#there's no way he would care about the world

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. this was written in like three hours. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

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liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

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“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

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EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

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r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

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u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

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liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

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‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

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view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

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[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

More to it

I just love friends to lovers. ~900 words

Thinking about BSF!Jason Todd and how neither of you are willing to cross that line. You're both balancing on what's more and what isn't, both desperate for something you're not willing to name but so scared to risk losing it all.

What you have now is comfortable, safe, and if being more doesn't work? Could you ever go back to what you had? Is the reward really worth playing with fate?

It's honestly so dumb because it's obvious you're both a thread snap away from breaking the growing tension between you. You see the way his fingers twitch towards you when you walk past him, and he catches the way your breath hitches when he tilts his head down to meet your eyes.

You'd have to blind not to notice the way his gaze locks onto you from across the room. He'd have to be oblivious to not see how your knees go weak when he laughs at your jokes. You're locked in each other's gravity, drawn in by way your hearts slot together without the need for words.

Everyone already thinks you're together, even when you say you're not. There's no hiding the lovestruck look in either of your faces, the way he drapes his arm over your shoulder, the way you lean into his side like it's the only place in the world you want to be.

His family doesn't tease you as much about it anymore. Sometimes, you wish they would, even for the excuse to talk about it. There's no label between you other than he's your best friend. And maybe it doesn't need to be more. (But you'd like it to be)

Even strangers think you're together. The guy flirting with you is quick to turn on his heel with an apology on his lips at the sight of Jason. Worse is, you don't hate it. If anything, you like it.

There's almost a pride in it, how people fawn over how cute you and him are together. Neither of you ever correct them, even if you should, and it only continues to blur the line between friend and more.

But when you both finally break? You break hard. It's feverish, your fingers fisted into clothes and his hands cradling your face. You're not even sure what caused it or who moved first. You don't even bother to try to figure it out when he presses you against the wall to kiss you deeper.

It could have been the way you'd reached out to brush his hair back in the elevator to your apartment. Or it could have been the way he tugged his jacket over your shoulders when you started to shiver. Or maybe it was the way you both just stopped in the doorway of your apartment, lingering in the charged air and basking in the closeness the entryway provided.

It doesn't really matter how. What matters is that the kiss seems to pull the air from your lungs, and his heart is beating to the sound of your name. What matters is that when he pulls away to catch his breath, you chase him for another kiss.

Neither of you can focus on what happens next, because it's the warmth of your skin seeping into his and your fingers tangling into his hair that keeps you in the now.

Now, which is so big and so small all at once because his world is narrowed to the angle you tilt your head to kiss him again and you could care less what's happening outside of your apartment, outside of him.

He's your best friend, and you've always been his, but all it took is one moment to destroy any idea of ever being just friends again.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd and how he always kisses you in the doorway of your apartment because it's 'tradition'. Don't even think about trying to get out of it, not that you'd ever want to, his hand is already curled in the back of your shirt to tug you closer.

One kiss turns into five and it's probably for the best he kisses you like this when you're coming home because you'd never get anywhere if he kissed you like this every time you have to leave.

No one even bats an eye when he kisses the top of your hair or when you thread your fingers with his in public. There's a new softness in his eyes and voice, less of a weight on his shoulders, and your face never lights up as brightly as it does when he's looking at you.

It's instinctual, the way you seem to blend into each other's lives even more now. Your sheets smell like him, your things end up in his apartment just as often as his does in yours.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd, and how you laugh about ever being nervous to be more with him. It's not always perfect, but it's real, and him and you against the world just like it's always been.

There's still movie nights, still days you set out on your mission to find the best food in Gotham together. But there's also dates, also love-struck words, and needy touches.

There's still late night conversations, still whispered secrets and confessions. But there's also hopeful, hushed tones that talk about the future, a future together.

He's still your best friend, but you're partners too, so he doesn't stop himself when his fingers twitch with the urge to touch you anymore. You don't hide the way you seem to melt in his presence.

He's yours, you're his, and it was never going to end any other way than like this, souls entwined and smiles fond.

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[seobinghard]

₊‧ʚ・ gullible ⊹ ̟˖ ʚ

── ★ ˙ 18+ MDNI ̟ !!

dom!yunho, dom!mingi x fem!sub!reader. tw: corruption kink, size kink, slight cnc, somnophilia, praising, unprotected sex (pls use protection). lmk if i missed anything. summary: you should've known better.

best friends!yunho and mingi love having you sit between them. whether you're on the subway, at the club or on the couch binge watching old hollywood movies. you just look so small and fragile with your cute glossy eyes and pouty lips, they can't help but feel the urge to protect and be close to you all the time. sometimes, they'll sneak their arms around your waist or slip their hands between your thighs, large palms gently caressing your bare skin, but that's only because the movie is scary and they want to help you relax. right?

when you've had one too many drinks at hongjoong's after parties, yunho would beckon you to come over and sit on his lap. "y/n, c'mere." you'll snuggle up to him like a little kitten and lay your legs on mingi's as he absentmindedly fiddles with the straps of your heels, hooded eyes flitting from your lips to the curve of your breasts. from afar, people are staring and whispering but you don't care. because yunho and mingi always tells you "they don't know us, baby."

and you believe them. you believe them completely because best friends always tell the truth, right?

yunho and mingi are always there to catch you when you fall.

flat tire? calling yunho. "i'm on my way, angel." bad day? facetiming mingi. "talk to me, pretty girl." every time there's a minor inconvenience in your life, you're running straight to your favourite boys because they just know how to handle anything and everything with such ease and responsibility. problems fixed. cheque signed. "it's okay, angel, we got this."

no one loves you like yunho and mingi.

they love you so much.

so when mingi tells you to wear his t-shirt and only your panties to bed, you happily nod "okay!" with no second thoughts because he only wants you to feel comfortable when they cuddle you to sleep, right? that must be it.

i mean, you do this all the time; cuddling. it's a way for them to feel closer to you; 'bond' with you, as they put it.

you love cuddling sessions with yunho and mingi, they're always so gentle with you. your petite frame a perfect fit between their broad chests, legs the perfect length for mingi to slide his knee in between as he spoons you. your skin is so soft he could tear you open like a present but he wouldn't do that. no, not to his sweet angel girl. so instead, he snakes his arm under your shirt and pulls you closer to his body so you can feel how much he loves you.

"mhm, so perfect for me," he whispers in your hair, fingers playing with the thin lace of your panties. you smell like fresh cut roses.

"you like it when we touch you, angel?" yunho asks calmly, tracing his finger along your jaw and down your neck. face propped on his elbow, he watches with a smile as you soften under his touch, nodding and purring at the affection you're receiving from both men.

"i like it, yuyu."

"you'll do anything for me and mingi, right, baby?"

"mhm, anything for yuyu and mingi," you slur, fatigue creeping up your spine.

you feel mingi smile against the nape of your neck.

something about the air feels tight and different tonight but you don't question it. you don't want to question it. especially when yunho stares at you with so much tenderness, it leaves your heart grasping for more. it's intoxicating; their scents—clean and musky like the faint trace of skin.

as the night unfolds, your eyes flutter shut as sleep takes over you.

you love best friends!yunho and mingi. nothing in the world comes even close to the euphoria of being the object of their adoration.

so when you wake up to soft pants in your ear and an aching pain between your legs, would you still love them?

"f-fuck."

mingi's groan snaps you out of your haze as you gradually slip back into your senses only to find your panties slid to the side and your best friend's sloppy wet dick inside your barely stretched-out cunt.

the sound of skin on skin cuts through the quiet of the room as mingi slams his hip into your ass at a pace so desperate, so rough it leaves you clawing at yunho's sweater with tears in your eyes. "y-yuyu? what's happening?"

yunho looks at you with eyes you've never seen on him before—chilling and dark with lust. he's quiet, eyes trailing the way your breasts bounce with every hard thrust you're forced to take from behind. soft moans slip past your lips, melding with his best friend's strained groans and the squelchy sound of your sobbing cunt.

"told you she likes it," mingi chuckles, voice crazed and raspy, one hand sliding up to grab at your neck. "yeah, you like that, baby? tell yunho you like being woken up to my dick inside you."

"i– ngnhh– i like–" your mewls are cut off when mingi slips two fingers between your folds, toying at your clit like it belongs to him. like you belong to him.

"oh, my angel," yunho coos, caressing your cheek before slipping his thumb inside your mouth. "you're so naughty."

you want to tell him 'no'—no, you didn't ask for this. but who are you to act like you're not enjoying it when you're a spluttering mess in your best friend's bed.

"shh, why're you crying?" his words are so sweet yet mockery drips from every syllable. "now, now, don't cry, my angel. be good for mingi."

yunho revels in the sight of your teary cheeks as your tongue laps around his thumb, drool leaking onto your pillow. god, you're fucking beautiful, yunho thinks, feeling his dick swell with every helpless whimper you make. he grabs your jaw and slips his tongue in your pretty little mouth, sucking at your bottom lip, and swallowing any confusion you're still harbouring, because you're not meant to have any.

the rules have been clear from the start; you belong to them. not their fault you're too gullible to see what's in front of you all this time.

"you said you'll do anything for us, remember?" yunho breaths.

"y-yes— nngh—" you whimper, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach. "mingi, i can't—"

you're close and mingi can sense it from the way you're clenching around him.

"fuck– cum for me, baby. that's it ... that's it."

it only takes you digging your nails in his hair and letting out a scream of his name for mingi to cum. he empties inside you and drops his head on the pillow, letting out a guttural groan against the back of your neck as you both come down from your high.

"such a good girl," yunho smiles, stroking your hair lovingly, "always so good for us."

his smile quickly fades.

"now turn around."

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ ᴡ ɪ ɴ ɢ ⸻

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Dick’s obsession isn’t born from malice or control—it’s born from love that he can’t let go of, love that consumes him and twists into something far more dangerous. His inherent empathy and need to protect mutate into suffocating possession when it comes to you.

You’re someone he meets while working as Nightwing—perhaps a civilian caught in the crossfire or someone aiding him on a mission. Your kindness, your bravery in the face of danger, captivates him. For someone like Dick, who has spent his life saving others, your ability to stand tall despite the world’s darkness becomes a light he can’t ignore.

But then the cracks begin to show.

You start noticing him everywhere. If you casually mention a favorite café, he’s suddenly a regular there too. When you run errands, he just happens to cross paths with you. At first, his bright smile and boyish charm disarm you. "What a coincidence," he says, as if he hasn’t been planning these encounters for days.

You come home one day to find an item you mentioned in passing—a book, a scarf, something small. There’s no note, but you know it’s from him. He swears it’s just a friendly gesture, but the way he watches you when you thank him says otherwise.

For Dick, these actions feel natural. He’s always been attentive to those he loves, always ready to go the extra mile. He doesn’t realize—or refuses to acknowledge—that these gestures aren’t innocent anymore.

When you’re hurt—even slightly—it awakens something primal. The fear of losing you mixes with the ghosts of everyone he’s lost before, and he can’t bear the thought.

