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kxsagi · 20 days ago

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hihi how would the bllk men act/respond when their gf says she’ll sleep on the couch after an argument?? pls include the itoshi brothers and whoever else you want

tyyy

“𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝”

a/n: my guy best friend’s name is alexis so for ness, i wonder what nicknames reader would call him. lex? alex?

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, ness alexis

itoshi rin

you don’t yell. you just say it, quietly, firmly, “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

rin doesn’t even look up from where he’s pulling the comforter back. “then sleep out there forever,” he mutters.

that’s it. that’s all he says.

your jaw tightens. fine. he wants to be a dick? you’ll go be a comfortable, petty little burrito on the couch.

the second you’re gone, he sighs and slumps against the pillows. he stares at the ceiling for a while. then turns to your empty side of the bed.

it’s cold. and he hates it.

he tosses. turns. groans. this is stupid.

five minutes later, he storms out like a grumpy cat. hoodie half-on, socks mismatched, glaring like you murdered his whole family. “you’re being dramatic,” he says. “and annoying.”

you open your mouth to respond, but he’s already sitting down on the floor next to the couch and crossing his arms.

“i’m not going to bed without you,” he says flatly. “so either come back, or we both suffer.”

you end up back in bed, wrapped in his hoodie, with his hand loosely curled around yours under the covers. he whispers, “i hate you,” and kisses your forehead.

it’s his version of “i missed you.”

itoshi sae

when you declare you’re sleeping on the couch, sae just gives you one of those flat, deadpan stares. like he’s watching a toddler throw a tantrum.

“seriously?” he says. “over that?”

you grab your blanket anyway. you’re halfway down the hallway before you hear him sigh. not a regular sigh, a tired, you’re impossible, but i love you sigh.

he lets you go. but only for ten minutes.

then he casually appears in the living room like he owns the place, leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. “you know the couch ruins your neck,” he says.

you roll your eyes. “so?”

“so come to bed.”

you turn away from him with a stubborn huff. he crosses the room in two strides, crouches down in front of the couch, and gently tugs your hand.

“i don’t like going to sleep angry,” he murmurs. “not with you.”

you don’t say anything, but your eyes soften.

he kisses your hand and gives a rare, tired little smile. “c’mon. the bed’s warm. and so am i.”

he doesn’t let go until you’re back under the covers, head tucked under his chin, heart finally calm again.

isagi yoichi

“wait, baby, hold on. what? what do you mean the couch?”

he looks like you just threatened to leave him forever. arms stretched out, eyes wide like a kicked puppy.

“c’mon, don’t do that... not over something this dumb.”

you grab your pillow and ignore him, brushing past. he follows immediately, practically tripping over himself to keep up.

“you want me to sleep in the bed alone? do you hate me that much?” he says it with the most tragic, oscar-worthy expression on his face.

when you don’t turn around, he dramatically flops on the couch right next to you. “okay then. if you’re on the couch, i’m on the couch.”

he makes it five seconds before whining, “my back already hurts.”

eventually he wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face in your neck. “i’m still mad,” he mumbles. “but i love you. and i can’t sleep unless you’re squished up against me like a koala.”

you both fall asleep tangled up on the couch like weird puzzle pieces.

you wake up in the morning with his face squished into your shoulder and a whispered, “you’re not allowed to sleep away from me again, okay?”

nagi seishiro

you announce your decision like it’s a declaration of war. “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

nagi, half-asleep already, barely blinks. “… that sounds like so much work.”

you expect him to argue. or care. but instead, he just sits up, yawns, and wanders over to you like a very lazy puppy.

“babe,” he mumbles, hugging your waist from behind. “you’re comfy. the bed’s comfy. come be comfy with me.”

you protest, but he’s already scooping you up with both arms like you’re a stuffed animal. “too tired to fight. let’s nap it off.”

he drops you both onto the bed in one go, pulling the blanket over your heads like a makeshift fort.

you glare at him. “we’re still mad at each other.”

he hums sleepily. “okay. we can be mad tomorrow. bedtime now.”

he falls asleep with your fingers tangled in his and your forehead against his shoulder.

you’re not mad anymore by morning. not when he snores softly and still refuses to let go of your hand.

mikage reo

“the couch?” he gasps like you just told him you were eloping with his worst enemy.

“my love, my sunshine, my everything, you would choose the crusty old couch over your charming, heartbroken boyfriend?”

you blink at him. “reo–”

he drops to the floor dramatically, clutching his chest. “say it isn’t so!”

you actually laugh, which pisses you off more because you’re supposed to be mad.

“i’m serious,” you say. “i need space.”

reo nods solemnly and lets you go… but you know it’s not over.

ten minutes later, he shows up with a cup of tea, your favorite blanket, and his own pillow under his arm.

“room for one more?” he asks, already crawling beside you.

he strokes your hair and whispers, “i hate when we fight, you know. but i’m not letting you go to sleep thinking i don’t love you.”

you fall asleep with your head on his chest and his heartbeat thumping under your ear.

he kisses your temple and mumbles, “next time we argue, let’s just yell into a pillow and then make out.”

kaiser michael

“i’m sleeping on the couch.”

you expect him to scoff. to roll his eyes. maybe even say “fine, go ahead.”

but instead… he just laughs. not the mocking kind. it’s the amused, oh my gosh, you’re so cute when you think you’re winning kind of laugh.

he leans back against the bedroom wall, arms crossed, watching you like you’re performing a one-person drama. “you?” he drawls. “on my couch? schatz, that thing isn’t worthy of your ass.”

you glare at him as you march off with your pillow. “good. now i won’t have to see your smug face until morning.”

“you’ll miss me before you even fall asleep.”

“wanna bet?”

you wrap yourself up like a burrito, determined to win. five minutes pass. ten. you think you hear him shuffling around, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of checking. then –

a sudden weight on the couch.

you shriek as kaiser climbs on top of you, shoving your blanket aside with all the grace of a golden retriever in a silk robe. “what the hell, micha –”

he silences you with a kiss to the cheek and a smirk. “you said you were sleeping on the couch. you didn’t say i couldn’t join you.”

he settles in, spooning you tightly, chin on your shoulder. “still mad?” he whispers.

you huff. “a little.”

“good. you’re cute when you’re pissed.”

he doesn’t let go once all night, and the next morning, you wake up with his arm draped over your waist and his voice low against your skin: “next time we fight, just yell at me in bed. it’s more comfortable.”

ness alexis

“i’m sleeping on the couch.”

ness freezes mid-step, like someone just yanked the power cord out of him. his whole face crumples. his arms fall limply to his sides. he looks like he just got rejected on live TV.

“w-wait… really?” he says, voice small. “because of what i said?”

you nod. firmly. “i need space.”

ness nods too, quickly. “right. okay. space. of course. totally.”

he watches you grab your blanket. he follows like a shadow, lingering behind you, clutching his hoodie sleeves like they’re your hands.

“if you need anything, i’ll be… just down the hallway,” he says. “if the light flickers, or if you get cold, or– i dunno– if the couch tries to eat you.”

you raise a brow. “alexis.”

he stands there a moment longer, eyes shining just a little too much. “… do you still love me?” he whispers.

your heart softens immediately, but you keep your back turned. “go to bed, lex.”

you think he leaves. but then, an hour later, a small rustling wakes you. you peek open your eyes, and there he is, curled up on the floor next to the couch with a blanket and one of your socks.

“lex?”

he sits up instantly, bleary-eyed. “i-i wasn’t trying to sneak in! i just… missed you.”

you sigh and pull him up beside you. he cuddles into your chest like a human teddy bear, arms wrapped tight.

“sorry again,” he mumbles. “please don’t leave the bed next time. i’ll be better. i swear.”

you kiss the top of his head and feel him melt like butter in your arms.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #seishiro x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo x reader #kaiser michael x reader #michael kaiser x reader #ness alexis x reader #alexis ness x reader #don't be shy beg me back to bed

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velvetydream · 1 year ago

Text

꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

┌───────────────────────── · · · · ♡

The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor #alastor x reader #x you #x reader #imagine #imagines #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin imagine

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 2 months ago

Text

baby daddy (j.t.)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Some blood and stuff

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: I'll be so honest, this was way better in my head lol my execution needs work because aint no way this is 7k words and im still not satisfied perhaps this would be best as a series? but tbh i dont think i can write much more than this

It's based on this post from @batbusiness-schooldropout

"Alright, who the hell snitched?"

Jason stormed into the Batcave, helmet tucked under his arm, pissed.

Tim barely looked up from the Batcomputer, "What are you talking about?"

Jason gestured wildly, "I just had a fun little run-in with a couple of GCPD officers who very politely informed me that I have an outstanding legal matter that needs my attention. Which is news to me because I don’t exactly file taxes or have jury duty, so what the hell are they trying to pull?"

Tim blinked, "You have a warrant?"

"That’s what I’m asking you!" Jason snapped.

Tim, now curious, spun back to the screen, "Alright, let’s check."

He typed in Red Hood and cross-checked it with Gotham’s legal system. A few minor infractions came up—nothing serious—but then…

There it was.

Tim frowned, "Huh."

Jason narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"It’s… not a warrant," Tim said slowly, "It’s a summons."

Jason crossed his arms, "For what?"

Tim clicked on the file. A scanned document popped up, the words 'LEGAL NOTICE' at the top.

"Looks like someone filed you as a legal guardian," Tim muttered, "Gotham’s courts have been trying to notify you for a while now. They probably flagged it to GCPD just to get it on your radar."

Jason scoffed, "Guardian? Of who?"

Tim clicked again, "A kid named Aria (L/N)."

Jason frowned, "That name means nothing to me."

Tim went still.

Jason’s stomach sank, "...What?"

Tim very slowly turned the screen toward him.

Jason stared.

Child’s Name: Aria (L/N) Mother: (Y/N) (L/N) Father: Red Hood

His brain just stopped working.

Dick, passing by with his coffee, glanced at the screen, "Oh, damn. Jay, you finally settling down?"

Jason whipped around to glare at him, "I don’t know this woman! I don’t have a kid!"

"Legally, you do." Tim pointed out.

Jason turned back to the screen, rubbing his temples, "Why is my life like this?"

Tim scrolled further, "Looks like the mother put your name down instead of the real father’s. And since Gotham courts don’t do DNA tests without permission from both parents… that guy got screwed out of custody."

Jason clenched his jaw, "And now they’re trying to find me because I’m on record as the dad."

Tim squinted at the file, then choked.

Jason looked at him warily, "...What?"

Tim covered his mouth, trying so hard not to laugh, "There's a comments section."

Jason leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the document. Then he saw it.

Additional Comments: "He kept the helmet on the whole time."

The Cave went dead silent.

Jason stared. Tim bit his lip. Dick was turning red trying not to lose it.

Then—

Tim wheezed.

Dick howled.

Jason smacked his forehead against the Batcomputer, "I hate everything."

He then exhaled sharply, cutting off his mental breakdown before muttering, "Okay. Fine. I’ll go find the mother and figure this out."

Dick snickered, "Tell Aria Daddy’s coming home."

Jason threw a batarang at him.

***

"Hi, honey, I'm home."

The distorted, robotic voice from his helmet made you freeze in place. Your pulse thundered in your ears, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. You knew exactly why the Red Hood was in your apartment.

You turned slowly, keeping your hands in sight as if that would make a difference, "Please, don't. My daughter is in the next room. She only has me."

"Don't you mean our daughter?" He bit out, sarcasm cutting through the voice modulator.

Despite whatever anger he held toward you, he hesitated, feeling pity. You must have looked terrified.

"I'm not here to hurt you," He said after a beat, "I just want an explanation."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm, "Her father is an asshole. I couldn’t let him have any rights over her, so I wrote your name down on all her documents. Gotham has no way of verifying, so they just had to take my word for it."

You met his gaze, your voice steady despite the situation, "I’m sorry if I made things complicated for you, but this was the only way I knew to keep his hands off her."

Jason exhaled sharply, shifting his weight, "How long did you think this would go unnoticed?"

You hesitated before answering, "Well… 'our' daughter turned five last month, so I figured you weren't going to find out anytime soon. Guess I was wrong."

You knew of Red Hood. You knew what he stood for. No matter what, he would never hurt a child. Ever. And if the rumors about him were true, then he would realize that you had only been acting in Aria’s best interest.

He studied you, the lenses of his helmet unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. This was an invasion of privacy—probably illegal, even—but instead of anger, he seemed... intrigued. You weren’t what he expected. You were clever, maybe even reckless, but clearly devoted to your daughter.

And—if he was being honest—pretty. Definitely pretty.

"Why me?" He finally asked, "Why not any of the other Bats?"

You shrugged, "Of all of them, you seemed like the least likely for civil court to track down." That much was true—any time someone tried to drag Red Hood into Gotham’s legal system, he either ignored it or laughed in their face before firing a warning shot.

"You're also the scariest, aside from Batman. And I didn’t want him getting any ideas about recruiting Aria for his next child vigilante project once Robin retires again." You smirked, "Lastly, having a baby daddy without a no-kill rule seemed like a great way to keep that deadbeat asshole far, far away from us."

Jason flat-out laughed at that. The sound, even through the voice modulator, carried warmth.

"You make an excellent argument," He admitted.

You relaxed slightly, "I am sorry. If I knew it was going to bother you, I never would have done it."

He shrugged, completely unbothered, "Doesn’t bother me. You were doing right by your kid. I can respect that."

Relief washed over you, and you smiled. You didn’t push the conversation further—if he wanted to be taken off her documents, he’d ask.

Instead, he surprised you.

"Can I meet her?"

Your breath caught, "Who? Aria?"

"I mean, legally, she’s my kid, right? That means I have visitation rights."

Apprehension prickled at the edges of your mind. Had you just swapped out one danger for another? You had gone to great lengths to keep Aria safe from one man—had you unknowingly invited another into her life?

Jason seemed to sense your hesitation. "You can say no," He said, almost gently, "But I just found out I have a daughter today. I’d like to meet the girl who made you pull a stunt this reckless and brave."

You could say no. You probably should say no.

And yet, as you looked at the masked man standing in your too-small living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

"...Okay," You said at last, "But you might want to take off the mask. She scares easy."

Jason chuckled, low and amused. You half-expected him to refuse, to make some offhanded comment before declining the invitation and leaving, but instead, you heard the soft click as he unlocked his helmet and pulled it off.

Dark, slightly messy hair with a single white streak. Stormy blue eyes. Sharp cheekbones and full lips.

