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neellscapsule · 9 hours ago

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a son's love

summary | being bruce wayne's fiancée isn't easy, especially when he's been with hundreds of women before you. the good thing is you have your son with you, and he won't let anyone walk all over you.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic dick grayson x kent!reader

warnings / tags | fluffy, reader tries her best. bit of angst. protective dick grayson agenda

word count | 5.1k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 5. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @radenxd @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippindots @sirlovel @aixaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn @jjoppees

THE DRIVE WAS SUPPOSED TO TAKE JUST OVER TWO HOURS.

“Two hours, twelve minutes if we’re lucky,” you’d said confidently that morning, balancing your travel mug of coffee in one hand and double-checking the last of Dick’s overnight bag with the other. Bruce had given you a look over the top of his own mug—black, no sugar, no soul.

“This is Gotham,” he replied. “We’re never lucky.”

And he was right. The drive stretched past three hours thanks to construction on the interstate, a four-car pileup near the city limits, and the classic Gotham exodus that happened every Friday when people remembered the rest of the state was quieter, cleaner, and didn’t smell like concrete and stress.

But you didn’t mind. Not really.

Bruce drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift. Aviators on. Hair slightly ruffled from the wind when he’d checked the tires that morning. Dick sat in the backseat, legs crossed under him, surrounded by snacks and his favorite blue hoodie zipped halfway up. You rode shotgun, one knee tucked under you, elbow out the open window, and your hand in the wind.

The car smelled like leather and your favorite lavender-scented travel wipes. Summer was in full swing now, which meant sunlight poured across Bruce’s arm, and the sky outside was that clear, humming sort of blue that Smallville did better than anywhere else.

It had been just over a month since Dick moved in. A few months more since the press release about the engagement hit the Gotham Gazette like a slap to the face. The article had used the words “bewildering” and “suspiciously convenient” in the same sentence. And that was one of the nicer ones.

You were born and raised in Smallville. Gossip there was practically currency. You learned early that it wasn’t about stopping the talk—it was about not letting it decide how you walked through town. In Gotham, it was louder. Glossier. Paparazzi, editorials, entire segments of talk shows dedicated to who wore what ring and whether or not you were pregnant. But it didn’t get under your skin.

Bruce had handled it exactly the way you expected: with the emotional range of a damp napkin and the subtlety of a live grenade.

“They’re saying it’s fake,” he’d told you one night, pacing your shared walk-in closet while you were still in a towel post-shower. “They think you bribed me. That you are a gold digger.”

He had said it as if it was the biggest offense of his life. You’d blinked at him, toweling your hair.

“They also think we got secretly married last month and that I’m already pregnant with twins. And that I’m secretly a soy sent to take all the billionaires down.”

That one got an actual sound from him. Somewhere between a scoff and a strangled laugh.

You’d shrugged. “People talk, Bruce. Small town, big city, it doesn’t matter. Back in Smallville they thought Clark was a government clone for three years because he grew six inches over a summer and got good at baseball. People just... need something to say.”

“I hate it,” he’d murmured, dropping onto the edge of the bed beside you.

You’d reached out and threaded your fingers through his. “I don’t. Because I know it’s not true.”

But the talking wore at him in ways it didn’t wear at you. And that was how you found yourself here—on the open road with the windows down, a smiling eight-year-old in the back seat, and your fiancé muttering about tractors under his breath while trying not to let the GPS recalculate a fifth time.

“You okay back there, bug?” you asked, craning your head toward the back seat.

Dick grinned up at you from where he was cradling his tablet. “Yeah! This is fun!”

“Still think so after three hours in traffic?” Bruce asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

“I’ve been on longer trips,” Dick replied with a shrug. “Circus trains. Sometimes for days.”

That sobered Bruce a bit. Your fingers found his on the console between you and gave them a quiet squeeze.

Things had settled since Dick came come. The good kind of settled. Mornings were softer now, fuller. You’d wake up beside Bruce—something that still made your heart flutter in a completely unfair way—kiss his shoulder, brush your teeth while he stood behind you half-asleep, his hand on your waist like a paperweight keeping you tethered to the moment. Alfred made breakfast with quiet efficiency. You packed Dick’s lunch and walked him to the car like a suburban sitcom. He complained about math homework, asked if he could start karate (“we’ll talk about it”), and still hadn’t lost the habit of sleeping with one foot sticking out of the comforter.

“Well, this train stops soon,” you said, voice light again. “You’re going to love the farm. It’s huge.”

“Yeah?” Dick leaned forward a bit. “Like, how huge?”

You smiled. “Like, ‘can’t-see-the-end-of-it-even-on-your-bike’ huge. My parents run everything. Dairy cows, chickens, goats, sheep. A few horses. And acres and acres of crops.”

His eyes widened. “Real cows?”

You turned in your seat fully now, facing him. “Oh, yeah. Big ones. Brown ones, black-and-white ones. One with a weird splotch shaped like Florida on her side. And they moo at the sunrise like clockwork.”

“Can I pet them?”

“If you want.”

“Do they bite?”

“Only if you get between them and food.”

“That’s... fair.”

“They’re friendly,” you said with a shrug. “They’re like large dogs that smell like hay and don’t know how to be quiet.”

Dick laughed. “I’ve only seen cows in books. And elephants in real life.”

You smiled gently at that. “Yeah? Ever fed a goat?”

“Not unless you count the time a clown goat stole my hat.”

You blinked. “. . . A clown goat?”

“Circus stuff,” Dick said vaguely. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You turned to Bruce. “Did you get that?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

You caught Dick smiling in the rearview mirror again.

“Are there really pigs?” he asked, leaning forward between the front seats, seatbelt cutting diagonally across his little chest.

“There are pigs,” you confirmed with a grin. “Loud ones. One of them’s named Sugarfoot. She’ll be your best friend if you bring her scraps.”

“Scraps?”

“Like leftover food. She’ll eat anything but especially likes peach peels and toast crusts.”

He gawked. “What about... circus peanuts?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed from behind the wheel. “What are circus peanuts?”

“They’re gross,” you said flatly. “Don’t feed anything those.”

Dick giggled and leaned back again, kicking his feet lightly. “What about the horses?”

“Three,” you nodded. “Two workhorses and one very old, very cranky pony. Her name’s Miss Patty. She’s missing a tooth and absolutely will bite you if you try to pet her before she’s ready.”

“That’s awesome,” Dick whispered reverently, like a kid being told he was about to meet a dragon.

You smiled, curling one leg beneath you in the passenger seat. “We got the nicest sheep as well. His name is Buttons.”

Bruce’s voice was amused. “You’re making these names up.”

“Swear I’m not,” you said, holding up a hand. “Buttons has been around since I was in middle school. He likes music. Especially banjo. My dad says he’s the reincarnation of an old musician.”

“That explains so much about your family,” Bruce muttered.

“You love my family.”

He glanced over at you, lips quirking. “I do.”

You pecked a kiss on his lips, giggling softly at the yuck sound that came out of Dick’s mouth.

“But for real,” you said, resting your chin on the back of the seat now, “the farm is something else. My mom makes fresh cinnamon rolls every morning. Dad insists on teaching people how to ride horses, even if they say no. And Clark will probably show up before dinner even though I told him not to.”

“You think he’ll bring Lois?” Bruce asked.

“God, I hope so. He’s less weird when she’s around.”

“Clark’s weird?” Dick asked, surprised.

You shrugged. “Farm weird. You’ll see.”

Bruce turned off the main highway and onto a long, winding road that started to look more and more like Kansas the deeper you went. The trees shifted. The air changed. That thick Gotham tension peeled off your shoulders slowly, like a winter coat you didn’t need anymore.

“Was it boring?”

“Sometimes. But mostly it was simple. Peaceful.”

“What did you do?”

“Well... I helped with the animals, especially in the mornings. Fed the chickens, gathered eggs, milked the cows when I was old enough.”

Dick looked scandalized. “You milked cows?! With your hands?!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You drink milk every day.”

“That’s different! That’s bottle milk. This is cow milk!”

“Same milk, baby,” you mumbled, grinning. “But it’s not so bad. You’ll see.”

“Do you have a tractor?”

“Of course.”

“Can I drive it?”

“No.”

Dick pouted.

Eventually, the city gave way to rolling green. The horizon stopped being broken by towers and started bending into soft hills and pastures. You felt your heart shift in your chest, like it always did. It wasn’t homesickness. Not exactly. It was more like the ache of something familiar, calling softly from the bones.

You turned your head slightly, watching the familiar mailbox come into view. KENT, it read in bold white letters. Weathered but proud. And just beyond it, the long dirt road that led to the farmhouse—a two-story white structure with a wraparound porch and a rocking chair that hadn’t stopped creaking in twenty years. A barn just beyond. Sheds and silos and tractors and fencing. And wide, wide skies above it all.

“There it is,” you said.

Bruce slowed the car as he turned up the long path, tires crunching against the gravel. Dick pressed his face to the window.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

You smiled.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, baby bird. See those fields?” you pointed. “My old man plants corn there. Over there’s wheat. And the far side? Pumpkins, watermelons, whatever’s in season.”

“There’s so much space.“

“I told you.”

Your ma was already outside. She waved wildly, apron fluttering behind her, and your dad stood beside her, one hand raised in that steady, solid Kent way.

Bruce parked the car. Before he could even put it in park, Dick was unbuckled and scrambling out of the back seat, eyes wide.

“This is like five circuses!” he shouted.

You opened the door and stepped out, your feet crunching into gravel. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” you muttered to yourself. “You can cry later.”

Dick made a noise that sounded like joy and disbelief all in one. He pointed at a chicken. “It’s real!“

“Yes,” you said. “And she doesn’t like being chased, so be gentle.”

Bruce chuckled.

Your mom reached you first and wrapped you in a tight hug, murmuring something about your hair being longer than last time. Then she pulled back and cupped your face, eyes glassy.

“You look happy,” she whispered.

“I am,” you said.

And then Dick stepped forward, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide and uncertain.

You turned and gestured. “Mama, Dad—this is Dick.”

Your mother’s face softened immediately. She crouched a little and smiled.

“Well, aren’t you just handsome as all get out,” she said warmly. “We’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart.”

Dick blinked. “You have?”

“Of course,” crouched down in front of him, sticking out a hand. “You’re all she talks about.”

You blushed lightly. “Lies.”

“True lies.”

Dick looked at the hand. Then at you. Then shook it, awkward but firm. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Come?” your mom laughed gently. “This is your home too, honey.”

Dick blinked. He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

The next few hours passed in a blur of warm air, fresh lemonade, and laughter. Dick met every animal. He held a baby goat like it was made of glass. He shrieked when a pig sniffed his leg. He got pecked by a chicken once and then demanded a rematch.

Now the golden sky outside was dimming into dusk, the air carrying that peaceful hum only Smallville evenings could offer—the buzzing of insects, the slow rustle of wheat fields, a distant owl, and the occasional stubborn squeal from Sugarfoot the pig. She hadn’t stopped begging since Dick gave her a crust from his sandwich.

You were at the sink helping with dishes when the familiar whoosh of displaced air passed through the open window over the stove.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. But you did turn around to open the door.

“About time!” you called, grinning.

“We had to stop for pie!” Lois shouted back, sliding off Clark’s back like a practiced gymnast. “Clark heard about a new bakery halfway between here and Metropolis and wouldn’t shut up about it!”

“I brought two kinds,” Clark offered, sheepish but proud.

You hugged him first—tight, firm, grounding. His arms came around you like always, anchoring you to the world.

“Took you long enough. Ma’s been asking about you since breakfast.”

“I brought her Lois. That should buy me a couple forgiveness points,” he replied, kissing the top of your head.

Lois got you next, rolling her eyes. She always smelled like expensive lipstick and newsroom ink. Her hugs were fierce. Comforting. “What he means is, I had to remind him it was tonight and that showing up in his suit would probably give the local mailman another heart attack.”

