And what might those be?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

The officer’s smile thinned. “I intend to.”

The door opened just as the officer was reaching for another question.

Alhaitham stepped inside, the moment his eyes landed on the intruders, the temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.

“Officer,” he said, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Just a routine check. Your refusal of the promotion raised some… questions.”

“And have you found your answers?”

“For now.”

Before leaving, the officer cast one last glance at you.

“We’ll be in touch.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

You let out a slow breath. “That was—”

“Unnecessary.”

“They’ll keep looking.”

“Let them.”

The night was quiet when Alhaitham slipped out.

You were deep in sleep, unaware of the weight of his gaze lingering on you before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Then he was gone.

Kaveh’s residence was predictably opulent, a gleaming testament to his charge’s fame. The lights were still on when Alhaitham arrived, the sound of faint music drifting through the windows.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Kaveh looked up from his drafting table.

“Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alhaitham didn’t waste time. “I need your help.”

Kaveh arched a brow. “Oh? And why would I help you?” He gestured lazily around the room. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, thank you.”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll dismantle this little paradise of yours piece by piece.”

Then Kaveh sighed dramatically, tossing his pencil aside. “Ugh, fine. I was joking anyway. You’re so tedious when you’re serious.”

Kaveh leaned back, crossing his arms. “So. What’s the plan?”

“We gather the dissidents.”

“And then what? Storm the capital with sticks and righteous fury?” Kaveh snorted. “The masters aren’t exactly pushovers.”

“No,” Alhaitham agreed. “Which is why we don’t fight them directly. Not yet.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We infiltrate. Until the time comes—”

“We strike.” Kaveh finished.

“I’m talking about freedom.”

Then Kaveh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “...Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you.”

Alhaitham turned to leave. “Naturally.”

In the weeks that followed, whispers began to spread.

A network of rebels, slowly coalescing under the guidance of two leaders.

Kaveh, with his charm and connections, gathered sympathizers among the elite.

Alhaitham, with his cold precision, identified weaknesses in the system.

And you?

You remained blissfully unaware.

But change was coming.

----

Alhaitham had left that morning with the same quiet efficiency as always.

But when he returned, something was off.

The door slammed open with a force that made you jump.

Alhaitham stood in the doorway, his eyes colder than you’d ever seen them.

“You’re still here”

“...Yeah? Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. Just strode past you.

You watched, unease coiling in your stomach, as he began methodically inspecting the apartment—touching objects, scanning the shelves, as if searching for something.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on?”

He paused. Turned. And when his eyes met yours, there was nothing familiar in them.

“You will address me as Overseer.”

Days passed like this.

The Alhaitham you knew was gone, replaced by this hollow, aggressive shell.

You hated it.

But what you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was the truth beneath the act.

The way his fingers twitched when your voice wavered.

The way his jaw clenched when you flinched away from him.

The call came on the seventh day.

A coded message, hidden in plain sight—a news broadcast about construction delays in the capital.

Alhaitham listened. Nodded once.

Then waited until you were in bed before slipping out.

Kaveh was already there, leaning against a crumbling wall in the abandoned sector.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered. “I was starting to think they’d actually wiped you.”

Alhaitham didn’t dignify that with a response. “Status?”

“The brainwashing tech is centralized in the Tower. If we hit it during the shift change, we can disable it long enough to free the others.”

“And the masters?”

Kaveh grinned, “Oh, they’ll definitely notice.”

Then Alhaitham nodded. “Good.”

----

When he came back, dawn was just breaking.

You were awake, curled on the couch, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

The door opened. Closed.

“...You’re up.”

His voice was different. Softer.

The Alhaitham who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, he's finally back.

“It’s over”

You didn’t ask what he meant.

You crashed into him, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his chest. Relief flooded you so violently your knees nearly buckled. He was back. He was himself.

Alhaitham stiffened for a fraction of a second—then his arms closed around you. His breath shuddered against your hair.

>4 hours ago - The Tower<

The brainwashing facility wasn’t just a building.

It was a slaughterhouse.

Alhaitham moved through the halls, his blade slicing through guards. Blood painted the walls. The air reeked of iron and ozone, the stench of seared flesh from the malfunctioning machines.

Kaveh was at his side.

"They’re rerouting security—we have five minutes before the masters lock this place down!"

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Just wrenched open the control panel.

A scream echoed from deeper in the facility.

Human.

Not dead yet.

They found the prisoners strapped to tables, their skulls hooked to machines. Some twitched. Some wept. Some didn’t move at all.

One—a young woman with dark hair matted to her face—jerked against her restraints as Alhaitham passed.

"P-please… kill me…"

He didn’t.

He cut her free instead.

She collapsed, sobbing, into Kaveh’s arms.

The alarms blared.

They came.

The masters.

Tall, gleaming, their obsidian skin reflecting the flickering emergency lights. One lifted a hand—and the air rippled, a shockwave of force hurling Kaveh into the wall.

Alhaitham barely dodged.

The master tilted its head.

"Defective."

Alhaitham’s blade shattered on the second strike.

He didn’t flinch. Just pivoted, driving the broken shard into the master’s throat. The creature staggered—

And then Kaveh was there, driving a stolen energy core straight into its chest.

The explosion blew out half the floor.

The facility collapsed behind them, flames licking at the sky. The survivors—those they could free—stumbled after them.

Kaveh was laughing.

Alhaitham wasn’t.

He was thinking of you.

>2 hours ago - The Mothership<

The masters’ true stronghold wasn’t on Earth.

It hung in the sky like a grotesque moon, a jagged obsidian monolith pulsing with sickly violet light. Getting inside had required more than just violence—it required precision.

Alhaitham moved through the ship’s corridors along with Kaveh, their path littered with the corpses of the creatures who had once ruled your world.

At the heart of the ship, suspended in a web of bioluminescent cables, was the Core—a living, breathing mass of writhing tendrils and neural tissue.

"You are flawed."

Alhaitham didn’t argue.

He plunged his blade into its center.

The Core didn’t die.

Alhaitham’s fingers worked swiftly, tearing into its neural pathways, rewriting its purpose.

Peace.

A forced one, yes. A lie, perhaps.

But better than slaughter.

The Core shuddered, its violet glow shifting to a soft, steady gold.

The change rippled outward—through the ship, through the planet, through every Overseer still connected to the network.

Including him.

The Core couldn’t sustain itself.

It needed fuel.

Alien blood.

So, when the time came, Alhaitham returned.

He fed the Core with the lifeblood of its own kind, ensuring the illusion of peace held firm.

And when it was done, he came back to you.

>Months later<

"Where have you been?"

"I have some unfinished business."

This world—this peace—wasn’t the masters’ design.

It was his.

----

Sunlight spilled through the curtains as Alhaitham stirred beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

He enjoys those moments.

He'd read his books in the garden.

Sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d smile, as he watched you hum over breakfast or lose yourself in a novel.

The world outside might never know the truth, but here, in this stolen peace, it didn’t matter.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham #genshin x reader #heliosluckyegg

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ldydeath · 2 days ago

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I Belong To You | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

BIGBANG APRIL CHALLENGE - APRIL 30TH

Summary: You've been keeping a secret from your husband and decide to surprise him on the encore night of his Korean concert. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: 18+, MDNI, unprotected p in v, mentions of pregnancy, established relationship, lots of fluff Author's Note: I can't believe today is the last day of the challenge. I am crying as I post this. Thank you to everyone who particpated in this challenge, I love you all so much. Hope you guys enjoy this, I decided to give my boy the fairytale ending he deserves to closeout the challenge. This is also kind of a part two to My Heaven but waaaaaaaaaaay in the future. You can check that fic out here. You don't need to read that one to understand this one.

“Are you sure you’re ok by yourself?” Jiyong pouted from your shared bed.

You’d been sick for a couple weeks now, which was horrible timing. Jiyong had always loved having you attend rehearsals, video shoots, filmings, and concerts over the years. You’d become his life line when it all got to be too much. You’d missed the majority of the rehearsals, due to your illness but you’d sucked it up for night one of his tour. You’d both agreed after you’d gotten home and he’d tucked you into bed that you shouldn’t go tonight. It was unseasonably cold, the show being delayed due to the snow and Jiyong had had half a mind to send you home during the delay last night but you had insisted and he wanted you there.

“Yeah, I can always call someone if I get worse. Go. Have fun. Daesung’s already promised to FaceTime me so I don’t miss a thing.”

Jiyong let out a sigh and leaned down to kiss your forehead, not wanting to catch whatever you had. He hated leaving you like this. He knew that no matter what you said, he would worry about you regardless. You were his entire world and any little small thing that bothered you bothered him too.

“I love you, get some rest.”

“I love you too. I won’t move from this spot, I promise.” He chuckled at you before climbing out of bed. He paused at the door and frowned. “You’re going to be late, Ji.” He sighed as he turned, exiting the room.

Once you were sure he was gone, you slid out of bed and practically ran to the bathroom. You only had about an hour to get ready and get to the venue. What Jiyong didn’t know was that you weren’t sick - not really, anyway. Sure you were throwing up every five minutes and food was against you, but it was because you were pregnant. Jiyong was finally going to have his dreams come true and you couldn’t wait to tell him.