"Wow," You breathed before you could stop yourself.

He raised a brow.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warming, "I can see where our daughter gets her good looks from."

Jason snorted, shaking his head.

"Aria, honey!" You called, turning toward her room, "Come out for a second, please!"

The door creaked open, followed by the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. Aria emerged in a pink tutu, a plastic wand in her hands, and a sparkly tiara perched on her head.

She blinked up at Jason with wide, curious eyes.

"This is Mommy’s friend, Red Hood," You told her, "He wanted to say hi."

Aria beamed, "Hi, Mr. Hood!" She grabbed the edges of her tutu and curtsied, just like the princesses in her favorite cartoons.

You glanced at Jason. His expression had softened, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For a man who had probably seen the worst the world had to offer, he looked completely in awe.

Jason, the Red Hood—the most terrifying name in Gotham’s underworld—cleared his throat, gripping his helmet a little tighter.

"Uh. Hi there." He said, voice definitely shaking.

You bit your lip, looking down to hide your smile.

This huge crime lord, who had probably seen more murders tonight than you had in your entire life, was nervous talking to a five-year-old.

Aria giggled, "You talk funny."

Jason blinked, "I do?"

She nodded, "Your voice is all rumbly! Like Batman!"

Jason made a very undignified sound, "I am nothing like Batman, princess."

Aria gasped dramatically, "You know Batman?!"

***

Jason didn’t know exactly how he ended up in this position.

After that first meeting with Aria, he’d been more than ready to let you both get back to your lives. You had only put his name down as Aria's father to scare off her real father; he had no place here.

And yet.

When he found himself alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, or in the rare moments of silence while working on cars, his mind drifted. He’d think about Aria—her wide, innocent eyes staring up at him, the way she had curtsied like a damn princess, completely unafraid of the man Gotham whispered about in fear.

An unfamiliar squeeze tugged at his heart.

He had a daughter.

And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to protect her—to keep that innocence untouched, to make sure she was safe and happy. He wanted to be a father.

Then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to you.

You hadn't spoken for long, but somehow, you’d managed to stick in his mind. Despite it being the end of the day, exhaustion tugging at you, there had been a light in your eyes—something warm, something alive. He found himself drawn to it.

The confidence in your posture, the way you had no trouble meeting his eyes, the sheer sass you had thrown his way despite knowing exactly who he was. And above all, the love and protectiveness you had for Aria.

You were nothing like anyone he had ever met before.

A couple of days later, he found himself knocking at your door again.

He had told himself it was just to check on Aria after a Joker attack. That was reasonable, right? He had to make sure she was safe. That’s all it was.

You had offered him dinner. He declined.

Then, a couple of days after that, he found himself there again—this time after a Poison Ivy incident.

You offered him dinner again.

This time, he obliged.

That night, he sat at your dinner table with you and Aria, listening as she excitedly told him about school. He learned about your job, about the little details of your life, and—much to his amusement—was introduced to what Aria called the greatest meal in the entire world.

Hello Kitty-shaped pasta.

He raised a brow at you.

You shrugged, "It’s expensive, but it makes her happy."

Jason huffed a small laugh, "What’s the special occasion?"

Aria beamed, practically vibrating in her seat.

"I got made line leader today!" She announced proudly.

You glanced at her with a mix of amusement and pride, eyes warm, "It’s a big deal."

Jason turned to Aria, his chest tightening at the way she puffed herself up with pride. Without thinking, he reached out and ruffled her hair like it was second nature.

"Good job, princess," He murmured.

Her entire face lit up.

And just like that, Jason Todd was done for.

It had been two months since Jason first met the both of you, and now, sitting at the dinner table, he was experiencing his first real parental crisis.

It was obvious that Aria was in a bad mood.

She barely touched her food, half-heartedly pushing it around her plate. Even when you suggested ordering takeout—usually a foolproof way to lift her spirits—she just shook her head. You and Jason exchanged a concerned glance over her head.

Something was clearly wrong.

You sighed, resigning yourself to the hope that she’d tell you before bed or at least over breakfast tomorrow.

"I'm just gonna go take a shower, do you mind?" You asked, gesturing toward Aria.

Jason didn’t hesitate before nodding.

You smiled gratefully, pressing a kiss to Aria’s crown before leaning over and doing the same to Jason.

A month ago, that would’ve made him jump out of his skin. Now, after two months of shared dinners—some planned, others happening more naturally—he only sat there, heart racing in his chest, pretending that wasn’t the highlight of his day.

When he heard the shower turn on, he turned to Aria with a mischievous grin.

"Okay, Mom’s in the shower. What do you say to ice cream for dinner?"

Jason liked to pretend you had no idea whenever he and Aria snuck ice cream together. But ever since he convinced you to let him make homemade ice cream with protein shakes and sneaky healthy ingredients, you had stopped putting up much of a fight. Besides, he wasn’t exactly subtle. If he didn’t outright tell you, the dirty dishes in the sink were more than enough of a giveaway.

More than anything, though, he just wanted Aria to eat something.

But tonight, instead of the excited little gasp she usually gave, Aria just frowned.

"Mommy doesn’t like that."

"Princess," He said more gently, shifting in his seat, "is something wrong? You love ice cream. And Mom made one of your favorites tonight, but you’re not eating, and…" His voice softened, "That makes me sad."

Aria hesitated for a few seconds before pushing her plate away and sliding off her chair. Jason tensed, heart thudding slightly faster. Shit, did I upset her? Is she about to cry?

But she didn’t.

Instead, she ran off, returning moments later with her pink Barbie backpack. She unzipped it and rifled through its contents before pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and handing it to him.

Jason smoothed the paper out.

And felt his stomach drop.

Daddy-Daughter Day!

"My teacher told us to give it to our parents," Aria said quietly, her lip trembling, "So our daddies can come visit one day."

She fidgeted, looking down at her hands.

"But… I don’t have a daddy."

And just like that, Jason Todd’s heart broke in two.

***

When you came out of the shower, towel-drying your hair and now dressed in your pajamas, you immediately looked around for Aria.

"She didn’t really want to eat, so I just put her to bed," Jason informed you.

You sighed, sinking into a chair at the dining table, "Do you think I should call her teacher tomorrow and ask if something happened? Maybe someone was being mean to her at school?"

Wordlessly, Jason slid a folded piece of paper across the table toward you. You furrowed your brows and picked it up, unfolding it to read.

Your face immediately darkened.

"This can’t be right!" You hissed, voice sharp with anger. "I thought schools had outfashioned practices like this! What happened to inclusivity and all that crap? What about kids with two moms? Or no parents at all? I’m calling up the school. I’m gonna be a full-blown Karen. I’m gonna—"

"(Y/N)—"

"No, Jason, this isn’t okay!"

Despite your fury, you kept your voice down for Aria’s sake. Jason wasn’t sure if you were about to explode or just strain your vocal cords with your whispered screams. But then, just as suddenly as your anger had flared, you seemed to fizzle out.

You slumped back into your chair, rubbing your face with trembling hands.

"I’ve done everything I can to make sure Aria never feels the absence of a father," You murmured.

"I’ve tried. I’ve—" Your voice cracked.

You let out a shaky breath and shielded your face with your hands, "My poor baby. I can’t believe she held onto this all day without telling me."

Jason think twice before he pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head against his neck as you composed yourself.

After a moment, he spoke, "Look, I know it might not be the same, but… I was thinking. What if I attended the event with Aria?"

You stiffened, then slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes. Your expression wasn’t hopeful—it was guarded.

Jason’s stomach soured.

"Jay, I know we’ve been having a good time lately, but you can’t do that to Aria," You said, shaking your head, "If you go to this event as her dad, she’s going to see you as that. And you can’t—you can’t do that to her."

Jason swallowed hard. His voice was quieter when he asked, "What if I wanted to? To be seen as her dad? Would that really be so terrible?"

You didn’t answer.

You just stood up from the table and walked away.

Jason almost would have laughed at how much you resembled Aria in that moment if he didn't feel his stomach sinking to his feet.

But just like Aria, you also came back.

Clutched in your hands was a camera. You placed it in front of him, watching as he stared at you with unsure eyes.

"I record all of Aria’s school events," You said softly. "Don’t miss a second of it."

Jason blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

Before you could react, he grabbed you and twirled you around the kitchen.

You let out a surprised squeal before bursting into giggles, clinging onto his shoulders. But then, realization hit.

You were definitely not wearing a bra.

Your giggles faded, and Jason froze as well, both of you suddenly very aware of how close you were. You stared at each other, identical blushes creeping up your cheeks.

You cleared your throat.

"You can—um—you can put me down now."

***

It was almost comical how small the classroom was.

Jason had to duck his head to step inside, barely squeezing through the low doorframe. The room was packed—about fifteen other dads crammed into tiny plastic chairs that looked like they could barely support one ass cheek. Jason didn’t even bother trying. Instead, he just lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs as he settled in.

The dads around him nodded politely as they all waited for the teachers to finish setting up and taking attendance.

"I don’t think I’ve seen you around before," A man beside him said, shifting his son in his lap, "I’m David."

"Jason," He replied, shaking his hand with a firm but polite grip.

"This is Harry," David continued, gesturing to the little boy who peeked up at Jason shyly before quickly burying his face in his dad’s shirt. Jason chuckled.

"So, which one’s yours?"

Jason glanced across the room, "Over there, in the book corner."

David followed his gaze. In the far corner, a little girl in denim dungarees rifled through a stack of picture books with a very serious expression, clearly determined to find a specific one. Jason had picked out her outfit today—he’d even let her wear the tiara she refused to take off, despite your insistence that it was an inside toy.

No doubt, she was making a mess that her poor teacher would have to clean up later.

David frowned, "Who?"

"The one with the tiara," Jason said.

David's confusion deepened, "Aria?"

Jason’s brows furrowed, "Yeah."

"Aria (L/N)?"

"Yes."

David blinked, "I—I didn’t know you were—I thought (Y/N) was single."

Jason’s expression darkened. A phantom of a scowl flickered across his face before he forced himself to relax. He wasn’t about to scare off the other parents at an event that was supposed to be important for Aria.

"She isn’t," He said simply.

David paled, "Oh. Uh—sorry." He quickly bowed his head, clearly embarrassed.

Jason smirked, barely hiding his haughty attitude. So what if he told a little white lie? It wouldn’t do any harm for Dave—or Dan, or whatever his name was—to keep his sights off you.

Really, you deserved better than some average, boring guy who probably filed his taxes early and grilled chicken without seasoning. Someone like that wouldn’t know how to handle you. He wouldn’t know how to make you laugh when you were stressed, wouldn’t know how to handle your sass, wouldn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.

No, you needed someone confident. Someone strong. Someone who could protect you and Aria. Someone with a soft side, sure, but also someone who wasn’t afraid to fight for you. Someone who would go to hell and back if it meant keeping you both safe.

Someone like…

Oh.

Jason's smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered, clearing his throat and forcing himself to focus on Aria, who was still knee-deep in her book hunt.

Well. That was something to unpack later.

***

"Now, all together, everyone! On the count of three—one, two, three!" the teacher announced cheerfully.

A chorus of tiny voices rang out.

"I love you, Dad!"

It was loud, chaotic, a jumble of high-pitched shouts that somehow blended into something warm and sweet. Parents chuckled, kids giggled, the room filled with laughter and joy.

But Jason’s heart sank.

While the other kids beamed up at their fathers, Aria clutched the handmade card in tight fists, her knuckles white. She kept her head down, lip wobbling, shoulders trembling as she struggled to say the words.

Jason knelt in front of her, his heart twisting. God, she’s so small. Both of her tiny hands barely covered his palm as he gently took them in his own.

"You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, Aria," He told her softly, "I’m not going to force you to do anything. Just know that I love you very much, princess. That’s enough for me."

She finally looked up at him, somehow seeming even smaller despite the fact that he was kneeling. Her big, glassy doe eyes searched his face.

"You really love me?" She asked in the quietest whisper.

"More than anything, baby."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could think about the weight they carried. About what it might mean for a little girl who had spent her whole life without a father.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Jason barely had time to register the emotion in her eyes before she launched herself at him, tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She burrowed against him, her small frame pressing against his chest as she whispered into his ear—

"I love you, Daddy."

Jason felt his breath catch in his throat.

Oh. Oh.

He squeezed her tighter, pressing his face into her soft curls, "I love you too, princess," He murmured, voice thick with something he wasn’t ready to name.

And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd felt like he belonged.

***

Aria had been absolutely beaming after Daddy-Daughter Day, her excitement carrying her through the evening—especially since Jason had taken her to the park afterward. She had barely managed to get through telling you about her day, slurring her words sleepily as you tucked her into bed.

You pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, smoothing down her hair before stepping away, only to find Jason waiting for you in the doorway.

You smiled at him, reaching for his hand and leading him back to the living room. Without a word, you poured him a glass of wine, knowing that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, the day at her kindergarten had probably exhausted him. The proof was in the way he let out an almost comically heavy sigh the second he sank onto the couch.

You settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder like it belonged there, both of you staring at the very much off television in comfortable silence.

“She has a lot of energy, doesn’t she?” You murmured, amused.

Jason huffed out a laugh, “Yeah. I like to think I’m somewhat athletic, but Aria put me to shame today.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, “Thanks for going today. It meant a lot to her. And to me, too.”

There was a beat of silence before Jason reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours like second nature. His grip was warm, grounding.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

Living in Gotham, you considered yourself one of the lucky ones.

Sure, you weren’t immune to the constant calamities that plagued the city, but you had managed to avoid being caught in the worst of them. Your bank had never been robbed while you were there. You had never been held hostage. You were one of the few people left who had never fallen victim to Joker venom.

Sure, your house had been broken into before—before Aria—but you were never home when it happened.

Really, you should’ve known your luck was going to run out eventually.

You had gotten too comfortable with Jason’s late-night visits, so when the knock came at your door, you didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t check the peephole. You didn’t ask who it was. You just…opened it.

Rookie mistake.

The man standing on the other side was a stranger. Tall. Built. And he made no effort to conceal the gun in his pocket.

Your blood went cold.

A smirk curled at his lips, sending goosebumps crawling up your skin. Your throat tightened.

“Hello, sweetheart. Did your baby daddy stop by?”

Your voice barely came out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man tsked, stepping forward, making you instinctively press yourself against the doorframe.

“Now, now. Don’t lie,” He murmured, “It won’t end well for you—or the little runt back there.”

Your heart stopped.