You laughed, hugging her back as tight as you could. “God, I missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

Dick was on the floor at the edge of the kitchen, playing with the old box of mismatched toy soldiers and tiny animal figurines your dad had kept since your childhood. He froze when he looked up.

He lit up like the sun, then turned and ran straight at Clark with his arms open.

“Uncle Clark!” he shouted.

Clark looked stunned for all of a second before catching him, arms easily wrapping around the boy, spinning him once like a leaf.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, laughing. “You’ve grown at least two inches since I saw you!”

“I’ve been drinking milk,” Dick explained seriously. “And I do jumping jacks.”

Then, he kissed Lois’s cheek and smiled proudly when she ruffled his hair and told him he would be as tall as Clark in any moment. He watched them go, and finally landed his eyes on you.

You watched the moment land. The way his eyes narrowed. How his brows furrowed. He leaned in close and whispered, “I have to tell you something, but you need to promise that you won’t say anything.”

You pushed your fingers to your mouth, closing an imaginary zipper.

“Uncle Clark is Superman.”

You coughed gently, biting back a smile. “Is he now?”

“I can tell,” he whispered quickly. “He landed like whoosh, and he’s huge, and his hair does the same thing, and—he’s totally Superman. I have been keeping the secret because I think he doesn’t want any of us to know.”

“Well,” you said softly, kneeling beside him, “that sounds like a pretty big secret to keep, huh?”

Dick nodded gravely, like a knight being sworn into sacred service.

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Then I guess it’s lucky it was you who found out.”

Dinner was loud. Warm.

Your mom cried once—not dramatically, just a soft wipe of the corner of her eye when Clark passed her the potatoes and said it was good to be home. Your dad kept pouring lemonade, Bruce buttered every roll within arm’s reach, Lois recounted a dramatic story about a senator’s toupee, and Dick sat between Clark and you, asking questions between every bite of sweet corn and meatloaf your ma had been slipping into his plate.

Clark answered every single one with patience, wit, and affection. He always had been the best at that. The best at listening like a child’s voice was the most important sound in the world.

Bruce stayed quieter. Not silent—just watchful. He always did that when he felt like the odd man out. You bumped his knee under the table when he got too still. He nudged you back, then took your hand and played with your ring under the table while Dick explained to Clark the entire backstory of a tv show he had been watching lately.

Later, after dishes were stacked and your parents had excused themselves to bed—your mom insisting you didn’t have to clean up, and your dad offering Clark a jar of pickles “for the trip back”—the house settled into that soft nighttime rhythm you hadn’t felt in years.

The windows were open. The breeze cool. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard.

Bruce had gone out back to check the barn doors, quietly making sure everything was locked and squared away for the night. Lois sat with Dick at the dining table, a worn deck of cards between them as she taught him how to play gin rummy, her voice low and conspiratorial.

You stood at the sink, rinsing out the last pie plate, when Clark appeared beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“I was wondering when you were going to come help,” you teased.

“I had to wait until the real work was done,” he replied, nudging your hip with his.

You bumped him back.

Together, the two of you worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Clark scrubbed. You rinsed. A few crickets chirped. A dog barked in the distance.

“You’re really happy,” Clark said eventually, his voice soft.

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just scrubbing gently at a stubborn pie crust.

“I am,” you replied. “It feels... real. It’s good. Hard sometimes. But it’s good.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

You dried your hands slowly, glancing toward the table where Dick was now dramatically laying down his cards and grinning at Lois like he’d conquered Rome.

“He’s amazing,” you whispered. “He’s so smart. So sweet. And God, Clark, he’s been through so much. And he still smiles like that.”

“You’re good for him.”

“So is Bruce.”

Clark chuckled. “I never thought I’d say that. But yeah. He is.”

You leaned your head against your brother’s shoulder for a moment, letting the comfort of shared history settle around you.

“And that kid loves you.”

You looked to the side, where Dick was showing Lois a card and laughing too loud.

“Yeah,” you said. “I love him too.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You’re doing amazing.”

You leaned into him. “Thanks, Clark.”

Outside, the porch creaked quietly—Bruce returning. You met him at the door, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, moonlight painting silver along his jaw.

“All clear?” you asked.

“Miss Patty stared at me like I owed her something,” he muttered. “Otherwise, yeah.”

You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist. “She thinks you’re competition.”

Bruce kissed the top of your head. “Not anymore. I know better than to cross her.”

You leaned back enough to look up at him. The soft porch light caught the shadows under his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked.

He hesitated. “I thought coming here would help me get . . my mind off the headlines but . . .”

“I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what kind. It was always the same. Headlines with too many adjectives. Panel shows questioning your motives. Online threads tracking the price of your dress from the engagement party you didn’t even know someone photographed.

“I’m used to it,” you whispered.

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

You tilted your face to look up at him, your fingers sliding beneath his sweater, brushing against his shirt.

“I grew up in Smallville,” you said softly. “The mailman knew when I had a crush in fourth grade because I started checking the mailbox three times a day. There isn’t a rumor I haven’t heard. This is just... louder.”

His jaw tightened. “You deserve peace.”

“I have it,” you said. “Right here.”

He looked down at you then, eyes dark in the evening light, and kissed you—soft, slow, like it was the first time. Like he wanted to memorize your mouth. You sank into it, arms curling around his neck, your body finding his like it always did.

When you pulled back, you whispered, “You’re not alone, Bruce.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I still don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You kissed him then. Gentle. Lingering. His hand settled on your waist, anchoring himself to you like he always did when the world tilted too far.

Lois’s voice called from the dining room, “He beat me again! What kind of child prodigy are you raising?!”

Dick laughed. Loud. Carefree. Happy.

And later, when the house finally fell quiet, the dishes done, the windows closed, the fireflies fading, and Bruce locked the last door—Dick found his way into your old room, clutching his pillow and blinking sleepily.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked.

You were already brushing your teeth in the little bathroom. Bruce nodded without hesitation.

That night, like he did sometimes in Gotham, Dick curled up between you both—tiny limbs sprawled out, the safest place in the world sealed between two steady heartbeats, mouth half-open in sleep. Your hand brushed gently through his dark hair.

Bruce reached over Dick’s shoulder and caught your fingers.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, lips brushing your knuckles.

Dick sighed in his sleep and reached for your arm, pulling it around his chest. You fell asleep with your son tucked in your arms, the man you loved at your side, and the world outside silent for once.

And somewhere beyond the quiet, the wind whispered through the wheat fields, soft and low and sweet.

You were home.

The soft click-clack of your keyboard was the only sound in the office, apart from the muted hum of the coffee machine down the hall. It was late morning, and the light streaming through your windows painted gold streaks across your desk. Your day had started like any other—Bruce in early meetings, Alfred sending an affectionate reminder about your vitamins via text, and Dick at school with his lunchbox packed neatly by your hands.

You were mid-email when your personal phone rang.

Which was strange. No one ever called your personal line during business hours—everyone knew you were Bruce Wayne’s secretary, and your work phone was practically glued to your hip. The personal number was only for family. For emergencies. For home.

Your hand paused over the keyboard as you glanced down, heart already climbing. You didn’t recognize the number, but something inside your chest twisted—tight and immediate.

You answered quickly. “Hello?”

A pause. Then:

“Miss Kent?”

The voice was smooth, professional, and unfamiliar.

“Yes,” you said, already straightening. “Speaking. Who is this?”

“This is Principal Langley from Gotham’s Private Elementary. I’m calling about Richard.”

Your stomach dropped.

You stood up, eyes locking on your office door like you could somehow see through it, as if your sudden anxiety might pull him into the room. “Is he okay?”

“He’s physically fine,” she said gently, and the pause that followed was the kind you’d learned to dread as a Kent—too long, too careful. “But he’s... He won’t stop crying, and we haven’t been able to get him to calm down. We thought it best to call you directly. It might be best if he went home for the day.”

You didn’t ask any more questions.

You just grabbed your coat, pressed the intercom button to inform that you were stepping out, and left. You didn’t bother calling Bruce. He was in the middle of a presentation with WayneTech’s board. He’d find out later. Right now, this was yours to handle.

Wayne Enterprises was exactly twenty-one minutes from Dick’s school if you took the express lane, which you did, and which only shaved it down to fifteen. Still, every second burned. You barely registered the passing streets or the honks or the occasional curious driver doing a double-take at the sight of Bruce Wayne’s secretary barreling through Gotham traffic like her heart was in her throat.

Because it was.

The front office staff was polite—too polite, too composed for what your bones already knew. You could hear it the moment you stepped in. Not the sound itself—Dick was quiet now—but the absence of noise, like every child in the front building had learned silence by association.

When they led you to the principal’s office, you saw him.

Hunched in a chair too big for him, feet not touching the floor, his backpack clutched in his lap like a lifeline. His face was blotchy. Red. Tear tracks down both cheeks. His eyes were glassy and exhausted. He looked up the second you stepped in, and the way he stood nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Sweetheart,” you breathed.

He didn’t say anything. Just ran to you.

You crouched to catch him, arms wrapping tight, your whole body curling around his.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, holding the back of his head. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He didn’t talk. Just sobbed into your shoulder, shaking like he’d been holding it in too long. You rocked him gently, hand stroking down his back, murmuring soft comforts against his hair.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

It took time. You didn’t rush it.

Eventually, the sobs became sniffles, then long, shaky breaths.

You thanked the principal quietly, took his hand, and led him out. He held your palm like he never wanted to let go.

Outside, on the front steps, you knelt beside him, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay,” you said gently. “You can talk when you’re ready. Or not at all. I’m just glad you called me.”

He nodded, still sniffling. “I didn’t mean to cry so much.”

“You can cry as much as you want, bug. That’s allowed. You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

“I wanted to be good,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you and Bruce to send me back.”

Your heart shattered so quickly it left splinters.

“Oh, Dick,” you breathed, pulling him back into your arms. “We would never. Never, never. You’re ours. You hear me?”

He nodded, pressing his face into your collar.

You took him to work.

There was no way you were leaving him alone, and Bruce—currently locked in a board meeting on the twentieth floor—had made it explicitly clear that your judgment was the final one when it came to Dick.

So, that afternoon, Wayne Enterprises had its first unofficial “Take Your Child to Work” day.

You tucked him into your office, laid a soft throw blanket on the carpet, and gave him your emergency sketchpad—the one you kept in your desk for stress-doodling during long calls.

He flopped down stomach-first, crayons splayed around him, drawing with fierce focus. His face was still swollen. His eyes tired. But he looked calm now. Grounded.

Safe.

You worked quietly, pausing every few minutes to peek at him—still there, still okay. He showed you a picture he drew of Buttons. You promised to hang it on your office wall.

Everything was steady. Everything was soft.

Until the shouting started.

It wasn’t loud, exactly—but the tone pierced through your focus like a knife. You frowned, looked up, and heard it again—a sharp, irritated woman’s voice cutting through the hallway like she owned the floor.

“...I don’t care what Eloise said—he’ll see me!”

You stood, pushed open your office door, and stopped.

Security was gathered in front of the elevators. Eloise, the sweet lower-floor receptionist who adored you, stood awkwardly between two suited guards, trying to reason with someone neither of them could seem to wrangle.

A woman. Tall, stunning, tan, and furious.

You knew her. Of course you did.

Carla Vrenzi.

One of Bruce’s old companions. A supermodel with a temper, a flair for melodrama, and an ego that could crack titanium. You’d taken her call many months ago—her voice shrill and furious through the speaker, hurling curses because Bruce hadn’t called her back. You remembered the way she spat his name. The way she hung up on you.

And now she was here.

Your heart dipped.

She spotted you almost instantly.

“Oh,” she sneered. “You.”