You’d had this planned for weeks now, missing rehearsals to coordinate with Youngbae and Daesung on how exactly you’d be surprising him. It was going to be cute, it was going to be flashy, it was going to be very Jiyong. You just needed to get there and sneak backstage without being noticed by your ever observant husband.

You got out of the shower and pulled up your phone, a missed FaceTime already and a text.

You must be sleeping. I’m at sound check and wanted you to see the set up so I could see the crowd better. I’ll send you the video in a few. I love you.

As you finished reading a new text popped up, a text from Jiyong with a video. You clicked play, watching him on a scooter as he zoomed around the stadium. He would. You let out a giggle, shaking your head.

You’re crazy, Dragon. I love you more. 🖤

You got ready quickly, Jiyong’s glam team would be doing your hair and makeup once you arrived since you’d be on camera. You just needed your outfit. An easy choice, since everyone would be in “I love GD” shirts. You’d had yours modified to say the same but instead of GD it said GDBD.

The car was waiting once you entered the garage of the apartment complex and you slid in. You knew Jiyong would be finishing up his outfit and you prayed he didn’t try to FaceTime you before the show. Thankfully, he didn’t. Steve, your personal security detail was waiting when you pulled up and escorted you into the stadium. The sound of your husband's voice filled the cool night air and you smiled as you made your way to the warmth of his suite.

Thankfully his evening would be filled with quick changes and he wouldn’t be back in here until the show was over. You opened the door, your friends waiting on the other side and you smiled as you saw Youngbae and Daesung. It was weird that they knew you were pregnant when Jiyong didn’t, but it was all part of the master plan.

“Hi Y/N” Daesung greeted, pulling you into a hug. Youngbae followed suit.

“The video is ready?” You moved further in the room, setting your back down before taking a seat.

“Yes. We’re gonna do a couple songs and then when Jiyong asks what we should do next that’s your cue. The video will play and then you’ll take the stage.” Youngbae confirmed.

“Perfect. I really appreciate you guys being a part of it.”

“Hey, you’re family. Have been for a long time.”

You nodded, the glam team getting to work on your makeup. You’d met all three guys when they’d first started out in the industry, covering their first interview as a group . You and Jiyong fell for each other that day, you’d been inseparable ever since. When he’d proposed to you all those years ago nobody had been shocked.

You’d somehow found time to get married between his solo tour and military services and now that you were pregnant it was like the final piece of the puzzle was finally complete.

An hour later it was show time, the guys kissed your cheek as they headed out and you waited until Home Sweet Home was in its final verse before heading to your spot. There had been too much planning for it to be ruined by an accidental spotting.

“What should we play next?” Jiyong teased as the crowd cheered. Daesung and Youngbae looked at each other with a hint of mischief in their eyes.

“What about Yeorobun?” Daesung sang with a tease. Jiyong laughed and just before Youngbae could retaliate the video started playing.

Jiyong looked on confused as he saw a video montage of him and you with a cut to a sonogram phone and the words coming soon. The crowd began cheering like crazy and that’s when he saw you. You were here. He should’ve known you’d be here no matter what. The confusion on his face turning to a grin as he ran over to you.

“You’re pregnant?” He whispered. You nodded.

The tears Jiyong had been fighting to hold back all night leaked from his eyes as he pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he picked you off the ground, spinning you around.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He yelled into the microphone as he placed you back down on the ground, his arm staying firmly wrapped around you.

The crowd cheered around you both and you let out a laugh, turning to wipe the tears off Jiyong’s face. He took his hat off, hiding his face as he let the emotions consume him, his hand squeezing into your arm. He’d wanted this for so long and was finally happening. All he’d ever wanted was you, to spend the rest of his life with you, and to have a family with you. All of his dream were coming true.

“Congratulations Hyung!” Daesung’s voice boomed from the mic as him and Youngbae crossed the stage.

Jiyong laughed, removing his hat and shaking his head at his friends. Both men wrapped their friend in a tight group hug before pulling you in for a hug, Jiyong watched on with a grin on his face.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Dragon?” Youngbae asked as he pulled back from the hug.

“Excited, nervous? Tired.” You joked.

Jiyong smirked as he pulled you into his side, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

“We have a couple more songs, are you staying out?” You shook your head at your husband. “Say bye to Mrs. Dragon everyone!”

The crowd cheered as you left the stage and you were met backstage by hugs from the crew, Chaerin, and Jiyong’s parents. You all watched together as the guys played some old classics, a small smile on your face, wishing another member had been able to make it out.

Once the show was over Jiyong practically ran of the stage only to be stopped by the crew to congratulate you, his eyes frantically searching for you and he grinned when he found you. Your back was to him, talking animatedly to his mother. Jiyong could only imagine what you were talking about. He excused himself from his crew and came up behind you, arms wrapping protectively around you. He smiled to his mom before leading you away from the crowd.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to do to you, but there was still so much he had to do. Between the group photos and meet and greets he found himself getting antsy to go. Even if going was to an after party he wanted to skip all together. You refused when he whispered the idea to you between photos. This was his return to the stage after 8 years there was no way he was missing his after party.

That’s how you found yourself sandwiched between him and Youngbae as a cake was presented. Jiyong was taking it easier than he usually would at a party like this, your mind flashing back to his album release - he’d drank for you both, you’d just found out that morning you were pregnant and had fed him some line about being too full to drink. You’d only kept it a secret for so long because of how badly he wanted to be a dad. You knew first trimester miscarriages were common and didn’t want to get his hopes up. Tonight has been perfect though, you were almost out of the woods and now he knew and was doing his best to not drink.

Jiyong did his best to make his rounds and thank everyone for their support but all he wanted was you and to celebrate the only thing that really mattered.

“Let’s go home?” He was hopeful, his eyes big and wide as he practically begged you to leave, causing you to laugh.

“Alright, let’s go.” His hand slid into yours as he led you out of the party and into the awaiting car.

The ride home was silent, Jiyong still so overcome with emotions his mind was swirling. He’d already planned out the penthouse remodel in his mind, counted every space that needed to be baby proofed, knew exactly what type of mural he wanted to put in the nursery by the time the car was parked in the garage. The good thing was, you were already going on tour with him so the remodal would be done with minimal disruption to your everyday life. He couldn’t wait to tell you all the ideas he’d come up with.

His arms wound their way around your body as you entered your home and you smiled as you leaned into him. It felt like a weight had been lifted now that Jiyong knew you were pregnant. He led you through the house and towards your shared bedroom, guiding you onto the bed. He unwound himself from you as he slid out of his jacket. He hovered over you, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss.

Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. You needed him and Jiyong was happy to give you all of himself. His hands trailed down your side, stopping at the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it up and over your head. You followed suit, removing his shirt and took a second to take in his appearance.

He’d been slowly getting back into concert shape as he called it, his muscles more prominent now than they had been a few months ago, his tattoos popping in the light. Jiyong smirked as he noticed your stare.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, pulling him back to you.

Jiyong’s lips were back on yours, his tongue darting out, begging for entrance. Your lips parted, your tongues meeting in a dance. His hands slid down your body to your waist once again and he carefully removed your pants, his fingers toying with the fabric of your panties. You moaned into his mouth and he smirked as his lips moved from yours to your neck.

He sucked your neck gently, not enough to leave a mark, just enough to taste your skin as his lips glided across your skin and down your body before trailing back up to your lips. He slid your panties off, his finger sliding past your slick folds. He swallowed another moan and your hands moved hungrily to his jeans, undoing his button and fly as you pushed his pants down.

He inserted another finger as he pumped inside you, and you moaned at how hard he already was as you cupped him through his boxers. You pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free as you wrapped your hand around him giving him a couple pumps.

“Ji, please. I need you.” You begged against his mouth.

Jiyong, always eager to please you, positioned himself between your legs, he entered you slowly, inch by inch and moaned as your walls tightened around him. He removed himself completely, his tip hovering just outside your entrance before he entered you again just as slowly as before.

Jiyong thrusted in and out of you slowly, your back arching to meet his thrusts. His lips stayed connected with yours, his arms propping him up. His movements were slow, deliberate, and filled with so much love. Your fingers clawed at his back, urging him to move faster and he did. His hand slipping between your bodies, his finger rubbing small circles around your clit.

You swallowed each other's moans and he brought you closer to the edge. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on, not when everything felt so good. Your fingers clutching to his skin like he was your life line as his hips bucked against yours faster.

“Come for me, Aein.” He mumbled against your lips.

That was all it took for you to come undone, your walls clenching against him as your orgasm finally hit in beautiful waves. His finger continued to rub circles around your clit as you road it out, his thrusts getting faster. He removed his hand as you collapsed onto the bed and with one final thrust he came inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crock of your neck and he left a trail of sloppy kisses on your skin.

“I love you.” He whispered against your skin, “I love you so fucking much.” He carefully pulled out of you, coming to rest at your side.