Aria.

Terror clawed at your chest, your breath shuddering. Tears burned your eyes.

“Please,” You whispered, “Don’t hurt her. She’s just a child.”

“The child of the infamous Red Hood.” He tilted his head mockingly, “You can’t possibly think that means nothing.”

You shook your head violently, “She doesn’t know anything. I don’t know anything. Please.”

Your hands were iron on the doorknob, but it meant nothing.

With a single sharp shove, he flung the door open.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

***

Jason had been having a good night.

He had just finished his patrol and was on his way to your place, eager to see you and Aria. Maybe he’d bring her some hot chocolate, tuck her into bed, and spend the rest of the night with you, pretending—for just a little while—that the world outside didn’t exist.

Then he saw the door.

Wide open.

His blood ran cold.

Jason didn’t think—he moved. Gun drawn, he stormed inside, heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. The second he stepped into the apartment, his stomach dropped.

The place was trashed.

Aria’s toys were scattered across the floor, your coffee table overturned, and the framed pictures on the wall had been knocked down, the glass shattered.

There had been a struggle.

Jason’s throat tightened as his eyes landed on a streak of blood smeared across the hardwood floor.

His world tilted.

No. No, no, no, NO.

His hands shook, but his grip on his gun only tightened. His pulse was pounding in his ears, deafening, drowning out everything but the rage that ignited in his chest like an explosion.

His vision blurred with fury.

Someone took you. Someone took Aria.

His family.

Jason turned sharply and stormed out of the apartment, his movements lethal and precise. He going to hunt down the bastards who thought they could take his girls and live to tell the tale.

They were going to pay.

***

"I need you to find two missing people."

That was the first thing out of Jason’s mouth the second he entered the cave. His urgency didn’t seem apparent enough to anyone, judging by the way Dick and Bruce didn’t even look up from sparring.

Tim, who didn’t bother glancing away from the Batcomputer, simply asked, “Who?”

“(Y/N) and Aria (L/N).”

At this, Dick perked up, “Your fake baby mama and kid? She might not be missing, Little Wing. Maybe she’s just at Superman’s baby shower.”

Dick wasn’t expecting boisterous laughter, but at least a huff of breath or a chuckle would have been appreciated. Instead, he suddenly found himself grabbed by the collar, yanked forward until he was forced to look Jason in the eye.

Jason’s expression was thunderous—fury on the surface, but something even more unsettling lurked underneath.

“The mother of my child and my daughter are missing, and you want to make jokes?”

Dick raised a brow, forcing himself to stay calm, “I thought you didn’t know them?”

Jason’s grip tightened for a second before he let go, stepping back. His voice was low, unwavering.

“I do now.”

***

The world felt like it was spinning in slow motion. Every breath was a struggle, your head pounding from the blow you’d taken earlier, your body screaming in pain with every movement. You tried to focus, tried to tell yourself it was going to be okay—that Aria was okay—but you weren’t okay.

You had been firm in your resolve, refusing to reveal anything about the Red Hood, willing to die on the hill that you knew nothing. But you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it up. So far, they had only hurt you—because when they had turned to Aria, demanding answers, she had wailed and sobbed until she peed herself. The memory made tears well in your eyes.

Your poor girl might walk out of this untouched, but she wouldn’t leave unscathed. This would haunt her for years to come.

And you knew—the second they turned back toward her, the second they so much as raised a hand in her direction—you would break. It didn’t matter how much you loved Jason. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever put anyone above Aria’s safety.

Her terrified little eyes stayed locked on you, watching as a trail of blood ran down the side of your face.

Then the door slammed open.

The sound echoed in the empty space, sharp and deafening. Your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat. The man holding you captive turned toward the entrance, a sneer curling his lips.

“Well, well,” He drawled, his voice sickeningly amused. “Looks like Daddy's finally joined us for the party.”

Your heart leaped in your chest. But you couldn’t show it. Not when Aria was still in danger.

With the momentary distraction, she crawled into your lap, and despite the blinding pain searing through your body, you pulled her in. She trembled against you, clutching onto you as if her life depended on it—and in a way, it did. You shielded her, wrapping your arms around her tiny frame, covering her eyes with your bloody hand.

You whispered sweet nothings into her ear, pressing weak kisses to her temple, hoping—praying—that it would be enough to comfort her.

Then came the first gunshot.

You didn’t dare look. You knew what was happening. You could hear it in the crack of bone, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor, the sharp gasps of dying men. Jason was swift. Merciless. Tearing through the people who had dared to lay a hand on you and his daughter.

He was here.

He was going to save you.

Another body collapsed nearby, and your breath hitched. You felt yourself slipping, your limbs numb, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

Then, his voice cut through the haze—low and desperate, but still gentle.

“Sweetheart?”

You wanted to look up at him, to reach for him, but your body was betraying you. Your vision blurred, the pain making it impossible to move.

His hand cupped your face, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you. You tried to focus on that, tried to hold on.

“Talk to me, baby,” He murmured, his voice tight with worry.

But you couldn’t. You could barely breathe. The only thing keeping you tethered to consciousness was the familiar scent of leather and gunpowder—the scent of Jason, of safety, of home.

You felt him shift, carefully lifting you into his arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You instinctively leaned into him, letting his presence surround you.

Aria clung to him just as tightly, her tiny voice muffled against his chest.

“Daddy!”

Despite everything, despite the agony consuming your body, your heart swelled at hearing her call him that. When had she started calling him Dad?

Then Jason’s fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His voice was softer now, almost breaking.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his—those intense, unwavering blue eyes that had pinned you to your place the first time you had met in your apartment.

That day you had been apprehensive at best when he had asked to meet Aria, second guessing every choice you made but in the end choosing to follow your gut when it said it had a good feeling about him.

Now, you were sure of it.

“Jason,” You rasped, barely above a whisper. His head snapped down toward you instantly, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you might slip through his fingers.

“I need you to promise me something,” You murmured, your breath shallow, your chest tight.

His brows furrowed. “Anything,” He said, but the hesitance in his voice told you he already knew where this was going.

“I need you to promise…” You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep going, “If something happens to me… you’ll take care of Aria. Promise me, Jay.”

He froze.

For the first time since he’d stormed in, tearing through your captors like an avenging angel, he looked terrified.

His lips parted, but no words came out. You could see the battle raging inside him—the part of him that refused to believe he could lose you and the part that was too afraid not to make that promise.

“Don’t you dare say that,” He finally whispered, voice trembling, “I’m not losing you. I won’t—”

“Promise me,” You urged. You barely had the strength to grip his jacket, but you pulled weakly at the fabric anyway, needing him to understand.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he swallowed hard and nodded.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” He swore, his voice breaking. “I won’t let her grow up without you. I promise.”

The relief that washed over you was instant. Even as your vision darkened at the edges, even as your body started to give out, you felt… safe. At peace.

With your last burst of strength, you reached for Aria’s tiny hand, wrapping it in your weak grasp. You gave her a faint squeeze, managing the smallest of smiles.

“I love you,” You whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, “Both of you.”

Jason's breath hitched. His grip around you tightened, as if he could physically keep you here, tethered to him, to Aria, to the life he couldn't bear to lose.

“No, no, sweetheart��stay with me," He pleaded, his voice cracking, raw with panic. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, "You don’t get to say that like it’s the last time. You don’t—Please (Y/N)—" His voice broke completely, and for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd was afraid.

Because he knew what loss felt like. Knew it too well.

And he couldn't—wouldn't—survive losing you too.

Aria let out a whimper, squeezing your fingers with her tiny hand. "Mommy?" Her voice was so small, so scared, and it shattered something inside him.

He shifted you in his arms, holding you closer, keeping you upright even though your body was limp.

“I love you too, sweetheart," he whispered, but the words felt hollow, like a plea rather than a promise.

Aria began to sob loudly, little hands grabbing at your sleeve, trying to shake you awake, “Mommy, wake up! Please!”

Her wails were raw, desperate, but Jason had to hold her back, had to keep her from accidentally hurting you any further. His grip on her was gentle but firm, even as his own body trembled with barely restrained terror.

He buried his face in her hair, biting back the sob threatening to claw its way out of his throat. He held you tighter, as if he could physically keep your soul tethered to him, as if just holding you close would stop the light from fading from your eyes.

He had never felt this helpless.

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, the man who had clawed his way back from the grave, who had survived horrors most people couldn’t even imagine—he was useless when it mattered most.

He was holding the broken pieces of this family.

A family that had been good, that had been safe before he came into the picture. A family that had welcomed him with open arms, treated him as though he had never been missing in the first place.

And what had he done in return?

He had ruined it.

He had brought his war, his bloodstained hands, his cursed existence into your lives, and now you were paying the price for it.

If he had never been selfish enough to stay, to want this, to think—even for a second—that he could have something good, that he could deserve you, this never would have happened.

This was his fault.

It was always his fault.

His mother’s betrayal. His death. His resurrection. The people he killed. The people he couldn’t save.

And now you.

Jason clenched his jaw, his breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. His heart slammed against his ribs as guilt and fury warred inside him. His hands, hands that had broken men, hands that had torn Gotham’s underworld apart, could do nothing but hold onto the only two people in the world who had ever made him feel like he was worth something.

But what was he worth now?

What good was he if he couldn’t even protect the people he loved?

Jason let out a shaking breath, pressing a kiss to Aria’s head, squeezing his eyes shut as he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

He never should have stayed.

***

Jason kept his head down as he exited your hospital room, feeling his heart break under the weight of his own resolve—to stay away from both of you.

He spotted his father waiting at the reception, handling the paperwork and payment. As much as Jason felt like the lowest he had ever been and didn’t want anyone to see him like this, he was a little relieved. At least Bruce was here. At least he could leave knowing you were taken care of. He could go home, lock himself in his apartment, and spend the next few weeks trying to forget you. Trying to convince himself that he had been an idiot for ever thinking he had a place in your family.

Because thanks to him, your family had almost been destroyed.

With his head down, he walked up to Bruce, hands stuffed in his pockets. His father gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, but Jason didn’t want to talk. If he opened his mouth now, if he let himself breathe wrong, he knew the lump in his throat would break, and the tears would come pouring out.

"Daddy!"

The sound of Aria’s voice snapped his head up just in time for her to crash into him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate grip. Before he could even think, he was holding her, hugging her tight, feeling her little body shake.

"Daddy, don’t leave! Mommy and I need you! Please don’t go!"

Jason looked at her tear-streaked face and felt something deep inside himself crack. He beat himself up for even considering walking away. How could he? How could he leave while you were still lying in a hospital bed? How could he abandon Aria when she needed him most?

His baby girl.

She needed him. And the truth was—he needed her just as much. He needed both of you.

Right then and there, he made a promise to himself. He would protect you both more than anything. He would love you both more than anything. And he would stop at nothing to make sure you were happy and safe.

Pressing his nose against Aria’s wet cheek, he kissed away her tears, "I’m not going anywhere, princess. Daddy’s not going anywhere."

He stole a glance at Bruce, who gave him a small smile and a nod. With a steadier heart, he carried Aria back to your hospital room.

The second she saw you, Aria gasped, "Mommy!"

You gave Jason a tired smile from your place on the bed, the cut on your lip making it painful to do so, but you still reached out for his hand.

"I thought you would’ve left, wallowing in your guilt. Your masochistic streak and all that," You teased softly.

Jason let out a shaky breath, giving you a glassy-eyed smile before pressing another kiss to Aria’s temple.

"Our girl knows how to keep me grounded."

You grinned at that, exhaustion clear in your features but warmth shining in your eyes.

"She’s her father’s daughter, alright."

***

State of New Jersey Department of Family and Child Services Official Adoption Certificate

This document certifies that on 17/03/2025, Jason Peter Todd has legally adopted Aria (L/N), hereafter known as Aria Todd, and is recognized as her father with all parental rights and responsibilities.

Adoptive Parent: Jason Peter Todd Child’s Name (Amended): Aria Todd Birth Mother: (Y/N) Todd Previous Father Listed: Red Hood (Alias) — Amended

Additional Comments: "I’m not the stepdad. I’m the dad who stepped up." — Jason Todd

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@el-hrts

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mocchiixxx · 2 months ago

Text

The Anchor in His Storm

Choi Seungcheol (S.Coups) x Reader

Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship

Summary: Seungcheol is exhausted. The members are exhausted. After a grueling week of nonstop schedules, they finally return to practice —only to be told another packed week is ahead. The weight of leadership crashes down on him, frustration simmering beneath his skin. No one can calm him down… except you. So when a desperate member calls you, your voice is all it takes to break through his walls.

Warnings: Mentions of exhaustion, overwork, emotional vulnerability, soft boyfriend Seungcheol being cared for

The practice room was unbearably silent.

Not because things were peaceful, but because exhaustion had stolen the members’ voices, their energy drained from the past week of relentless schedules.

Seungcheol stood in the center, fists clenched. His eyes swept over his members, his brothers, who were sitting on the floor, sweat dripping, chests heaving, bodies barely holding themselves up.

And yet, the company had just sent word: More practice. Another hectic week ahead. No breaks.

“Let’s run it again,” Seungcheol forced out, though his voice lacked its usual fire.

No one moved.

Joshua rubbed his face tiredly. “Bro… we can’t.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, his frustration simmering. “We have to. We don’t have a choice.”

Jeonghan, lying flat on the floor, opened one eye. “You mean you don’t have a choice. You’re forcing yourself to push through this, and we all know why.”

Silence.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “I'm the leader. If I stop—”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jeonghan interrupted.

The words struck something deep in Seungcheol’s chest. But before he could respond, a voice suddenly cut through the tension—

“Hyung, I’m calling Y/N.”

Seungcheol’s head snapped up as Seokmin held up his phone, already ringing.

“Don’t—”

Too late.

The call connected, and your sleepy voice filled the room. “Huh? Seokmin? What’s going on?”

Seungcheol swallowed. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t even had time to breathe properly and now, now, he was seconds away from breaking.

“Y/N?” Seokmin handed the phone to Seungcheol.

For a moment, he hesitated.

But the second he heard you softly call his name, “Cheol?” the dam inside him cracked.

His fingers curled around the phone, grip tightening. “Baby…” His voice wavered, his exhaustion evident.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, concern lacing your tone.

Seungcheol’s throat burned. He had held everything in for so long, had been strong for everyone, but hearing you, his safe place, shattered every wall he had built.