Dick isn’t one to stalk in shadows; he convinces himself his obsession is protection. He keeps tabs on you, memorizing every detail of your routine. He tells himself he just wants to ensure your safety, but when you start to notice him everywhere—at the coffee shop you frequent, outside your workplace, even at your doorstep—it feels deliberate.

You confront him, but his response is calm, disarmingly charming.

“I’m just looking out for you. You mean too much to me.”

And there’s that vulnerability in his voice that makes it hard to push him away completely.

Dick’s obsession grows insidious. He’s subtle, using his charm and resourcefulness to insert himself into every corner of your life. A coworker who’s been bothering you suddenly transfers to another department. Your apartment’s locks mysteriously upgrade overnight, and Dick is the first to offer to show you how they work.

When someone flirts with you, the shift in his demeanor is terrifying. The usually affable, kind man becomes something colder, his jaw clenched as he watches from the sidelines. Later, the person who dared approach you ends up in a minor but suspicious accident.

“Don’t you see?” he tells you, his voice laced with desperation one night when you question his behavior. “I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”

Dick doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. His obsession is rooted in his fear of abandonment, his compulsion to save everyone he cares about. But in trying to protect you, he becomes your greatest danger.

"You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.” He leans on you emotionally, making you feel guilty for trying to push him away.

"I’m doing this for us.” He convinces himself every action, no matter how bad, is for your benefit.

When you try to leave, it shatters him. Dick isn’t someone who handles rejection well when it comes to people he loves. He pleads at first, his voice breaking with emotion. But when you insist, you see the darker side of his devotion.

“I can’t let you go. Don’t you see? I need you.”

His obsession becomes suffocating. He starts isolating you, not out of malice, but because he genuinely believes the world outside is too dangerous for you.

The most chilling part of Dick’s obsession is his duality. By day, he’s the same charming, selfless man everyone admires. But with you, behind closed doors, he’s desperate, controlling, and unrelenting.

He’ll kiss your forehead softly, whispering, “I love you,” as if nothing is wrong.

But then he’ll cage you in with his presence, ensuring you can never leave.

In his mind, he’s your protector, your savior, and your soulmate. He would go to any lengths to keep you safe—even if that means keeping you locked away from the rest of the world. After all, he’s lost so much already. He won’t lose you, too.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[mellowdiplomattrashpsychic]

It's funny with all the sudden parents and all, but think about how Danny being Calico is an open secret. It has so much potential.

Like- everyone knows. They dont say, nobody arrests him, but everyone knows and he knows that they know. It a Gotham secret.

And its just- imagine that it helps cover up the bats' identities? Because Bruce adopted WAY too many by now for people to not make any connections.

I bet the only thing holding them off is bad picture quality, stress of surviving everyday, simply not caring, and/or fanfiction. You can't tell me that people haven't shipped Bruce/Batman. You know how hard-core fans could be.

But now? Now it's "more concrete" that Bruce isn't Batman and the kids aren't the other vigilantes. After all, why would Batman keep a rogue as a child?

It's a stupid thing to think about considering Red Hood is still around and Robin (Damian) has a sword. But really, imagine it?

And its hilarious because people are actively cheering on the chaos gremlin. This is what they want! Sure, Bruce does great things with his charities, mass donations, and the WE stuff going (the last one they think is credited more on Tim and Damian though).

But it's not enough. Legal stuff is slow. Inventing and innovating things is difficult. The whole system is corrupt for fucks sake! It takes a hell of a lot more time to get shit done. I mean- look at the parks and plants around! Barely any, and Poison Ivy was out there killing because of all that pollution and plant killing!

Red Hood was making a difference. Sure, it was still dangerous in Crime Alley, but there was a huge difference from back then. It even impacted outside territories, too. So he didn't only help Crime Alley, but Gotham in general with the whole killing thing.

They needed more anti-heroes that made that large-scale change. And that's what Danny provided as Calico.

Also, the original post had "daylight vigilante turned dark" in it. Phantom is an obvious choice to think about but... but what if he wasn't?

Think about it. What other name could he have that he could commit to the bit to?

I just think it would be funny if he had another name. Not related to bats, birds, or (now) cats, but something like Signal in a way. Definitely a change of wardrobe. Probably uses the Phantom alias for big problems (alien invasions, Darkseid, big world catastrophe shit, ghost or magic stuff)

What if he did deal with magic? He's slowly getting rid of the curses in Gotham which is easier in the day since light weakens them (maybe).

That got off track, but yeah, imagine the drama he could cook up with not 1, not 2, not 3-

With 3 aliases!

(Familiar to anyone? Sorry, had to do it)

Just, just about the chaos he could brew. Duplication isn't that hard now that he has time to practice with decent enough sleep ;)

"And? What did you decide on?" Duke asks, fork slipping from his mouth and chewing, focused on Danny.

The boy in question hums. "Oh yeah, I'm totally joining in on the nightlife."

The statement has all of them stopping in their tracks, blatantly staring at the still eating boy.

"This will be my emo arc, daylight vigilante turned dark."

Tim snorts, Jason gives a smirk, nudging the eldest sibling next to him from his frozen state.

"Ooooh," Steph leans forward. "Have you decided? Bat or Bird?"

"New name?" Cass jumps in on the questioning with a small smile, eyes crinkling.

"Will you be joining us tonight then, danyal?" His twin speaks up for the first time during dinner, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Yes." Is the short reply, with the way damian's lips turn down and displeasure makes itself clear, the intention of giving such a short answer has been met.

"Danny," Bruce gains the attention, leaning forward with his fingers interlocked and brows furrowed with what must be worry.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this just because everyone else is—"

"I'm more than sure, B!"

The man sighs. "And I won't be able to stop you?"

"Mhm." He gives a nod.

"Okay," his shoulders sag in defeat. "Do you have everything then—?"

"Yep!"

"Even—"

"B, I'm pretty sure I got everything, you can, if in your opinion I am missing something, give it to me later!"

Danny grins, pushing himself up from the table and rounding around towards the door.

"Besides! My whole get up will be a suprise!! So stay awake folks because I'm gonna blow ya all away."

As he leaves, Steph and Duke make sounds of anticipation, curiosity eating at all of them.

(They dont know whats gonna hit 'em.)

"I'm betting 50 bucks that he's gonna be a bat."

Alfred shakes his head at the newfound excitement.

—

What an exciting night.

There is still no sight of their newest, despite oracle's teasing, having apparently already been included in the suprise.

"Well well well," a sly, yet teasing voice makes itself into the open. Catwoman, in all her glory, walks up to the group of bats and birds.

"If it isn't the bat, what's with the gloomy face?"

Batman gives her a nod. "Cat."

Her eyes roam the group and she tilts her head. "Everyone seems to be here tonight." She comments.

"We're waiting," the man shares. "Our newest decided to be more secretive about his debut."

Catwoman gives him a smug smirk. "So I have heard," a chuckle. "I've come here to introduce you to someone, truthfully."

"Oh? Who is it?" Nightwing perks up, having finally decided to join in.

"Me."

Some yelp, whip their head around and away from the lady in black, gasps and cooing (particularly from steph) fill the roof and Danny joins them.

He wears black combat boots, they're heavy just from the look, but make no sound as he jumps around. The front of the boots look like cat paws, they're reaching up to his knees.

Then comes the baggy black pants, knees protected by poleyn and his belt acting as a cats tail. The hoodie he is wearing is also black, with fingerless gloves (only the middle finger is covered) and reaching up to his neck.

Instead of a domino mask, he wears a hood with cat ears and a dark face mask. Cass claps, knowing fully well he took inspiration from her own get up.

The whole outfit is detailed with orange spots, some parts brown and others grayish.

"Meet my new mentee, Calico."

Danny, Calico, waves.

[bokutosbabe]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° sniper, sniper, sniper ♡ wifey, wifey, wifey

( bllk boys showing you off )

♡ a/n — i just love the tiktok trend so :) ( was going to attach a link to a tiktok showing what i was talking abt but it wouldn't work. just look up sniper sniper sniper wifey wifey marines and you'll see what i meant :) )

♡ content — all characters are 18+ !!, mentions of tiktok & instagram, slight cursing, tbh bad writing, nicknames like 'love' , 'wifey' , and 'my girl' used, probably ooc characters

♡ synopsis — blue lock boys showing off their girlfriend :)

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' oh that's your wifey ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...tiktok maker

if there was anyone you would really and truly call chronically online, it would be him. every day he'd come to you with some new word he learned from tiktok, or a meme that would plague your house for weeks until it went away.

so when he pulled out his phone to show you a video, you weren't expecting it to be a couples trend.

" please, please, pleaseee, love? you'd look so cute in my arms like that ! " and he had just won a big game...how could you say no to him?

so here you were, being carried like a bride in your lovely boyfriend's arms. if it were anyone else, you'd be too worried about how long they could hold you, but since it was him you didn't worry.

it took a few tries, each of you messing up a part at least once and you accidentally dropping the phone a few times, but after you figured it out, the video was practically perfect.

they posted it to their public tiktok account with the caption

' not my wifey yet, but soon ;) '

and to say all the notifications were making his phone glitch would be an understatement.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ BACHIRA MEGURU, hiori yo, SHIDOU RYUSEI, chigiri hyoma, OTOYA EITA, isagi yoichi

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...instagram poster

maybe, just maybe it was wrong of him.

wrong of him to want to post these pictures the two of you had taken on your date to the aquarium?

if he were any other, normal, person this wouldn't have seemed like a big deal, but since he had at least a million followers and some were a bit more obsessed than others, it was.

you'd told him multiple times that you were okay with him posting you, really if he was happy, you were happy. maybe it was the egoist in him, but he wanted to keep you to himself.

fuck it.

if you wanted to be posted, he was going to post you. who cared what anyone else thought? their opinions didn't mean anything to him.

he selected a few of the pictures the two of you had taken at the aquarium, sneaking one of a lipstick stain on his neck in the middle of the slides.

if he was going to announce his relationship to the public, why not let the world know how utterly whipped he was for you?

the caption was a simple

' gotta love my girl ♡ '

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ YUKIMIYA KENYU, karasu tobito, REO MIKAGE, alexis ness, RANZE KURONA, gin gagamaru

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...national television?!

the ever illusive pro soccer player. that's what every press agency called your boyfriend.

his ability to somehow dodge any paparazzi and answer very short questions during press conferences made every view into his personal life shine like gold.

based on an instagram story ( that was taken down in less than 10 minutes ) where a picture of him with his arms around a woman in a bathroom mirror, the media could assume he was in a relationship. in that photo, however, the woman's face was not visible, so the questioned still remained...

what woman could capture this mans heart?

he hadn't cared, not really. a photo was nothing to him, but you were everything. he tried really hard to keep your identity private, he didn't want you to be absorbed into a world of cameras always in your face.

but after he made the game winning goal of a very important game...all he wanted to do was see you.

maybe it was the way he could see you in the section you'd always sat, or maybe it was his ego wanting to tell everyone "yeah i'm the best soccer player, and yeah i have the best girl, what about it?"

as all of the adoring fans rushed the field, including you, he just wanted to see you. he knew, realistically, he should just go back to the locker room and come meet you afterwards like he usually did, but not today.

he shrugged off ever reporter and fan that wanted to talk to him, which was nothing new, but instead of leaving to the locker room, they watched as he walked over to you

he knew all eyes were on him, the world still watching...but he couldn't find it in himself to care. he wrapped his arms around your waist

" made that goal for you, ya know? "

you were a little surprised at his appearance, but if he didn't care neither than you.