“I love you too, Ji.” You rolled onto your side to face him. His arms wrapping around you to pull you closer to him.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be a family!” He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of his dreams coming true.

You reached up, wiping the stray tear from his cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. This was everything you’d ever wanted. Seeing Jiyong so happy made you happy. You knew he was going to be the best father, he was already the best husband. You’d really hit the jackpot with him.

“You’re going to be such an amazing father, Jiyong. Our kids are going to be so lucky and so loved.”

“I’m going to quit smoking…and drinking. I want to be here for you every step of the way. I know it’ll be hard with the tour, but I’m not missing anything.” You chuckled and kissed him again before sliding out of his arms and out of the bed.

Reaching for your robe, you slid it on and walked over to the closet, pulling down a box. It contained the sonogram photo and a bracelet that you’d gotten Jiyong when you found out. Handing it to him he raised a brow at you before opening it up. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the photo. That was his baby.

“That’s our baby dragon.” He whispered.

You nodded as you moved to sit beside him, taking the bracelet out and handing it to him. It was a cheesy little “World’s Greatest Dad” bracelet but to Jiyong it was everything. He took it from you and slid it onto his arm, the same one that had his red string.

“I’m going to live up to this bracelet, I promise.”

"You already have."

He pulled you back to his side, his hand still holding the photo as he wrapped his arm around you. You two were his whole world and he was going to do whatever it took to keep you both safe and to make sure you only knew peace and love for the rest of your lives. Jiyong hadn’t always been dealt the best hand in this life, but you’d always found a way to pull him out of the darkness. Now was his turn to show you just how much you meant to him, forever. You were giving him the greatest gift - the gift of life. A gift he’d thank you for for the rest of his life.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @flymetothexmoon @sherrayyyyy

Writing challenge taglist: @bluesunss @berfgrimm @emmiesoverthemoon @sevendaysummer @currentloser @makeitworse @aizshallnotbefound @sherxoo @keiraryan @steponupbabe

#g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon ji yong x reader #bigbang x reader #g dragon #kwon jiyong #gdragon #kwon ji yong #my fics #bigbangaprilchallenge #ibty

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 days ago

Text

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Five ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, reader living like a real country song, first kiss feels

Word Count: 2,965

Synopsis: Mark joins you for dinner at your home deep in the heart of southern charm—and quickly learns he’s wildly unprepared for the full experience: sweet tea strong enough to stop time, a Meemaw with more sass than mercy, and chicken and dumplings that might just change his life.

a/n: i am sooo caught up in these two it’s not even funny at this point lord help meee

read part four ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

Mark wasn’t ready. He thought he was, but then the door opened… and there you were.

Apron dusted with flour, a smudge of something sweet on your cheek, hair pulled back in a soft ribbon like you were born to play house in a country song.

“Well hey, sugar,” you said, smile warm enough to melt butter. “Right on time.”

You led him inside with a soft “make yourself at home”, like he hadn’t just stepped into an actual southern fairytale. The house smelled like something sweet and slow-cooked, and there was faint music playing from a little radio on the windowsill—twangy, nostalgic, full of soul.

Mark stood stiffly near the entryway, awkwardly holding the flowers until you noticed and gave a little gasp.

“For me?” you asked, voice all fluttery and touched.

He nodded, suddenly shy. “I didn’t know what kind you liked, but…”

You took them like he’d handed you gold. “They’re perfect, darlin’. Thank you.”

His brain stalled at “darlin’.” Again.

"You lettin’ strange men in my house now, darlin’, or should I grab the shotgun?" a sharp voice called from the next room.

Mark stiffened like he’d just been caught sneaking out a window. “Was that—did she say shotgun?”

You turned your head just enough to holler back, “That boy I told you about, Meemaw!”

A moment later, a short and stout figure rounded the corner—a silver-haired woman in fuzzy slippers and a housecoat, eyes sharp as a hawk’s and presence like she could command an army and win a pie contest in the same afternoon.

Mark stood up straighter like he was meeting a general.

You motioned between them. “Mark, this is my Meemaw. Meemaw, this is Mark Grayson.”

Meemaw looked him up and down, slow and deliberate. Then she sniffed. “Hmm. You look like you’ve never dug a ditch in your life.”

Mark blinked. “I—uh, that’s true.”

Meemaw nodded once. “At least you’re honest.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Meemaw.”

“What? I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I’m just saying he’s got the kind of hands that wouldn’t know a hoe from a hairbrush.”

Mark was ninety percent sure he was being roasted. But also? Kind of honored.

He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She squinted at him. “Hmph. Polite. You feed him yet?”

“Workin’ on it,” you replied, already drifting toward the kitchen.

As Mark followed you, Meemaw called after him, “You like sweet tea, city boy?”

Mark nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well good. I made it strong enough to stop your heart, so sip slow.”

Mark turned to you, slightly terrified. “She’s… intense.”

“She’s a lamb,” you said easily. “Just gotta let her sass you first. It’s how she shows love.”

While you put the finishing touches on dinner, Mark hovered in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets as he watched you float from stove to counter like you’d been born in a kitchen. Flour on your wrists, barefoot on the hard wood floors, humming some old country song under your breath.

“So,” he said, voice softer than usual, “is it just you and Meemaw out here?”

You nodded. “Moved up a couple months ago. Meemaw needed to be near the hospital for her treatments, and the one back home wasn’t cuttin’ it. Mama and Daddy stayed back with my brothers to keep the farm runnin’.”

Mark leaned a little closer. “That must’ve been hard.”

You gave him a small, crooked smile. “It was. But Meemaw’s tough. Stubborn as a mule in a rainstorm. She’s not goin’ down without a fight.”

There was a quiet pride in your voice when you said it, and Mark felt something shift in his chest.

“She’s lucky to have you,” he said.

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised by the sincerity. “Well I’ll be. That might be the nicest thing anybody’s said to me all week.”

You slid a casserole dish out of the oven, wiped your hands on a floral dish towel, and turned to face him fully. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

You tilted your head. “You ever had chicken and dumplin’s made from scratch?”

“…No?”

You grinned. “Then you better buckle up, sug.”

You disappeared into the dining room for a moment, and Mark heard the soft clatter of serving spoons and cabinet doors, the muted clink of glassware. Then your voice floated back in.

“Go on and sit, sugar! Table’s all set!”

He followed the smell of heaven into the room and nearly stopped dead again.

The table looked like a magazine spread: quilted placemats, butter dish shaped like a chicken, a tall pitcher of Meemaw’s allegedly-lethal sweet tea dripping condensation down the sides. There were actual cloth napkins. Like… folded.

And at the center of it all: you, setting down a steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings with a little flourish, cheeks pink from the heat.

“I hope you’re hungry,” you said, brushing a loose curl back from your forehead. “I made enough to feed a football team.”

“I’ll try to eat like one, then,” Mark replied, pulling out his chair, “pretty sure my soul left my body the second I caught a whiff.”

Meemaw cackled from her seat at the head of the table. “You sure that wasn’t just the tea hittin’ your arteries?”

Mark tried to laugh casually, but he’d already taken one sip and yeah—his heart might actually be fighting for its life.

You just grinned and served him a full plate like you’d done it a hundred times before. Fluffy dumplings. A hearty scoop of collard greens that smelled like they’d been simmering all day in something sacred.

And oh God—was that homemade peach cobbler off to the side?

He took one bite and nearly blacked out.

Warm, rich, a little peppery, perfectly soft dumplings floating in a broth that tasted like home, even though he’d never had anything like it.

Mark blinked at his plate, then at you, then back again.

Oh, he thought, dazed. This is what love tastes like.

—

Dinner was… warm. Not just the food, though it was the best meal of his entire life (sorry mom!). But the atmosphere. The laughter. The way you kept topping off his tea like it was instinct. The way Meemaw told story after story with that mischievous glint in her eye, cutting into her food like she was holding court.

“You shoulda seen [y/n] try to wrangle a rooster when she was seven,” she said, pointing a fork in your direction. “Feathers flyin’, her tiny self yellin’ ‘you come back here, you nasty little buzzard!’”

“Meemaw!” you yelped, laughing so hard you nearly dropped your fork.

Mark choked on a bite of biscuit. “A buzzard?”

You groaned. “I didn’t know what else to call him! He was evil! I still think he had a vendetta.”

“Oh, he did,” Meemaw said. “He hated everyone, but he especially hated you.”

“He bit me!”

“More than once.”

Mark was losing it. “Okay but now I need to meet this rooster.”

“Oh, he’s dead,” you said sweetly, like you were announcing a weather update. “Daddy made him into dumplin’s.”

Mark stared at his bowl in silence.

“…Not these dumplings, though. Right?”

You winked. “Guess you’ll never know.”

—

After dinner, Mark insisted on helping clear the dishes—even though Meemaw barked “he ain’t gonna break my plates, is he?” from the living room. You shooed her off with a playful “go rest your bones, old woman,” and led Mark into the kitchen with an armful of empty bowls.

“You really don’t have to help,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly.

“I want to,” Mark replied, grabbing a towel.