Eloise turned, clearly panicked. “Miss Kent, we were trying to escort her down—”

“Don’t bother,” the woman snapped. “Miss ‘Personal Assistant,’ huh? Is this where Bruce keeps you now? Like a little lapdog? Is that why you spread your legs—because you were tired of faxing his schedules?!”

You stiffened, spine going taut.

Eloise looked horrified. “Ma’am, please—”

“You’re nothing!” Carla screamed. “A secretary! A poor little hayseed pretending she’s a Wayne! I’ve worn shoes more expensive than you!”

“Miss Kent,” Eloise repeated urgently. “Please go back into your office.”

Her face twisted. “You think that ring makes you anything? You’re a novelty act. A toy. Do you know how many of us there’ve been? How many women he’s tossed aside like—”

“Stop it,” you said quietly.

She didn’t. She took a step closer. “You t6think you matter? A farmer’s daughter with a clipboard and good hair? You’ll be gone in a year. Maybe less. You’ll wake up one morning in that big house, and he’ll be gone. And you’ll still be nothing.”

The floor felt like it had dropped from beneath you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t flinch. But you felt your stomach twist, a cold coil of shame and doubt rising.

And then—

“HEY!”

Dick’s voice cracked like lightning.

He stood in your doorway, small but unshaking, fists clenched at his sides, nose wrinkled in absolute fury.

“Don’t talk to my mom like that!”

The hallway fell dead silent.

Carla turned, startled.

“I don’t care who you are!” he shouted, stepping in front of you with a look on his face that was half fury, half fire. “You don’t talk to her like that!”

The woman blinked. “Excuse me—”

“She’s amazing!” he yelled. “She’s kind and smart and funny and she makes the best waffles ever and Bruce loves her a lot! And I love her!”

“Kid—”

“And you’re mean!” he yelled, cheeks flushing, eyes brimming but not crying. “You’re mean and stupid and nobody wants you here!”

The whole hallway went silent.

You didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Because your eight-year-old son had already said everything.

Carla opened her mouth again—but the security guard beside her had had enough. “Ma’am, you need to leave the premises. Now.”

She huffed, sputtered, still fuming. But she turned.

Dick didn’t move until the elevator doors closed behind her.

Silence lingered.

And then Dick turned back to you, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth opened like he wanted to apologize, perhaps for screaming, but you pulled him into your arms before he could say anything.

Tight. Fierce. Real.

He clung to you like he had at the school—only this time, he wasn’t broken. He was angry. Protective.

Yours.

You buried your face in his hair, tears welling in your eyes. “You called me your mom.”

His arms tightened. “I meant it.”

You swallowed hard. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

You pulled back, just enough to look him in the face.

His cheeks were blotchy again. But this time, it wasn’t from sadness. It was from fire. From love.

“You can,” you whispered. “You can call me anything, bug. Anything you want. But that was the nicest you could have called me. Made me the proudest woman on Gotham. On Earth!.”

He smiled through the tears. “I think I liked calling you mom as well.”

You laughed and cried. You kissed his forehead as the hall slowly resumed normalcy, your coworkers sneaking glances, eyes wide and glassy.

But it didn’t matter.

Because in that moment—in that warm, golden, real moment—you were exactly who you wanted to be. Not Bruce’s fiancée. Not the secretary. Not the girl from the farm.

You were Dick Grayson’s mom. And that meant everything.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic dick grayson x reader #platonic clark kent x reader #superfam x reader

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thatonegrimm · 17 hours ago

Text

🎤Huntr/x + Bobby — First Café Date

Quiet corners, warm lighting, and tentative beginnings. Where coffee cups meet glances and affection brews slowly but surely.

-----------------------

🪽 Rumi

It was her idea to go somewhere quiet—an indie café tucked into a side street, the kind of place where the espresso was strong and the music was soft enough to think through.

Rumi showed up early, already sipping from a small black cup when you walked in. Her expression relaxed the moment she saw you.

“You came,” she said, like she hadn’t been watching the door for fifteen minutes.

You slid into the seat across from her. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

There was a notebook next to her, half-filled with lyric fragments and doodles in the margins. She closed it quickly, a small blush on her cheeks.

You didn’t press.

Instead, you asked about her drink. She pushed it toward you. “Want to try it?”

You took a sip. Immediately regretted it.

“Is this…ink?” you croaked.

Rumi laughed—genuinely—and reached over to steal it back. “It’s strong. Not for amateurs.”

You smiled, watching the way she relaxed into herself. She always carried so much, but here, in this quiet moment, she let it go just a little.

By the third cup, your hands were almost touching across the table.

-----------------------

🗡️ Mira

Mira had that look on her face—cool, casual, mildly dangerous—right until the barista asked for her drink order.

Then she blinked. Fidgeted slightly.

“…Can I get a strawberry milkshake?” she asked, voice low.

You didn’t laugh. You wanted to—but you didn’t.

She looked at you warily as you ordered a black coffee.

“I said no judgment.”

“I’m not judging,” you replied. “I’m just… adjusting my expectations.”

Mira raised an eyebrow as she sat down. “And what expectations did you have, exactly?”

You considered. “Something edgy. Like a quadruple espresso or… blood.”

She snorted into her straw.

The café was small, sunlit, and mostly empty. You ended up tucked in a corner booth, her leg brushing yours under the table. When she realized it, she didn’t move away.

“I’m not great at this,” she admitted after a while, picking at the corner of a napkin.

“At milkshakes?”

“At dates.”

You nudged her foot gently. “Me neither. Let’s mess it up together.”

Her smile, when it came, was small—but real.

-----------------------

🦋 Zoey

She didn’t stop bouncing the moment you walked in—just a little, from foot to foot, her oversized hoodie sleeves covering most of her hands.

“I ordered for both of us,” Zoey said, grinning like it was a secret. “Hope you like sweet stuff.”

You sat down and saw the tray—two iced mochas and the biggest chocolate chip cookie you’d ever seen.

“I thought we were getting coffee.”

“Technically, this has coffee in it,” she said defensively, sipping her whipped cream. “Also, I wanted to share the cookie.”

The seat beside her was already pulled out. You didn’t question it. Sitting across would’ve felt like a business meeting. Next to her, it felt like… something else.

Zoey took a bite and then held it up to your mouth with zero warning.

“Try it.”

You blinked. “You just… offered me a half-bitten cookie?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yeah. With love.”

You leaned in. Bit off the corner.

It tasted like butter, chocolate, and something warm beneath your ribs.

She smiled. “You’re cute when you trust me.”

You almost choked on the bite.

-----------------------

📋 Bobby

You were used to seeing Bobby in motion—clipboard in hand, phone to his ear, voice calm but commanding as he navigated a thousand minor crises a day.

So seeing him now—sitting across from you in a cozy corner café, hands wrapped around a paper cup, hair slightly messy—felt strangely intimate.

“I don’t know how to be off-duty,” he admitted with a chuckle, eyes scanning the menu like it was a battle plan. “I keep thinking I’m forgetting someone’s costume fitting.”

You smiled. “You’re allowed to just be a person, Bobby.”

He paused, looked at you—really looked—and something in his shoulders softened.

“I like being around people who remind me of that.”

You nudged a napkin toward him. On it, you’d doodled a tiny cartoon of him with a coffee cup and a heart on his clipboard.

He stared at it for a second, then laughed—low and genuine.

“You’re dangerous,” he teased, folding the napkin and tucking it into his pocket. “Next thing I know, I’ll be skipping meetings just to see you smile.”

“Wouldn’t stop you,” you said softly.

And somehow, that felt like the beginning of something both new and long overdue.

-----------------------

M-List

#kpdh x reader #huntrix x reader #mira x reader #zoey x reader #rumi x reader #bobby x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 2 days ago

Text

Part 2 of "KATARINA DAYS"

Synopsis: Your wife, Karina, used to be the deadliest assassin alive. Now she’s gone for a week — back in the shadows with her old crew to end the war once and for all. You stay behind at the café… but bad instincts don't die young.

Word Count: 7,194

Karina X Male Reader

a/n: due to popular demands, here's a part 2 of KATARINA DAYS, thankyousm for the much love and support!

You met Mr. Ho right after the call.

He was already standing outside your shop — leaning against the rusted rail by the front door, dressed in his usual pressed charcoal suit, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair was slicked back, silver in streaks, and his gloved hands held nothing but a quiet kind of menace.

He hadn’t changed. Not in the way people do. He aged like a blade — slower, deadlier.

“Good evening, sir,” he said with a bow, voice calm, low, precise.

“Mr. Ho.” You nodded once. “Long time no see.”

“I see your hands are too dry of blood these days,” he said, a faint smirk dancing on the edge of his face as he pulled out a cigarette and offered it to you.

You took it without a word. He lit it for you — the fire flickering between you both, momentary and sacred.

You inhaled.

The first drag stung like an old wound. The second felt like breathing in the past.

“Still the same brand,” you muttered.

“They stopped making these years ago,” he replied. “Had a box left. Figured tonight was… appropriate.”

You reached into your coat pocket and handed him a small ring of keys.

“The café is on the right,” you said. “The bookstore’s on the left. There's an intern coming by at seven sharp. Kid doesn’t know anything — just tell him you’re my father or some absurd lie. He’ll believe it.”

“I’ve got it all covered, sir.” He looked you in the eyes, held that gaze. “Happy killing.”

He bowed again — deeper this time. A sign of respect.

You returned it, cigarette still burning between your fingers.

Then you climbed into the old van. Same one you used back then. Same faint scent of metal, blood, and leather stitched into the seats. It creaked when you turned the key, but the engine roared to life like it remembered what it was made for.

You didn’t hesitate. Not even once.

You grabbed the old phone from the glovebox — the black burner one. It hadn’t rung in years. You dialed.

“Ring ring.”

The voice picked up too fast. “Sir?! You’re returning?!”

“Ready the car,” you said, already turning onto the road that led out of town.

“…As you wish, sir.”

The line cut. That was all that needed to be said.

You passed familiar streets — places that had changed their names, painted new signs, put on new faces. But underneath, they were all still the same. Still rotting. Still waiting.

It wasn’t long before the van pulled up in front of a massive steel door set into the earth like a buried secret. No sign. No address. Just a keypad hidden under vines and concrete.

Your warehouse. The one you swore you’d never return to.

You hesitated for exactly three seconds. Then punched in the code.

The lock hissed open, dust rising like ghosts as the metal door slid to the side. The lights flickered to life inside — slowly, one by one — revealing rows of crates, a table where your old suits still hung in plastic wrap, and a wall lined with weapons too old to be legal and too dangerous to be forgotten.

You stepped inside, the door sliding closed behind you.

You exhaled.

And for the first time in years… you felt like yourself again.

Minjeong sat cross-legged on a cracked stone bench, scrolling through her phone with one hand and twirling her butterfly knife with the other. She blew a soft bubble — pop — then chewed lazily as her screen lit up with a message.

A subordinate had sent her something.

She tapped it open, then blinked. Her gum paused mid-chew.

“…Huh.”

She turned the screen toward Karina, who stood a few feet away, back facing them, the hem of her long coat catching the breeze.

“Hey, Rina. Look.”

Karina turned slightly.

Minjeong tilted the phone toward her, grin widening. “Your hubby got a bounty.”

Karina raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Minjeong zoomed in. “Twenty billion. And weirdly enough… that’s even higher than your five.”

Karina stared at the image. Her husband’s name, your face — printed cleanly on the hitlist. No aliases. No warning.

The silence that followed was heavy. Minjeong snapped her gum again.

“Guess someone really wants him gone.”

Still no answer. Karina’s eyes lingered on the screen for one more second… then narrowed.

She turned back around, and her voice was quiet. Cold.

“Find out who issued it.”

Minjeong stood and stretched, slipping her blade into her boot. “On it.”