" i know. "

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, rensuke kunigami, RIN ITOSHI, shidou ryusei, ZANTETSU TSURUGI, sae itoshi

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i think i like her . ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

this was a midnight brain dump so it's pretty bad, but i hope yall liked it :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So Danny is older, and lives in Gotham as a mechanic (he could be a We mechanic, a JLA mechanic, whatever) and eventually, he starts dating Bruce Wayne.

Now, Danny knows the Wayne at the bats, it’s kinda hard to hide your vigilantism from a former vigilante. But Danny doesn’t mention it, he knows the dangerous of telling your loved ones.

Jazz is alive and a therapist is Coast City (Jazz x Hal? Could that work? Idk too much about the green lanterns). Dan is undercover to investigate pools of corrupted ectoplasm that’s guarded by an assassin cult, and Dani is still traveling the world, not for pleasure, but for the Realms.

Dani doesn’t age. It’s a side effect of being a clone. She destabilized one to many times and now her ghost half won’t let her age so she won’t die.

Dani can’t exactly settle down in a city likes the others. She looks 12. And while her siblings would take care of her in a heartbeat, she needs to fill her obsession of history and adventure.

So, she starts hunting for old artifacts, especially the magic ones. It’s a great way to learn about history and get a sense of adventure.

She’s been doing this for a couple years, building a name for herself and she gotten very good. (Keep in mind she only looks 12, but she’s actually like 33 mentally and intellectually)

Eventually, she crosses paths with a bat while searching for an artifact. (Even better if its Duke. We need more Duke. Probably won’t work with Cass, we’ll use Duke for the prompt, but can be switched out)

Obviously, Duke is kinda confused as to why a 12 yo is going after a dangerous magic artifact in the middle of but-fuck nowhere and offers to take her to Gotham and drops her off there after taking the artifact.

Dani knows better, she was going to refuse, but the realized she could take this as a free ride. So she agrees.

The reach Gotham and go their separate ways, and Duke goes home immediately, didn’t even take the time to tell anyone about the girl. but when Duke is at home hanging with their civilian stepdad, Danny gets a call and says he’s inviting his younger sister over

Bruce: Jazz? Jazz is older that you

Danny: nope! I have another sister!

Everyone: ???

Bruce: how comes we never meet her?

Danny: you have! She was at the wedding! But you’ll see her again don’t worry! She doesn’t visit often so I’m excited!

They arrives, the bat opens the door and Dani walks in.

Danny: Dani!!

Dani: Danny!!

So people are confused, Duke is like omg my aunt is an artifact hunter?? while everyone else is like omg my aunt is younger than me??

Eventually, Danny opens her backpack and goes:

Dani: so I was in *insert random place in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere* and found this! *pulls out artifact* I thought you would like so I brought it for you!

Danny: aww, thanks Dani, you shouldn’t have

Duke, who put that artifact in the cave for study: 👁️👄👁️

And Dani gives them a wink.

Duke isn’t going to take that lying down and attempts to find out Dani’s secrets while shes thwarting him at every turn.

Dani stays at the manor for a while, but nobody believe Duke when he tries warning them of Dani, because Duke didn’t tell anyone about the artifact

Things become even more alarming when Danny also start thwarting him, despite not know the family secret. (Danny thinks that Duke is onto the family secret.)

Cue crack, angst, fluff, whatever your heart desires.

[milktiicup]

Helloooo! I love your writing so much! I read it all day every time you post, especially your homicipher ones 🥹🫶 I hope you're doing great today btw!

If it isn't too much to ask, can you write the homicipher cast's reactions about the baby of Mr. Crawling and Mc? 👀

I imagine some would be very funny 😭

Have a lovely dayyy! Mwamwa!

little hands, dark hearts!

homicipher cast meeting you and mr crawling's baby! > scarletella, silvair, chopped, hood, machete mr crawling baby saga! chapter 1 chapter 2

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i think you can tell i have favs by the amount of length and detail some of these have dkjfhkdhdgj

warnings. lol just pure angst in mr. scarletella's

MR. SCARLETELLA

He stares. And he stares. And he stares.

The silence is suffocating, weighing heavier than the shadows beneath his feet. Dull, grey eyes bore into yours, searching for answers that you couldn��t give. 

Of course, he brought you here to be with him. You gave him all these lovely offerings, shedding beautiful blood in his name, stared directly into his eyes as he enveloped you, taking you to his domain- but you wouldn’t give him your name. You stand there, swinging your crowbar, defiance burning in your eyes. It’s not fear he sees, not submission, but anger- a raw, searing thing that slices through the quiet like a blade. And it confuses him. No, it infuriates him.

His grip on his umbrella tightens, the knuckles whitening. His lips twist into a scowl, but behind it, something softer flickers- an ache he doesn’t know how to name. He’s used to taking. Claiming. But you… you’re not like the others. You’re still standing. Still staring. Still resisting.

And it only makes him want you more.

But then there’s him.

That thing. That crawling, pathetic thing that dares to share the space you once offered to him.

What does that creature have that he doesn’t? What pull does it hold over you, to make you look at it like that? Mr. Scarletella hates him. Oh, how he hates him. He hates your baby. Hates the way its small hands grasp at you, the way you cradle it against your chest as if it’s the most precious thing in your world. He hates the way your smile softens when you whisper to it, the way you laugh when it coos.

You look so happy. How could he take that away from you? And yet- how could you do this to him? You like him. He likes you. Why did you pick him?

The resentment pools in his chest like ink, sticky and dark. He wants to scream, to tear down this fragile illusion of happiness you’ve built, to drag you back into his arms where you belong. And yet, his hands tremble. His scowl falters.

You look so happy.

And the thought guts him. How could he take that away from you?

His lips twitch, caught between a sneer and a sigh, as he looks away. For the first time, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to take what he wants.

Mr. Scarletella’s chest rises and falls, his breath unsteady. His umbrella clatters to the ground, forgotten as his hands flex and curl into fists at his sides. He steps closer, the air around him rippling with suppressed fury.

“Why?” The question tears from his throat, jagged and raw, barely above a whisper. His crimson eyes gleam with something between desperation and rage. “Why?”

He’s staring at you again, but this time, there’s no pretense of control. Just pain, naked and wild, burning in the shadows of his gaze.

You don’t answer. How could you?

So, he waits. And he stares. And he waits.

MR. SILVAIR

Mr. Silvair holds your baby, careful and learning. His bandage gaze peers into the little eyes, baby babbling and cooing and reaching for his hair. He smiles, soft and curious. 

His infatuation with your child is endless. How was it possible for you two to procreate? To create something from something undead, a ghost, a monster- and a perfectly normal human. Questions that he will never have answers for- questions he doesn’t dare act upon. The baby is fragile, soft, and defenseless. He couldn’t take it apart and put it back together- he can’t break something that could never be fixed.

And the question eggs him at the back of his mind- what if it could?

His hands steady yet soft, as though he’s cradling the most fragile thing in existence. The baby babbles, tiny fists reaching for the loose strands of his silver hair, and when their fingers catch hold of it, she giggles with pure delight.

“Them like,” he observes, his voice unusually tender.

You stifle a laugh. “Of course she does. It’s shiny. Babies love shiny things.”

His head tilts slightly, silver hair brushing against the baby’s chubby cheeks as they continue their determined mission to grab at more strands. “Shiny good?” he asks, his curiosity genuine, as if this is just another puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Very good,” you assure him, stepping closer to watch the two of them. “She’s clearly a fan.”

The baby lets out a happy squeal, wriggling in his grasp. Silvair’s gaze flickers down to her, and though his eyes are hidden, there’s something warm in his expression. “Strong grip,” he notes, “Healthy.”

You smile softly, leaning against the counter. “She’s got her father’s energy, that’s for sure.”

Mr. Silvair doesn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on the baby as they try- and fail- to stuff one of his fingers into their tiny mouth. He gently redirects their hands, careful and patient. “Small,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Important.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him. “Important?”

He looks up, tilting his head. “From you. Important. Interested in them.”

The simplicity of his statement warms something in your chest, even if he was purely fascinated with your child out of sheer scientific interest. You’re not sure if he fully understands the weight of his words, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take the softness of the moment. 

The baby lets out another squeal, this one more demanding, and Mr. Silvair bounces them slightly in his arms, an action so natural it makes you blink in surprise. The baby quiets immediately, snuggling into his chest with a content sigh.

“Good,” he says, more to the baby than to you. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “She likes you,” you comment with a shuffled laugh. Of all the monsters here, your child just has to like the one who tears you apart. 

Mr. Silvair tilts his head again, his smile returning faintly as he glances down at the now-sleepy baby. “Me like them.”

“Cute?”

“Cute.”

MR. CHOPPED

“Want carry them,” Mr. Chopped pouts, cheeks puffed. “Them cute.”

“She’s so cute, isn’t she?” you chuckle.

The baby giggles, a toothless, gummy smile as bright as the sun. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in a mix of frustration and wistful longing. “Me carry. Want carry,” he repeated, his tone almost petulant.

“You’d need arms for that,” you tease, bouncing the baby lightly on your hip. The baby squeals, her laugh infectious, and you couldn’t help but grin down at her. “She’s so happy to see you, though. Look, she’s waving!” You guide her tiny hand in a slow wave toward Mr. Chopped.

His face lit up with exaggerated enthusiasm, his head tilting as he “leans” closer, as if proximity would help convey his affection. “Cute,” he said with deep conviction. “Many cute. Little human.”

The baby gurgles in response, her toothless smile lighting up her face. She reaches out as though she wants to grab him, her tiny fingers opening and closing in that delightful way babies do.

“See?” you laugh. “She wants to hold you!”

Mr. Chopped’s pout deepens dramatically. “Unfair. No arms. No hold. No carry. Me sad.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re fine, Mr. Chopped. She can’t even hold her own head up for long; I’m sure she’s not judging you for not having arms.”

“Baby not judge,” he said solemnly, his voice tender. “Baby happy.”

“She likes you,” you reassure him with a smile. “You’ve got that big, friendly face, and you’re always talking to her like she’s the most fascinating thing in the world.”

“Them are,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone so earnest it made you laugh again.

“Well, maybe one day we’ll rig up some kind of… carrier for you,” you offered jokingly. “So you can hold her. Or at least let her sit in your lap- if you had one.”

Mr. Chopped perked up at that, his cheeks puffing out again with excitement this time. “Yes! Make lap. Make arms. Then carry. Hug!”

“She’d probably love that,” you said, kissing the baby’s soft head. She giggled again, her tiny hands reaching out toward Mr. Chopped, her eyes bright and full of wonder.