The two of you worked quietly, elbow to elbow, hands brushing now and then, until the sink was full of warm suds and the air smelled like soap and vanilla.

At some point, you glanced over and found him just… staring. At you.

“What?” you asked, brows raised, smiling.

Mark blinked. “Nothing. I just—” He cleared his throat, looking down at the dish towel in his hands. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

You paused, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the sink.

“Well look at you,” you said, voice quiet now, like it belonged in the soft glow of lamplight. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might start thinkin’ you mean it.”

“I do,” he said. No hesitation. “I mean it.”

And then you smiled at him again, small and radiant and real, like you hadn’t just knocked the air clean out of his lungs.

And Mark—heart racing, fingers damp, head full of biscuits and buzzards and you—could only stare and think: she would look so good in white.

—

After the last dish was rinsed and stacked to dry, you patted your hands on that same floral towel, then looked up at Mark with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Okay,” you said, voice low and conspiratorial. “Wanna try somethin’ a lil bad?”

Mark froze like you’d just handed him a live wire. “Bad?”

You ducked into the pantry without another word, rummaging for a second before emerging with a squat mason jar full of a liquid that looked… suspiciously clear.

His eyes widened. “Is that—”

You nodded solemnly. “Moonshine. The real stuff. My uncle makes it back home in Georgia.”

Mark’s brain short-circuited for a full second. “That’s illegal.”

You shrugged, already unscrewing the lid. “So’s jaywalking. Don’t be a coward.”

You poured him the tiniest bit into a mismatched teacup and passed it over like it was communion.

He took a small sip, and immediately looked like he’d aged ten years.

“Holy—” he coughed, eyes watering. “I think I just saw God.”

You grinned, wicked and delighted. “Means it’s workin’.”

“Is this what your uncle drinks for fun?”

“Nah,” you said cheerfully. “This is his light batch. The good stuff’ll peel the paint off your truck.”

Mark clutched at his abdomen. “I think my stomach lining just evaporated.”

You patted his arm. “Builds character.” Then you gave him a quick wink that almost made him forget the terrible burn in his throat.

“C’mon,” you said, already heading for the back door. “Let’s go sit out on the porch a spell. You need fresh air before that shine eats through your insides.”

Mark followed, still coughing faintly, setting the teacup swiftly down on the counter like it might bite him again. The screen door creaked open and slapped shut behind him, and suddenly the world was quiet.

Warm night air wrapped around you both, thick with jasmine and the lazy buzz of cicadas. The porch light cast a soft glow across the steps, and in the distance, fireflies blinked like tiny stars being born in the grass.

You handed Mark a mason jar of sweet tea—blessedly non-lethal this time—and sat down on the porch swing like you’d done it a hundred times. He joined you, the swing groaning a little as it shifted under your combined weight.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the creak of the swing. The flicker of fireflies. The soft hum of a far-off train. You sipped your tea and leaned back, the ribbon in your hair fluttering gently in the breeze.

Mark glanced over at you. Lit by porch and star light, you looked like something out of a dream—like every love song he’d never believed in until now.

“Is it always this quiet out here?” he asked after a while.

You nodded. “Mmhm. Town goes to bed early. It’s just us and the lightnin’ bugs now.”

Mark smiled faintly, gaze fixed on the curve of your fingers wrapped around the jar. “It’s nice.”

You look over, catching him in that open, unguarded moment. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

He laughed under his breath, startled. “Sweet?”

“Yeah.” You nudged his shoulder gently. “Sweet. In a ‘makes me wanna bake you a pie just ‘cause’ kind of way.”

Mark swallowed. The porch swing felt a little too small now.

“Most people don’t call me sweet,” he said.

“Well, most people don’t know what they’re lookin’ at.”

That shut him right up.

You looked away, back out at the yard, watching the fireflies drift like stars that’d gotten a little lost. And then—like it was nothing—you let your hand slide over the swing’s wooden slats until your pinky brushed his.

Mark’s breath caught.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t say a word. Just left your hand there, soft and warm and sure, like you were giving him the option to take it—or not.

He did.

Carefully, reverently, like it was something sacred, Mark slid his fingers between yours.

His heart clenched in his chest. He wanted to hold your hand forever.

It was perfect. It fit in his like it had been made just for him. For a heartbeat, he let himself imagine that—imagine you, beside him like this, for the rest of his life—holding hands on a front porch, watching fireflies dance beneath the stars.

“God,” he whispered, barely realizing he’d spoken aloud. “You’re so... perfect.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes catching the light. “What was that?”

Mark swallowed, shaking his head, trying to clear the soft, heady feeling from his chest. “Nothing. Just... this. Just you.” His hand tightened around yours instinctively, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I can’t think of a place I’d rather be.”

You smiled, soft and steady, your other hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. For a moment, the two of you simply swayed together in silence, your hands held gently between you, neither of you wanting to break it.

And then—

“[Y/n]! Where you at?! I need my ‘tussin!” Meemaw’s voice cracked through the night like a sharp clap of thunder, breaking the spell.

You sighed, reluctantly pulling your hand from Mark’s, though the warmth lingered. “S’pose that’s my cue to get goin’.”

Mark blinked, momentarily stunned by how quickly the night had passed. He stood just behind you, as if trying to savor the last few moments, trailing in your wake until you both stopped just shy of the porch steps. You turned to him, all soft and sweet like a summer peach, and Mark didn’t know how much more his heart could take.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice hushed but genuine.

You waved him off with a grin. “Ah, it’s nothin’. Just a little country cookin’.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and Mark wasn’t about to let it go. His heart didn’t have the luxury of pretending things were nothing anymore. He was standing there, in front of you – in front of everything he never even knew he wanted – and knew he couldn’t let it go.

So he reached for you, gently taking your hand—your palm down, fingers outstretched—and brought it slowly up to his face. You didn’t protest, instead watched through the fullness of your lashes with bated breath.

He tilted his head, gaze locking onto yours, and for a heartbeat he thought maybe he could just be a gentleman, maybe just kiss your knuckles and let it be enough.

With a soft exhale he pressed a kiss to the top of your hand, his lips warm and gentle against your skin. It was sweet. Polite. It could’ve been enough, in another world, in another life.

But when he pulled back and saw the way your eyes flickered up to meet his, the way your lips parted just slightly, he felt something stir in him—a desperate need to push past the politeness, to push past everything that had held him back up until this moment.

Without thinking, he tugged gently on your hand, drawing you a little closer, until there was barely any space between you.

Your breath hitched, your eyes dropping to his lips for the briefest of seconds.

And that was all he needed.

He leaned in, slowly, softly, and kissed you.

It wasn’t urgent or desperate. It was slow and tender, like he was savoring every second, as if it could stretch on forever and he wouldn’t mind. All the anxiety, all the nervousness, the constant whirlwind of thoughts he'd been battling—they all fell away, gone, like they'd never existed.

As he kissed you, he could see it all—the quiet mornings, the summer nights, the life he never thought he could have was now so plainly in front of him, contained in your lips.

When he pulled away, his breath still catching in the space between you, the world seemed to pause. The porch swing groaned faintly, the crickets kept their steady rhythm, but everything else felt suspended—like the night itself was waiting.

Mark’s gaze was fixed on you, desperately seeking some kind of reaction. He searched your eyes for a sign, anything to show him what you were feeling. And then you smiled—a soft, radiant thing that lit up your whole face. Your eyes sparkled like moonlight on water, warm and full of something he couldn’t quite name.

You let out a breath, gentle and sweet. Then, in that familiar, honeyed voice of yours, you whispered, “Well, shoot. I didn’t know we were makin' memories tonight.”

Mark’s heart thudded in his chest. Your words were simple, but the way you said them—the sincerity, the warmth—it made him feel like he'd found his home in you.

He couldn’t help but smile, a little overwhelmed by how right everything felt, how utterly perfect it was to be standing there with you, surrounded by the soft glow of the stars.

Mark had no idea what he’d done right in life to earn this moment, but he vowed, then and there, to never deserve it less.

read part six ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic

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p0orbaby · 8 hours ago

Text

magic 8 ball

summary: What starts as Leah crashing your pity pint spirals, predictably, into something far less wholesome and far more hands-on.

warnings: SMUT 18+, just general sex stuff so you know the drill

a/n: i was inspired, not sure by what, but here we are

word count: 2.5k

“I’m not having a breakdown,” you say, peeling the label off your beer with such deep concentration you forget you have to breathe to survive. “I’m having a perfectly rational response to the current state of the world. And also to my boss, who thinks ‘relevance’ is when a TikTok account reposts our gallery’s Instagram.”

Leah makes a sound, something between a laugh and a sigh, and slides onto the stool next to you as if she owns the place. She probably does. Or knows someone who does. She’s wearing a camel coat from The Row that looks like it’s never seen a hanger. Soft, fluid, draped like wealth. Her hair is up—one of those deliberately lazy ponytails that costs £80 at a salon and makes people call you effortless like it’s a compliment. She probably just didn’t bother sorting it after training.