The next part of the mission moved fast. One of the old contacts folded after two ribs cracked. Ning traced the drop to a smuggler inside Warehouse 12. Aeri tracked the financial route — military-linked, offshore, buried deep in international blind zones.

And through it all, Karina remained silent.

A subordinate had sent her something.

She tapped it open, then blinked. Her gum paused mid-chew.

“…Huh.”

She turned the screen toward Karina, who stood a few feet away, back facing them, the hem of her long coat catching the breeze.

“Hey, Rina. Look.”

Karina turned slightly.

Minjeong tilted the phone toward her, grin widening. “Your hubby got a bounty.”

Karina raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Minjeong zoomed in. “Twenty billion. And weirdly enough… that’s even higher than your five.”

From behind, Aeri let out a low whistle as she approached, rifle slung over her shoulder. “Damn. He’s more expensive than you now?”

Ning trailed beside her, lollipop stick bouncing between her lips.

Then — almost in sync — they said:

“I guess they’re targeting the vulnerable, huh?” “I mean, who would put their lives at risk for a measly five billion…” “…when they can go after some clueless guy running a café for twenty?”

They both snickered, the sound soft and dangerous.

Minjeong chuckled. “The world’s gone soft.”

But Karina didn’t laugh.

Her stare remained locked on the screen. Your face. Your name. And a number so high it meant someone powerful had gotten nervous.

She clenched her jaw slightly.

“Find out who issued it,” she said, voice low.

Aeri nodded. “On it.”

4:03 AM, UNDICSLOSED WAREHOUSE.

You hadn’t been here in years.

Dust still clung to the corners, weapons lined the wall like sleeping animals, and the air smelled faintly of oil, smoke, and metal. The silence wasn't peaceful — it was loaded.

You sat on the edge of the long worktable, a cup of black coffee in one hand and your old sidearm in the other. You hadn’t spoken since you entered. There was nothing to say.

Until your main assistant arrived — breathless, jacket soaked with rain, and holding a sleek black folder that hadn’t been touched in at least five years.

He placed it down on the table between you, hands trembling just slightly.

“Sir…” he started, voice thin. “It’s about the bounty.”

You glanced up from the pistol, brow furrowed.

He hesitated. “It’s you. There’s… a bounty on you.”

Your fingers froze over the grip.

He opened the folder, revealing a printed intel sheet. Across the top, bold red letters:

BOUNTY ACTIVE — Y/N STATUS: CIVILIAN REWARD: ₱20,000,000,000 CLASSIFICATION: LEVEL S — LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED

You stared at your own face. No code name. No alias. No mercy.

“Twenty billion,” your assistant whispered. “That’s four times Karina’s highest bounty. And you’ve been retired for six years, sir.”

Silence.

You reached for the paper. Read it twice. Then looked up.

“They really think I’m that easy to kill?”

The assistant didn’t answer.

You stood up slowly. Walked to the weapons wall. Your reflection caught briefly in the glass case — older, quieter, but not softer.

You opened the cabinet.

Inside: your combat wristwatch, two silenced handguns, and the combat ledger you swore you’d never reopen.

You slid the watch on.

Your assistant cleared his throat. “Orders, sir?”

You didn’t turn around.

“They’ve made a mistake,” you said coldly.

“Putting that number on my head means they think I’ve stopped being dangerous.”

You reached for your coat.

“Let’s remind them.”

The city was still asleep when you turned the key.

A low growl purred from the engine of your RX-7, a sound that hadn’t echoed through the streets in years. Matte black, custom-tuned, and built to outrun death itself — it was more than a car. It was a warning. The dash lights flickered to life, casting soft red glows across your face as the analog needles spiked. You pulled on your gloves, tight over your knuckles, and exhaled once, slow and steady. Your peace had a price now — twenty billion — and the world had just put it on auction.

You shifted into gear, and the RX-7 shot forward, tires screeching against the cracked asphalt of the abandoned highway. Streetlights streaked across your windshield like silent flashes from a camera, capturing the return of someone long thought buried.

The old network had already been reactivated. Burner pings, offline satellite feeds, long-dormant back channels — all humming back to life like veins. "Track everything that moves," you’d told them over the radio. And they would. They always did. The signal had gone out like a pulse across the underworld. Old faces were waking up. Your name was back in their mouths. Your silhouette, back in the shadows.

Your hand hovered over the ancient GPS system wired directly into encrypted lines. The display glitched momentarily, then began pushing faces and coordinates to the screen. The first target had been seen four hours ago, just beyond Parañaque. A warm-up.

You drifted hard around a curve, the RX-7 roaring as tires burned smoke into the cold air. Manila’s skyline flashed in the distance like a memory you didn’t ask to keep. Inside the glove box — a pistol, a burner phone, and a worn photograph of you and Karina at a small beachside cafe. You glanced at it for half a second. Then closed the box.

The car ate the road like it was starving.

Far across the city, faces lit up as your name resurfaced. One man dropped a glass. Another cursed under his breath, pacing in a dark room as your bounty scrolled across his screen. "He’s active." The whispers were spreading faster than bullets.

Back in the RX-7, your fingers danced across a hidden switch under the wheel. The onboard systems — long sealed — began to flicker and boot. Old safehouses reappeared on the map. Surveillance nodes lit up. You were plugging yourself back into a ghost network — a city beneath the city. Authorization code: WRAITH-0.

Everything had been quiet for too long. And now, nothing was.

The expressway blurred under you as you flew past checkpoints without a tag, without a trace. The tail lights painted the road crimson. Wind tore at your coat through the window crack. Your eyes never left the path ahead.

Finally, you eased to a stop at the edge of a cliffside overlooking the glowing veins of Manila below. The city sparkled — unaware, undeserving. You stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath your boots, and lit a cigarette against the wind. Smoke curled past your cheek, disappearing into the dark.

You looked down at the city. Your city.

They thought you were asleep.

You flicked the cigarette into the abyss and muttered softly under your breath —

"Time to wake ’em up."

The informant was already tied to the chair when she arrived.

She hadn’t said a word yet.

Ningning had done the prep — slick and cruel, tongue clicking with amusement as she left the man half-conscious and zip-tied to an aluminum chair under the raw flicker of a single overhead light. Aeri stood by the wall, arms crossed, rifle lowered but not forgotten.

Karina entered in silence, dressed in black-on-black. Not a wrinkle on her coat. Not a stain on her boots.

She looked at the man — trembling, bandaged, eyes darting in desperate circles — and tilted her head.

Then she spoke.

“Why put a bounty on my café-loving husband?”

Her voice was soft, almost bored.

The man swallowed. “I—I don’t know who ordered it, I swear—!”

She leaned forward slightly.

“That man hasn’t killed anyone in his whole lifetime, yet alone know how to kill or hold a gun properly. He makes pour-overs. He reads the news. He reuses grocery bags,” she said. “And someone thought it wise to offer twenty billion for his head.”

The man tried to lift his hands, forgot he was tied, then winced. “It came from up top. Military-adjacent. Same group that blacklisted you two before you disappeared—”

Karina raised her hand, and Aeri stepped forward without a word. A gunshot cracked the air — not to kill, just to remind.

“You don’t get to talk about us,” Karina said calmly.

She circled the man slowly now, her boots echoing in the concrete room. “Tell me this, then. Was the bounty meant to draw me out… or make sure I stayed gone?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

So she crouched beside him and whispered gently:

“Because if they thought I was soft now… if they thought I’d stay hidden just because he was happy—”

She pulled the knife from her coat pocket and gently rested the tip against his thigh.

“—they’re going to learn what grief looks like before it happens.”

Ningning smirked behind her.

“Someone's pissed....,” she mouthed to Aeri.

Karina stood.

“Strip his comms. Take what you can from the logs. Then burn the safehouse.”

The man screamed something incoherent, but Karina was already walking away.

As she stepped out into the morning haze, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Ping Detected. “RX-7 sighted, east expressway.”

She paused, lips curling.

Ning and Minjeong gasped, “Shit its that RX-7 again.”

Aeri caught up behind her. “What now, boss?”

Karina didn’t turn around. Just stared into the horizon with steel in her eyes.

“Don’t mind him, lets focus on the matter.”

7:15 AM Location: Somewhere Quiet, Somewhere Lit by Fluorescent Lights

The warehouse was still burning when you walked away.

It had taken less than twenty minutes.

Two trucks filled with illegal arms. One crypto farm laundering clean bounties. Twelve guards, four executives, and a corrupt ex-judge. All of them gone. No survivors. No survivors worth speaking of.

You didn’t care if the cameras saw. In fact, you hoped they did. You wanted them to know. You and Karina weren’t ghosts anymore. You were fire.

And now?

You were at a 7-Eleven.

The automatic doors chimed as you stepped in, blood dried beneath your collar and knuckles raw under your gloves. The only sign of your earlier rampage was a faint smear on your cheekbone — and even that you’d wiped clean on the ride over.

You grabbed a canned coffee from the fridge, cracked it open, and leaned casually on the counter to pay.

That’s when you noticed the clerk.

Young. Maybe early 20s. Big eyes. Eyes that stayed on you.

She blinked. Then blinked again. Then flushed so red she might've passed out.

You didn’t speak. Just held out the cash.

She slowly took it, eyes scanning you up and down — black jacket, combat boots, bandaged hand, a jawline that could slice glass.

She was drooling.

And she didn’t even try to hide it. “…Wow,” she whispered, in a kind of reverent awe. “You're like… dangerously hot.”

You took a sip of your coffee. Calm. Flat-eyed.

Then you glanced at her.

“I’m married.”

Deadpan. Cold. Absolute.

She choked. “Oh—I mean—I wasn’t—!”

You walked out before she could recover, the automatic doors chiming again.

Back in the RX-7, you sat in the driver’s seat, rolled your shoulders once, and let out a quiet breath. The canned coffee was average. The moment? Perfect.

You pulled out your phone. Tapped the only number saved under “Ops.” It rang once.

The line picked up fast.

“Sir.”

You didn’t waste breath.

“Update on my wife.”

There was a pause — not hesitation, just the weight of information being sifted.

Then: “She hit a private holding site in Valenzuela. Left three alive. Interrogated one. Burned the place after extraction. Ningning and Aeri confirmed present. Signature entry — clean and cruel.”

You smirked faintly. Classic.

“Anyone tracking her?”

“Not anymore.”

“…Good.”

You took another sip of canned coffee, watching early sunlight pour over the city through the windshield.

“She leave a message?”

Another pause.

“Yes, sir. One of the survivors said she asked them…” He hesitated, as if unsure how to phrase it.

“Out with it.”

“She asked—‘Why put a bounty on my café-loving husband?’”

A beat of silence on your end. Your lips lifted slightly. Not a smile. Just something warm buried under six years of muscle memory.

“…She’s pissed,” you murmured.

“Wouldn’t blame her,” your assistant replied. “They made it personal.”

You crushed the empty can in your hand.

“They’ll regret that.”

The call ended.

Outside, the wind picked up.

The RX-7 engine rumbled back to life.

7:34 AM Unknown Location — Somewhere Underground

She came to with the sting of blood on her lip and the cold bite of steel cuffs around her wrists.

The room smelled of concrete, sweat, and smoke — underground, no windows, silence heavy like a blanket. Her coat was gone. Her weapons stripped. She was seated in a bolted chair, arms behind her. Aeri and Ningning were slumped nearby, unconscious but breathing.

Ambushed.

Sloppy.

She blinked. Looked around. Recognized the markings on the floor — industrial, old-world Manila. Someone had planned this. Someone who knew her rhythm.

Footsteps echoed.

Karina’s eyes lifted just in time to see the man step into the fluorescent light. Tailored suit, salt-and-pepper hair, but built like a retired boxer. Scar just beneath the jaw.

She knew that face.

“Kaito.”

He smiled, slow and oily.

“Karina Yuu,” he drawled. “Still as sharp as ever. But a little slow these days, aren’t you?”