“They won’t let us rest,” he finally admitted, his voice raw. “We just finished a full week of schedules, and they want us to keep going. The guys are exhausted… and I—” His breath hitched. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

There was silence on the line. Then, you exhaled softly.

“Cheol,” you murmured, your voice a gentle balm to his frayed nerves. “You need to stop carrying this burden alone. Look at your members. They’re already giving their all for you. Now, let them take care of you, too.”

Seungcheol’s gaze flickered to the members, who were all watching him quietly.

Mingyu gave him a small nod. Jeonghan offered a lazy thumbs-up. Even Wonwoo, barely keeping his eyes open, muttered, “She’s right.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

You continued, “Baby, you’re human. You’re not invincible, and you don’t have to be.”

Something inside him broke. The weight on his shoulders, the exhaustion pressing against his ribs, all of it suddenly felt too much.

And for the first time in forever, Seungcheol let himself fall.

“I’m tired,” he whispered.

“I know,” you soothed. “So stop holding it in. Let them see that their leader is human, too.”

Seungcheol opened his eyes.

The members weren’t waiting for a command. They weren’t expecting him to be strong. They were just there, his family, standing beside him, ready to carry the weight together.

Slowly, Seungcheol exhaled.

“Let’s stop for today,” he finally said.

A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Seungcheol felt his own body relax as he sank onto the floor, resting his head against the wall.

Through the phone, you smiled. “Finish up and come straight to me.”

His breath hitched.

You lowered your voice, soft and warm. “I’ll make you feel better.”

Seungcheol shut his eyes for a moment, letting the comfort of your words settle deep in his bones.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the exhaustion in his voice now mixed with something lighter, something like hope.

“Yeah,” you promised. “Now get your ass here, leader-nim.”

For the first time in days, Seungcheol let out a real, genuine chuckle.

The members all exchanged looks, rolling their eyes. “Wow. That was fast,” Dino mumbled.

Jeonghan smirked. “And that, boys, is the power of love.”

Seungcheol ignored them, already grabbing his bag. “Alright, let’s clean up and leave.”

As the members moved sluggishly to gather their things, Seungcheol kept his phone close to his ear, (after giving back dk's phone, he asked you to call him instead so he can keep hearing your voice) listening to you talk about how you’d prepare his favorite meal, how you’d let him vent as much as he needed, how you’d hold him until he fell asleep.

And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe again.

Because no matter how heavy the burden, he had you.

And that was enough.

A/N: Wrote this because sometimes, even the strongest leader needs someone to lean on. This is for the Carats who just know Seungcheol needs a hug (and a break). Hope you enjoy! ♡

1K notes · View notes

fairyofshampgyu · 5 months ago

Text

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, looking down at you with a contemptuous grin, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle what happens on the race, maybe you should switch to something lighter like bumper cars instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“Wait—ah—no...” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #sub!beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu hard hours #sub!idol #beomgyu hard thoughts #sub beomgyu #kpop smut #txt x reader #txt hard hours

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strayingawayy · 4 months ago

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nothing fucks with my baby

...the one where someone messes with you and seungmin isn't having it

the hallway is quiet, but it isn’t empty. it hums with the weight of something unspoken, something sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful. seungmin stands there, just at the edge of the dim light, his figure carved from shadow and slow-burning anger. the air around him feels different. thick, heavy, like it knows better than to move.

you’re a few steps away, arms wrapped around yourself, the echo of too-close laughter still burning under your skin. your heart stutters against your ribs, frantic and unsettled. he looks at you then, and it’s not just a glance. it’s the kind of look that holds things...promises, warnings, the weight of something you’re not sure you can carry alone.

"you okay?" his voice is low, tight, like he already knows the answer.

you nod, but it’s shaky. "yeah."

it’s a lie, and he knows it. his eyes darken, his jaw tightens, and the space between you shrinks as he steps closer, his presence wrapping around you like armor. his fingers find your wrist, barely there, a whisper of contact, but enough to keep you from unraveling.

"tell me who it was." his voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it now. something that simmers.

you shake your head. "it’s fine, minnie. really."

but it’s not, and you can see it in the way his lips press into a thin line, in the way his shoulders coil tight, like he’s holding something back. there’s a storm in him, slow and deliberate, the kind that doesn’t lash out. it waits. builds. consumes. and then...

then, footsteps. a creak of a door.

and there he is. the staff member. the one who thought he could take up too much space, could laugh too close, could touch too freely. still smirking like nothing happened, like he’s untouchable and you feel it prick at your skin and you're trembling again.

seungmin doesn’t hesitate. he moves with a quiet kind of purpose, the kind that doesn't need force to be felt. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t shove. he just stands there, in front of the guy, like an immovable force. like something you don’t challenge unless you're stupid enough to try. because kim seungmin isn't one for confrontation. but you know you're absolutely fucked over if he does.

"you think you're clever, don't you?" seungmin's voice is calm, even and there's a twitch in his jaw which is visible even from the distance.

the man blinks, his confidence flickering. "i-i was just joking around-"

"don't," seungmin says, and it’s not loud. it doesn’t need to be. "not with them. not ever. you hear me? now get out of my sight before you dig yourself a bigger grave."

there’s something final in his words, something that settles deep, something that doesn’t leave room for argument. the guy stammers, shifts on his feet, then disappears down the hall, too cowardly to look back.

seungmin watches him go, unmoving.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. "you didn’t have to do that."

he turns to you then, and there’s something softer in his eyes now, something only for you. "i did."

his hand finds yours, laces your fingers together in a way that’s quiet and steady and everything you didn’t know you needed. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you back to this moment, to him.

"nothing fucks with my baby," he murmurs, and it’s not just a statement. it’s a vow, carved into the space between you, carved into the universe that's written with your names.

and you believe it.

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mintyys-blog · 29 days ago

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JUST ASK | omni mark x wife! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: sexual themes, mention of pregnancy,

The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. The house feels full, yet the stillness seems to accentuate the thoughts swirling in your mind. Your children are in their rooms, playing or watching TV, and Mark sits across from you, his eyes fixed on some paperwork. He’s always so composed, a pillar of focus in the middle of the chaos that is family life.

You can’t help but let your gaze drift over to the small pile of baby clothes tucked away in the corner of the room. The tiny onesies, the small shoes—so many things your children had long since outgrown. You had kept them, unsure why. Maybe for sentimental value, maybe because a part of you wasn’t ready to let go of that stage of life. Maybe because… you weren’t quite done yet.

You glance at Mark. His presence fills the space, but his eyes remain on the papers in front of him, so impassive, so detached. You wonder if he’d even notice if you brought it up. It’s a delicate thing to say. A wish, perhaps, but something that feels selfish given what you already have.

You lean forward slightly, your fingers tracing over the soft fabric of an old onesie, the light catching on the edges. “I mean…” you start, voice quiet, “you bought all of these. Our children outgrew them, what a waste, right?”

You try to make it sound light, but there’s a hint of something deeper behind the words. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as he continues to read, unfazed. You add, trying to ease him into the idea, “Almost like we need another baby.”

The words leave your mouth, and you can immediately feel the tension in your chest. It wasn’t exactly what you meant to say, but it was the closest thing to it. You chuckle nervously, as if the half-joke could hide the seriousness behind it.

Mark’s eyes flick up from the papers, catching your gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His expression is unreadable, cold as ever, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that seems to assess you carefully.

“You want another?” His voice is calm, without emotion, as though he were discussing something entirely mundane, like a change in the weather.

You freeze. You hadn’t expected him to be so direct. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow, didn’t even flinch. His eyes remain fixed on yours, his face still as stone.

“I mean— I don’t know, I was just thinking,” you stammer, trying to recover, but it’s no use. You’ve already said it. “Maybe it’s… just a thought.”

There’s a long silence as he stares at you, his gaze cold but calculating, like he’s taking stock of everything. The moment stretches, but it doesn’t feel tense—just quiet, like the calm before a storm. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Mark speaks again, his voice as even and detached as ever.

“Do you want more?” he asks again, his tone steady. No warmth. No judgment.

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say next. His eyes flick briefly to the baby clothes you’ve been staring at and then back to you. You think he’s considering it, weighing the possibility. You feel a small wave of embarrassment, but you can’t take back your words now.

“We’ll have more, if you want,” Mark says, his voice low and unbothered, though there’s a slight edge to his words, a firmness that makes it clear the decision is already made in his mind. “But it’s your choice. If you’re ready, we’ll make it work.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else. The coldness in his demeanor, the way he speaks, makes it clear: he’s not overly concerned, not excited, but he will follow your lead. No question, no hesitation.

You breathe a little easier, though the idea still feels a bit overwhelming. “I think I am ready,” you say softly, not quite sure how to process it.

Mark doesn’t respond right away. He simply stands, his usual composure unwavering, and moves to a different part of the room. His back remains turned to you as he speaks again, his voice calm and detached.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he says, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

The moment passes, and you’re left with a strange sense of clarity. You may have expected more emotion, more of a reaction, but instead, Mark’s detached certainty offers you the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

You glance back at the baby clothes, the quiet acceptance settling over you.

The quiet that had settled over the room is suddenly broken by Mark’s unexpected movement. Before you can react, his strong hands are around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. You gasp, the surprise of it sending a flutter through your chest.

“Mark?” you say, your voice unsure, though there’s a thrill that stirs beneath the uncertainty.

Mark doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, a small, almost imperceptible smirk plays at the corner of his lips, an expression so rare that it sends a shiver down your spine. The coldness in his eyes doesn’t soften, but the subtle amusement in his smirk is clear.

“You said you wanted more children, right?” His voice is calm, level, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp, something predatory. “Why not start as soon as possible?”

Before you can process his words, he’s already moving, carrying you toward the bedroom with a steady, unhurried pace. Your heart races, your mind still trying to catch up with his sudden shift in behavior. Mark isn’t the kind of man to act impulsively, but when he does, it’s with a precision that leaves no room for doubt.

He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he sets you down in the center of the room. His eyes lock onto yours with that same detached intensity, but this time, there’s something else beneath it—something commanding.

“We aren’t stopping until I know you’re pregnant,” he says, his voice as cold and calm as ever, but there’s no mistaking the gravity in his words. The firmness in his tone, the way he looks at you—it’s clear he means it.

You stand frozen for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. The room feels heavier now, the atmosphere thick with an intensity you hadn’t expected. Your heart beats faster as you stare back at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Mark steps closer, closing the space between you, his presence overwhelming, suffocating in its certainty. There’s no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. He has made up his mind, and this is happening, whether you’re ready or not.

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. His hands are already on you, pulling you closer, his touch firm but not unkind. His smirk deepens just slightly, as though he finds some quiet satisfaction in your uncertainty.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper now, but still that same cold calm. “I’m more than capable of ensuring this.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears as his lips hover near your ear, just out of reach. There’s no escaping this now.

His hand finds your waist again, guiding you backward toward the bed. You go willingly, or maybe you don’t, but it doesn’t matter. Once you’re in the bed, his presence looms over you like a force of nature. His eyes flick over you, calculating, as though everything is part of a plan, a mission he’s set for himself. His actions are deliberate, controlled—everything about him is measured.

As his hands begin to undress you, he speaks once more, his voice low, almost chilling in its calmness.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, though his words are far from comforting. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You nod, breathless, your mind still reeling from the sudden shift in dynamic. You never imagined Mark would be like this, but now that he’s taken control, you realize it’s the only way he knows how to act—ruthless, sure, but with a purpose, a focus that cannot be swayed.

Mark’s eyes remain fixed on yours, unyielding, even as his hands work with efficiency. It’s clear that, for him, this isn’t about passion or tenderness—it’s about fulfilling a need, a desire, with a cold, unwavering certainty. And, for all your hesitation, something in you responds to that confidence, to that unspoken promise that he will get exactly what he wants, no matter the cost.

The room is thick with silence as Mark’s eyes hold yours, unwavering, as though everything has already been decided. His hand never leaves your waist as he guides you to the bed, his grip firm and unyielding. There’s no sense of urgency, but a quiet certainty that fills the space between you.

Once he sets you down, his expression is still as unreadable as ever. His movements are deliberate, but not rushed, each action filled with purpose. He undresses you with a calmness that betrays the weight of his decision, his eyes only flicking up to meet yours when it’s absolutely necessary.

“You wanted this,” he says quietly, the words not a question but a statement. His tone is unyielding, yet there’s something almost possessive in the way he looks at you. “I’m giving it to you. We’re starting now.”

There’s no hesitation in him. He’s a man who takes what he wants and doesn’t look back, and you’ve never been more aware of that than in this moment.

As his lips hover over yours, his gaze remains locked onto yours, unwavering, studying. It’s a calculated, methodical process. Mark doesn’t rush. He’s not in a hurry to reach the end. His focus is entirely on ensuring that this happens the way he wants it to, making sure he leaves no room for doubt.

When the last of your clothing is discarded, he takes a step back and observes you for a long moment. The smirk he wears is small, but there’s something satisfied about it.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “We won’t stop until I know this is done.”

You can feel your pulse quicken, the uncertainty of it all now replaced with something else. His determination, cold as it may be, is contagious, and you’re not sure if it’s the power of his certainty or the quiet thrill of giving in to this that makes your heart race.

Mark’s hands move again, but this time with purpose, each movement guided by an understanding of what he’s doing, as if this were just another calculated step in a plan he had laid out long before now. His touch is firm, but there’s nothing forceful about it. It’s as though he is in control, and you’re simply there, part of the process, part of the goal.

The night stretches on, quiet and still, except for the sound of your breath and his steady, unyielding presence. There’s no frenzy, no chaos—just Mark’s calm determination, ensuring that every detail aligns with his plans.

By the time it’s over, the room is filled with an almost eerie calm, the kind that comes after a storm has passed. Mark doesn’t speak immediately, simply sitting beside you, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingers on you, thoughtful, as if he’s already making assessments, already calculating the next steps.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he finally says, his voice as cool as ever. “We’ll wait. And if it’s not this time, we’ll try again. But I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

You nod slowly, breathless, the weight of the night finally settling in. He’s done exactly what he promised, and now, all you can do is wait for the results. It’s clear that this was only the beginning—Mark’s mind is already shifting toward what comes next, ever the strategist, ever the planner.

With a final glance at you, Mark stands, his movements smooth and assured, as always. “Rest. We’ll know soon.”

And just like that, the moment fades, leaving behind a quiet certainty that neither of you can ignore.