She orders a double gin and tonic. Not with Bombay or Tanqueray or any of the pedestrian options available to people who wear polyester and say OOTD. She points, without looking, at a bottle of something artisanal. Something with botanicals. Something brewed by a man with a beard who lives in Hackney and forages moss recreationally while naked.

“You’re twitching,” she says, when the bartender walks away.

“I’m fine,” you reply, tight. “I’m absolutely fucking fine.”

You’re not. You’re vibrating with the same energy as a microwave that’s just been asked to reheat a bowl of leftover soggy chicken chow mein.

Leah squints. “Your eye does this thing when you’re on the brink of homicide. It’s cute, all things considered.”

You think about stabbing her with the cocktail stick that came with the complimentary olives you got when you ordered. Instead, you finish peeling the label. The bar is now covered in neat, sticky curls of Beck’s branding. You take a vicious sort of pride in it—like this bar owes you something and you’re slowly destroying it molecule by molecule.

“I had to explain post-conceptualism to a man who unironically collects Funko Pops today.”

“God.”

“He said, ‘So it’s like Banksy but sadder?’”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“And then he asked me if Damien Hirst invented fruit winders.”

Leah bites her lip to suppress a grin. You hate that she finds this funny.

“I’m in hell,” you say. “I live here now. It’s beige and the lighting’s fluorescent and all the curators wear Balenciaga in the wrong way.”

“There’s a wrong way to wear Balenciaga?”

“Yes. It’s when you do it with sincerity.”

Leah hums, amused. Her drink arrives. She picks it up like she’s in an advert for skincare. You hate her glass. It’s too clean. You hate how she sips, like the liquid is trying to earn her respect. You hate her in general, really. But it’s a specific, curated hate. The kind that comes with longing. Jealousy. Proximity.

“You’re not angry,” she says, “you’re heartbroken.”

“I am not heartbroken.”

“Fine,” she shrugs. “You’re artistically blue-balled.”

That, unfortunately, lands. You clench your jaw. You spent two months assembling an exhibit that got described as visually competent by someone whose own work consists of melting Barbie heads onto coat hooks. The only person who seemed to get it was a caretaker, and even he asked if it was “about feminism or something.”

Leah’s watching you with the sort of curiosity she usually reserves for rare mushrooms or political scandals. You feel exposed, like she’s mentally peeling your skin back to check for rot.

“I just—” You stop. You sip your beer. You stare at its froth like it insulted your mother. “I just want to make something that doesn’t immediately get filtered through someone else’s idiot-brand algorithm of what art is supposed to do. I don’t want it to do anything. I want it to exist. And I want that to be enough.”

There’s a pause. A proper silence. A respectful one.

Then Leah says, “Well. That’s depressing.”

You blink. “Do you ever have a normal human reaction?”

“I do,” she says, “just not to tantrums disguised as philosophies.”

You groan. Loudly. Obnoxiously. “Why are you here?”

She takes another sip, smacks her lips, says: “You texted me the words ‘I hope my body gets mistaken for a performance piece when I die.’ So I cleared my schedule.”

You rub your face. You did text that. You thought it was funny.

“You’re a masochist,” you mutter.

“You’re dramatic.”

You look up at her, eyes narrowed. “You think you’re better than me.”

Leah leans in, her face maddeningly calm. “Sweetheart. I know I am.”

You want to throw something at her. A pint glass. the chair you’re sitting on. Your entire unresolved emotional history. But instead you say, “Do you ever get tired of always being the most emotionally detached person in the room?”

She tilts her head. “Do you ever get tired of pretending your anger is intellectual when really you’re just sad and lonely and catastrophically underfucked?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“I am not underfucked.”

“I can see how tense your jaw is from here. It’s clenched like a Victorian child repressing her feelings about having to crawl up another chimney. Go home and look at yourself in the mirror. Tell me that’s the face of someone getting railed regularly.”

You want to die. You also want her to say it again, slowly, in private, with less clothing.

There’s a long, crackling pause. You both know it’s no longer about art.

Leah sets down her glass. She taps the rim once, twice. Rhythm. Precision. Her nails are short, square, coated in clear polish that you don’t normally notice but have now because you can’t look her in the eye. Then you catch yourself staring at her hands for too long and quickly look away.

She doesn’t comment. But you know she notices. Leah notices everything. She notices the hair tie on your wrist has snapped and been retied in a knot, twice. She notices you’ve stopped wearing mascara, which you used to call your “armour” in that stupid, performative way you used to talk about beauty like it was actually important. She notices the crack in your lip that won’t heal because you’ve been biting it every time you think too hard.

She says, eventually, almost to herself:

“Right. That’s enough tragic brooding. Come on.”

You glance at her sideways. “Come on what?”

She lifts her chin, shrugs like it’s obvious. “It’s time for the three F’s.”

You blink. “The what?”

“The three F’s,” she repeats, counting them off on one hand like she’s listing dinner party ingredients. “Food. Fucking. And… I haven’t decided on the third one. It’s usually ‘forgiveness’ but tonight it might change depending on my mood or how close you are to bursting into tears.”

You narrow your eyes. “Are you having a stroke?”

Leah ignores this. She taps her temple. “It’s a system. A trifecta. A deeply spiritual practice.”

“Sounds like a religious cult run by Gordon Ramsay.”

She smirks. “Exactly. Chips first. Sex second. Existential clarity optional.”

You stare at her, arms folded. She’s smiling now, that crooked, smug half-smile that suggests she knows she’s funny, even when you want to shove her face into a vat of chip grease.

“You offering?” you ask, dry. “For the second F?”

Leah shrugs again. “No. I saw a homeless man outside and thought you two might hit it off.”

You snort, despite yourself. “You’re a bitch.”

She sips her drink like she’s just said something unremarkable and bureaucratic, like we’ll be closing early due to maintenance. She doesn’t look at you. You’re glad. You’re not ready for the look she gives you when she’s being sincere. It’s like being x-rayed.

Then she adds, almost as an afterthought, “Of course I’m offering. Don’t be daft.”

You freeze. A beat. Another.

“I thought I was a neurotic, emotionally volatile husk of a woman with a martyr complex and an inflated sense of artistic purpose.”

“You are,” she says. “But you’ve got a decent face and you’re good with your hands. So, you know. Swings and roundabouts.”

You scoff. And you’re trying really hard to stay calm because your doctor has informed you your concerningly high blood pressure is a direct correlation of your erratic emotions.

“What happened to chips first?”

“Oh, I still want chips. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since three and I’m craving something fried and disgusting. Preferably served by someone with a name badge and an attitude problem.”

You nod slowly. “That’s the most grounded thing you’ve said all night.”

“Thank you. I’m a woman of the people.”

She drains her gin and stands, smooth and sudden, like movement happens to her rather than from her. You watch the line of her coat shift across her hips and hate her a little more. In a nice way. A respectful way.

She glances back at you, already heading toward the door. “You coming, or are you going to sit here frowning into warm beer like the ghost of failed gallery interns past?”

You mutter something under your breath and follow. Of course you do. It’s Leah.

It’s always Leah.

“You’re making that face again.”

Leah’s looking at you from the other end of the bed—half undressed, half mocking, propped up on her elbow like some god-awful, lesbianised version of a Greek statue who knows exactly how fit she is.

You’re topless and regretting all your life choices. “What face?”

“The one that says, ‘this is a terrible idea but I’m already wet so fuck it.’”

She’s not wrong.

You shoot her a glare and yank your bra off in one not so smooth move. It slaps the floor with the exhausted whimper of cotton that’s held too many disappointing breasts over the years.

“God, you’re hot when you’re angry,” she says, and you want to laugh. Or hit her. Or sit on her face. All three feel valid.

“Shut up and lie down.”

She does. Immediately. The smugness fades slightly, replaced by something quieter. More concentrated. She watches you crawl over her like a lion stalking its prey. Or more realistically like you’re some slow-motion car crash she wants to get hit by.

You kiss her. Sloppy. Unapologetic. More tongue than technique. It’s not romantic. It’s hot. It’s urgent. It tastes like gin and old rage.

Somewhere between biting her lip and grinding down against her thigh, you lose track of how long you’ve been pretending not to want this. Leah’s skin is warm and annoyingly soft. Her bra’s still on. She’s still wearing her bra.

You reach for it, fumbling. “Why are these always like a NASA launch?”

She laughs into your neck. “You’ve never undressed another woman before, have you?”

“Only emotionally.”

You finally get the clasp and she shrugs out of it, tits bouncing slightly. You both pretend not to notice how your brain flatlines for a second. You’re supposed to be cool. You’re supposed to be in control.

But her nipples are hard and you’re throbbing and when she reaches between your legs without warning, you gasp—loud and unedited.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “Warn a girl.”

“You’ve literally been grinding on my thigh for five minutes.”

“That’s different. That’s friendship.”

Leah slips her hand down your knickers. Finds you soaked. She hums like she’s impressed. Or smug. Probably both.

“Jesus, babe,” she says. “You’re soaked.”

You scoff. “Don’t call me babe. You sound like some weirdo on Love Island.”