Karina said nothing, jaw clenched.

He circled her like a lion, savoring the moment. “You know, I almost thought it was a joke when I heard the rumors. The Karina — former leader of JUSTICE, Black Phoenix, Ghost Widow, whatever name they branded you with — out here… playing wife.”

He leaned closer, voice soft.

“You’ve gone soft, Karina. It’s the husband, huh?”

She stared forward, unmoving.

“He make you weak?” he whispered, like it was something intimate.

Then—

Spit. Right at his shoes.

Kaito laughed. Full-bodied, arrogant. “There she is.”

Behind him, Ningning groaned awake. “What happened—"

“Shut up,” one of the guards snapped, gun trained on her.

Karina didn't break eye contact.

“You’re pathetic,” she said calmly. “Still crawling out of my shadow after all these years.”

Kaito stepped back, brushing his shoe off with a handkerchief. “Maybe. But pathetic’s still standing. And you? Tied up. No power. Just a housewife with a hit list.”

He turned toward his men. “Start the broadcast. Let the bounty network know we have her. We’ll sell her off to the highest bidder.”

The morning sun reflected off the RX-7’s hood like gold over a coffin — beautiful, but warning.

You had just stepped out of the mall, a paper bag in one hand, fresh bread inside. Simple. Warm. Something she used to tease you about — your love for cheap carbs after a long night. You took a quiet bite, the crust still soft, and leaned against the side of the car.

Eyes were already on you.

“Damn, what a car…” “Shit, is that a rotary?” “Forget the car, look at him.”

You ignored the whispers, but they followed anyway.

A kid tried to sneak a picture. A couple whispered behind their iced coffee. A group of college girls slowed down just to steal a glance.

Black boots. Black coat. Scar on your jaw. Calm expression that didn’t match the blood on your past. You didn’t stand out like a celebrity — you stood out like a warning.

Then—

Your phone buzzed.

One long vibration. No ID. Just the private line.

You pressed it to your ear without looking.

“Speak.”

Your assistant's voice came through fast — quiet, clipped, serious.

“Sir… you might wanna check this out.”

Your brow twitched.

He rarely spoke like that.

“Send it.”

Ping.

You opened the file. It was grainy. Low-res. Surveillance footage?

No. It was a broadcast. Encrypted. Market chatter. An off-the-grid stream sent to buyers in the bounty world.

The video loaded.

You saw her.

Karina. Bound. Bloodied lip. Still defiant in posture. Aeri unconscious nearby. Ningning handcuffed and spitting curses. And then— A man steps into frame. Older. Familiar.

Kaito.

Your jaw flexed. Bread forgotten. Every noise around you faded. Every whisper turned to static.

You stared at the screen.

He spoke into the camera, almost grinning:

“We got her. The Black Widow herself. And her little strays. Bidding opens in an hour. Come claim the ghost’s wife before her past catches up.”

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Then you closed the video. Tossed the paper bag onto the hood. The bread fell, forgotten, onto the pavement.

You slipped into the RX-7. The door shut with a cold thud.

Engine roared.

You pressed the comms button.

Your phone buzzed again.

“Sir, we’ve isolated the network. Karina’s being held in Sector Ø — old port storage under Pier 19. Private militia. Around 30-40 men, but possibly more below. Cameras, snipers, motion traps—”

You cut him off.

“Send me everyone’s location.”

There was a pause.

“Sir?”

Your voice was like ice this time.

“Everyone. Inside. Outside. On payroll. Off payroll. If they so much as breathe near the perimeter, I want a red dot on their forehead.”

The silence grew heavier.

Then you added, colder than death:

“One wrong move… Consider them dead.”

Your assistant didn’t question it again.

The comms line filled with typing, chatter, tracer drones moving into formation.

On your screen, red dots began populating one by one. Guards. Lookouts. Snipers on rooftops. Engineers on rotation.

Every name. Every face. Every warm body inside the hellhole they put Karina in.

You sat back, watched the map light up like Christmas.

Then you whispered to yourself—

“I”ll get you back.”

And the RX-7 peeled out of the lot like the gates of hell had just opened.

9:27 AM Location: Pier 19 — Sublevel B2

Her lip was still bleeding, but her mind was already somewhere else.

The chains bit into her wrists, straining above her head as she hung from a reinforced pipe. Beside her, Ningning sat against the wall — ankles cuffed, but her hands free. Aeri was still shaking off the sedative, face pale but eyes awake now.

Karina’s voice was quiet, controlled.

“How many steps to that door?”

Ningning glanced, tongue licking blood off her lip. “Four meters. Guard rotates every 45 seconds. Sloppy. Could’ve used mirrors.”

“Good. That’s their first mistake.”

Aeri coughed and whispered hoarsely, “You have a plan?”

Karina didn’t answer. She was counting footsteps now. Timing the shadows. Watching how the nearest guard leaned against the wall with his rifle slung like a bored mall cop. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling — to the single rusted pipe along the beam.

She could snap that if she swung hard enough.

She just needed a cue.

That’s when the door creaked open.

Kaito stepped in, wearing that smug, pressed look he always had when he thought he was winning. His coat hung open, revealing a scarred chest and tacky gold accessories. He clapped slowly as he approached.

“Look at this,” he sneered. “The great Karina. The cold-blooded legend. Tied up like laundry on a rainy day.”

Ningning muttered under her breath, “I’ll stab that bastard with a spoon.”

Kaito ignored her. His eyes stayed on Karina, circling her slowly.

“I expected more from you,” he continued. “But I guess that’s what love does to a person. Makes them soft. Makes them slow.”

He leaned closer, grinning.

“Did he kiss you good morning before you went on your little mission today? Hm? Did he pack your little gun with lunch?”

Karina’s jaw tensed. She didn’t respond. Didn’t blink.

Kaito chuckled. “You should’ve stayed in your kitchen. But no. You came back to the war, thinking the world forgot who you were.”

He stepped back, arms wide.

“Well guess what, sweetheart — we never forgot. You left a vacuum. And now? You’re just a relic. The wife of a has-been killer and a mother hen to two brats who couldn’t even clear a sublevel properly.”

A beat passed.

Then Karina spoke, low and calm:

“You’re talking a lot for a man who knows I’m not staying here.”

Kaito’s smile wavered for half a second.

Karina finally raised her head. Her voice like glass against steel:

“Keep talking, Kaito.”

“Because the moment I drop these cuffs… I’m going to shove every word down your f*ing throat.”**

The guard twitched at her tone.

Ningning looked at Aeri, then back at Karina.

“Is it time?”

Karina’s lips curled.

“Almost. Let him finish writing his obituary first.”

9:46 AM Pier 19 — Sublevel B2

She moved too fast. She knew it the moment her foot hit the last tile toward the exit — it was too easy.

No guards. No resistance. Just a bitter ex and a clean hallway? Kaito didn’t lose control like that.

And that’s when she saw it.

Motion-sensor traps. Reinforced locking gates. Every hallway had been reprogrammed — not to stop her escape… but to herd her.

Aeri shouted, “Behind us!”

Three doors slammed shut. Ningning fired off two blind rounds before the hallway filled with white gas. Not toxic. Not deadly. Just—

Disorienting.

The world spun.

Then came the blow.

CRACK.

Kaito's boot connected with Karina’s ribs. She staggered back, hitting the wall.

She lifted her gun — but it was too late.

He was already inside her space.

He knew how she moved. Where she’d block. Where she wouldn’t. They had danced like this before.

And this time, he led.

Another strike — to the wrist. Gun dropped. A twist — shoulder dislocated. A boot to the knee — forced down.

Aeri charged in, roaring. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your—”

BAM. Kaito backhanded her with the butt of a pistol. She dropped.

Ningning got close enough to scratch his face with a blade — but he used her own momentum to flip her over and slam her head into the floor.

In under twenty seconds—

They were down.

Karina gasped for air, face half-bloodied, cheek pressed against the cold cement.

Kaito stood over her.

Breathing hard.

Bruised. Bleeding. But victorious.

He wiped Ningning’s blood off his cheek and spit to the side.

“You chose peace?” he sneered. “Then why are you still fighting?”

Karina tried to rise — he kicked her down again.

“You wanted poetry and flowers? You walked away from me for him — only to end up back in a cage, bleeding on a floor, hunted like an animal.”

He knelt beside her. Grabbed her by the jaw.

“You could’ve had a quiet life with me, Karina. I would’ve made you clean. I would’ve taken the stain out of your soul.”

Karina’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“…and I would’ve rotted inside it.”

His expression cracked. Then hardened again.

“Get her ready,” he snapped at the guards entering. “Prep all three. Chains. Sedatives. We’re not selling her anymore.” “We’re keeping her alive… just long enough for him to watch.”

The guards dragged them away, limp and bloodied.

And somewhere above, the sound of tires screeched. A certain engine. A certain car.

And the war was about to knock.

He held the syringe in his hand like a ritual blade.

One dose would knock her out for 18 hours. Enough time to finish arrangements. Enough time to break her down properly.

Karina was barely conscious now. Bloody, bruised, jaw clenched in stubborn silence.

Kaito crouched beside her, savoring every second.

“Still so proud, huh?” he muttered. “Even now.”

He brushed a strand of bloodied hair from her face. “You’ll see, Karina. I didn’t fail you. He did. I wonder what he’s thinking right now?, making coffee without knowing his wife’s at the brink of deat-”

“SIR—!”

The comms cracked.

Kaito paused. His earpiece buzzed with static.

Then: “SIR, BREACH ON THE UPPER FLO—” Gunshots. Screams. Then silence.

Another voice:

“They’re dropping—He’s—he’s in the walls, sir! WE CAN’T—”

Flatline.

Then another. Another. Bodycams switching to static. Vital signs going cold.

Kaito stood slowly, eyes wide. Syringe still in his hand, shaking now.

“What…?”

A final, desperate comm came through:

“S-Sir—Target confirmed—it's him—it's—”

Dead silence.

Then—

Boom.

Somewhere above, a door exploded off its hinges.

Dust rained from the ceiling. The lights flickered.

Karina looked at the others, her expression saying “who’s that?!” and the others replying with the same expression “we don’t know.”

Pier 19, Upper Floors 9:53 AM

The first bullet was silent.

A clean round through the neck of the rooftop sentry, his blood spraying against the rusted rail.

He never even saw you.

The second dropped before the body hit the floor — a spotter, lungs collapsing in on impact as your blade slid across his ribs.

You didn’t run.

You walked.

One floor down, two guards turned the corner.

CRACK.

You shattered one’s jaw with a steel pipe. Used his falling body as a shield, fired twice over the shoulder, and put the second down clean.

Their radios crackled. Screams. Commands. Static.

None of it mattered.

Your boots crushed through blood-slicked tile. Calm. Precise.

You weren’t coming to fight. You were coming to end.

9:56 AM – Mid-Level Security Floor

Six men waited in formation — riot gear, heavy shields.

“Visual on target!” one shouted. “Engage!”

Grenades were thrown. Smoke swallowed the corridor.

But you moved through it like a whisper.

When the first man raised his shield, you were already behind him.

Snap. Neck broken.

Slash. Throat opened.

Gunshot. Knee taken out, pistol to the temple — execution.

In less than fifteen seconds, the entire hallway was reduced to groans and corpses.

And you didn’t break stride.

9:58 AM – Lower Sublevel Entrance

Someone was praying over comms.

“I-I don’t even know if he’s human—he’s not stopping—he’s not stopping—!”

CRASH.

The reinforced door folded inwards like paper.

The last two guards panicked, fired wildly. One bullet grazed your shoulder.

You didn’t flinch.

You walked straight through it.

Grabbed the first by the collar, slammed his skull against the wall until his breath stopped.

Took the second one’s pistol mid-swing. Used it to shoot him in the foot. Then the mouth.

Bang.

Quiet again.