MR. HOOD

“Not understand,” Mr. Hood repeats.

You sigh. “You have to support the back of her head,” you say, guiding his ghostly arm to the baby’s nape. “Gentle. She’s fragile.”

“Weak,” he observes. “Much small.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “so we have to protect her.”

Mr. Hood’s form shifts as he processes your instructions, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering through his voice. “Protect... small weak thing.” His hand hovers near the baby’s head. It trembles slightly, not from lack of strength but from hesitation- like a predator trying to handle something delicate for the first time.

You place your hands over his, guiding him with care. “That’s right. Support her head. Babies can’t hold their heads up yet.”

He tilts slightly, as though trying to look closer, though his featureless head offers no expression to read. The baby gurgles softly, her tiny fingers curling around one of his. The textureless appendage seems to surprise her, and she coos in delight, kicking her chubby legs.

“Why small thing hold?” Mr. Hood asks, his voice edged with wonder.

“She’s curious,” you explain, smiling at the sight. “She doesn’t know what you are, but she wants to hold on to you.”

“Not wise.” His tone is flat, but there’s no malice in it. He shifts slightly, his massive frame dwarfing her. “Me danger. Not afraid?”

“She doesn’t know fear yet,” you say softly. “She only knows what feels safe.”

His hand rests under the baby’s head and back now, cradling her with surprising gentleness. The contrast is almost surreal- his immense strength and amorphous form against the fragility of a newborn. The baby giggles again, wiggling in his hold.

“Small thing… trust,” he murmurs, his tone almost contemplative.

“She does,” you say, watching them with a warmth blooming in your chest. “And that’s why we protect her.”

“Protect,” he repeats, as if testing the word. His grip shifts slightly, more confident. “Protect small thing. Understand.”

It’s strange, seeing someone- or something- like Mr. Hood in this role, but in the quiet moment, his usual air of detachment seems to melt away. The baby yawns, her tiny body sinking deeper into his hold, completely at ease.

MR. GAP

“Give little thing,” Mr. Gap says from the vent, his voice more curious than menacing. You freeze, hand still cradling your baby close to your chest as his long, dark arm stretches out, holding something soft and fluffy- a teddy bear.

Your baby, who has been cooing and kicking her legs happily in your arms, notices the movement. Her bright eyes widen, and she reaches out toward the stuffed bear with an eager little giggle.

“Give them?” It’s such an innocent request. He’s just offering the bear, his dark figure so out of place in the light of the room, but there’s something almost endearing about it.

You laugh softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, she’d love that,” you say. “She’s been really into cuddly things lately.”

The baby coos again, her tiny hands reaching for the bear, almost as if she recognizes the gesture as a gift. She touches it gently, then pulls it closer to her chest in a little snuggle, her face lighting up with joy.

“See? She likes it!” you say, glancing at Mr. Gap, your voice teasing. “Thanks to you.”

Mr. Gap pulls back slightly, his hand retreating into the vent, but you catch a glimpse of a subtle shift in his posture- a pleased air about him, as if he’s satisfied with the outcome.

“Them happy?” he asks.

You smile warmly, watching the baby continue to clutch the teddy bear like it’s her new best friend. “Yeah, she’s happy. And that makes me happy.”

A soft, quiet chuckle seems to come from the vent, and you can almost imagine a small, pleased grin behind the shadows. “Good,” Mr. Gap says, his voice full of pride. “Me good.”

The bear is now in the baby’s tiny hands, and her sleepy eyes begin to flutter shut, the soft comfort of the stuffed toy pulling her into a drowsy stupor. You gently rock her back and forth, watching as she drifts off to sleep, clutching the bear to her chest like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mr. Gap,” you say softly, though he’s long disappeared back into his shadowy realm. You’re not sure if he heard, but you still find yourself whispering it anyway.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels a little bit lighter.

MR. MACHETE

“What… that?” he asks, a finger lazily pointing at your baby nestled in your arms.

“It’s my baby!” you reply, pridefully, and cradle her for exaggeration. Within a second, your face falls firm, and you sternly say, “No fighting little thing.”

“Not fight?” Mr. Machete’s jagged smile turns into a comical looking frown. He scowls, and turns away. “Not interested.”

“Mr. Macheteee,” you whine, “Just look at her! Isn’t she just so cute?”

Mr. Machete pauses mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing at your words. He lets out a huff, loud and exaggerated, before reluctantly glancing over his shoulder. “Cute?” he echoes, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. His tone is skeptical, almost offended. His machete falls to his side, an ear-scratching ‘clang!’ that disturbs you more than your baby.

The baby coos, her tiny hands waving aimlessly in the air. Her bright, gummy smile beams up at him, and for a moment, Mr. Machete looks genuinely stumped. 

“Them small. Shape wrong,” he notes, leaning in closer. His massive frame looms over her, but he makes no move to get too close. “Weak. No teeth. Cannot hold attack tool.”

He stares at the baby a moment longer, his scowl softening ever so slightly as the baby giggles, a bright, happy sound that cuts through his rough demeanor like a blade. She reaches toward him, her tiny fingers grabbing at the air, and for reasons you don’t quite understand, he doesn’t immediately pull away.

The baby’s determination seems to intrigue him. He tilts his head and extends a single finger- not a threatening move, but cautious, almost testing. Her tiny hand catches his finger, and she grips it tightly, her toothless grin growing impossibly wider.

“Them strong,” he finally admits, his voice low but tinged with what could almost be considered respect. “When little thing big, fight.”

You roll your eyes. Well, at least he gave your baby some attention.

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[suksatoru]

flawed and flawless 𝜗𝜚₊˚⊹♡ dabi x you

You never thought Dabi could be insecure.

Dabi, who walked over people like they held the same worth as the dirt beneath his boots. He was so confident—in himself and his abilities, so you could've never expected him to be insecure about anything at all.

Dabi knows his scars aren't appealing. He knows the appearance of charred flesh held together by staples isn't attractive, by any means. He never cared about it before, never even bothered to think about what other people thought of his looks.

The first time he kissed you, Dabi wasn't thinking about how you perceived his scars. He was too swept up in the moment to even consider how you might feel kissing him, too enamored by your taste and glossy eyes as he deflowered you with a tenderness inside him he didn't know he had

Dabi's kissed you many times now. So he doesn't know why it's this particular moment where he's suddenly hesitant to

You're tracing the staples on his chest gently, laying on top of him with your legs intertwined since his mattress wasn't big enough for the two of you to lay beside each other. He's listening quietly to your words, playing with the hem of your shirt before he gently pushes the fabric aside, moving his palm under and inside the garment

Your stomach is so soft. He rubs the mounds of plush skin with his rough fingertips, loving the way you felt beneath him.

He thinks about how different your skin is from the texture of his arms and face. The flesh on him was marred and tainted, and yours is so pure. Something untouched by the cruel world, flawless compared to his flawed one.

He suddenly pulls his hand away from you

Did you like the feeling of his sharp and cold staples rubbing against your skin? He imagined it would be an alarming feeling—the metal wasn't warm and inviting in his eyes. He curls his fist and hesitantly rests it against your clothed back instead. You're still telling him something as he does this, but you quickly realize he was distracted after calling his name and being met with no reply.

He peers down when you stop talking. but then he realizes you're moving to kiss his jaw

And he moves out of the way, effectively dodging your kiss.

He winces when he sees the look on your face, the pout that quickly forms as he begins to panic about how he was supposed to explain why he didn't let you kiss him just now

"Dabi? Why're you making that face?" You mumble, gently cradling his face as he stiffens under your touch. You see the shift in his mood, and gently move your hands away to rest on his chest instead as he sighs

"Nothing. What were you saying?" He mumbles tiredly as you squint up at him, entirely unconvinced by his words.

"It's not important. Tell me what's wrong." You frown, not moving your hands to comfort him as you realized he wasn't reciprocating your touch for some reason

Dabi stares at you. You stare back. He thinks he's the luckiest man in the world to have you love him. You just...understand. He didn't think he deserved to know you, let alone love you. But here you were, patiently loving him.

"Do you like touching me? I mean, is it not fucking uncomfortable for these baby fingers?" He chuckles dryly, grabbing hold of you as he feels your palm in his. Carefully, he intertwines his fingers with yours. He almost cringes at the contrast of the feeling of his wrist resting against yours as he sighs, before pulling away.

He's staring at the ceiling, not meeting your eyes as you're quite literally stunned into silence. The fan hums quietly, filling the silence as you stare up at him. You suddenly realize what he was trying to say, and your soft voice snaps Dabi out of his train of unwelcomed thoughts

"Dabi."

He looks down, but he has to physically swallow the lump in his throat when he sees your face. He can't respond because he knows his voice will come out shaky and tremble no matter how hard he tries not to let it

"I love you, okay? I don't...I never thought you were hard to touch. You're perfect. There isn't a single thing I'd change about you."

He doesn't know why he feels like crying. His throat feels like its closed, and his eyes burn as his hand returns back to your stomach. He runs his hands all over your body, desperately trying to pull you infinitely closer to him as he lets out a shuddering breath

"I love you too, sweetheart. So damn much." He croaks, his voice strained with so much raw emotion that you can't help but lean into his touch and swipe at the stray blood that trickles down his cheek from his eye

"You should sleep. I'm right here, kay? And when you wake up, we can make those pancakes...the ones with faces on them." You muse, pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips that he desperately reciprocates

He nods his head before tucking it into the space between your shoulder and neck, murmuring your name before his breathing slowly begins to even out

Dabi falls asleep before you. At least, you thought he had fallen asleep. That's the only reason you started to gently kiss across his jaw, just to try and soothe him as he slept. He once told you he loved when you kissed his jaw, saying something about how the feeling was a nice one

His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit. Normally, his heart beat would increase whenever you kissed him. Sometimes it sped up at the mere thought of you—but these kisses didn't have that effect on him. Mainly because they were slowing his heart, instead. Calming him. Grounding him.

He fell asleep with your skin pressed against his, both of you content. He wanted to feel you closer, so he pressed his cheek against yours without fear that his staples or scars would be uncomfortable for you. He knew they wouldn't—knew they couldn't with how you yourself leaned into him the same way he leaned into you, like a flower dipping towards the sun for warmth.

[kingedbishop]

Whatever joke Rook had planned to make was set aside as she eyed the two. She obviously saw nothing wrong with hanging out with alternative versions of herself. It was kind of like meeting a distant cousin, expect they were unlikely to disappoint like most relatives do. Even Bishop had little to complain about his. They both acted the way one would expect from the likes of him.

Really, it was his fault for being an asshole. She glanced at the agent, then turned to Nines. It didn't seem like a smart idea to make android cops, but that world didn't exactly shine for its bright ideas.

"Oh, you have it so easy around here." Willow scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Those engrams have a tendency to destabilize. I'd prefer to resolve any compatibility issues myself. Whatever funding you may need, consider it covered. Again, feel free not to question the source. Not every corner of the world is as content with the existence of digital beings, it'd save me some extra work."