3 WEEKS LATER…

Three weeks passed in a blur. The weight of Mark’s actions settled into a quiet anticipation. You hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, keeping the growing possibility to yourself, letting the days stretch on, watching for any sign. Then, one morning, it was undeniable. The excitement bubbled inside of you like a flood that you could no longer hold back.

You burst into the living room, a wide grin spreading across your face as you found Mark, sitting in his usual spot, calm and composed as ever. “Mark!” you called, practically running toward him, unable to contain your excitement. “I’m pregnant!”

Mark’s eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, and for a moment, there was nothing in his gaze—just a steady, neutral calm. But then, as he processed your words, a rare softness flickered in his expression, something fleeting that disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

As you stood there, waiting for him to speak, you heard a collective groan from the other side of the room. Your children, who had been watching TV, turned their heads in unison, their eyes narrowed in mild horror.

“Not another one…” one of them muttered, barely hiding their annoyance.

You blinked, slightly taken aback, but the excitement in you remained as you bounced on your feet. Mark, however, glanced at them with the same level of cold detachment he always wore. His eyes met theirs, and they immediately avoided his gaze, knowing better than to provoke him further. His expression didn’t change, not even a hint of frustration or anger. He simply sighed, then turned back to you, his eyes softening just for a moment.

You could see the way the tension in the room shifted when his gaze returned to you. Without another word, he stood and walked over to you, his hand reaching out to gently pull you toward him. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss, slow and deliberate, his touch lingering as though he wanted to make the moment last.

The children groaned again, rolling their eyes at the display, but Mark paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on you as he rested his hand on your stomach, the slight weight of his hand warm against you.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and calm, the approval in his tone almost imperceptible, but it was there. There was no excitement, no exuberance, but there was satisfaction. His calmness only served to make the moment feel even more meaningful, as if he had always known this would be the outcome.

The children shifted uncomfortably in the background, glancing at each other but saying nothing more. Mark didn’t seem to care, still focused on you, a rare softening in his usual unshakable demeanor. He kissed your forehead, as though marking this moment as something final, something definitive.

“Good,” he repeated, his gaze lifting to meet yours again, steady and unyielding as always. “We’ll make it work.”

You smiled, your hand resting on his, the warmth of his touch spreading through you. The children’s groans faded into the background as Mark turned his attention back to them, his presence commanding without a single word spoken.

“Get used to it,” he added to them, his voice carrying that same finality as before. “We’ll have a bigger family soon enough.”

The kids didn’t respond, but their eyes were wide, and they quietly returned to their previous positions, muttering amongst themselves. Mark, however, didn’t seem bothered by their reactions. He simply turned back to you, his focus returning to the moment at hand.

You felt his presence as a protective force, steady and unwavering. It was clear that, no matter what, he would see this through with you, even if the others weren’t thrilled about it.

“Everything will be fine,” he said with a calm certainty, as though it were already a done deal. And somehow, with him, it always felt that way.

Headcanons:

Mark’s parenting style is steady and unflinching. He’s calm and unwavering, always ensuring that his family is safe, regardless of the external threats they may face. His children will grow up knowing that they can rely on him no matter what.

• While he’s not the type to show a lot of outward affection, his presence alone is a form of protection. His ability to remain composed, even in the face of danger, gives a sense of security to his children. He won’t indulge in unnecessary fears, teaching them to be strong, resilient, and level-headed.

• Mark expects a certain level of responsibility from his children, and this extends to his relationship with them. He won’t tolerate laziness or lack of discipline. If they misbehave or fail to meet expectations, he’ll deal with it firmly but calmly. There’s no room for emotional outbursts or tantrums in his home, whether from his kids or anyone else.

• He’s the type to offer lessons and set boundaries, but he won’t force anything on them. He believes in teaching through example—showing his kids how to live with integrity, strength, and an unwavering sense of duty.

• Mark’s affection for his children, while present, is often subdued. He’s not one for big, emotional displays of love. His love is shown through actions—he makes sure they’re well taken care of, protected, and guided, but he doesn’t always express this verbally or through traditional “lovey-dovey” moments.

• That said, he does enjoy seeing his children thrive and is proud of them in his own way. When it comes to his family, his actions speak volumes, even if he doesn’t always say much.

• Though he’s often cold and detached, there are rare moments where Mark shows a gentler side. This usually happens when his children are vulnerable—like when they’re sick, injured, or scared. He’s fiercely protective of his family, and during these times, he can be seen sitting by their side, offering them a quiet kind of support.

• These moments might be short-lived, but they serve to remind his family that, despite his stern exterior, he does care deeply for them.

• Mark isn’t just a father—he’s a mentor. He wants his children to grow strong, independent, and capable of standing on their own, especially when it comes to facing adversity. While he’s not the most emotionally available parent, he makes sure they understand the importance of self-reliance and resilience.

• He spends time teaching them about responsibility, about protecting others, and about standing up for what’s right. He’s the type of father to guide them through their personal challenges, offering logical solutions rather than emotional support.

• Mark doesn’t show much excitement or outward emotion about the pregnancy, but there’s a sense of quiet satisfaction in him. He takes pride in the fact that he’s fulfilling his role as a protector and provider for his growing family.

• His approval is shown through small, subtle actions—whether that’s making sure she has everything she needs, or reassuring her that everything will be fine. He’ll be there for her in the most grounded and practical way, which, for him, is a form of support.

• During the pregnancy, Mark is especially vigilant when it comes to protecting his wife. His cold, calculated mind takes everything into account, from ensuring she’s well-rested to taking steps to keep any potential threats away from her. He’s not the type to fuss, but he’ll make sure that no harm comes her way.

• Even if she’s carrying another child, Mark doesn’t take any risks. He’s more likely to stay home and limit any dangerous situations until the pregnancy is confirmed to be safe.

• Mark isn’t the kind of person to leave anything to chance, so when it comes to preparing for the new child, he’s extremely practical. He will be the one organizing the logistics—where the baby will sleep, what they will need, and how the family dynamic will shift once the child arrives.

• He may even start considering whether his children will be ready to take on more responsibility or if they need to be trained in certain skills to help with the new baby. Every decision is made with the future in mind.

• When the pregnancy takes a toll on your body, emotionally or physically, Mark will be there to support you—though he won’t necessarily know how to comfort you in the way you might expect. His approach is logical and pragmatic: he’ll do things like ensuring you have the best food, medical care, and rest, but when it comes to emotional support, his coldness could make things feel a little distant.

• He won’t break down crying or overly console you, but you’ll know that he’s doing everything in his power to ensure that you’re okay, even if it doesn’t come across as overly affectionate.

• As the pregnancy progresses, Mark begins to focus even more on the family’s long-term stability. He starts considering how the new child will affect everything—from how the household will function to how he’ll manage his responsibilities as a father and protector. He begins making preparations to ensure that his children will not only be safe but that they’ll grow up with a strong sense of purpose.

• While he’s not vocal about these thoughts, they’ll manifest in his actions—setting up financial plans, reinforcing training with his other children, and establishing the groundwork for any possible challenges that could arise in the future.

• Though Mark is rarely overt with his affection, during the pregnancy, you might notice small, subtle acts of love. He may bring you your favorite food without being asked, or make sure the house is extra safe and quiet for your peace of mind. If you’re unwell, he may give you extra space or quietly make sure you’re comfortable, even though he won’t voice his concern in the typical way.

• When you’re tired or overwhelmed, he’ll step in and take charge without saying much, doing what’s necessary to keep things running smoothly

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #omni mark smut #omni mark x reader #omni mark #mark grayson x you #mark Grayson #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #wife reader #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader

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chikaras-garden · 2 years ago

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Batboys as your sugar daddy

What’s the point of all this money if you don’t have someone to spend it on?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. These relationships are not aspirational babes. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋

“Wear the diamonds,” Bruce rumbles from behind you, lips right next to the shell of your ear. Before you can answer, his warm hands are already on your throat, and cool platinum touches your skin. A hundred diamonds arranged in three dainty layers sparkle in the low light of Bruce’s bedroom, clinging tightly to your neck.

With the choker clasped in place, one of Bruce’s hands traces up and down your neck while the other rests heavily on your hip, holding you flush against his chest. His touch is hypnotic, pulling you in like a planet pulls a moon into orbit. Your whole world revolves around him—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

But like the moon, the subtle gravitational pull you have on him keeps him in place, keeps him stable, calms his most wicked of storms.

He bows his head. The way he looks at you through his eyelashes is almost reverent while he kisses your bare shoulder, skin interrupted only by your dress’s hair-thin silk strap.

“Beautiful,” he says, and you know he’s not talking about the necklace, the dress, or any of the other jewels and silks he’s drowned you in over the last year.

When your eyes meet in the mirror, one corner of his lips quirks up into a smirk, which he buries under a kiss to your jaw.

There, with a quick, sharp nip of his teeth, he lays his claim. “And all mine.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Dick’s on his knees, head buried between your legs when you hear—feel—him say, “I need you to take a week off work.”

Well. What he really needs is for you to just quit your job already, but you got upset the last time he suggested it. Baby steps. For now.

“Why?” you gasp, blinking hard as you try to focus on the fact that he’s starting a conversation now when his tongue is making you smart and shake with pleasure.

“I want to go to the Maldives,” he says as if it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world, as if he’s saying he wants to go across town, not across the world.

His tongue flattens out and dips into your weeping hole, and your thighs tighten around his head in response. He groans, and you choke out, “A week for the Maldives?”

You feel his lips twist and curve around you, paired with a little graze of teeth; he’s smiling, and the sensation makes you dizzy. There it is, he wants to say. You want more. Finally, your expectations are starting to match his bank account.

But he decides to play the dumb, pretty boyfriend he likes to make people think he is. “You don’t think it’s enough time? Wanna take two weeks?”

“I don’t have the—” He kisses up to your clit and gives it a tentative little suck, which makes you fist his hair. “—vacation days.”

“Why don’t you just take them without pay?” he proposes as his tongue laves up your swollen sex. “It’ll be okay, just this once. You’ll feel so much better after some time off; I promise.”

JASON TODD 💋

Jason is currently scrutinizing the contents of your pantry, a box of macaroni and cheese in his hand. After seeing the scowl on his face, you’re not surprised when he starts to lecture you. “You eat this crap?”

You raise a brow because he’s one to judge. “I’ve seen you eat an entire party box of tacos.”

“I’m not you,” he fires back. His voice is still low, still calm, but you can sense an edge in his tone; this conversation is about a lot more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

In the beat of silence that follows, his heated gaze dulls to a smolder. “You don’t know how precious you are.”

You open your mouth to reply, but whatever retort you were going to argue back with is silenced when Jason’s big hands cup your face, tilting your head up so he can kiss your forehead. He lingers there, and you feel him tremble. His breath is ragged, rough—as if he’s afraid.

“I’m not you,” he repeats in a whisper. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he knows you don’t know any better. Poor little you—you need him. “Just let me take care of you like always, okay? How about I sign you up for one of those meal prep kits? No more processed food; it’s not good for you.”

When he pulls you against his chest and strokes your hair, you feel yourself nod, unable to disagree. You know he’s right, after all; and isn’t it sweet that he treats you like a delicate angel even though he’s seen the worst of the world? That nothing without his stamp of approval is good enough for you?

TIM DRAKE 💋

“Oh, you’re all set,” your manicurist smiles at you as soon as you take out your wallet, nails freshly done.

Caught off guard, all you can reply with is, “Huh?”

She just smiles a little brighter, and there’s a sparkle of something in her eyes. It looks a little wistful, but also a little vapid—is that jealousy? “Your boyfriend paid already,” she explains as her eyes not-so-subtly look around, trying to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend, but you’re just as surprised as she is.

“For the next year,” she adds in a dry tone. Slowly, you drop your wallet back into your purse. There’s only one man alive who could figure out where you get your nails done, what day and time you like your appointments, and call ahead to pay off your manicures for the next year without you ever finding out about it.

So when you get back to your car, you call him.

“Do anything fun today?” he asks over the phone, pretending to be way more innocent than he actually is.

“Tim—”

“Actually,” he cuts in, and you hear a bashful tremor in his voice. That tremor makes your stomach do flips, which beckons you to give in to whatever he wants. “I was just thinking about you. You’ve got the prettiest hands.”

“Tim—”

“Let’s go shopping later,” he rambles on, completely ignoring you. “I think you need some new jewelry. You’d like a new set of rings, wouldn’t you?”

🔖: @mrs-kurooo; @lovely-loren05

#bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #nightwing x reader #red hood x reader #batfam x reader #🌸— mine.#🌸— bruce wayne.#🌸— dick grayson.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— tim drake.

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celestiamour · 5 months ago

Note

Can you please write an imagine for kang dae-ho where he’s having the panic attack and the reader tires to calm him down/ comfort him?

ft. kang dae-ho x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ calming him down during his panic attack┊0.6k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of toxic masculinity, could be romantic or platonic but intended to be romantic

➤ author's note: this baby :(

he looked a complete wreck with the blood of another smeared on his right cheek, shaky hands trying to gather up all the magazines from the pockets of the guards and stuttering up a storm every time someone tried to talk to him, not saying anything other than “magazines in pockets, help me gather the magazines in their pockets. you and a few others rushed to help him gather them up in a jacket used as a makeshift bag before he rushed out the double doors with nothing more than a few nods as a form of thanks.

then dae-ho suddenly rushed back, running into one of the empty far corners and huddling up as if to protect himself from the danger he just escaped from. people began to murmur asking what was up with him like the red on his skin wasn’t as clear as day, the very same able-bodied men who voted to stay in these death games for their own selfish needs yet were too cowardly to volunteer for the benefit of all the remaining players. it pissed you off to no extent how most of these men could sit on their asses away from the battle and talk like he was weak. you wished you had joined him and the rest in the rebellion, but they told you it was no place for a woman without military experience.

you approached him nervously like one would with an injured wild animal, watching as he rocked his body back and forth covering his hands. “... hey… are you alright?” you mentally punched yourself for the stupid question. trying not to make any sudden movements, you climbed onto the bed when he finally noticed you.

there were tears all along his waterline starting to drip down his face, eyes wide and completely glossed over. he started apologizing profusely even though you weren’t the person it was supposed to be directed to, lips trembling and voice strained to a higher pitch than normal. it’s a jarring contrast in comparison to his usual attitude and it broke your heart.