Her ears rang. Her mouth tasted metal. She could barely lift her head — everything ached. The chains. The bruises. The weight of failure.

Then she heard it:

Footsteps. Calm. Slow. Heavy.

Not boots.

Shoes. Familiar.

Karina forced her swollen eyes open. Just barely.

There, through the haze— Through the cracked door and misting red lights—

Y/N stood over three broken bodies.

Not wounded. Not panicked.

Still. Sharp. Composed.

Blood dripped from his knuckles. His coat was torn at the shoulder, singed at the hem, soaked in someone else’s life.

His chest rose and fell once.

Then he turned his head and looked at her.

Not with panic. Not with fear. With purpose.

“Y/N…?!” she screamed.

He didn’t answer. Just walked to her. Lifted her carefully — too carefully. Like he hadn’t just painted the walls red.

His hand touched her cheek.

She leaned into it… until she saw the ring of blood around his fingernails.

That’s when she noticed it all.

The blade tucked into his coat. The earpiece behind his collar. The way he moved. Not like a man. Like a weapon.

Her voice broke.

“…Who—who are you?”

He paused.

Didn't lie.

Just whispered:

“Your husband.”

And in that moment — between blood and truth — Karina remembered all the quiet things about him.

The way he scanned exits in every room. The way he could drive at 200 km/h without blinking. The old scars. The nightmares. The mornings he stared just a little too long at the horizon like it was calling him back.

Her breath caught.

Tears welled — not just from pain.

From realization.

“You… You’re not a civilian…”

She whispered it like a prayer. Like a curse.

He didn’t respond.

Just undid her cuffs. Took her hand.

And finally, as he carried her out of the wreckage, Karina asked:

“…How many people did you kill?”

His voice was soft. Not proud. Not ashamed.

“Everyone who laid a hand on you.”

You stepped over the last corpse — boots crushing glass and shell casings.

Karina was safe now. Outside. Sedated. Extraction team en route. But your work wasn’t done.

You entered the last chamber: a wide, concrete atrium beneath the pier.

And there he was.

Kaito.

Face bloodied. Shirt torn. Eyes burning.

He stood alone now — no guards, no crew, no cause.

Just vengeance.

“You…” he hissed. “You’re the one who took everything from me.”

You tilted your head, unimpressed.

He spat. “She was mine! We were supposed to be free! No more guns, no more blood — I gave that life up for her!”

You didn’t blink. Just took off your coat, folding it neatly and placing it on the crate beside you.

Kaito stepped forward, screaming:

“YOU TOOK HER! YOU TOOK MY LIFE!”

You rolled your sleeves, cracked your knuckles.

Then finally looked him dead in the eyes.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

His jaw clenched.

You stepped into the ring of broken light.

“And I don’t acknowledge the weak.”

Kaito lunged at you full of anger.

A furious, reckless punch aimed for your jaw.

Slip. Counter. Elbow to the temple.

He staggered, roared, kicked — You caught it mid-air, twisted, broke his stance.

You didn’t rush.

You let him come.

Because men like him?

They burn out.

He was fast — but wild. Emotional. Every strike was a scream. Every jab a memory.

Your movements were silent. Clean. Deadly.

Strike. Twist. Palm to the throat. Knee to the gut. Elbow across the jaw.

He crashed into the wall, coughing blood.

“SHE CHOSE ME FIRST!” he shouted. “SHE BELONGED TO ME!”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked forward.

He swung with desperation now. Knuckles raw. Rage blinding him.

You parried.

Broke his wrist.

Then his ribs.

Then finally, swept him to the floor with a clean, merciless spin.

CRACK.

He hit the ground hard — breathless.

And you stood over him.

His eyes fluttered. Face bloodied, mouth trembling.

“…Why…” he gasped. “…why you?”

You crouched down. Leaned in.

“Because she chose peace.”

You looked him straight in the eye.

“And you only offered her pain.”

Then — one final punch.

Knocked him out cold.

10:15 AM — Pier 19, Basement Atrium

Kaito lay broken on the floor, coughing blood, bones fractured, pride in shambles.

He could barely lift his head. One eye swollen shut. Mouth trembling.

“She was… everything,” he choked out.

You stared down at him. Quiet.

He kept going, voice like static.

“I gave her the world. I gave her my soul.”

You reached inside your jacket. Slow. Cold. Pulled out the silenced pistol.

“And you gave her hell.”

Kaito’s bloodshot eye widened. “Wait—”

Click. Barrel to forehead.

You didn’t blink. Didn’t raise your voice.

Just said:

“You were never an option.”

BANG.

One clean shot. Skull split open. Kaito slumped — dead, twitchless, nothing left to say.

You stood there, holstering the weapon.

The silence that followed was heavier than gunfire.

A Day later

The smell of coffee hit first.

Rich. Familiar. A quiet warmth that belonged to a slower world. A peaceful one. She stirred beneath the blanket, feeling the soft couch beneath her, the sunlight creeping in through the window.

And pain.

Dull and deep, wrapped around her ribs and stitched into her shoulder. She blinked, turned her head—

And saw you.

Behind the bar. Calm as ever.

Hair still damp. That same worn black shirt. Steam rising from the mug in your hands like none of it had happened. Like the blood, the chains, the chaos never touched you.

But it had. She could see it now.

The scrape at your jaw. The bruising on your knuckles. The way your wrist moved slower than it used to.

You didn’t look up yet.

In the corner, Aeri sat quietly with a sling on her arm, stirring her cup like it might give her answers. Ningning nursed a swollen cheek with a pack of frozen peas, sunglasses barely hiding the evidence of war.

“...You’re up,” Aeri said softly.

“Barely,” Karina croaked.

Ningning didn’t even lift her head. “While you were playing damsel, your husband went full John Wick. Killed an entire building for you.”

Aeri gave her a look. Ningning shrugged.

Karina couldn’t take her eyes off you.

The smell of fresh bread filled the café like a warm blanket. The kind that almost made you forget about bullet wounds, fractured ribs, and blood-stained floors.

Almost.

Karina leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, a half-eaten pan de sal in her hand. Her girls were gathered around the main table — bruised, bandaged, but alive.

Aeri sipped from her coffee, her arm still in a sling. “Didn’t know there was someone bigger in the room,” she said, eyes sliding toward you at the counter.

You were wiping the blade of a dull bread knife. Calm. Silent. As if you hadn’t dismantled an entire black-market empire two nights ago.

Ningning leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, twirling her fork with a grin. “I thought he was just good at cutting bread diagonally,” she quipped. “Didn’t know he was born to cut.”

Minjeong, always the quiet one, raised her brow as she chewed. “So… we didn’t have to panic when he had a 20 million bounty on his head?”

You didn’t react. Just continued slicing another loaf. Clean. Perfect. Diagonal, as always.

They all laughed softly, tension finally thinning into the morning light.

But Karina?

She didn’t say a word.

She watched you from the doorway. The same man she’d kissed on sleepy afternoons, who made her tea when her migraines flared up, who always folded laundry at exactly 9 PM.

The same man who killed without hesitation.

She held her silence like it was fragile glass.

The others didn’t notice. They were already rising, stretching, gathering their things. One by one, they approached her — soft hugs, low voices.

Aeri whispered, “He really loves you, y’know.”

Ningning smirked, “If he gets bored slicing bread, I’ve got a few enemies.”

Minjeong simply smiled. “He scares me. In a weirdly comforting way.”

Then the bell above the door chimed.

The city below moved like it didn’t know blood was spilled yesterday.

She stepped onto the rooftop, arms crossed, cold air brushing her skin. She saw you immediately — leaning against the ledge, cigarette between your fingers, shoulders tense.

You didn’t turn. But you spoke.

“Figured you’d come up here.”

She stopped beside you, keeping a safe distance.

“I can’t sleep,” she murmured.

“Me neither.”

The wind tugged at her hair. Neon lights blinked in the distance — a city pretending the world was still simple.

Her voice broke through the quiet.

“Seven.”

You flinched, only slightly.

“I never knew you by that name,” she said. “They did. The ones who ran. The ones who screamed. The ones who didn’t get to scream.”

She looked up at the stars. “I married a man who made me laugh when I forgot how. Who burns toast sometimes. Who folds laundry too neatly.”

She turned to you now.

Eyes searching.

“But that man… is Seven, isn’t he?”

You dropped the cigarette. Ground it beneath your heel.

“No.” “Seven is who I had to be.” “Y/N is who I chose to become.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“So which one of them married me?”

You stepped closer.

“The one willing to become a monster if it means you breathe again tomorrow.”

Karina closed her eyes. Let it sting.

Then asked quietly,

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Do you hate that I’m scared of you?”

“No.”

“…Would you do it again?”

You didn’t even blink.

“Every time.”

And for a second, the silence was unbearable.

Then, she moved.

Slow. Careful.

Stepping forward until her chest brushed yours, arms hanging limp at her sides.

She looked up at you.

Not angry. Not afraid.

Just... overwhelmed.

And in that slow second — under the flickering sky and half-spoken truths — she kissed you.

Soft. Painful. True.

Not a fairytale kiss. Not a reunion kiss.

A real kiss. The kind that says: "I love you, and I’ll love you no matter who you are."

Your hands found her waist.

Hers, your jaw.

And for one rare moment, the city truly fell quiet.

Somewhere Underground

A massive circular table.

Twelve leather chairs.

Only two are filled.

Somewhere underground — no windows, no clocks, only screens. Dozens of them. Faces, streets, coordinates. Monitors cycling faster than the eye could follow.

The lighting was dim. Clinical. Oppressive.

One figure sat calmly in a suit, gloved hands folded over a cane. His face remained hidden beneath shadows. The second leaned on the edge of the table, pale eyes glowing faintly from under their hood.

A third voice crackled through the secure intercom — filtered, distorted.

“Codename Seven has reactivated. Confirmed sighting in the city. Target eliminated: Kaito Ryuu.”

The man in the chair did not flinch.

The hooded one let out a quiet exhale. Half amusement, half disbelief.

“Seven…” they murmured. “So the ghost breathes again.”

The gloved man finally spoke. Voice smooth. Calculated.

“And he took a name with him. Not just any name. Ours.”

He leaned back.

“We underestimated the wife.”

Silence.

The intercom voice spoke again.

“Awaiting instruction.”

The gloved man tilted his head.

“Raise the bounty.”

A pause. The air tightened.

“How high?”

“Fifty billion.”

The hooded figure blinked. But didn’t question it.

“Split?”

“Twenty-five on the girl.” “Twenty-five on the myth.”

A console buzzed nearby. The room dimmed further. A pulse began to echo beneath the floor — like a heartbeat.

“Should we alert the network?”

The man didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he pulled a small silver coin from his pocket.

Turned it between his fingers.

Then finally:

“No. Not just the network.”

He stood.

“Tell the Blackrooms. Activate every dormant cell and....alert the Hierarchy.”

A silence fell.

Then, calmly, softly:

“The storm has returned… and it’s wearing a wedding ring.”

The screens blinked.

One by one, bounties began to upload — your face, Karina’s.

Your RX-7.

Your café.

The bodies you left behind.

And then—

A hidden screen flickered, revealing a lone encrypted message:

“7-0-7 // W I D O W M A K E R // Confirmed”

The lights dimmed again.

And the world held its breath.

“Bleed under our feet....Y/N”

#spotify #kpop #aespa #aespa x reader #aespa karina #karina #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #karina fluff #aespa lockscreens #Male Reader

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jillsandwhichs · 23 hours ago

Text

Sunday morning

Chapter 13 to Joel Miller x Reader Smutshot Collection

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You and Joel wake up a bit late on a Sunday morning. However, instead of getting up and being productive, the two of you use your time for something a bit more fun - making a baby

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Engaged

WC: 2.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Making out, Dirty talk, Fingering, You finish, Unprotected P in V, Missionary, Breeding kink, He finishes inside of you, Aftercare

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Waking up, you blinked a few times to clear your eyes up. As you did, you saw the excessive amount of sunlight pouring in through the cheap beige curtains attached to the window to the right of your bed. It was nice. Cozy. You liked it. You remember the day you and Joel bought them together, it was shortly after you put the official down payment on your guy's house. You are so happy you two got this place, it was the best purchase of your life.