"You should consider moving here." Bishop suggested, a faint grin on his face. He found the concept of adopting androids amusing. Some people truly went through great lengths to find humanity in everything.

Not that he cared to understand it when he hardly contemplated showing basic decency towards the aliens he had captured.

"Having to share the planet with Kamski is miserable enough. I have no intention of moving any closer."

"What about your plans to murder him?"

"Please, do not quote me in the presence of the RK900."

"Oh, he really wants a katana up his ass." Rook mused, before turning to Peter, "I think it's cool that you've got brothers. What I don't get is why you're keeping the Bishop shaped one around."

Well, it was good to know they were going to meet even more androids by just being in Peter's immediate vicinity. At least so far only one seemed fine attacking strangers on sight, even though Bishop wasn't too keen on trusting Nines' either after the poor state he showed up in.

And knowing there was another nearly identical more deranged android around they hadn't met yet didn't please Bishop either. So he stood back with his arms crossed, keeping an eye out in case somebody else felt like joining them.

"It's funny, isn't it? You meet a whole new guy, but it's still you!" Rook said while giving Strasky an encouraging pat on the shoulder, "It looks like you guys have a thing for getting in trouble. But it's clear you're good at making friends too."

"Rook is something of an expert on the topic. However, we have more pressing matters to tend to." Willow chimed in, "To answer your question, it will indeed be custom work, but fortunately time isn't a concern."

"Yeah. We just want to know if you can put a construct into an android so they won't be stuck being formless entities anymore." Rook said with a shrug, "Those guys could really use having bodies again."

"You would be paid accordingly, both for the work itself and for the risk of taking part in such a project." A possibly illegal one, though Willow simply glanced at Dan instead of mentioning it out loud, "And we'd be thankful if none of this was mentioned to the authorities, or to Cyberlife, lest they start having more ideas they would come to regret later on."

[thedensworld]

Born Superhero | J.Ww

Genre: fluff, parent au!

Summary: Started as clueless father to superhero, watch how Wonwoo grow as a father... And a husband.

The pregnancy wasn’t an accident; it was simply... A little unexpected. Okay, very unexpected. You and Wonwoo had been married for only six months—still in the honeymoon phase, barely used to sharing closet space—when life threw you both a curveball.

Wonwoo was overseas on a business trip when he got the alarming call that you had passed out at work. The reassurances from friends didn’t help; his mind raced with every possibility, from exhaustion to something far worse. Before he knew it, he was on the earliest flight back, heart thudding as if it were trying to make its way home ahead of him.

When he finally walked through the door, ready to scold you for pushing yourself too hard, he was met with news that rendered him speechless: you were pregnant. He’d always imagined having kids... someday. But not when he was still trying to remember which side of the bed was "his."

His lips curled into a smile, the kind meant to comfort you as you nervously searched his face for a reaction. But inside? Oh, inside he was trembling so hard he half-expected an earthquake warning to pop up on the TV. Fatherhood. He was going to be a dad. The idea was thrilling, terrifying, and somehow as surreal as finding socks in the fridge.

"Well," he said, pulling you into his arms and trying not to sound like a man whose life just did a triple somersault, "I guess this explains why you kept craving pickles and ice cream together."

Wonwoo made it his mission to be your unwavering support system, even when a storm brewed behind his calm eyes. He bottled up the anxiety gnawing at him—the nagging questions about whether he’d be a good father, if he could handle the responsibility, or if he would ever stop feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of parenthood. He couldn’t bear the thought of adding his fears to your plate when you were already dealing with morning sickness that had you running to the bathroom at all hours, leg cramps that turned simple walks into wobbly adventures, and sleepless nights that left you both bleary-eyed.

So, he channeled every ounce of that anxious energy into action. He worked harder than ever, managing late nights and early mornings, making sure everything you could possibly need was taken care of—from prenatal vitamins to setting up the nursery with the precision of a man assembling a palace. Wonwoo learned to cook your favorite comfort meals, and when you suddenly decided the smell of his go-to cologne made you queasy, he switched brands without a word of complaint. He’d hold your hand through doctor appointments, his smile steady even as the “dad” word hovered in his mind like a flashing neon sign.

And when the big day came, Wonwoo felt time stop as he watched you, the love of his life, bring a new one into the world. All the fear, the endless late-night overthinking—it all melted away the moment he laid eyes on Jeon Rayi. The boy had his eyes, the same quiet intensity, and as he let out his first tiny wail, Wonwoo realized something: he was already a father, whether he felt ready or not.

As you cradled Rayi, exhausted but beaming, Wonwoo gently took his son into his arms. The weight was different than he expected, lighter but powerful, grounding him in a way he didn’t know he needed.

“Look at him,” you whispered, teary-eyed and smiling. “He’s your little twin.”

Wonwoo’s chest swelled with emotion as he looked down at Rayi, whose eyes were now blinking up at him as if to say, Gotcha, Dad.

One thing Wonwoo couldn’t quite shake from his mind was the moment before he first laid eyes on Rayi—the moment when you, exhausted and trembling, brought him into the world. He'd watched enough viral videos of husbands fainting in the delivery room to think he was prepared for anything. I’ll be fine, he’d told himself. But when it actually happened, when he saw you gripping the sides of the bed, your face etched with pain so raw it made his chest tighten, his whole body turned to stone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, only stare wide-eyed as you endured each wave of agony.

Seeing you in pain, your body shaking as the delivery was finally declared successful, felt like a blow that rattled every nerve he had. All he wanted was to wrap you in his arms, to kiss away every tear and tell you a thousand times over how much he loved you. But he stood there, stunned and aching, until the first tiny cry of Rayi snapped him back to reality.

When the nurse placed Rayi in your arms, a hush fell over the room, broken only by your relieved sobs and the baby's soft whimpers. Wonwoo’s eyes misted as he took in the sight of you holding their son—this tiny, perfect reflection of him. The joy that filled him was almost overwhelming, a light so bright it nearly erased the memory of everything that had come before.

But later, when the room had quieted and it was just the three of you, Wonwoo sat by your side, gently brushing the hair from your damp forehead. His gaze flicked between you and Rayi, and a pained shadow passed over his eyes.

“Seeing you trembling after giving birth,” he whispered, voice hoarse and unsteady, “I don’t think we need more children. I can’t... I don’t want to see you in pain like that again.”

You looked up at him, exhaustion softening your features as you managed a small, tired smile. “Wonwoo, we’ll be okay. This little one is worth it,” you said, touching Rayi’s tiny fist as it clung to your finger.

He nodded, though the worry didn’t fully leave his expression. Deep inside, he knew you were right. Rayi was worth it. But the memory of your pain would be seared into his heart, a reminder of just how fiercely he loved you, and how deeply it shook him to see you hurt.

Wonwoo's journey as a first-time dad was filled with more surprises than he could have anticipated. In the first few weeks, he was as nervous as he had been the day Rayi was born, startled awake by every whimper and uncertain about every diaper change. He was meticulous to the point of being comical, triple-checking the swaddle and peeking into the crib every half hour to make sure Rayi was still breathing.

But as the months rolled on, something remarkable happened: Wonwoo began to relax into fatherhood. The once-trembling hands that struggled to button up tiny onesies became adept at cradling Rayi while half-asleep. He learned the art of the midnight bottle, perfecting a one-handed technique so he could hold Rayi close while warming up formula with the other. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but the sight of Rayi’s gummy smile each morning made every sleepless night worth it.

The two of you grew together as parents, finding comfort in the shared laughter and the quiet chaos of raising a newborn. Wonwoo discovered a new side of himself—one that sang silly songs at 3 a.m. just to keep Rayi from crying, that narrated mundane chores with animated voices as though he were performing on stage. His once measured, serious tone became playful and warm, especially when Rayi would respond with delighted giggles that made his heart swell.

There were moments of doubt, of course. Nights when Rayi was teething and inconsolable, when nothing seemed to work, and Wonwoo would feel the weight of his inadequacies creeping in. During those times, he’d find you both leaning on each other, whispering words of encouragement, your hands clasped in a silent promise that you were in this together. You’d remind him that parenting was messy, imperfect, and filled with trial and error, but that Rayi didn’t need perfection—he just needed love.

As Rayi grew from a newborn into a babbling infant, Wonwoo learned to celebrate the small milestones: the first time Rayi rolled over, the first tooth that peeked through his gums, and the first unsteady steps that had Wonwoo following close behind with arms outstretched, ready to catch him. Each new achievement was a moment of triumph not just for Rayi, but for Wonwoo too. Every smile, every laugh, every moment they shared felt like a victory, a reassurance that he was doing okay, that they were doing okay.

One evening, as the golden light of sunset streamed through the living room, Rayi toddled over with a wobbling gait, his chubby hands reaching out for his father. Wonwoo scooped him up, lifting him into the air and watching as Rayi squealed with joy. For a moment, all his early worries about fatherhood seemed like a distant memory. He met your eyes across the room, sharing a smile that spoke volumes about how far you’d both come.

“We did pretty well, didn’t we?” he said, more to himself, as Rayi wrapped his tiny arms around his neck in a triumphant hug.

“Yes, we did,” you replied, coming over to place a gentle hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, leaning in to kiss Rayi’s soft cheek.

In that moment, as Rayi laughed between the two of you, Wonwoo knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he was ready to face them—not alone, but with you and your little family, growing stronger and more full of love each day.

*

Wonwoo was out of the city for a schedule when his manager hurried toward him, phone in hand, urgency written all over his face. Wonwoo’s chest tightened. It had to be you calling. That was the compromise you both had made—only call when it was urgent. The same rule applied when he was home alone with Rayi, and you were out. If it could be handled without a call, texting was the way. But this was different. His manager wouldn’t rush over for a casual update.

“Y/N…” his manager muttered, handing him the phone. Wonwoo grabbed it immediately, putting it to his ear, his heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. He strained to hear past the slight static on the line, but then it hit him—Rayi’s cries, loud and unrelenting in the background.

“Rayi has a fever,” you said, your voice edged with panic. “He’s been crying nonstop for the past hour. I’m on my way to the hospital.”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched. Rayi was rarely sick. The thought of his son, usually so bright and energetic, being unwell made his stomach twist. “Where are you taking him?” he asked, biting his lip to steady his voice.

“Seoul University Hospital,” you replied, and he could hear the tremble in your voice, paired with Rayi’s cries from the backseat. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else...”

“You’re doing a great job,” Wonwoo interrupted gently, his tone firm and reassuring. “I’ll figure out how to leave early. Please, update me when you get there?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, your breaths uneven. “I will.”

“And drive safely,” he added, his voice softening despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

The moment the call ended, Wonwoo sprang into action, explaining the situation to the managers and the members. The moment he mentioned Rayi’s fever, everyone rallied around him with understanding and support, urging him to leave immediately.

His manager didn’t waste a second, getting him into the car for the drive back to Seoul. On the way, Wonwoo stared out the window, fists clenched on his lap, running over every scenario in his head. You had mentioned in a text last night that Rayi was feeling warm, but neither of you had expected it to escalate this quickly.