“do you… want a hug?” you really weren’t sure how to comfort him, hugs usually worked for children who cried over scraped knees, but you didn’t know what to do with a man suffering from a panic attack due to shellshock.

thankfully though, it was exactly what he needed. he basically threw himself on you, freely sobbing with his head rested in your lap and arms wrapped around your waist. he cried that he was a failure whose time in the military amounted to nothing, a mere boy his father would be ashamed of, and a coward who couldn’t help his friends when they needed him most. his words were barely understandable between choked-up sobs, but it was clear he was letting out thoughts that were buried under years of being unable to express himself emotionally

you were a little hesitant to stop his rambling, but eventually shushed him by gently placing a hand on his head and soothingly running your fingers through his hair, promising he wasn’t any of those things and very brave to have agreed to go in the first place. you spoke softly and held onto him, bringing his head to your chest so that he could listen to your steady heartbeat to help ground him and wipe away some of his tears while telling him that you were there for him without any intentions of leaving soon.

your words uplifted his heart, but truth be told, your mere presence was enough. he could feel the eyes of others nosily watching, but they didn’t matter at the moment and seemed to melt away into nothingness. all his focus was just on you, and soon, he became quiet, feeling calm and renewed with a sudden determination to finish his mission setting fire to his soul.

#📜. her works #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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littlegochu · 5 days ago

Text

all mine │ jjk 18+

“Look all you want. She’s not yours anymore."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: drug dealer jungkook, witty female lead

rating: 18+, smut, smoking

synopsis: Y/N runs into her ex — a face from the past who still thinks he has a hold on her. But Jungkook sees everything. From across the room, he watches the way the guy leans in too close, speaks too familiar, and touches what doesn't belong to him.

The bass shakes the floor, the lights strobing red and gold across a packed room. You’re posted up with Mira and the girls near the back booth, sipping something sweet and forgettable when Mira lights up.

“Oh my god — Lucas!”

You look up, throat tightening.

Of course. Still mutuals.

Lucas slides in with a lazy grin, hands tucked in his jacket like he owns the place. He greets Mira with a hug, then turns to you — eyes dragging over your face, your skirt, your legs.

“Y/N,” he says like it’s a memory, not a name. “Didn’t think I’d run into you tonight.”

You give him a flat smile, already bored. “Yet here we are.”

Mira, oblivious, clinks her glass with his. “You two remember each other, right? God, you dated for forever in high school—”

Lucas chuckles. “Three years. But who’s counting?”

You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. He’s already looking at you like he remembers too much.

And across the room — Jungkook sees it all.

He’s got one arm slung across the back of the leather booth, a cigarette between his fingers, glass untouched in front of him. Myles is talking, Carlo’s checking his phone, but Jungkook isn’t listening to either of them.

He’s watching you.

He sees Lucas lean in. Sees the way his hand brushes your arm. Sees the way your ex still thinks he’s got room to exist anywhere near you.

He stands. Doesn’t say a word to the others. Just moves.

You feel him before you see him.

Lucas is mid-sentence — something smug and useless — when a shadow falls over your shoulder.

“She said it was high school,” Jungkook says, tone cold, deadly still. “So why the fuck are you still standing here?”

Lucas blinks. “Whoa—chill, man. I’m just catching up.”

“She doesn’t need catching up.”

Jungkook steps in behind you, arm sliding low around your waist. His fingers dip past the curve of your hip, and you don’t flinch. You don’t try to pull away. In fact—you lean into him.

Deliberate. Slow.

You let your body melt into his, head tilting just enough so his breath hits your neck.

Not because you care what Lucas thinks.

But because you love what this does to Jungkook.

His grip tightens.

“You remember how she used to be yours?” Jungkook says, voice low and calm, aimed like a blade. “That was a fucking joke. She’s mine now.”

Lucas shifts, glancing between you both, his smirk finally cracking.

You smirk back, running your hand along the tattooed arm wrapped around your waist. “You should go, Lucas. Before it gets embarrassing.”

He does. Eventually.

When he’s gone, Mira makes some awkward excuse and follows after him, but you and Jungkook are already in your own little storm.

His mouth grazes your ear. “You liked that.”

You smile, dragging your fingers through the hem of his shirt. “So did you.”

He laughs, dark and low. “Car. Now.”

The car door slams shut behind you, but the silence doesn’t last long.

Jungkook’s in the driver’s seat, keys still in his hand, chest rising like he’s holding back a storm. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed, cigarette between his lips like it’s the only thing keeping him from starting a fight he’d enjoy too much.

He doesn’t start the engine.

Just turns to look at you.

“You let him touch you.”

It’s not a question.

You lean back against the passenger door, heart pounding. “You were watching.”

“I saw his hand on your arm,” he mutters, flicking ash out the window. “Should’ve broken his fucking wrist.”

You don’t apologize.

You don’t explain.

Instead, you let your eyes drag down his inked forearm, slow and deliberate, until he notices.

“You jealous baby?” you ask, voice soft and sweet — the exact kind of provocation that sets him off.

He scoffs, leans over, and grips your thigh — hard. “You think this is jealousy?”

You gasp, just slightly, as his hand slides up between your legs. “Feels like it.”

His jaw clenches. “Feels like you wanted me to see it.”

You smirk. “Maybe I did.”

That’s it.

His mouth is on yours in an instant — rough, hungry, biting. His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper, devour you harder. You moan into his mouth, grinding against the palm still pressed high on your thigh.

The air inside the car grows heavy. Hot. Every breath is laced with tension and want.

Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting. “Get over here.”

You don’t wait.

You climb over the console, straddling his lap with practiced ease. His hands are already under your skirt, grabbing your ass, pulling you flush against the bulge in his jeans.

“You wanna act like mine in front of him?” he mutters, voice rasping low against your throat. “Then be mine right now.”

You grind down, slow and filthy, breath hitching. “I am yours.”

He groans — head falling back for a second, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks wrecked already, and you haven’t even taken his clothes off.

“You’re not wearing these home,” he says, yanking your panties aside roughly. “I’ll ruin them.”

You whimper when his fingers slide between your folds — already soaked. He grins darkly.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

He starts to work you open, slow but deep, fingers curling just right. You cling to his shoulders, lips parting around a moan as your hips roll against his hand.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says through gritted teeth. “See what happens.”

“I’m not scared,” you whisper.

He smirks. “You like this. You like when I lose my fucking mind over you.”

You’re close. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you there — but it’s always like this with him. Intensity, fire, no patience.

And when you come — biting his neck to stay quiet, hips twitching in his lap — Jungkook holds you there, lets you ride it out, lets you shake in his arms like it’s the only place you belong.

“Fuck,” he growls, head pressing against your shoulder. “You drive me insane.”

You smile, breathless, forehead pressed to his. “Good.”

authors note: pls comment and give any ideas!

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #bts army #jungkook fanfic

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casssmalefantasy · 1 day ago

Text

she’s got game - paige bueckers x reader!

s: two years together and being with paige bueckers still felt like magic, even back at uconn, when she was just a flirty guard and you were the oblivious team manager. now she’s in the league, gearing up for her first preseason game with dallas, and even if she won’t admit it, you know she’s nervous. good thing you finally got time off to see her play.

w: smut, dom!reader x sub!paige, oral, praise, teasing, soft dominance, reader taking care of stressed paige, light angst, jersey kink if you squint, hotel sex, and p being down so bad

word count: 6.3k 👀

you get three mental health days after finishing a monster of a project at work, and you use every single one of them to hop a flight to dallas.

you tell paige you’re coming on wednesday. she tries to act cool about it over the phone, but you can hear the relief in her voice, subtle but there.

you know her too well not to notice the way her breathing evens out the second you say, “i got the time off. i’ll be there by noon.”

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” you say gently, already walking to your gate. “besides, you’re about to play your first pro game. what kind of girlfriend would i be if i missed that?”

—

you meet her outside her apartment.

her face lights up the second she sees you, eyes going soft, smile tugging at her lips. you drop your bag and let her hug you like it’s the first time all over again. two years together and she still makes your heart race like this.

“you didn’t have to look this good,” she mumbles against your shoulder.

you grin. “you saying i look better than you?”

“i’m saying you’re gonna be a distraction while we’re out tonight.”

—

she takes you out to dinner, insists on picking the place and driving even though you offer.

the restaurant is quiet, intimate. not super fancy, just paige. she orders for both of you and then smiles sheepishly after. “is this place too fancy?”

“no,” you tell her, “it’s perfect.”

she tries to play it cool the whole night. laughs a little louder than usual. tells stories about practice and new teammates, but her fingers stay laced with yours the whole time under the table, and her thumb keeps brushing your palm like she’s grounding herself.

—

back at the apartment, you sit beside her on the bed and ask, “how’s it really feel? being in the league. being here.”

she shrugs. “it’s good. just….fast.”

you raise an eyebrow. “paige.”

she exhales slowly. “it’s a lot,” she finally admits. “i love it. i do. the team’s great. everyone’s been super welcoming, the vets are nice. it’s just… the pressure’s different now. i was drafted first. there’s eyes on me every second. and it’s like—i know i’m good. but sometimes it’s like… do they know?”

you reach for her hand. “baby. all you ever have to be is you. that’s it. that’s what got you here. and dallas is lucky as hell to have you.”

her eyes flick to yours. you see the way the words land.

“you really think so?” she asks, voice smaller.

“i know so.”

—

by the time you land in indiana for the wings game at norte dame, it feels like the calm before the storm.

the team’s staying at a hotel just outside of notre dame’s campus. you booked your own room—insisted,—actually because you knew she’d be busy with shootarounds and media.

but the moment she arrives, she’s texting you.

p 💗

open the door.

20 minutes before we leave.

you open the door in a black denim skirt, her dallas jersey, and a fresh pair of white and baby blue 4’s. her jaw drops the second she sees you.

“you’re trying to get me benched,” she jokes, stepping inside and locking the door behind her. “you look…fuck. you look so good.”

you smile, stepping up to her. “just tryna represent the brand.”

she wraps her arms around your waist and leans in for a kiss. “if i miss a shot tonight, it’s your fault.”

you kiss her again, slower this time, tugging gently at the ends of her hair. “you won’t.”

she sighs against your lips. “i don’t wanna go.”

“you gotta,” you whisper, brushing her nose with yours. “but i’ll be in the crowd. just like always.”

she smiles. “don’t forget your family pass.”

—

the stadium’s packed.

the energy is electric. you find your seat with ease thanks to paige putting you on her guest list. your family pass lanyard swings around your neck, and you wear it with pride.

you spot her during warmups, crisp ponytail, focused face, that signature bounce in her step. she looks at home. and when her eyes meet yours, you swear she softens just for a second.

she jogs over.

“hi,” she says, breathless.

“hi,” you say, eyes roaming.

“you look really pretty.”

you lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “go do your thing, number five.”

and she does.

she scores early, a clean left-handed lay off the glass. she runs the offense, keeps her composure, reads the floor like a seasoned pro, but you can still tell. the nerves are there. subtle, not overwhelming, but lingering.

and then there’s the ref call.

you don’t even catch the whistle before paige’s hands are in the air and she’s already in the ref’s face. classic. usually you’d be laughing, rolling your eyes at how quick she is to argue. but tonight? it’s different.

you watch the tension in her shoulders. the way her jaw clenches. the fire behind her eyes. she’s frustrated—not just about the call. about everything. and still… she looks so good. so dialed in. so herself.

dallas loses. it’s preseason, and she still finishes with ten points. but she doesn’t look satisfied. you text her before she even heads to the tunnel.

p 💗

i’m heading back to the hotel. see you soon, baby.

—

you don’t waste time once she’s in the door.

she barely gets a “hi” out before you’ve got your hand at the small of her back, guiding her into your hotel room with that slow, intentional confidence she craves. she’s still in her travel sweats and her dallas hoodie, eyes tired, lips parted like she’s waiting for permission to fall apart.

you kiss her first. deep, slow, and sure. the kind of kiss that tells her she doesn’t need to talk, doesn’t need to think. just needs to feel.

you both pull apart.

you let her be quiet for a minute. just hold her.

“you played so well,” you say softly.

“we lost.”

“you’re gonna lose games. it’s the w.”

she pulls back just slightly. “i could’ve done more.”

“paige.” you cup her face. “you did great. that was your first pro game. and you already look like you belong out there.”

she studies you, eyes glassy. “what’d you really think?”

you smile. “i think you’re electric. i think you’re fearless. and i think you’re mine.”

you pull her down to the bed gently.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur

and she just nods.

“take this off for me, baby,” you whisper against her mouth, tugging lightly at her hoodie.

she obeys without a word. hoodie, tank top, bra — all stripped away with trembling hands. she shivers, not from the cold but from the weight of your gaze. you push her gently on her back, and she lays back, legs slightly parted, chest rising and falling with quiet anticipation.

you kiss down her neck, biting gently at her collarbone, letting your tongue trace the curve of her chest. she arches into your touch, already breathing heavier, already so fucking responsive.

“you’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you ask, lips brushing over one nipple before you take it fully into your mouth.

“yes.” she gasps, hand tangling in your hair.

you switch to the other tit, sucking just hard enough to make her whimper. her thighs shift restlessly under you, hips trying to find friction, but you don’t give it to her yet.

“so needy,” you murmur, trailing kisses down her stomach. “you want me, baby?”

“yes i really do.” she breathes, voice shaking. “please i need you bad.”

you hook your thumbs into her waistband and pull her sweatpants and boxers off in one smooth motion. she’s already wet, slick and glistening, thighs trembling slightly with how on edge she is.

“look at you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. “so perfect. so ready for me.”

you spread her legs and settle between them, kissing slowly up her thigh. she moans when your breath hits the center of her pussy, hips twitching upward.

“you gonna stay still for me?” you ask, voice low. “let me make you feel good?”

“yes,” she gasps. “i need your mouth.”

you don’t make her beg much more.

you lick a slow stripe through her folds, savoring her taste, and she cries out, fingers gripping the sheets. your tongue moves deliberately—soft at first, then firmer when she starts whining your name.

“fuck, baby.” she’s moaning out.

you hum against her, letting the vibrations send her back arching off the bed. you slip two fingers inside her, slow and careful at first, curling just right until she nearly sobs.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “so fucking tight, baby. feel so good around my fingers.”

she’s a mess now—flushed, panting, hips rolling helplessly into your mouth. you keep your tongue on her clit, fingers working her open, pace quickening just slightly every time she moans louder.