Yawning, you then rolled over to your left side, now facing Joel. He is still asleep and oh, how peaceful he looks. Joel rarely looks so calm. It makes you happy. You smiled to yourself, then went from looking at his face, to his outfit. To bed, he wore a grey work t-shirt and his black & white boxers, which you think he looks great in. You smiled even harder. To sleep, you wore a thin yet tight tank top with just some panties. It gets warm at night, so.

You then set your hand upon his face, caressing his cheek lovingly. You wish you two could do this all day, all of the time. Physical touch is so beyond important to you. As you touched his face, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, hoping to wake him up. You aren't sure of the time but, it's definitely later in the morning considering the sun is at its peak and shining through the window brightly.

Right as you kissed him, you felt his lips curl into a smirk, then his hands skillfully swift behind your back, pulling you into him as his arms stayed wrapped around you. Giggling, you did the same except, you swathed your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss furthermore. "Mmm," you murmured out, playing with his brown hair, "Hi." You said to him, officially pulling away from the kiss and looking at him again. "Hey baby." Joel whispered to you, his voice deep and growly from still waking up.

You felt his hands rubbing your back carefully, which you love him doing. Feels so detoxing. "Sleep well?" "I always sleep well next to you sweetheart." Joel replied to you, kissing you again before pressing his forehead against yours, "You?" "Always." You smiled, your teeth flashing, which made Joel gleam again. "My beautiful girl." Joel said in a tired manner, which made you feel weak. You love how deep his voice is, especially when he first wakes up. "Mmm." You then mooched his lips lovingly.

As the two of you were kissing, you ran your fingers through his soft hair and his hands slid down your back and onto your butt, where he softly stroked it and at one point, squeezed it whilst pulling you against his body. Once the making out died down for a moment, you asked him to check his watch, being curious on the time. "It is," he glanced down at his watch before speaking, "10:30." "Should we get up? We never lay in bed so late..." "You're right but," he then got on top of you, pinning you beneath him, "It's Sunday, we ain't got much to do baby," He had a cocky smirk appear on his face before he then brought his head to the crook of your neck.

"Ha," you laughed, then quickly moaned as he began to suckle on your neck. "Oh." You said softly, moving your head to the side, giving him more space to kiss along your throat. As he left hickies along your neck, you laid there, hands on his biceps and your legs spread open, having him lay between them as he was on top of your body. "Joel..." You sighed out softly as he switched to the right side of your neck, now covering that part in love bites. "Feel good?" "Yes." You responded, biting your lower lip.

It always feels good, anything Joel does to you feels fantastic.

Whilst he was on top of you, he brought his hand down to your panties and kissed your forehead. "God I need you," he whispered against your head before slipping his hand into them, running his finger through your wet folds. "Feels like you need me even more though, hmm baby?" The way he said it, ugh, you're all his. You nodded and played with his facial hair, "I do." "I know, I'm goin' give you what you want."

Suddenly, he pushed two fingers inside of you. You gasped and gripped onto him harshly, not expecting it. "Oh fuck." You bit your lower lip. Whenever Joel fingers you, it's intense. It's a lot. He doesn't ease up and you love it. "Shh baby, just let yourself feel, feel it real nice." He began to shove his fingers in and out of you. As he did that, all you could do was gaze at him with lust reminant in your eyes with your mouth gaped open, occasional noises coming out.

Joel leaned down and kissed you, his tongue entering your mouth as well, sliding against yours as his fingers worked their magic. You held onto his biceps, practically digging into them with your nails, hell, maybe even drawing some blood but you didn't check. "You're so tight baby, fuck." He grunted into your mouth, his fingers picking up in their pace and hardness in which they moved into you at. "Uh-huh, fuck, right there." You panted out to him.

"Is that where it feels good? Huh?" He curled his fingers within your clenched walls with each thrust of his digits. "Yes..." Was all you managed to say. He knows what he's doing and he knows he's doing is amazingly. You spread your legs further open and tossed your head to the side, which Joel took advantage of, now suckling on your collarbone as he fingered you passionately.

Around him, you tightened yourself. Doing so made it so you could feel it more, more deep inside of you. It made your stomach so flips and your heart face the more it went on. "Oh?" Joel cooed out against your ear, kissing it sweetly, "You close?" He asked you, now moving his fingers at such a rapid pace, you couldn't really form a thought. "Uh, I-" you attempted to spit out, but you failed. He snickered real sexily against your ear before then using his other hand to turn your head to face him. "Cum for me then sweetheart."

The eye contact. It was something else. He was forcing you to look at him, his hand firmly on your jaw. You knew that if you were to even try to attempt to close your eyes, he'd stop his movements. So, you gazed right into those devilish, lustful eyes of his. "All over my fingers baby, do it." Were his final words before it happened, your inevitable, ecstasy-filled orgasm.

Your moan was loud and lethal as you came, but you sounded so angelic to Joel. He released the grip on your face as you came and instead kissed you, his kiss soft and caring. His fingers slowed down inside of you before he slowly drifted them out of you, bringing them up to his lips and licking your juices off; He always does that, you find it attractive in a way. "Oh goodness," you laughed out, "That was good."

Joel glanced down at you with fierce eyes before speaking up again, "You think that was good? Honey, I'm 'bout to make it so your ass can't walk." Joel then tore your panties off, down to your ankles and past them before he threw them on the floor. You giggled and he pulled his boxers down, his hardened length being revealed. "Mmm I'm so glad we decided to stay in bed." "I know you are." He said as he then grabbed your legs, holding each one in his arms.

"Wait, are you not going to get a condom?" "Since when we need one? You know baby-" "Joel, I-" you tried to pause him, knowing where he was going with this. He wants a baby, badly. You do too but, you're just nervous. "Darlin', I want this, you want this... Let me get my soon-to-be wife pregnant with my baby." He muttered to you, his voice so convincing. You bit your lower lip, "Such a persuasive man." You reached your hand up to run it through his facial hair. "Mkay." You whispered.

You swear you've never seen Joel's face light up so fast. He guided himself to your entrance before he entered himself into you, his erect member sliding into your sensitive & slippery hole. You let out a deep sigh as he did. It felt good. You love when you guys don't use protection however, it's rare.

With your legs propped up in his arms, all you had to do was lay there and take it. And oh, Joel's gonna give it to you.

Sliding in and out of you, the man hardly wasted time. He thrusted into you roughly, his noises hot and heavy as he did. "Gonna make you a momma, hmm? That what you want baby?" His accent was hefty and clearly audible, which turned you on even further - if it were even possible. You kept hold on his arms as he moved into you, it was the least amount of support you could seek. "Gonna get this belly all swollen and big, fuck, you'll look so pretty." His dirty talk, fuck you relish in it.

His hands gripped on your legs tightly, keeping them tracted as he moved his hips coursely. All you did was moan and watch him with intense need. You've never been so horny before, you're sure. "I needed this," you moaned out to your fiance, assuring him that you're enjoying all of this. You saw a slight smile form on his face before he drew himself to your face, kissing you passionately as he fucked you, hard.

In between kisses, he spoke. "Can't wait to get you pregnant... Can't wait to see my wife be a mommy to my child... Fuck." He's so into it, it was making you fall for the idea further. "I want your baby, just yours... Need it..." It's the idea of it - the fact your love making is so passionate and the fact you two are truly ready to be parents. Plus, the idea of Joel cumming inside of you is one you practically daydream about.

"Oh baby," Joel then dropped your legs and instead lifted you up for a moment, slithering his arms to be around your back, hugging you tightly as he pumped himself into you. You hugged him back, both wrapping your arms and legs around his. He moved into you so deeply, you swear you could feel his tip in your stomach, that's how good it was. "Cum inside of me Joel... Please... I need it." Your begging was all he needed to hear.

"Jesus Christ," he said, burying his head into the crease of your neck. "You take it so well." He panted, kissing your shoulders as he fucked you so fast, until he finally came.

As Joel finished within your closed in walls, you held him close, playing with his hair and kissing the side of his head. It felt perfect, his semen leaking into you and hopefully, getting you pregnant. You don't regret it, not one bit. You felt his lips go against your collarbone, then trial up to your face where he then kissed your cheek. "That was fuckin' great." He said to you. "Yeah it was." You glimmered and unraveled your legs around him, freeing him.

He pulled away from you and looked down. The bed was a mess, your sheet was drenched and the blanket was on the floor. You laughed and closed your legs before sitting up and tilting your head at him. "Look what you do to me babe." "Mmm," he nodded and grabbed your chin, "It's what I do best." He then kissed you before pressing his forehead to yours. "We oughta get ourselves and our room cleaned up, what'dya say darlin'?" "You're right." You then tried to stand up, and ultimately failed.

You immediately sat back down on the bed once you felt how wobbly and weak your legs were. Joel took notice and snorted. "Told ya." He kissed your cheek before standing up, going towards the dresser and grabbing you out some new clothes. "Let's get you dressed baby, I'll do it all for you."

You cannot believe you'll be married to this man soon and hopefully, with his child.

#tumblr fyp #the last of us #tlou #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic

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yingren · 7 months ago

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tbd, tiny activity update.

i've not felt super happy about my writing lately like there are some things that bother me with my own writing and then i get a lil bit of a writers block bc of it. things have been left sittin for longer than usual but i will get to them soon. if i'm slow or i seem "picky" with what i reply to, you know why. nothing personal, it's all me.

#ooc.#mostly unhappy with the quality of what i do but its not like a thing im upset about im just thinkin lots of thoughts #of how to get out of this funk and yeah just write #used to just black out and blink and there my reply was #now i stare at the same thing for 4 hours and write maybe one paragraph #i need to just poke around my own head for a min and think.#anyway. again. i'm not upset or anything just giving a lil heads up.#my brain needs to be rebooted.

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satoblue · 2 months ago

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SPOTS — nanami kento

kento’s yellow tie goes missing. | wc: 1.0k

f!reader, established relationship (married), you have a daughter, fluff, kento can’t say no to his little girl, the backstory of how his tie came to be… unique, unedited, this was rushed and unplanned, satoru cameo at the end (i couldn’t help myself heh) | dividers made by me

kento’s tie didn’t always have the black spots it does today. it used to be a simple, bright yellow, void of the interesting pattern which was frankly — not of his own choosing. that is, until it went missing one morning.

the man searched high and low in a rush. at this rate, he would be late for work.

where he usually stored this specific yellow tie to go with this outfit in particular, he found the little pocket beside all his other neatly organized ones to be empty.

how unusual. it’s not as if it grew a pair of legs and walked away on its own.

“hm…”, he hummed to himself in thought, fist below his chin as he cruised his brain to remember where it was last seen. you watch from the bed, having just woken up, blinking away your drowsiness as your flustered husband tries retracing his steps.

even in your exhaustion, you can tell what this is about. he was your man after all.

after a minute of erratic pacing, kento turns to you, face determined and serious. before he can question if you knew about its whereabouts, you give a slight shake of the head.

still disoriented, slowly coming back down to earth, you reply hoarsely, “when i did the laundry, i put it in there. you can’t find it?”

you shuffle out of bed, your feet meeting the carpeted flooring as you make your approach to the dresser.

he grumbles under his breath, a small “no”, mind preoccupied with finding his lost tie.