Wonwoo stepped into the hospital, his pace bordering on a run. He hadn’t had time to change out of his work clothes, though he silently thanked his manager for packing a change of clothes in the car. Right now, none of that mattered. His only focus was reaching you and Rayi.

When he got to the room, his breath hitched. The sight of Rayi, lying pale and fragile in your arms with his tiny arm connected to an IV, shattered him. It was a stark contrast to the lively boy who usually filled the house with laughter. His heart broke into pieces.

“He just fell asleep,” you mouthed softly, careful not to disturb Rayi’s slumber.

Wonwoo nodded and immediately moved to sit beside you. His eyes stayed glued to his son as you gently laid Rayi down on the hospital bed, brushing a stray curl from his forehead before stepping away.

Without a word, Wonwoo stood and pulled you into his arms. His embrace was tight, as though holding you close could somehow erase the weight of the day. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured back, leaning into him.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as his eyes searched yours. He noticed the weariness etched into your features—the sleepless night, the worry, the stress of handling it all alone until he arrived. “How is he now?” he asked gently.

You let out a deep sigh. “The doctor said it’s likely a virus. They’re monitoring him, but his fever has come down.”

Relief flashed across Wonwoo’s face, though the worry in his eyes remained. He nodded, then pulled you into another hug, this one softer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You’re doing such an amazing job, love. Thank you for taking care of him.”

You smiled faintly against his chest, grateful for his words, even though the exhaustion still weighed heavily on you.

“You should rest now,” Wonwoo said, pulling back to look at you again. “I’ll stay with him and take care of everything tonight. You need sleep.”

But you shook your head, stubborn as always. “No, I can’t. I need to be here.”

Wonwoo sighed, but he didn’t push further. He knew better than to argue when you were this determined. Instead, he brought over a chair and sat beside you. That night, the two of you stayed awake together, taking turns checking Rayi’s temperature and watching his small chest rise and fall with each steady breath.

Every so often, Wonwoo would glance at you, catching the way your gaze softened as you looked at Rayi. In those moments, despite the exhaustion and worry, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude—for you, for Rayi, for the family you’d built together.

By the time the early morning light began creeping through the hospital curtains, you leaned your head against his shoulder, both of you too tired to talk but sharing an unspoken bond of love and determination. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

*

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft hum of medical equipment. After two long days of watching over Rayi, exhaustion had overtaken you and Wonwoo. Neither of you had gone home since that night, surviving on restless naps on the small couch by Rayi's bedside. Wonwoo tried to stay alert, but his body betrayed him, slipping into moments of sleep. Every time he woke, guilt would gnaw at him as he saw you still wide awake, your eyes fixed on Rayi, your motherly instinct unwilling to rest.

That morning, as sunlight filtered through the window, Wonwoo stirred and glanced at you. You were slowly getting up from the couch, your movements unsteady. He sat up quickly, alarmed as you swayed slightly, your hand gripping the armrest for support.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. He moved to your side just as you nearly stumbled. Placing a hand on your forehead, his expression darkened. “You’re burning up. I think you have a fever.”

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, more annoyed with yourself than anything.

Wonwoo's hands gently cupped your face, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Please rest, babe. You’ve been running on fumes, and Rayi wouldn’t want to see his mom pushing herself too hard.” His voice was soft but firm, and the concern in his eyes made your chest tighten.

You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. His words hit too close to home, but you didn’t want to break down. Not now.

Unfortunately, your body didn’t give you much choice. By midday, your fever had worsened, leaving Wonwoo no option but to call his brother to watch over Rayi while he took you to the emergency room.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly as you laid on the hospital bed, waiting for the test result.

“No,” Wonwoo said, shaking his head, his tone gentle but resolute. “I’m sorry. You’re sick because you’ve been taking care of Rayi and pushing yourself beyond your limit. I should’ve been better at taking care of you too.” He reached out, softly patting your head in an attempt to comfort you.

Your head throbbed, and the dizziness didn’t help. You couldn’t help but think about Rayi and how frustrating it must have been for him to endure the same symptoms. “This headache... I think I know why Rayi was so upset,” you murmured faintly, earning a sad chuckle from Wonwoo.

“Still hurts?” he asked, his hand tightening around yours. You nodded weakly, and his expression crumbled. He hated feeling helpless, but right now, all he could do was stay by your side, offering silent support.

When the test results finally came back, the doctor informed you that you were dehydrated and your body was too run-down to fight off the fever. “We’ll need to keep you for observation,” the doctor said.

Wonwoo nodded, his grip on your hand steady. “Do whatever it takes to make her better,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

As the nurses prepared for your moving, he turned to you, brushing hair away from your face. “You’re going to rest now, okay? No arguments,” he whispered with a small, tired smile.

After hours of shuffling between emergency room and paperwork, Wonwoo finally managed to arrange for you and Rayi to share a private room. It was ironic, he thought, as he pushed the wheelchair carrying you to the room—both his loves were now patients, and he was playing the role of a full-time caregiver.

Rayi lay in his hospital bed, still hooked up to the IV, his tiny frame looking so much better than days ago under the blue blanket. You were wheeled to the second bed beside him, visibly exhausted but trying to stay strong.

Wonwoo helped you settle in, adjusting your pillow and tucking the blanket around you like you always did for Rayi. “There. Now I have both of you in my sight,” he said softly, sitting down between your beds with a sigh of relief.

You gave him a weak smile. “Not how I imagined our first family staycation.”

Wonwoo chuckled, though there was a hint of tiredness in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think this is making it to our family scrapbook.” He reached out, holding your hand in one of his while keeping the other near Rayi’s bedside.

The days that followed were a blur of tending to both of you. Wonwoo quickly fell into a rhythm—feeding Rayi when he woke up crying, gently wiping your face with a cool cloth to keep your fever down, and running back and forth to fetch food or talk to doctors.

At one point, as you watched him juggling everything, you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re really something, Jeon Wonwoo. I didn’t think you had it in you to manage two patients.”

He looked at you, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he smiled back. “Turns out I’m pretty good at this dad-and-husband thing. But don’t get any ideas about a repeat performance.”

“Noted,” you said, laughing softly.

Rayi started to recover quickly, his fever subsiding by the second day. You could see him regaining his usual cheerfulness, even managing to giggle when Wonwoo made silly faces. But that didn’t stop Wonwoo from being extra cautious, checking on both of you every few minutes.

One evening, when Rayi was sound asleep, you watched Wonwoo nodding off in the chair between the two of you, his head tilted awkwardly. “Wonwoo,” you whispered, shaking his hand gently.

“Hm?” He jolted awake, rubbing his eyes and looking around.

“Go to the couch and sleep,” you said softly.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here. What if one of you needs me?”

You smiled, your heart swelling with gratitude. “We’re okay, Wonwoo. You’ve done so much already. Please rest.”

Reluctantly, he agreed, dragging himself to the small couch in the corner. As he lay there, his head resting on a folded jacket, he thought about how much this experience had changed him. He wasn’t just a husband or a dad anymore—he was part of a team, a family that needed him, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

As you drifted off to sleep, with Rayi’s soft breathing filling the room, you glanced at Wonwoo one last time. Despite his exhaustion, there was a peaceful smile on his face, and you knew that in his quiet, unwavering way, he would always take care of both of you.

*

After six long days at the hospital, the "family staycation" was finally over. Wonwoo drove the three of you home, the car filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by Rayi's babbles from the backseat. The little boy had been released two days earlier, and during that time, Wonwoo had asked his parents to take care of him so you could recover without any distractions. Now, as the car pulled into the driveway, Rayi was buzzing with excitement to be home again—and to be with you.

The moment you stepped inside, Rayi nearly leaped into Wonwoo's arms, squealing with delight. “He really missed us,” Wonwoo said, his voice soft with affection.

“I think he missed the house more,” you teased as Rayi wiggled to be put down. The instant his feet touched the floor, he zoomed off on his walker, embarking on a grand tour of the house.

Wonwoo chuckled as he picked up the bags, watching Rayi disappear into the kitchen. “Guess he’s making sure everything’s still here.”

Meanwhile, you sank into the couch with a relieved sigh. Days of lying in a hospital bed had made you sluggish, and even standing for more than a few minutes felt like an Olympic feat. As much as you wanted to jump back into your routine, your body begged for more rest.

Wonwoo joined you on the couch, plopping down beside you with a contented groan. Together, you watched Rayi race around, his walker creating an amusing squeak with every step as he stopped to admire his favorite show playing on the TV.

“You know what…” Wonwoo said suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

“Hm?” you hummed, turning to him.

“The most cliché thing that would happen now is me falling sick,” he joked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as though imagining the scenario.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You? No way. You’re strong. You won’t get sick.”

He nodded, pretending to agree, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his skepticism. “Let’s hope you’re right,” he said with a grin.

But hope wasn’t enough.

A few days later, the doorbell rang, and you were greeted by a pile of fruit baskets and home-cooked meals from Wonwoo’s bandmates. Word had gotten out that Wonwoo had come down with a fever and couldn’t make it to the schedule.

You peeked into the living room where Wonwoo lay sprawled out on the couch, bundled in a blanket with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. He groaned dramatically when he saw you holding the care packages.

“I told you it was going to happen,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blanket.

You stifled a laugh as you set the baskets down. “Guess you’re not as strong as I thought.”

“Hey, I fought off a virus and took care of two patients for a week,” he said, sitting up slightly to defend himself. “I deserve some slack.”

“You do,” you agreed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now let me take care of you for a change.”

From the corner, Rayi giggled, pointing at his dad bundled up like a burrito. “Appa funny!” he chirped, and you couldn’t help but laugh along.

Despite his fever, Wonwoo smiled. Even in his weakened state, he knew moments like these were what made being a parent and a husband so worth it.

[tojicide]

OBSESSED. ☆ SYLUS QIN.

📰 extra, extra! why is your bodyguard so obsessed with you? girl, you wanna know...

warnings. nsfw, smut, mdni. porn with plot. fem!reader, popstar!reader, bodyguard!sylus. established romantic history (very brief). pet names. semi-public. fingering, oral (fem!receiving), cowgirl, unprotected p in v. wc. 4.6k

an. reused the header and a bit of the plot from an aaron hotchner fanfic i wrote on wattpad in like… 2021??? tweaked most of the details obvs but ig i was born as a bodyguard au lover :D

Your bodyguard was such a buzzkill.

Dragging you out of every party you make an appearance at, replacing your shots with water once he believes you’ve had one too many, watching you like a hawk no matter where you are or who you’re with...

You despise those who have an inability to have fun, so as far as you’re concerned, Sylus is the devil reincarnated. You aren’t exactly shy about your opinions on him either, and perhaps in hindsight, that is exactly why he was currently pacing through the party you’re in attendance of to try and ruin your night yet again.

(Ruin your night or… do his job? Hell if you care about the logistics of it all. Two sides of the same coin, you think.)

His protective nature only grew more intense ever since the two of you shared a kiss before a concert of yours that left your lipstick smeared over your face like there was no tomorrow…

And what did that asshole do? Nothing. It was in his nature to make your life miserable after all. Sylus let you walk out in front of your thousands of fans, makeup messy and appearance disheveled all from his mouth on yours alone.