“you close?” you ask, voice dark, teasing. “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“yes baby. i’m so close..”

you fuck her with your fingers while sucking her clit like it’s your only job. she falls apart fast, legs shaking, back arched, a breathless cry of your name on her lips as she cums hard—thighs clenching around your head, body trembling with release.

you don’t stop until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders, too sensitive to take anymore.

you crawl up her body and kiss her slow, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

“you okay?” you whisper, brushing hair off her sweaty forehead.

she nods, dazed, blinking up at you like you just gave her the world.

“fuck.” she breathes. “that was…”

“yeah?”

she grins, cheeks flushed. “that was everything.”

you kiss her again, soft and warm. “you were everything tonight, paige. on that court and right here.”

she buries her face in your neck. “you’re gonna make me fall in love with you all over again.”

you smile. “good. that’s the plan.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x black!reader

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yeagerprincess · 1 month ago

Text

Casual (Onyankopon x Black Reader)

"Baby, wai-"

"Boy, fuck you!" You scream, slamming the door behind you in your boyfriend's face. Tears stream down your honey colored cheeks as you throw yourself into your bed, sobbing loudly into your heart shaped pillow.

The sound of Onyankopon's knuckles on your bedroom door only piss you off even more. "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT," you wail like a banshee. Your anger contrasts your outfit: a soft pink skirt with a matching tube top and white converse with frilly white ankle socks.

"You gone quit yellin' at me, girl," his voice rumbles through the door, making you sob even harder. He respects your wishes though, and storms out the front door without another word.

Nearly an hour had gone by before you finally calmed down, staring blankly at the wall as you recounted the day's events. You were all dolled up and ready to spend the night out with Onyankopon, just the two of you, when you happened to peek over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his messages.

It was all downhill from there. Whatever bitch he was texting could have him.

At least, you wished you really felt that way.

Your mind is swimming as you drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. After lazily cleaning off your makeup, you find yourself staring into the bathroom mirror. Your eyes are all puffy and red from crying, your once perfect edges were in total disarray now, your ponytail askew and the ribbon loosely draped around your scrunchie.

You're a mess. One final tear cascades down your cheek before you finally begin to draw yourself a bath. You dim the lights, get a few candles going, light some incense, then turn on your shower playlist. You douse your bath water with lavender oil and vanilla bath salts, then slowly ease your way into the steaming water, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the water warms you to your bones.

Your phone buzzes on the sink and you just know it's him. Who the fuck else would it be? Ignore.

it's only when the water starts to freeze that you finally rise from the tub and check your phone. It's Onyankopon, asking if you're okay asking if you're ready to talk. But you don't answer. You'd rather pout and let him figure it out.

You throw on a tank top and some shorts, then head to the kitchen in search of your favorite comfort snacks: wine, cookies n cream ice cream, a blunt, and some popcorn, only to be stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of Onyankopon sitting on your sofa in the dark.

"I thought you left," you ask, voice barely a whisper. He only shakes his head. You can tell he's been crying too. His nose is red and he usually gets quieter when he's upset, the complete opposite of you. "You really want me to leave?"

"I really want you to tell me why you talkin' to them bitches when you got a girlfriend."

"I thought we was just casual."

"Casual? Why don't you casually get the fuck up off my couch and ask that other bitch if you can casually sleep on hers."

"You know, you got a smart fuckin' mouth, girl" Onyankopon growls, rising from the sofa and making his way towards you until he's right in front of you, peering down at you with those piercing, dark eyes. "I like that about you," he continues, lifting his hand to caress his thumb over your pouty lips.

As much as you hate him right now, he's so fucking sexy in the dim light like this, his gold grillz shining in the dark, features softened by the darkness of the room. "Stop playin' with me," you sigh, gazing up at him through hazy, half lidded eyes.

"Ain't nobody playin' witchu, girl," his deep voice rumbles through his chest, making you squirm underneath his gaze. "I really ain't know you felt like that. That we was supposed to be official. I'm sorry." He punctuates his apology with a kiss, plump brown lips gently pressing against yours.

As if on queue, the waterworks start right up again. Against your own better judgment, you give into him, albeit reluctantly. "I-I hate you," you whimper into his lips, snaking your arms around his broad, hulking shoulders as he lifts you into his arms and carries you off to the sofa. "You'ont hate me, baby," he answers, shushing your verbal protests with another sweet kiss.

You want to argue so badly, but the way that big sexy mocha man effortlessly manhandles you has you reconsidering everything you though you felt about him. You allow him to undress you, instinctively lifting your hips as he rolls your pajama shorts down your thighs. He bites his lip as he takes in the display before him. You're already wet.

His clothes come off soon after, his big veiny dick just as ready as your pussy, your both shameless in your desire for each other. He sinks down into your aching pussy, watching as your face contorts with pleasure. Every inch has you thanking your stars that he didn't actually leave earlier.

"Onyyyyy," you whine as he begins to rock his hips, stroking your pussy slow and deep. You suck in a breath through your teeth, the slow pace making your eyes flutter shut. He carefully pulls one of your thighs up over his shoulder, gripping tightly onto the other as he rolls his devilishly skilled hips down into yours.

"You gone be nice to me?" he teases, watching you slowly fall apart for him, a deep chuckle escaping his lips when he sees you shaking your head 'no.'

"You cute," he answers before repositioning his hips, now drilling down straight into your sweet spot, making your eyes shoot open to lock with his. "Oh, fuck, oooouuh, Ony!" His pace his still pretty lax, but he's stroking you so deep and intensely that you can't keep up. Your faces are so close that your noses bump. You stick out your tongue to flick across his lips, making him groan desperately for you.

Your pretty, manicured nails dig into his bulbous biceps as he fucks you thoroughly, his fat dick filling you perfectly. "I'm sorry for making you cry," he moans against your lips before kissing them, only to pull away and apologize once more. The wet sounds of his dick stirring up your pussy fill the air alongside the lewd, smacking noises of your tongues and lips, making your eyes roll back from all the sensations. You make the mistake of peeking downwards where the two of you collide, only to be met with the scene of Onyankopon's unforgiving dick bullying away at your deliciously creamy pussy.

Long, drawn out whines and whimpers fall from your mouth as you watch Onyankopon's two huge plums slapping against your jiggly cheeks with every thrust. No one fucks you as good as him. No one's dick is as good as his. Nobody does this to your pussy except him.

"I'm finna cum, Ony!"

"You gone talk to me nice?"

"Oh, FUCK! Yes, Ony, yes Imma be nice! Imma be nice, daddy!"

"Get this dick, baby," he responds, prompting you to cream yourself all over his thick dick. You writhe and thrash beneath him, squealing blissfully into his pierced ear as he fucks all the girl juice out of you, watching intently as you fall apart on his dick. "Uuughh, fuck, Imma cum, baby, I'm finna cum all in that pussy," he groans as loses himself inside you, picking up the pace and ramming into you as he floods you with his precious cum.

It takes a minute for you both to regain your composure, just laying there in each other's arms and bathing in the afterglow. "We still casual?" you ask, playfully smacking him on the shoulder when you hear him laughing on top of you.

#aot x black reader #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon smut #Spotify

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dreamauri · 9 days ago

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♪ — 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗠𝗘 max verstappen x fem! reader ( fluff ) fic summary , You spend a season running—from him, from the feeling, from everything it could become, you call it a game, a fun chase. But in the end, under the lights of Abu Dhabi, something finally gives (3.1k)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

Venice, Italy – The Balcony

Venice smells like rain and old stone, like secrets exhaled from the cracks of a city that remembers everything. The air is thick with the ache of something ancient, ghost stories that cling to damp bricks and kiss your skin when you’re not looking. The Grand Canal glimmers below like a mirror that only reflects the past, gondolas gliding with a lazy elegance that belies the electricity in your chest.

You're on the balcony, fingers curled around cold iron, your silk dress slipping from your shoulder like it’s trying to escape before the storm hits. But the storm isn’t in the sky. It’s behind you—six feet of tension and temptation, wrapped in Dutch stubbornness and Red Bull blue.

“You keep finding me,” you murmur without turning, eyes on the water, on the world, on anything but him. But your voice is softer than your smirk, tinged with something dangerously close to longing.

Max steps closer, his presence like thunder. You can feel it before you hear it. The air tightens.

“You keep running,” he says, each word low and even, but there’s something trembling beneath the surface. A ripple in the calm. A warning.

You turn just enough to meet his gaze, and it hits you—harder than it should, as always. That ridiculous face of his. Beautiful in a brutal kind of way. All edges and sharp lines softened only by the strange gentleness he saves for you alone. His eyes, glacial and guarded with the world, melt when they land on you.

And you hate that you love it.

“It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t,” you say, letting your smile curl slow and wicked like the smoke of a dying candle.

He’s too close now. The kind of close that sets off every alarm in your body but makes you want to stay anyway. He plants his hands on either side of you, caging you in without touching you—just heat and threat and want, radiating off him in waves.

“You left me in Amsterdam,” he says, voice a blade that nicks something just beneath your collarbone. “Again.”

You arch a brow. “Poor baby. Did you miss me?”

His jaw ticks, eyes darkening just a touch. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

And that silence—it says everything.

Your heart’s racing, traitor that it is. You wonder what would happen if you said yes. If you told him you missed him too. If you told him you keep running not to escape—but to be chased.

“Tell me,” Max whispers, his breath a brush of fire against your mouth, “do you ever miss me?”

You don’t speak.

You kiss him.

And the second your lips crash into his, it’s war. His hands fly to your waist, your hair, your jaw—gripping like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again if he lets go. You drag your fingers through his hair, yanking just to hear that sound he makes when he loses control.

He’s never gentle with his love. It’s always been a wildfire. And this—this is an inferno. Burning every city you’ve touched, turning history into ash.

But you let him.

You always let him.

Paris, France – The Empty Bed

The morning is quiet in that cruel way only Paris knows—silver light slicing through the curtains like judgment, the kind that peels back the night and asks, what did you think this was?

Max wakes slowly, the warmth of dreams evaporating as his fingers search for you in the sheets. He’s still half-asleep when he reaches out, expecting the curve of your waist, the softness of your thigh, your breath dancing against his neck.

But all he finds is cold linen.

And silence.

His eyes crack open, and the room tells him the story before his brain does.

You’re gone.

Again.

The pillows still hold the ghost of your perfume—amber and something floral, sweet and defiant. The scent clings to the air like a dare, like a memory that refuses to leave, and it makes his chest tighten in that infuriating way only you can.

The sheets are twisted, evidence of a night spent tangling and unraveling. His hoodie is draped across the armchair—yours now, apparently, because you steal things you don’t ask for. Like hoodies. Like hearts.

On the nightstand, he sees it. That familiar scratch of your handwriting, scrawled in black ink on hotel stationery like you were in a rush—or maybe you just didn’t care.

Je t’aime bien plus quand tu dors. I like you much more when you sleep.

He stares at the note for a moment too long. Not blinking. Not breathing. Not sure if he wants to laugh or scream.

“Fucking hell,” Max mutters, dragging a hand over his face. His voice is low, wrecked from sleep and something worse.

You always do this. Slip away while the world is still dim, while his guard is down. Like a thief who only wants the thrill of the chase, not the prize. Never the prize.

And he should hate it. Hate you. Hate the games, the vanishing acts, the lipstick on his collar and the cigarette burns in his soul.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sits up, bare-chested and exhausted, the note still in his hand like a brand. His thumb smudges the ink, and it feels like desecration, but he doesn’t stop. He never stops.

He reaches for his phone, voice steady even as his pulse betrays him.

“Call Lena,” he says to no one in particular, to the room, to the ghost of you still echoing in the corners.

A pause. Then—

“Book me a flight to Tokyo.”

Tokyo, Japan – The Hotel Room

The door clicks shut behind you with a soft finality.

Tokyo hums behind the glass, neon lights bleeding into the night like bruises—red, violet, electric blue. The air tastes like rain and sakura petals, like a story just starting even though it’s been written a hundred times before.

And he’s already there.

Max Verstappen, framed by the window like something out of a fever dream. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. Jaw tight. Still wearing Red Bull team gear, like he came straight from the paddock, still humming with engine heat and fury and the weight of a thousand expectations. But none of them matter now.

Not here. Not with you.

Your pulse stutters in your throat. Just a beat.

“You’re in my room,” you say, voice even, but there’s something sharp under the surface. Surprise, maybe. Or dread. Or hope you’re not ready to name.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just watches you with that look—the one that’s both fire and glacier, the one that melts and freezes you in the same breath.

“This is new,” you say again, a touch more amused this time.

“You’re predictable.” His voice is calm. Icy. Like he rehearsed this moment on the plane. “Every time you run, you come here.”

You click your tongue, letting the silence stretch as you cross the room, hips swaying, heels clicking against the polished wood like punctuation marks in a poem no one dares read aloud.

“And yet . . .” you purr, eyes glittering, “you still chase me.”

You reach out—just the ghost of a touch, fingers aiming for his collar, for something real—and that’s when he moves.

Fast.

His hand closes around your wrist, not hard but firm, pulling you into him like gravity always wins.

Suddenly, it’s skin on skin. Heat on heat. Breath shared and shallow. You’re close enough to feel the thunder of his heart. Or maybe it’s yours.

“I don’t want to chase anymore,” he says, low and rough and dangerous.

Your smirk wavers, just for a second. A crack in the mask. “That’s a shame.”

You twist, slipping from his grasp like smoke between his fingers—like you always do.

But Max follows. He doesn’t give you space to run this time. He crowds you back, herding you across the room with silent fury until your back hits the glass. Tokyo sprawls out behind you in chaotic beauty, but all you see is him.

“You think this is a game?” he growls, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.

Your eyes narrow. Your chin tilts up like a dare. “Isn’t it?”

His hands land on your hips. Not to restrain. To anchor. To remind.

“Not to me.”

Then he kisses you.

Not gently. Not sweetly.

He kisses you like punishment. Like confession. Like he’s empty and you’re the only thing that can fill the void.

It’s teeth and tongue and fingers in hair. It’s breath stolen and given back. It’s every late-night call, every whispered don’t go, every bruised heart and burning look. It’s everything he’s never said carved into the curve of your lips.

When you finally pull apart, gasping, dizzy, wrecked— He doesn’t let go.

And for once, neither do you.

Monaco – His Apartment

It took a lot to get you here.

Phone calls you ignored.

Voicemails left in the middle of the night—raspy and tired and a little desperate.

A dozen texts that never quite said please, but every word was laced with it.

And finally, Max himself. At your door. Rain-soaked and stubborn. Eyes wild with something too tender for a man like him.