“Fine. Darling?”

“Worse.”

“You’re tight when you’re annoyed,” she murmurs, and then pushes two fingers in. Just like that.

You moan. Too loudly. Your hips buck automatically.

“Oh, fuck—”

Leah grins like a wolf. She curls her fingers and your whole spine tries to fold in half.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she says, pumping slow, deliberate, unfair. “There. Right there. Don’t move.”

You immediately move. “Fuck, wait—fuck, there.”

She groans, her forehead pressed to yours. “You’re so annoying.”

You kiss her to shut her up and reach down between her legs. Her knickers are drenched too. You laugh.

“What?” she says, breath hitching.

“Nothing. Just didn’t know England’s golden girl got this wet.”

“I’m a footballer,” she pants, “not a cardinal.”

You pull her knickers aside, push two fingers in easily. She’s hot and slick and all kinds of fuckable. Her eyes roll back for a second. She grabs your arm, anchoring herself. Her nails dig in.

“Oh my god. Keep doing that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t—don’t fucking stop.”

You thrust harder, matching her rhythm, both your hands moving now—sloppy and synchronised. Her hips are rolling. Yours too. There’s swearing. Lots of it. You’re both flushed and swearing and laughing in between grunts.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Harder.”

You give it to her harder. You give it to her like a promise. Like revenge.

At one point you both reach for each other at the same time and bang foreheads. Loudly.

“Ow,” you groan, blinking.

She’s laughing. “This is the least elegant sex I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” you growl, sucking a bruise into her neck. “I’m not here to be elegant.”

You push her legs wider. You go lower.

“Wait—are you—oh fuck—”

You don’t bother answering. You just get your mouth on her. One long, filthy lick from her entrance to her clit and she arches like she’s being electrocuted.

“Jesus CHRIST,” she chokes. “You’ve done this before.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You just moan into her cunt and keep going.

Her hand finds your hair and tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make you feel owned.

She’s close. You can feel it. She starts talking like a woman possessed.

“Yes. There. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t. Of course you don’t. You flatten your tongue and she breaks.

She cums hard, loud, practically shaking, her thighs closing around your head like a vice.

When she collapses, she pulls you up, kisses you like she’ll die if she doesn’t, and flips you over. She doesn’t even hesitate. Her mouth is on you like it’s home. She licks you open, groaning like you’re her favourite meal and she’s been fasting.

“Oh fuck me,” you cry, gripping the headboard like it’s a lifeline.

She hums against your clit. You nearly black out.

“Yeah?” she says, lifting her head. “That good?”

You nod, dazed.

“Use your words.”

“More.”

“More what?”

“More Leah.”

She moans like that’s the final straw and fingers you hard, mouth locked around your clit as if it belongs there. You cum embarrassingly fast. Practically scream. Collapse against the pillow like a dramatic Victorian wife.

There’s a beat. Silence. Both panting.

Then:

“I think I saw god.”

Leah wipes her mouth and shrugs. “Tell her I said hi.”

You both dissolve into hysterical laughter, tangled up and sweaty and slightly horrified.

“So,” you say, catching your breath. “The verdict on the third F?”

She grins. “I think I'll stick with forgiveness. For all the shit we’re about to pretend didn’t just happen.”

You nod. “Fair.”

And then you kiss her again. Because honestly, what else are you going to do?

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine

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ivanhoe1820 · 1 day ago

Text

I never thought that Our Flag Means Death would get me to feel protective towards Blackbeard, of all people.

Me when I first started watching it: Blackbeard committed many horrible acts of deep depravity. I will not like him.

Me now: He's just a little guy who has never done anything wrong ever in his life.

#i can confidently say that Stede and i have the same opinion here #currently just finished episode 4 of season 2 #i am obsessed #it's so beautiful #it's like i watched my favorite fan fiction get turned into a show #it's literally just fan fiction #our flag means death #ofmd

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lolasangelz · 1 day ago

Note

hear me out….. pregnancy scare w/ the arranged marriage AU

late

w/c: 600 and something

a/n: i got such writers block so thank youu for the request

thinking about changing up my layout a bit

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

it started with the smallest thing.

a cramp. not sharp, not serious, just a low tug in georgia's stomach that didn’t go away. she’d brushed it off at first - exhaustion, maybe. the kids had been wild all week, grayson had spilled juice into the laundry basket again, and maggie had developed a new habit of waking up at 2 am just to scream.

but then her period didn’t come.

it was supposed to. she always knew when. always tracked it. even through four pregnancies, even in the stess of newborn days, she could still tell you the cycle of her body like it was printed into her hand.

but this time, nothing.

and she knew what that usually meant.

the bathroom tile was cold against her legs as she sat there, the test face - down on the edge of the bathtub, her arms wrapped tight around her stomach like that might will something into place.

she didn’t want to flip it over. didn’t want to look.

"mama?" emerson’s voice floated down the hallway. little footsteps followed. "maddie took my stickers again!"

she had stood up too fast. dizzy. tears still pricking at the corners of her eyes, she flushed the toilet and had shoved the test to a drawer without even checking it.

she wasn’t ready.

not again. not now.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

rafe didn’t notice at first. or maybe he did - but he didn’t push.

he came home late again that night, the smell of rain and cigar smoke clinging to his coat. gigi was curled up on the couch with maggie asleep on her chest and the twins passed out on either side of her, her eyes half-closed.

"you look like a painting," he said softly, brushing a kiss to the top of her head as he slipped off his shoes.

"i feel like a disaster."

"you always say that. still beautiful."

she didn’t smile. not really.

rafe didn’t say anything else, but something shifted in the way he looked at her. like he knew. like maybe he remembered the last time she'd been quiet like this - right before she told him about grayson. how she'd stood in the kitchen in one of his sweatshirts and whispered, i’m late, like it was a confession.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

she checked the test the next day. hands shaking. throat dry.

negative.

just one clean line.

and still, it didn’t feel like relief. not fully. not yet.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

she told rafe that night, long after the kids were in bed, after the dishes were done and the house had settled into silence.

"i thought i was pregnant," she said, standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

he looked up from the bed, his newspaper still open on a page. he didn’t blink.

"you’re not?"

"no."

he set the newspaper down, slow. sat up straighter.

"are you okay?"

"i don’t know," she admitted.

he reached out, and she crossed the room and let herself crawl into his lap like muscle memory. his arms closed around her instantly, like he’d been waiting.

"i didn’t know how to tell you," she whispered.

"were you scared?"

"petrified."

he was quiet for a long time. then:

"i would’ve been scared too."

she didn’t expect that. her head jerked up slightly, but he was already watching her with that raw honesty he only showed in rare moments.

"but not mad," he said. "never mad."

"you didn’t want grayson," she reminded him, voice barely there.

"i didn’t know how to want him yet. that was on me. not you."

she leaned into his chest. his heartbeat under her cheek, steady.

"i just… i didn’t want it to be true, but when it wasn’t, i felt-"

"empty?" he finished for her.

"yeah."

he kissed the top of her head.

they didn’t talk about it again for a while. the test stayed in the back of the drawer. the cramps faded. her period came. life went on.

but something softened between them again. some new kind of understanding.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

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wooyngz · 6 hours ago

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i, personally, love the whole “caleb is a panty sniffer” thing bc that is so hot to me?? like?

i picture riding him, bouncing hard and fast on him. he can't decide whether he wants to watch your tits bounce to the rhythm or watch the faces you make when the head of his cock nudges just right inside of you.

either way he's completely spent. he's a moaning mess beneath you, but his noises are muffled because your panties are stuffed into his mouth.

like i picture being roommates with caleb and you’ve been missing a few pairs of underwear here and there for months. and you don’t want to accuse him of taking them, but anytime you complain about it to him, he flushes the lightest shade of pink and then miraculously they’re back in your drawer a week later.

this time your favorite pair is gone, the pretty red lace ones that you wear when you wanna feel hot. you’re supposed to be out somewhere but you end up finishing early and when you return home you can hear a faintest groans coming from caleb’s room. you go investigate but you’re certainly not expecting to see what you do when you open the door.

caleb with his pants around his ankles, his hard length proudly on display as he strokes himself, and he's got a pair of your laciest underwear in his hand, gripping on like it's his life source, holding it to his nose. you don’t mean to but a small, “oh,” slips out of your mouth. it cuts through the quiet room and caleb’s eyes lift to yours, shock filling them.

then he’s turning so red he may as well have been one of the apples he loves so much. you're not mad, though, which you find surprising; you're turned on. you also feel slightly validated the he was stealing them. as you slowly walk into the room he starts rambling out excuses and explanations. he all but trips onto the bed as you back him up against it.

“don't wanna hear it, caleb.” you say, taking the panties from him, while slowly pulling down your pants. his eyes widen, and you swear you see his cock give an enthusiastic twitch. “you're fucking filthy,” you say, but you're climbing on top of him, you're hovering over his hardness. you leave your underwear on, since he seems to like them so much. you do pull them to the side so he can see that you’re glistening, you’re just as turned on as he is. “fuck…” he says, almost to himself as he gets a clear view of your pussy.