And boy, did the tabloids have a time with that one… Who was the culprit? A new fling of yours? Fiancé? Possible baby daddy? Each and every news outlet had some uniquely wrong to say. Can’t a girl have a makeout session with her bodyguard in peace?

Unfortunately for you, the paparazzi have been hounding you ever since that day, itching to get the 4-1-1 on your love life.

And ever since, you haven’t given many people the time of day—including Sylus. Tonight, you’ve managed to stay two steps ad of your dear bodyguard and evade eventual capture for just a bit longer. You’re currently surrounded by a few of your friends, socialites and actors alike.

Your lips seem to flap even more freely when you have a few drinks in you, but tonight, you’re sober but even more talkative than ever. Your chosen topic of conversation? Your overbearing and stupidly handsome bodyguard, of course.

Too lost in your story, waving your arms around to your theatrical pleasure, you hardly noticed the way your friends’ faces paled to a ghostly shade of white, their eyes nearly bulging out of their heads and their lips parted as if they had something to say but… couldn’t.

All the while, you were too busy blowing off the  steam that you’d acquired from your last encounter with the forsaken bodyguard. “…And I was like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

As fate would have it, you hear a throat clear behind you followed by an annoyed huff that you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand. You spin around, already wearing a scowl.

“Obsessed with you, hm?” Sylus says, his voice low and seemingly dangerous, though your utter distaste for the man rids him of his intimidation. “You’re quite self important. I could never live in a world where I’d fall at the feet of an egotistical popstar.”

You roll your eyes at that. Who does he think he is? Everyone loves you—all except for the disgustingly handsome man standing in front of you.

“Mm… well, you can always die an untimely death and never have to work for me again,” you reply, giving him the most passive aggressive smile known to man. “Hopefully that gives you an ounce of hope.”

“It does,” he replies, returning the same expression that you gave him.

It’s borderline infuriating how undisturbed Sylus was. No, it is infuriating. No matter how many insults you chucked his way, he never cracked. (And the one time he did, it led to the two of you playing tonsil tennis in your dressing room...)

You shake your head, huffing in utter annoyance. You then hold your wrists up for display, cocking your head to the side as you give him a mock puppy dog expression. “Sooo… are you here to take me away, Officer Buzzkill?”

Sylus merely blinks in response to your taunting, taking a firm grasp on one of your wrists before he tugs you through the sea of partygoers. He laces your fingers together, squeezing tight as to not lose hold of you.

“Must you always make things so difficult?” he asks, keeping his eyes ahead.

You shrug your shoulders. “More or less.”

“More or less?” he echoes, glancing over his shoulder to properly look at you. “I suggest you try a different style of communication, sweetness. Your clipped attitude will get you nowhere.”

“Oh? But it’s gotten me so far already…” you trail off, glancing at his lips for a few agonizingly long seconds before a smirk tugs on the corner of your mouth. “In fact, I think it can get me even further.”

Sylus’s jaw tenses, his eyes slipping shut as he tears his gaze away from you. He can’t handle the way you’re looking at him—so unbelievably beautiful with those siren eyes of yours, the mere sight of you already stirring something unwanted within him.

He turns around to continue leading you through the crowd without a reply. You begin to glance around yourself, attempting to plot your brilliant escape.

“Don’t,” he flatly states, his iron grip tightening on your hand.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice holding a strong tone of defiance.

Sylus gives your hand one solid tug before you’re standing in front of him, his free hand pressing onto the small of your back as he keeps you pressed to his chest. “If you haven’t noticed, you brat, I will always chase you. I’ll find you just the same.”

You almost deflate under his intense gaze, his deep red eyes piercing through your own. It wasn’t often that Sylus manhandled you, but when he did, it made you feel… different. Intrigued, maybe.

“How touching,” you deadpan, “but you still get on my nerves.”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Tch. Oh, I’m sorry… when have I ever cared about what you think?”

“Never,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “You know… if you hate me so much, you should just quit on me.”

Sylus rolls his eyes, his red irises drawing you in like no other. “I don’t… hate you. You should be rather thankful that I don’t, because I’m doubtful that anyone else would want this job of mine—you’re quite the handful.”

“Mm, I’m only saying,” you murmur with a shrug, giving his hand a harsh squeeze as if the roughness of your grasp would make him let go, but he, of course, does not. “You don’t need this job, and yet, here you are.”

He raises a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

You smile, the same shit-eating grin that he has grown to be all too familiar with. “Give me your wallet.”

Sylus huffs, his broad shoulders deflating as he fishes his black leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it over to you. You take it with ease, slipping your hand from his as you crack it open.

You slip his Black Card from the sleeve, proving that he truly didn’t need the job for any monetary gain. And then, a triumphant smile graces your lips as you pull out none other than a Polaroid photo taken of you—backstage at your concert just before the kiss you two shared.

“Ooh… what’s this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

Sylus reaches forward to try and snatch the tiny photo from you, but you are far too quick. “What are you revealing exactly? That you were secretly snooping in my wallet prior to now?”

“Yes,” you admit without hesitation, “and that you’re secretly rich and in love with me. Does that make us even?”

His jaw sets, his piercing gaze set on yours. He works to snatch the photo from you, tucking his belongings back into his wallet before he slips it into his pocket. “No. Maybe if you were less of a pain, we could be even.”

You wiggle your eyebrows in suggestion. “You’re not denying being in love with me, dear bodyguard of mine.”

Sylus gives you a deadpan expression. “Must you always be so self righteous? God forbid I am proud of you and your success.”

The genuine nature of his words set you back a step, your brows knitting together and your lips parting. If Sylus noticed the shift of your expression, he didn’t mention it. Thankfully. His cold fingers lace with yours once more, continuing the stride towards the exit of the party.

“Rather than putting on this show of yours, you truly should be thanking me for saving your reputation,” he quietly adds, his hand now curled around your waist as you approach the exit. “There is a swarm of paparazzi outside who are desperate to get their grimy hands on a picture of their beloved popstar doing something remotely scandalous.”

(And if Sylus knows anything about you, it’s that you love scandals. According to you, they ‘make life worth living’. Tch. Diva.)

You chuckle. “Aww, you care!”

“Do I care, or is it my job to look after you?” he asks, plucking his sunglasses from his pocket to place them on your face, shielding your eyes from the rapid camera flashes of the paparazzi. “Public intoxication numerous times a week is not a very good look for you, sweetie. Incredibly frowned upon.”

Your jaw sets as you listen to his words. While they are undeniably true, you don’t have any plans for admitting that—not now or in the near future.

“Making out with my bodyguard is frowned upon as well, but you didn’t seem to be complaining about that bit,” you say under your breath.

Your voice was low enough that your weighted words were almost drowned out by the booming music of the party and by the chatter of the photographers you’re about to be engulfed in. Almost. 

Sylus flashes you a glare. “You shouldn’t mumble. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You heard me,” you state.

He did hear you, that was exactly the problem. It was no coincidence that the two of you haven’t spoken much since your very intense lip lock. You’ve been avoiding each other, evading the invisible string that connects the two of you like both an electric current and a noose.

The tension between the two of you was tangible, palpable even—you could practically taste it just as well as you could still taste his lips on your own. It was intoxicating, imprinting, searing.

It managed to distract you from the flashing lights of the cameramen who were swarming you, capturing flick after flick of you being led through the crowd.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You know, you can help me out with all of this,” you murmur, gesturing towards the paparazzi. “My publicist came up with an idea that will get them off my back for a while. Give them the answers they need and… whatnot.”

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing your way. “Do tell.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tuning out all of the chattering paparazzi who are currently surrounding you. “Be my impromptu mystery man for the cameras. I’ll give you anything you want in return, I swear it.”

Sylus hums, the sound omitting a deep rumble into the air. “Anything I want? My, my, sweets, you’ve made me an offer I cannot refuse.”

You huff, grasping onto the collar of his jacket as you pull him into you. “Just go with it.”

“Just go with wh— mmph!” Sylus’s words were muffled by your lips slotting against his in a searing kiss, his hands instinctively finding their home on the curve of your hips.

The kiss was… tame. It was supposed to be, after all. It was merely for the cameras, a way for you to put an answer to the questions that have been flooding your inbox and left your name circulating in the news for days on end.

But when Sylus’s tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you slightly pull away, muttering a faint, “Sylus, what’re you…” before he pulls you right back in, his large hand now resting on your cheek.

“If you’re going to use me like a whore at your disposal, I’d suggest you let me enjoy myself and taste you properly,” he says into your mouth, his hand shifting to tangle in your hair as he tilts your d to his liking, your tongues meeting in with gentle swipes. “See? I knew you could do better than that.”

True to his suggestion, you kissed him like there was no tomorrow, your hands fisting his shirt in your palms as your lips moved in tandem with his. Lipstick and paparazzi long forgotten, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands give your hips a firm squeeze.

The moment he hears that sweet, impossibly faint sound of your pleasure, he knows that he’s in for it now. That’ll do it for him.

He abruptly pulls away, clasping his hand onto yours as he continues pulling you through the now stunned crowd of paparazzi. Sporting an erection and your lipstick smeared on his lips makes no difference to Sylus—if anything, he enjoys the world knowing that he has the hots for the woman who he has sworn to protect.

Sylus helps you into the passenger seat of your black SUV, closing the door behind you before making his way to the driver’s seat. He peels off, driving with intention through the streets of the city.

It was now evident to you that he was driving the SUV in pursuit of his favorite lookout spot, one that overlooks the bustling city from a distance. Sylus had taken you there once before as per your request to ‘stay out a bit later’. Nothing happened then, but you have an inclination that your luck has changed.

“I know what I want from you,” he states, placing a hand on your thigh.

How did he already manage to figure out what he wants in return for helping you? A raise? A car? The blood of his enemies? You’re intrigued, raising a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” he confirms without missing a beat. “Get into the backseat.”

A gasp leaves your kiss swollen lips as you mull over the utter implications of his words. It didn’t take a genius to understand them, but you were… surprised to say the least. “I think you’re overstepping your boundaries, Mr. Qin.”

In a literal sense, sure he was. But if the two of you were going to judge based on what you two want, he absolutely wasn’t—you both knew that.

He chuckles, the sound low yet infuriatingly sexy. His hand slips beneath your skirt, his middle finger brushing along the damp spot of your panties. “Your body seems to disagree with you, ma’am.”

And if you weren’t already wet before, hearing him call you ma’am was more than enough to do it for you. “Shut up,” you grumble.

“You can make me,” he suggests, setting the vehicle into park before giving your thigh a few pats. He nods his head towards the backseat. “Go on.”

Without hesitation, you kick your heels off and crawl into the back of the vehicle, thumping down on the seat with a sharp sigh. Sylus follows you within the blink of an eye, his knees settling on the spacious floor of the car.