He said your name like a confession. Said come with me like a vow. Said I don’t want to chase anymore with his voice cracking like the sky.

And somehow . . . you said yes.

So now you’re here.

Wrapped in one of his hoodies, perched on his marble kitchen counter like a question he’s still afraid to answer. The sleeves swallow your hands, and the hem brushes your bare thighs. You look too soft in his space. Too dangerous.

Because this isn’t a hotel.

It isn’t Tokyo or Madrid or a back alley in Singapore.

It’s his home.

And the sunlight in Monaco is different.

Softer. Gentler.

Less about the thrill of pursuit, more about the ache of what comes after.

Max moves through the kitchen like he’s done this before—like this is normal. Like you are.

He’s barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, eyes focused as he flips something in a pan with the kind of precision that usually only lives on race tracks.

It’s unnerving.

This quiet. This domesticity.

The hum of something almost peaceful blooming in your chest.

You stare. Unblinking. Curious. Like he might vanish if you stop.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, without turning around.

You hum, stretching lazily, your back arching like a cat in sunlight. “I’m trying to decide if you’re real.”

That gets him. He turns, spatula still in hand, expression unreadable but eyes locked on you like you’re the only fixed point in the world.

“And?”

You swing your legs. Feet bare. Heart not quite. “Jury’s still out.”

He huffs a laugh, low and warm, shaking his head like you’re something ridiculous and holy all at once. He mutters something in Dutch under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but feel all the same.

But he’s smiling. Small. Barely-there. Real.

And it hits you, quietly, like all the best truths do:

This is what it looks like when a wildfire learns to stay.

The Côte d'Azur – Mid-Summer

You’ve never spent more than one night with Max.

It’s always been fleeting. A few hours wrapped in linen sheets, breathless silences in penthouse suites, the distant hum of a city that never quite felt like yours. Always a whisper of what could be—never enough time to see it through.

But then summer arrives like a dare. And somehow, he convinces you to stay.

At first, you think it’s a trap. Some beautiful illusion disguised as reality—a mirage with his arms around you and the Mediterranean just outside the window.

But the days bleed into one another with startling ease.

Mornings become late afternoons.

Late afternoons become dinners on the balcony, wine-stained laughter and fingers interlocked beneath the table.

And suddenly, you’re not counting hours anymore.

You’re just . . . here.

And it’s disorienting. The way he touches you now—like you’re made of something delicate. Not fragile like glass, but rare like a secret he never wants to lose. Like he’s not trying to catch you anymore, just hold you. Just keep you close enough to memorize the shape of your stillness.

One afternoon, you find yourselves on a quiet stretch of beach.

The sun melts over the horizon in shades of gold and fire, and Max lies beside you, one arm flung carelessly across his eyes, the other tracing patterns on your stomach. His fingers are lazy. Warm. Reverent.

“Stay,” he murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

You glance sideways, catching the shadow of him behind golden lashes. “I already am.”

He turns, props himself up on an elbow. The sand clings to his skin. His voice, however, is clean and clear.

“No.” There’s a catch in the word. “Stay after this.”

The wind tugs at your hair. The sea sighs behind you. And your throat tightens like it always does when he shifts the rules of the game.

“Max—”

“I’ll win for you,” he says, sudden and sharp. Like a promise he’s been holding on his tongue all week.

“Every race. Every championship. I’ll give you everything. Whatever it takes. Just . . . don’t leave.”

You let out a soft, startled laugh. Because what else can you do? He already wins. He already conquers the world at 300 kilometers per hour.

“You already do that,” you say, your voice a breath away from shaking.

He shakes his head, brushing a thumb across your cheek, his touch feather-light but grounding. “Not for me,” he whispers. “For you.”

And gods—it’s terrifying. The way he says it. Like it’s simple. Like it doesn’t change everything.

Because you were never meant to be loved like this.

Not so completely. Not so sincerely.

You were born to run. To vanish. To slip between fingers and leave only the echo of your laughter behind.

But lying there, in the afterglow of a half-formed future, Max’s heart beating steady against your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the space where promises go to rest . . .

You wonder. And yet. Maybe you don’t want to run anymore. Maybe—for once—you want to stay.

Round Fourteen – Singapore

It took weeks for Max to convince you.

Calls that stretched into the early morning. Messages you left on read. Voice notes you almost didn’t listen to. He begged without shame—told you he didn’t care if you stayed in the paddock or the hotel or halfway up Marina Bay Sands—he just wanted you there.

And god, you wanted to say no. But the way he said your name made it sound like home. So you came.

You wore black. Slipped into the paddock with quiet grace and sunglasses big enough to hide the hesitation in your eyes. Max spotted you immediately—grinned like the sun came back just to light up the weekend.

He kissed you like he’d already won.

But then Sunday came.

And Max didn’t.

The win streak snapped like a rubber band, loud and cruel. A slow pit stop, a strategy that unraveled, traffic that swallowed him whole. He didn’t even make the podium.

And the thing is—you didn’t care.

You didn’t care about the trophy or the points or the standings. You only cared about him—the way he clenched his jaw, the way he avoided your eyes after the race, the way his hand slipped from yours before you could ground him in something softer.

But somewhere in the mess of post-race silence, a horrible thought bloomed.

You ruined it.

You, with your cursed presence and clumsy heart. You broke the rhythm. The magic. The momentum. He had begged you to come, and you came, and he lost.

So you left.

Quietly. No note this time. No cryptic French.

Just your absence. Your perfume in the sheets. Your toothbrush missing from the sink.

And when Max returned to the hotel—tired, aching, and already looking for you—you were gone.

He stared at the untouched wine glass you left behind and felt the loss like a punch to the ribs. And then he assumed the worst.

She left because I didn’t win.

Because that’s what you do, right? You chase winners. You haunt champions. You don’t stay for failure.

Something cracked open inside him that night. Not anger. Not even grief. Something quieter. Something hollow.

So he did what he always does.

He drove.

Japan. Qatar. Austin. Mexico. Brazil. Vegas.

Every race, he drove like he could undo the loss in Singapore. Like he could put the broken thing between you back together with lap times and champagne.

And he won.

God, did he win.

But every time he looked up at the crowd—at the garage, the grid, the VIP lounge— You weren’t there.

No slow smile behind oversized sunglasses. No click of heels across the concrete. No ghost.

Max kept driving. But the victory never tasted sweet again.

Abu Dhabi, The Final Race

Lap 58 of 58.

Nineteen wins. A season written in gold and sweat.

A symphony of records shattered, rivals silenced, legends carved into carbon fiber.

Max takes the checkered flag like a man possessed. Not with hunger. Not with fury. With purpose.

He parks the car. Throws the wheel aside. Climbs out to the roar of a world on its feet.

And still, he feels . . . incomplete.

Until he sees you.

Not in the VIP suite.

Not hidden behind tinted paddock glass.

You’re on the other side of parc fermé—leaning against the rail, heels digging into the concrete, that unmistakable silhouette framed by twilight and floodlights.

For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating.

The ghost he’s been chasing all season.

But then you tilt your head, and that teasing, infuriating smile curves across your lips—so real it knocks the wind out of him.

You came.

You came to him.

And god, it guts him—because for once, you’re not the one disappearing into the smoke and silence.

You’re not the one he has to run after.

This time, you found him.

He’s still standing on the podium when his eyes catch yours again.

They hand him champagne. He barely notices.

His gaze never leaves you—not through the anthems, not through the trophy lift, not through the artificial rain of celebration.

Because nothing else matters. Not the title. Not the cameras. You’re here.

Later, in the half-lit quiet of his hotel suite, you walk toward him like a slow exhale, barefoot and sure, wearing one of his shirts like you never left in the first place.

You press a kiss to his jaw, soft and smug. “You look hot when you win.”

Max laughs, breathless, the sound cracking open something inside him.

“I win for you,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your skin.

You don’t run.

You don’t vanish with the sunrise.

You stay.

Fingertips in his hair, lips at his throat, body tucked into the space beside him like you were made to be there all along.

And maybe—just maybe—the chase is finally over.

Or maybe . . .

Maybe this is what it feels like when you both stop running.

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evie-sturns · 1 year ago

Text

calm - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after a terrible day of arguing with your boyfriend, accidentally breaking your favorite perfume, and now your hair and outfit not going to plan, all your emotions hit you at once and matt has to calm you down.

contains: fluff, crying, arguing, comforting!matt.

----------------------------------------------------------

10:38am

i huff angrily as i tug up my knotty hair into a ponytail, my arms burn while i attempt to tie the elastic around my thick hair. suddenly the elastic snaps, pinging my hand almost in a mocking way.

"oh for fucks sake!" i whine, throwing my fact into my hands as i reach for the hair gel.

i plop more on the top of my head, my hands now sticky and my whole body sweating. i finally get my hair up into a ponytail, but it looks like total shit.

i sigh before stomping out of the bathroom into matt and i's shared room, i swing open the door and ignore matt as i reach for the closet.

matt and i have argued a record amount of times today, it's almost impressive.

flashback:

it was 6 in the morning, and i rolled over onto matt accidentally.

he shoots up in bed as i lay my body weight on his arm, "ow! ow get the fuck off!" he says in a pissy mood, i drift awake slowly as matt shoves me off him.

"matt come on." i groan, grabbing my shoulder from where he just shoved me off of him. "dont say come on like you didn't just break my fucking arm and wake me up at 6am in one sweep."

"i'm not that heavy matt, don't be stupid." i scoff, rolling over in bed to the edge of the mattress, a good meter away from him.

"yes you are, your fully body weight was on my arm." he says with an attitude,

"so you're calling me fat?" i ask angrily,

"dude, just go get out of here." matt demands, pointing towards the door, the nickname stinging a little bit.

"its my room matt, i'll stay right here, not my fault your acting like a child." i raise my voice, slamming my body down onto the mattress and tugging the covers up over me, my back facing matt.

i wasn't expecting matt to leave, but he did. he shot up out of bed and grabbed his pillow, he walked swiftly out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him

and i think that set the mood for the whole day, because now 4 hours have passed and we’ve argued about matt being lazy, me leaving out dishes, him ignoring me, and me apparently being a brat.

i sort through our closet, tugging out a small skirt and one of matt's shirt.

"did i say you could borrow that?" matt speaks from the edge of the bed, my head snaps round to look at him.

"stop matt!" i almost yell, which shuts matt up quickly.

i storm back into the bathroom, i hear matt laugh slightly from behind me.

i tear off my pyjamas, and tug up the tiny skirt. as i go to zip up the sides the zipper pops off.

and that will do it.

i erupt into a loud sob, which quickly escalates into floods of tears.

i hear some movement coming from matt and i’s room before the bathroom door swings open, matt takes one look at me and his face drops.

i don’t want to look at him, or for matt to see me like this.

“hey- hey what’s going on sweetheart?” matt says, panic clear in his voice as he reaches for the side of my face.

i shake my head as more and more tears flow down my flushed cheeks.

he wraps his arms around me and i bury my face in the fabric of his shirt.

i let out shaky breaths as i attempt to calm myself down, my body shaking in matt’s arms.

“come- come to the bedroom.” he whispers into my hair before picking me up by my ass.

i nod as i bury my face into his shoulder, matt carries me into our air conditioned bedroom and plops me down on the edge of the bed.

my legs dangle of the edge of the matress, matt sits down right beside me, the matress shifting under his weight.

he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me closer to him as i continue to cry.

“what’s going on baby.” matt says softly, rubbing my back.

i crawl over and sit myself down on matt’s lap, straddling him.

he grabs the sides of my face with two hands, his thumbs wiping my tears delicately.

“you- you’re mad at me.” i squeeze out with a loud voice crack

matt’s eyebrows furrow, but i continue to speak “and- and i don’t look good.. like my hair and outfit.” i sniff

matt plants a kiss to my swollen lips, he grabs my chin, making me look at him.

“i would never be mad at you princess, sometimes people fight and that’s okay, but what happened today wasn’t worth fighting for.” matt says while looking into my eyes

“and you look absolutely gorgeous, honestly.” matt says, his eyes gazing over my face.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up this morning- i promise.” i sob, letting my head fall onto matt’s shoulder.

“you know i’m grumpy in the mornings don’t you, it’s not your fault, and i’m so sorry for making you feel like it was.” matt sighs, rubbing my back soothingly.

i sit on his lap in silence for a couple minutes as i take in sharp breaths.

i feel matts chest rise and fall against mine, i attempt to copy his breathing.

“my skirt broke earlier.” i say lightly, lifting my face away from matt’s shoulder.

“did it?” matt asks, his head tilting down as his long fingers inspect my skirt.

i nod, pointing to the broken zip. “i’ll get you another one tomorrow, how about that?” he speaks with a small smile.

“you don’t have to do that.” i breathe, “i’m gonna do it anyway as an apology for how i acted today.” he protests.

“let’s get you out of that skirt then if it’s broken.” matt suggests, picking me up again and walking me over the the closet.

he pulls out a pair of his sweatpants and brings me back over to the bed, matt places me down on the edge of the bed and bends down.

his hands tug down the hem of my skirt, pulling it down my thighs.

he purses his lips out of concentration before tugging the sweatpants up my legs.

he stands back up “you want your hair out?” he asks,

“it’s gonna be crunchy if i take it out, because of the amount of gel i put in.. but it’s also tugging on my scalp like crazy.”

“i’ll wash your hair later for you.” matt smiles, he’s always loved washing my hair for some reason.

i wipe my face, flustered by his words.

“do you want some water?” he asks, i rub my puffy eyes with a nod.

he walks over to me and grabs my hand, tugging me up off the bed. matt walks me out of our room into the corridor.

i follow closely behind him as we walk down the corridor into the kitchen.

i stand next to the counter top, matt walks over to me and grabs me under my armpits before lifting me up onto the countertop.

he grabs a cup and fills it up with cold water before walking over to me.

he holds it up to my lips, “and… open.” he says, i open my mouth slightly and matt pours some water into my mouth,

he accidentally pours too much, my cheeks hollowing out as i lock eyes with him.

i let out a loud laugh, spraying the water all over his shirt.

i slam a hand over my mouth as the water leaks down my chin.

“oh- my god.” matt erupts into laughter, both of our laughs filling the room.

“i am so sorry-“ i say in between giggles.

“how did that even happen-“ matt rubs his eyes with a wide smile,

“i’m so sorry- i don’t even know-“ i laugh,

but i’m cut off by his soft lips pressed against mine.

“i love you.” he mutters against my lips with a grin,

“i love you more.”

——

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