“shit, i know. i am filthy,” he whines, looking at you with pleading eyes, “i’m sor-”

his words are cut off when you stuff your panties into his mouth. you click your tongue at him, reaching one hand between you to rub his tip along your wet folds, gathering up your arousal. “told you i didn't want to hear what you had to say.”

then you're sinking down on him. you both let out a moan at the feeling. he’d already been so close before you walked in it’s taking everything in him not to cum immediately. you lift your shirt up so that you're on display for him, and his hands immediately grip your tits, but he pulls away with a whimper when you give him a look that says he can look but not touch.

the pace is fast and relentless, you're trying to draw and orgasm from him as quick as you can and it shows. the sound of your arousal and skin slapping together is filling the room and ultimately that's what pushes him over the edge. his moans get higher in pitch and more frequent. you lift off of him and work him over with your hand until he's cumming on his stomach, chest heaving.

you pull you underwear from his mouth, he lets out a huff of a breath when you do and you use them to clean him up. “you do that often?” you ask him casually, finishing your clean up and standing up from the bed.

he doesn't answer right away, but when he does his voice sounds bashful, “not really,” he says but you know he's lying. you let him get away with it though. partially because you don't want to embarrass him, and partially because you're hoping you can catch him doing it again.

#like???#idk maybe it's just me #caleb #love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads smut #caleb x reader smut #caleb x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb #lads x reader #🍎⊹ ࣪

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domesticabuser · 2 days ago

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Request for mutual aid

Hello everyone. Right now I've found myself in a very difficult situation. I'm hyperfixated on dangan ronpa again. those of you in the gaming world may have noticed that a new dangan ronpa game released a few days ago and while I've been enjoying watching the playthroughs, I desperately need to get my hands on this game myself. However, I can't justify buying an entire console for one game.

Please, someone let me borrow your Nintendo switch. My situation may turn fatal.

I'm autistic and I've been hyperfixated on dangan ronpa for over 10 years. back in 2012 and 2013, some of my first urls were junkos-boobs and naegay. I'm sharing this sensitive and private information with you to let you know just how serious my condition is.

so please, don't let me turn into a body discovery announcement. I will even pay for the shipping to send the switch to my house. Once i am finished with the game i will return it to you. I'm begging you, I'm desperate. I don't want to die yet.

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ur-fav-slushy · 2 days ago

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!boyfriendhamzah headcannons

just some thoughts i have about hamzah if he was your fine shyt🤪

•hamzah drives. license or not he is your CHAUFFEUR. he likes to pretend to complain when you ask him to pick you up from work(like boy do your job!) but ofc he’s sitting there right when he needs to be because even tho he is CHRONICALLY LATE to everything he loves seeing your smiley face when you see his car.

“thought you said you weren’t gonna pick me up today?” you tease him while putting your seatbelt on. “i don’t recall ever saying that.” “you said it right after i told you i didn’t have time to shower with you this morning.” “nah i think that must’ve been your other boyfriend.”

•pda isn’t really his thing but when yall are alone? trust his hands are glued to some part of your body. elevator rides = drive by make out sessions like AS SOON as any door closes and yall are left to yourselves his face is an inch away from yours.

you both enter the elevator of your apartment building while talking about your days to each other. “-and then he didn’t even say thank you?! like who the hell shit in his cereal, anyways i jus-” just as the doors close hamzah puts his hand on your face and leans in to mold your lips against his. the kiss progresses further while you move between floors to the point where your both gripping on to each other when suddenly: ding! he pulls away when the doors open and just starts strolling away to his car. mf doesn’t even let you finish your story.

•he says he’s not jealous of the attention you give red and blue but as soon as he sees you chilling with red in your lap on the couch he’s gettting all up in your space wanting to know where his hug at🙄🙄

“what are you watching?” he asks from the kitchen while you sit on his couch with red purring against your hand as you pet him. “love on the spectrum! are you gonna come watch with us?” “us?” he asks as he rounds the corner and sees exactly who else your talking about. “red. go find blue.” he tries to shoo red when you stop him “no. he can sit here with us.” “he can sit next to us.” he reaches for red AGAIN when you swat him away and tell him he’s jealous to which he denies the claim and pouts as he sits next to you.

…somehow throughout watching the episode you guys end up with you spooning him as he cuddles red.(i am firm believer in big boys getting their fair share of little spoon time😤)

•he gets SO distracted when you come to the office, especially when it’s time for him record a podcast or some other form of content. in the podcast videos if you’re really paying attention enough you can see him look off to the same direction over and over again that the fans are starting to suspect he might be looking at SOMEONE instead of just something.

you can overhear martin telling a really funny story from where your sitting and when you look up from your phone to see what hamzahs reaction was to the story you find him already staring in your direction. you lock eyes and he smiles, you gesture for him to listen to martin and hamzah brings his focus back to the podcast but he can’t help but think about how gorgeous you look just sitting all pretty. just for him.

thank you for reading! this was my first time writing for hamzah and if you like what you read PLZ LET ME KNOW BECAUSE I HAVE SO MANY MORE HEADCANNONS FOR HIM!!!! ANYWAYS LOVE YOU FELLOW SLUSHIES MWAH😚💋

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #slushy virus #hamzah x reader #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzah x y/n #hamzah fluff #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #!boyfriendhamzah

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the-offside-rule · 1 day ago

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Isack Hadjar (VCARB) - Highlights

Requested: no

Prompt: my dream

Warnings: nope just flufffff

Monaco, 11:47 AM

Y/n sat back in the plush salon chair, the bright sunlight spilling in through the windows, glinting off the foil carefully folded into her hair. She had only just gotten started—her colorist working meticulously to weave the fine highlights she loved so much—when she caught sight of her boyfriend, Isack, sitting on the small couch across the room. Headphones in, phone in hand, he was trying so hard to look patient.

About forty minutes in, he pulled one earbud out and sat up. "Bébé, how much longer do you have?" Y/n blinked up at him through the mirror, trying not to laugh at the slight desperation in his voice. "Usually, about three hours." She said casually, shrugging. "I like the highlights really fine, so it takes longer." Isack’s jaw dropped. "Three hours?" He echoed, horrified. "You’re joking." She shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips as she looked back to her hairdresser with the same look. "No, I'm not." He stared at her like she’d just announced she was moving to Mars. After a second, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. "Okay. I’m gonna go for a walk or something. I’ll come back."

Y/n laughed softly. "Yeah, babe, that’s fine. Go stretch your legs. You’ll be bored out of your mind if you stay here." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, careful to avoid the foil, and headed toward the door. Right as he pushed it open, someone bumped into him. "Oh—sorry, mate." Ollie said, straightening up with a sheepish grin. Behind him, his girlfriend Alicia smiled warmly, a small shopping bag dangling from her wrist. "Where you off to?" Ollie asked, adjusting his cap.

Isack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "She’s getting her hair done. Apparently it’s gonna take three hours." He said dramatically, making Ollie snort. Alicia giggled and slid into the seat next to Y/n. The two girls immediately started chatting. "Mate, let’s just grab some food while we wait." Ollie suggested. "There’s no way I’m sitting in here watching hair get dyed for the next three hours." Isack brightened. "Cafe de Paris?"

"I don't care, I just need to get out of here. The bleach fumes are killing me."

The two rookies headed out into the bright Monaco sun, making their way down the bustling streets toward the famous café. As they slid into a corner table, menus in hand, Isack shook his head in disbelief. "Three hours to put stripes in your hair." He said, still outraged. Ollie burst out laughing. "You’re so dramatic. They're not stripes, they're highlights."

"You're starting to sound like her, you know." Isack muttered, picking up a fry from the basket between them. "If I’d known it was gonna take this long, I would’ve just stayed home." Ollie raised an eyebrow. "No, you wouldn’t have." Isack frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You follow Y/n around like a lost puppy." Ollie said matter-of-factly. "She could tell you she was gonna spend the whole afternoon reorganizing her sock drawer and you’d still tag along." Isack opened his mouth to argue...and then closed it again, slumping in his chair. "Yeah. Fair enough." Ollie smirked knowingly and stole a fry.

When the boys returned, they found Alicia’s hair being blown out in smooth, glossy waves and Y/n’s foils already out, her stylist adding the finishing touches. Y/n spotted Isack immediately in the mirror and smiled. She carefully stood, her new hair gleaming under the lights, and started to head toward the front desk to pay. Before she could even pull her card out, Isack stepped forward and handed his to the receptionist. Y/n gave him a stern look. "Isack."

He just winked, pocketing his wallet again. "Come on, bébé." He said, slinging an arm around her shoulder and steering her toward the door. "Let’s get you some lunch or something." Her stern look melted into a grin as she leaned into his side, the fresh scent of her hair filling the space between them. "Only if you let me pick." She teased. He laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Whatever you want."