“What’re you…” you ask, though your eyebrows raise as the pieces of the puzzle click together in your mind. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, his warm hands rubbing your knees as he spreads your legs apart, his lips finding the tender skin of your inner thigh. “You know… you truly should be resting for your show tomorrow evening.”

“Should I?” You bite on your bottom lip as he leans forward, nosing at your clothed pussy with a muffled moan of his own. He inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal driving him to the brink of insanity.

“You should,” he answers, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your cunt through the fabric of your panties. “You should stop talking too. You need to rest your voice just as much.”

You swallow hard, whimpering ever so softly as his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs to give himself access to your glistening core.

His eyes are set on your heat, his cool hands hiking your thighs over his shoulders. He rests his cheek on the warmth of your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “Because believe me, sweetie, the things that I want to do to you will not be in favor of that beautiful voice of yours.”

“Oh?” you ask, titling your head. “What will they be in favor of?”

He grins, wicked and devilishly handsome. “I’m glad you asked, because there’s someone else I’ve been wanting to hear from.”

Before you have the chance to reply, he’s already got his face delving deep between your legs, the filthy sounds of squelches and slurping filling the otherwise silent car.

“Oh, I— mmh, you didn’t answer my… my question,” you stammer out between breathy moans, your head tilting back on the headrest as your eyes flutter shut.

Sylus smiles into your pussy, pointing his tongue to accentuate the squelching noises that your heat was making, entirely wet and dripping for him.

“Can you not hear her?”

Never in your life did you think that having a man on his knees talking to your cunt would be this arousing, but… you’re fucking soaked.

“I-I can,” you gasp, cracking your eyes open to look down at him. “Fuck, you can talk to her in fifty languages for all I care, holy shit.”

He quietly chuckles, the sound sending a spark of vibrations onto your already sensitive clit. Your thighs tense, aching to close on him, but he keeps them spread with his strong hands on your thighs.

Your lips part as a string of breathy sounds leave you, beautiful moans and needy whimpers alike—all of which play as music to Sylus’s ears. It was nice to know that your mouth was good for more than just singing and bickering at him…

Teeth nibbling into your bottom lip, you glance down at him, only to be met with the most crazed eyes known to mankind. So disheveled, your slick leaking down his chin while his tongue delves into your heat like a man starved. He looks like he’s in his own pussy drunk heaven.

When you feel his pointed tongue begin to curve and lick in ways it hadn’t before, you do your best to follow his movements.

S-Y-L-U-S he spells on your puffy cunt with his writing tool of choice—none other than his stupidly talented tongue.

“You’re so—”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, his voice more like a husky whisper now. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, sucking on your clit before releasing it with a harsh pop.

Filthy sounds fill the air, your own breathy moans spilling from your swollen lips in tandem with the messy sucks of Sylus’s lips on your cunt. Not to mention, your girl truly was loud.

“Singing so beautifully for me,” he rasps, his eyes flitting up to watch your blissful expression. Lidded eyes, parted lips, flushed skin—an absolute wet dream of his come to life.

You bite your lip, hardly focused on the words coming out of his mouth. “Mmh, what…?”

“Quiet, sweets,” he repeats, hooking his hands even tighter around your thighs as he gives your heat a few more harsh licks. “I told you I was talking to her, didn’t I?”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, your core grinding against his wet muscle as you chase your release.

Sylus was more than eager to give it to you, redoubling his efforts while locking his hands over your legs to keep you steady enough for him to pleasure you effectively. The warmth pooling in your belly was far too much, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“Mmh, I… I’m coming,” you warn through an airy whine.

And when you do, Sylus swoops in even more greedily than before, his flat tongue lapping at your honeyed release. There was no way he would ever be able to go without tasting you like this now that he has. Fuck, he’s such a goner.

As you come down from your high, you grin with a few pants. “Look at you, falling at the feet of your ‘egotistical popstar’—mmph!”

Sylus plunges two fingers into your mouth to shut you up, rising to plant himself onto the seat beside you. “That’s hardly an insult to me anymore, my dear. I know what I am.”

He pulls his spit slick fingers from your mouth, bringing them to your pussy as he gently circles your sensitive clit. His free hand guides you through the motion of straddling his lap. With a simple nod of his head, he gestures for you to lift your shirt up, and you do.

“And what’s that?” you ask, watching as he leans forward to mouth at your breasts through the fabric of your bra.

“I’ve already told you,” he murmurs, bringing his free hand to his belt to free his cock from the confines of his pants. “A whore at your disposal.”

“I knew it,” you chuckle, though the sweet sound is interrupted by a breathy moan that he coaxes out of you once he slides his fat cockhead along your folds.

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. “Are you not going to reciprocate my affection?” he teases, grasping tightly onto your hips. “Or do I have to work a bit harder for it, ma’am?”

Your knees would have certainly buckled if they weren’t firmly planted on the leather seats of the SUV. Who would have thought that you had a thing for white-haired bodyguards who call you ‘ma’am’?

Sylus raises a brow, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

You feel your face heating up more and more the longer you look him in the eyes, shifting your hips so that the tip of his cock finally meets your entrance. “Just… shut up and put it in.”

“How demanding,” he hums, smirking ever so slightly as he uses his grasp on you to make one sharp snap of his hips, burying balls deep inside of your heat. “But as you wish, my sweet.”

You cry out immediately, the burn of the stretch fading into unfolding pleasure. Eyes locked on each other’s, breaths mingling with ease, skin slicked with sweat, it was…

“Perfect,” he whispers, smoothing his hands along your hips before one reaches up to cup your cheek. He pulls you into a deep, searing kiss. “So, so perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, you were merely testing the waters that had yet to be explored. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing your deepest points with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Sylus begins to help you move a bit quicker, rocking your hips forward in smooth rolls, earning moans from the both of you that seemed to come straight from your guts.

“Give it to me how you like it, baby,” he encourages, both of his hands planting firmly on your waist. “Use my cock however you need it, sweets, it’s yours.”

His words have your clit pulsating around his thick shaft, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you begin to work up a pace of your own that has your heart beating wildly.

“I always… fuck—I always knew you were obsessed with me,” you jest, your grin stretching wide.

Sylus hums, the sound low and deep, his iron grip on your hips helping you maintain the intensity of your movements whenever your muscles beg for a break. “Yeah? Needed me to be buried inside of you to have that bit of confirmation?”

You nod with a smile, hands wrapping around his neck as you plant your forehead against his. He smiles too, a breathy moan leaving his mouth as you circle your hips in a way that has him seeing stars.

“Fuck yeah, I’m obsessed with you,” he admits without a semblance of shame, tilting his head back on the headrest.

Already feeling your second orgasm approaching, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat that made a musk that was so beautifully Sylus. His hands smooth over your backside, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Tch, let me see that pretty face,” he demands, nudging you with his shoulder so that you were sitting up once more. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You struggle to form a sentence, bouncing unabashedly on his cock, skin slapping together in an erratic pattern that spurred you even further. A string of whimpers and whines leave your puffy lips. Though your reply lacked words, it perfectly communicated what you wanted to say.

“Oh, I know it, baby,” he rasps, tilting his head back again as his eyes slip shut. “Pussy’s addictive—shit, I’m obsessed with her too.”

You begin to lose yourself all together, reduced to nothing more than a blissed out woman riding her bodyguard’s cock. “Sylus, I… mmh, I’m gonna cum.”

He nods in understanding, smoothing his hand through your hair as he brings you in for another kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and drooling in the most beautiful way possible.

“Gonna come inside you if you keep riding me like this, baby,” he warns, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, as if it were confirming his words. You don’t do this often, contrary to popular belief, but you are on the pill. Luckily. “Please do.”

Sylus pants through a smile, licking his lips as he guides you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Hah… you really are something special.”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as he dips his head, grip tightening on your waist as you ride him through your shared orgasm. You aren’t sure where yours ended and his began, or if you had gotten the order wrong entirely. All you know is that in that moment, the two of you became one.

Panting, your hand plants on the fogged up window of the vehicle, leaving your handprint in its wake. Sylus lets out a breathy chuckle, raising his own shaking hand to the window.

You watch through lidded eyes as he draws a tiny heart, writing his and your first initials inside of it with a tiny little + in the middle. How cute.

Sylus then turns to face you again, bringing his hand to your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm, placing a kiss on his skin. “I have something to admit.”

He nods his head a single time, beckoning you to continue. “What is it?”

You give him a wry smile. “My publicist never gave me the idea for that publicity stunt.”

“…I figured that much, sweetie.”

note. bodyguard!sylus, my glorious king… ok i lowkey hate this but it holds no purpose saving up space in my drafts so :D pls interact if you enjoyed, rbs are greatly appreciated <3 thank you for readingggg !!!

[kastighur]

← back. ᝰ.ᐟ taking care of mr. crawling.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 homicipher. mr. crawling. fluff. gn! reader // wc : 504

! i’m assuming that the residents of the other world don’t interact much with one another, and if they do, it’s little, without showing much care or concern.

! so, when mr. crawling met you, he immediately wanted to protect you and you looked like you needed it.

! the first two days or so it was understandable that you would be uncomfortable with his touchy advantages. mr. crawling would probably be upset but it won’t deter him shielding you from harm.

! the first time when you stopped in the middle of a hallway to look back, he was confused, were you scared ? hurt ? in pain ?

! you replied that you were just checking on him and he was ecstatic ! someone cared about him !

“ no hurt no pain, me fine ! “

! the first time you protected him from harm he couldn’t stop staring at you more than he already does.

! after an extensive check over your physical well-being he felt so cared for.

“ you protect me..? “

! anytime you looked just a little bit sleepy he would constantly ask you to rest, pointing at a random door which he would enter first to show you it was safe.

! somehow mr. crawling knew exactly which rooms were safe and had a place where you could rest. you assumed his knowledge came from the fact that he’s stayed here his whole life. in reality, he actually remembers the areas which had rooms from previous excursions together, so you could use them when those earthquakes shifted the rooms.

! anytime you laid down he would sleep right next to you. making sure you were away from the door and his body was facing it instead. ensuring that if anyone were to enter he would be the target.

! that day after you accidentally killed him, you felt awful. so when the both of you found a room to rest, you used your body as a shield instead.

! mr. crawling would attempt to gently scoot you over but you were insistent, pulling him to the empty spot next to you.

“ sleep, me take care of you. “

! he would be hesitant but allowed you to do so to avoid an argument.

! but you both wouldn’t sleep that night, instead, it was spent laying with each other.

! you took one of his hands in yours, admiring the boney slender structure of them. his nails and palms were dirty, calloused and scarred from the decrepit floors.

! mr. crawling giggled as you massaged his grey fingers, enjoying the noises made when his bones would crack. watching them move in ways he never knew they could, the aches were prominent but soothing in some way.

“ touch like, grateful. “

! mr. crawling extended his arms, pulling you closer, tucking his chin under your head, a hand on your scalp and the other around you.

! you would do the same, wrapping your arms around his waist and a hand on his chest.

“ me like you, like you many. “

! you would anything for crawling, and you were certain he would do anything for you too.

> this was so fun to write ! lmk if you’d want a pt.2 i have more ideas.

© @kastighur