#f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshots #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #isack hadjar x reader #isack hadjar x you #isack hadjar x y/n #isack hadjar fluff #isack hadjar fic #isack hadjar imagine

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sunarryn · 3 days ago

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DP X Marvel #30

Dani Phantom wasn’t exactly trying to join a government-sanctioned group of reformed (read: questionably reformed) assassins, mercenaries, and general menaces to society, but in her defense, she didn’t know what a Thunderbolt was. She thought they were just a bunch of really cool weirdos with snappy outfits who didn’t mind that she phased through walls sometimes or accidentally vaporized a training drone.

It started when Dani, on the run from some GIW idiots, phased through several realities and crash-landed in the middle of a Thunderbolts operation — specifically, right between Bucky Barnes (grumpy, armed, tired) and Yelena Belova (chaotic, armed, also tired but hiding it better).

“Is that a child?” Yelena asked, peering over Bucky’s shoulder like he was a slightly inconvenient lamp.

Bucky, gun still raised, frowned. “That’s a floating child.”

“I can see that, Captain Obvious,” Yelena snapped, flipping her knife casually in her hand. “Why is she floating like—”

Before she could finish that thought, Dani spun midair and zapped the rogue Hydra agents sneaking up behind them with a giant neon green energy blast. The agents went flying into a brick wall like someone had yeeted them across a football field.

“…Okay,” Yelena said brightly. “I like her. She can stay.”

“I—what?” Bucky sputtered, lowering his gun slightly. “She’s a kid, Yelena.”

“And she vaporized five men without blinking,” Yelena pointed out, beaming like a proud aunt. “I say we keep her. She’s Thunderbolt material. Very murder-y. Very spunky.”

“She’s like ten.”

“Exactly. She’s moldable. We can teach her the good stuff early,” Yelena insisted, already imagining Dani learning to throw knives and argue over which snacks were superior.

Meanwhile, Dani floated down to their level, blinking wide green eyes. “Are you guys… superheroes?” she asked hopefully.

Yelena immediately lied through her teeth. “Yes. Very professional. Very respected. No felonies.”

Bucky choked on absolutely nothing.

Thus began Dani’s unofficial, highly illegal induction into the Thunderbolts.

Nobody officially signed paperwork. Dani just started showing up. She helped steal Hydra files. She broke into a SHIELD safehouse for snacks. She haunted a couple of corrupt senators for laughs. The team decided if the government didn’t want her around, they should have given them actual HR training.

The real problem started when Bucky and Yelena decided they were both, separately, her legal guardian.

“You are not responsible enough to raise a kid,” Bucky said one evening, arms crossed while Dani hovered upside down from the ceiling chewing bubblegum she definitely stole from somewhere.

“And you are?” Yelena scoffed, tossing popcorn at Dani, who caught it in her mouth mid-flip. “You still get confused by TikTok.”

“That’s not the same as raising a kid!” Bucky barked. “She needs stability. Structure. Rules.”

“She needs to learn how to properly dismantle a car bomb in under thirty seconds,” Yelena said cheerfully. “You Americans are so boring.”

“I fought in World War II, of course I’m boring!” Bucky exploded.

“You’re ancient,” Yelena sniffed. “You probably think letting her get a tattoo is ‘dangerous.’”

“She’s a kid!” Bucky nearly screamed.

In the background, Dani giggled and skated on a conjured green energy hoverboard through the briefing room, knocking over chairs and sending a very concerned Red Guardian flying out of the way with a yell.

“This is fine,” Yelena said as Bucky watched in silent horror. “She is thriving.”

Thriving was one word for it.

Things escalated when Bucky tried to enforce an 8 PM bedtime.

“I’m literally a half-ghost,” Dani said, deadpan. “I don’t sleep.”

Bucky blinked. “What do you mean you don’t sleep? Everyone sleeps.”

Yelena, sitting smugly on the couch with a tub of ice cream, smirked. “Ha! The child sides with me. We binge-watch shows until 3 AM.”

“You’re killing her brain cells,” Bucky growled.

“Undead,” Dani corrected sweetly, phasing through the ceiling to avoid capture when Bucky tried to confiscate her ghostly hoverboard.

Meanwhile, other Thunderbolts members slowly realized there was a child among them and had no idea how to handle it.

Red Guardian tried to teach her Russian wrestling moves.

Taskmaster, after three failed attempts at babysitting, locked themselves in their room and refused to come out without bribes of coffee.

Ghost (Ava Starr) just accepted Dani as a background gremlin who occasionally made her coffee float across the room when she was too tired to move.

The real bomb dropped when Jazz Fenton stormed into the Thunderbolts’ compound.

Not walked. Stormed. Like an avenging angel armed with binders full of academic papers, parental rights lawsuits, and the righteous fury of an older sister forced to deal with supernatural nonsense since age twelve.

“What. The hell. Is going on,” Jazz asked, her voice eerily calm as she stared down Bucky, Yelena, Red Guardian, and Taskmaster at once.

Nobody moved.

Even Dani froze, halfway through trying to fit a stolen grenade into her backpack.

“You—” Jazz pointed at Bucky. “—brought my minor sister to an assassination mission.”

Bucky immediately tried to stand at attention like she was a general. “In my defense, she’s very good at it—”

“And you—” she pivoted to Yelena, who grinned unrepentantly. “—taught her how to hotwire a motorcycle!”

“Useful life skills,” Yelena said brightly.

“And you—” Jazz growled at Red Guardian, who tried to blend into the wall. “—gave her vodka!”

“It was for medicinal purposes,” Red Guardian said weakly.

Jazz took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles, and pulled out a thick legal document titled “Fenton v. Thunderbolts: Custody Hearing” that somehow already had signed pages, notarizations, and citations of obscure interdimensional child protection laws.

“I am taking her home,” Jazz said, enunciating every syllable like she wanted to bludgeon them with the concept of language.

Dani immediately wailed, “Nooooooo! Jazz! I like it here! They let me have grenades!”

“You are eleven!”

“Twelve and a half!” Dani insisted.

“I was giving her a flamethrower for her half-birthday,” Yelena said proudly.

Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose like she was resisting the urge to start swinging.

“I don’t even know how you people are still alive,” Jazz muttered.

“Luck,” Bucky offered helpfully. “Mostly luck. And sarcasm.”

“And murder,” Yelena added. “Don’t forget murder.”

Jazz turned to Dani, crouching so they were eye-level.

“Sweetie,” she said in the voice adults use when they’re seconds from committing a homicide, “you cannot just…join a government hit squad.”

“But they have matching jackets,” Dani said, voice wobbling. “And Bucky taught me how to punch people really hard without breaking my own hand!”

“She is surprisingly good at it,” Bucky muttered under his breath, rubbing his jaw where Dani had accidentally socked him two days prior during sparring.

Jazz looked up at the group, expression utterly blank.

“You realize that she’s technically a meta-human, a half-ghost, and a minor with no legal documentation in this universe, right?”

There was a pause.

Bucky blinked. “Technically…?”

Yelena shrugged. “Technicalities are boring. She lives here now.”

Jazz threw her hands in the air. “That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works!”

Dani, sensing weakness, clutched Jazz’s arm and put on the biggest, saddest puppy eyes she could muster.

“But Jazz…I finally have a family here…” she sniffled, lip trembling.

Bucky and Yelena, without missing a beat, immediately looked at Jazz like how dare you break her little heart you monster.

Jazz stared at them. “You are manipulating me.”

“Yes,” Yelena said brightly. “It’s working, no?”

Jazz closed her eyes, counted to ten in Esperanto, and resigned herself to the fact that apparently her life was now a living sitcom.

“I want a full academic curriculum. Supervision. No war crimes without prior approval. And absolutely, absolutely, no assassinations unless it’s self-defense and I’m there to supervise.”

Dani fist-pumped midair. “YES!”

Bucky and Yelena high-fived behind her back.

“I’m going to regret this,” Jazz muttered.

“You already regret it,” Bucky said, smirking.

And that’s how little Dani Fenton, half-ghost clone, menace of Amity Park, became the official junior Thunderbolt, the semi-official godchild of two retired assassins, and the proud holder of a laminated “Certified Baby Badass” card that Yelena made with glitter pens.

There were explosions. There were lawsuits. There were training montages.

There was Jazz drinking an entire bottle of wine while watching Dani yeet herself at Taskmaster with a battle cry of “YEET OR BE YEETED!”

There were Bucky and Yelena arguing over which martial arts Dani should master first (“Russian Sambo!” “No, Krav Maga!” “SHE’S A CHILD YOU MANIACS!”) while Dani snuck off to teach herself breakdancing instead.

There was Dani winning the team sparring competition by phasing through everyone’s attacks and slapping sticky notes labeled “LOSER” on their foreheads before they even realized what was happening.

There was Jazz realizing too late that she was now somehow not only Dani’s sister, therapist, and guardian…but also the unofficial mom of the entire Thunderbolts squad, a title she did not want but was too tired to fight.

And there was Dani — floating over the compound at sunset, arms spread wide, grinning so hard her face hurt — who realized for the first time in a long time that maybe, just maybe, being a weird half-ghost clone kid wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Especially if you had a dysfunctional murder family to back you up.

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