“can’t you just wear another? i’ll find it later while you’re at work.” you suggest carefully, peeking into the dresser and admiring the variety in your husband’s collection.

you pick one out with a delicate touch, a light blue bordering white, holding it to his chest over his very blue dress shirt.

kento gives you a look, like he expects you to know the reason why. and even if he did, he doesn’t fail to explain it to you yet again. it is simply one of his quirks.

he pries the piece of fabric gently from your hands, folding it back up.

“you know the others don’t go well with this outfit, dearest. especially this one — it clashes with my shirt.”

you huff.

“oh, you—”

before you can respond in a teasing, exasperated manner like usual at his peculiar antics, the both of you turn your heads towards the doorway at the sound of excited little feet skipping down the hall. a small head of hair peeks in not a moment later.

“daddy’s tie?”, your little one inquires, the incomplete sentence endearing to your ears. she must’ve overheard your conversation and her father’s ceaseless shuffling so early in the morning.

“yes, baby. daddy’s tie is missing.” you smile sweetly, crouching slightly. “the yellow one.” you clarify.

your daughter blinks. and then she does it again.

“yellow?”, she repeats.

“mhm!”, you nod.

she takes your hand into both of hers. “i know!”

kento’s brows raise, fixing his sleeves down where he had previously rolled them up to his elbows, and you look down at her in surprise. “you do?”

you take a glance at your husband and then back again. “where is it?”

she doesn’t answer your question exactly, but she does giggle cheekily, “made it pretty.”

you don’t even have to turn back around to see that your husband had frozen in place from those three words. you continue to smile, though you were a bit wary.

“made it pretty..? what do you mean by that, baby?”

“was ugly… baby made it pretty…”, her voice trails off, getting more unsure and quiet by the second under her father’s blank stare.

with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, you hold back a snort.

you don’t know whether to laugh at the fact your daughter was referring to herself in the third person by the pet name you and her father tend to call her by, rarely mentioning her real one unless she was being naughty that she forgets it is even her own name — or that she decorated one of her daddy’s precious ties.

when kento fails to say anything, likely still in shock, you speak up.

“can you show me?”

hesitating slightly, your baby girl nods. she takes one of your fingers into her small hand, guiding you out of your bedroom and into her play room while kento follows closely and silently from behind.

upon entering, you notice it immediately on her play table beside a black, uncapped marker that was likely dried out at this point. she takes it, holding it up for both of you to see her spotty craftsmanship on the silky fabric.

kento’s tie did not, in fact, grow legs and wander off. but, it looks like it would.

“giraffe!”

the both of you stare wordlessly.

now, kento could be quite the complex man at times. he could just wear another color tie. or yet, if he’s feeling a little extra, go to a store on his lunch break and buy an identical one.

he decides, ultimately, it is too much of a hassle.

there is also the urge inside him to correct his daughter on her misconception that giraffe’s have black spots and that they were yellow — that the design is more akin to that of a lizard’s.

but the bright, sparkling eyes of his little girl peering up at him stops him before he can even utter a word.

he’ll probably purchase another one. for now, he guess he’ll just have to make do.

extra:

when kento heads to work half an hour later, he knows on the way there that he has to prepare. he knows what to expect from a certain someone.

as he steps foot into the building, he immediately hears the familiar voice from across the hall.

gojo satoru snorts.

“nice tie, nanami!”

#᠙𑣱 — aomi writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami drabbles #nanami headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #jjk headcanons #nanami kento x you #nanami x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #tw children

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whenstarsundress · 1 month ago

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the café was louder than usual. music playing, espresso machines hissing and the table of guys next to yours getting rowdier by the minute. you tried to laugh through it with your best friend. tried to ignore how their voices kept getting closer, how their comments got bolder. until one of them pulled up a chair uninvited.

“didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said, grinning like he absolutely had, “but i couldn’t help noticing how cute you are when you laugh.”

your smile died. “i’m not interested.”

your best friend gave him a death glare. “she has a boyfriend.”

the guy just laughed ugly. “then he must be a fool to let you out alone.”

your heart started to pound. you slipped your phone under the table, fingers flying across the screen.

sylus. elm café. group of guys won’t leave us alone. please come now. i’m scared.

his reply came within seconds.

on my way. don’t say another word to them.

but one of them leaned in again, fingers brushing the table just inches from yours. “so what’s he like, huh? bigger than me? tougher? come on, baby, don’t be shy.”

you flinched. then the café door opened. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. the entire room seemed to feel it, like the temperature dropped ten degrees in a second.

sylus walked in with quiet and lethal calm. black coat buttoned up, expression unreadable. his gaze landed on you, and didn’t leave. he came to your side, slow and deliberate, like a storm winding up.

“you okay?” he asked you softly.

you nodded, but your hand trembled when you reached for his.

he turned to the guy still being way too close. “back up.”

the guy sneered. “who the hell are you?”

your man didn’t answer. he didn’t need to. the look in his dark eyes was a warning enough. but another one of them laughed from their table and called out,

“come on, bro, share with us. don’t be greedy.”

the entire café went still. sylus blinked once, like he hadn’t quite heard that right. you felt it first, the absolute stillness and the tensing of muscles. the kind that settles over predators right before they strike.

he leaned forward, his voice turned into velvet-wrapped steel. “she’s not yours to share. she’s not mine to share. she’s not a thing. she’s my woman. and if you ever speak to her like that again, you won’t walk out of here.”

the guy scoffed like he wanted to argue until sylus stepped forward and the entire table backed up.

“you think you’re scary or something?” the first guy muttered, weaker now.

sylus tilted his head, gaze calm but cutting. “no. i don’t think. i know.” he looked to you. “come on, angel. let’s go.”

you slipped into his side instantly, grabbing your best friend’s hand on the way out. he didn’t say another word or looked back. he kept one firm hand on the small of your back until the door shut behind you.

outside sylus called a cab for your best friend. the silence was thick and your heart was still thundering. after saying goodbye to your friend, sylus lead you to his car.

inside, his fingers were still tight around the wheel, and his jaw clenched tightly.

you reached for his hand. “i’m okay now.”

he finally looked at you, like he had to see you to believe it. his voice came low, soft but hoarse. “you should’ve never been put in that position.”

“you came,” you whispered. “that’s what matters.”

he leaned in and kissed your forehead softly. “you’re not a toy. you’re not a prize. you’re mine, but that’s not possession, angel. that’s protection. and i’ll protect you from anything. anyone.”

you smiled gently. ��even idiots in coffee shops?”

he smirked, but only a little. “especially them.” then his voice dropped a little lower, laced with something darker. “if i ever hear someone speak about you like that again, i won’t just walk out.”

and for a moment, the car felt like it belonged to something dangerous, something terrifying. but completely yours.

#lads sylus #sylus #sylus x non mc #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus comfort #lads x reader #lads x you #lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x non!mc reader

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sincerelyneo · 4 months ago

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i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to fuck you | l.mk

“you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of”

📀now playing: i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you by black kids

❯ summary: Asking your best friend to take your virginity because you have a crush on someone else and want experience is totally normal, right? Mark doesn’t think so. If he’s taking your virginity, it’s not for practice—it’s for him. He’s nobody’s wingman—especially not when it comes to you.

❯ pairings: mark x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, friends to lovers

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, corruption kink, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, hand jobs, praising, body worship, protected sex, back scratching, brief possessiveness, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, love confessions, just fluffy smut because it’s what i do best lol.

Mark swears he’s a good listener. Considering he’s been friends with Zhong Chenle for years, the world’s most dedicated yapper, he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to be a good listener. But Mark almost does a double take when he hears the words ‘my virginity’ and ‘you’ come out of your mouth.

His best friend. With the biggest, prettiest, most innocent eyes and sweet little mouth that could barely stammer through conversations about flirting—asking him about sex. No. Not just asking. Wanting him.

After nearly choking on his own spit, Mark tries to regain his composure—but fails miserably. Especially when your cheeks flush, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a crime. No, worse. It’s sin in human form. You’re sin in human form. Looking this cute, blushing like a maniac, like you didn’t just drop that question on him.

“You want me to take your virginity, Y/N?”

You cringe the second he repeats your question back to you. It sounded a lot better in your head—practical, reasonable, totally fine. But now, with his brows furrowed and that ‘are you insane?’ look on his face, you’re starting to think maybe you are insane.

But when you came up with this plan last night, none of that crossed your mind. All you knew was that Mark never says no to you. Ever. Not when you asked him to be your first kiss in middle school. Not when you made him take you to your first frat party. Not even when you guilt-tripped him into helping with your dissertation.

"Look, forget it—" you say, pushing to your feet, desperate to escape your shared living room that suddenly feels way too hot under Mark’s stare. "I totally crossed a line by asking. I’m sure I can find someone on Tinder—"

"No."

You blink. "No?"

Mark wants to curse himself for the hasty reply, but who could blame him? There’s just no way he’s letting you swipe right on some douche bag looking for a quick fuck—some guy who’ll take you to a lousy bar, probably make you pay for your own drinks, and then expect to take your virginity like it’s nothing.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not happening.

Not when you just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“What I meant to say was,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t you want to lose your virginity to someone you trust—someone you love?”

You nod without hesitation. “That’s why I asked you. There’s not a single man I trust more than you. And I love you—platonically, yeah, but it’s still love.”

Platonic.

If Mark could rip that word out of the dictionary, set it on fire, and launch the ashes into space, he would. Anything to stop you from thinking whatever he feels towards you is platonic. Was it platonic when he kissed you when you were eleven? No. Was it platonic when he drove ten miles just for your favourite snack on your birthday? No. Was it platonic when he worked on your final thesis at the same time as his own? No.

And if he’s going to be the first one to have you, it sure as hell won’t be platonic. That’s for damn sure.

His eyes squeeze shut as he sits forward, clammy hands rubbing up and down his jeans. "Okay, so you want me, your best friend, to take your virginity? Why?"

You chew your lip. This was the part of the scenario that kept you up at night—explaining why. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone you want them to take your virginity just so you can be ready for someone else? There’s no handbook, no online forum, for this kind of thing.

So you settle for:

“It’s stupid. A dumb reason. Don’t even worry about it. Will you do it or not?”

Mark gives you a knowing look, exactly like you knew he would. He’s one of those perspective fuckers, especially when it comes to you. Normally, you love it. Right now, not so much.

“Y/N,” he draws out your name, “What happened to me being one of the most trusted men you know? Tell me.”

You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. After all, it’s just Mark. Sweet, kind, nonjudgmental, Mark.

“I have a crush on my co-worker, Xiaojun,” you blurt out. Mark just blinks, completely still, like he’s trying to process. You, on the other hand, keep rambling. “And there’s rumours that he’s amazing in bed, and he asked me out for drinks this Friday, and I just feel really…unprepared.”

Mark feels his blood pressure spike—because fuck your co-worker, fuck those rumours and fuck that little date your planning to gone on this Friday night. Look, he’s not a prude or anything. Mark knows people fuck on a first date—but not you. At least not you with some asshole making you think you need to be prepared for him.

"If that asshole makes you feel less than just because you're a virgin, Y/N, he’s not worth your time."

You narrow your eyes. "I don’t think your opinion holds any weight here, considering you don’t think any guy is worth my time."

Mark relaxes slightly and smiles at that—because it’s true. No man deserves to talk to you, touch you, kiss you—no one but him.

“Besides,” you perk up again, trying to sound more confident. “This isn’t about what Xiaojun or any other guy thinks. This is about me… being comfortable having sex with someone that isn’t myself.” You chew your lower lip. “I want to be comfortable having sex with other men.”

Mark almost growls, a caveman-like urge pounding in his chest at the thought of you wanting to be comfortable with other men. He’s changed his mind. He’d take the word platonic any day over hearing other men leave your mouth.

“Let me get this straight—you want me to teach you how to fuck, to please other men?”

Your cheeks flush, not just because the idea sounds so ridiculous when he puts it like that, but because it’s the first time you've ever heard him talk like that. Mark is always so careful, so delicate with you, keeping his foul mouth and sex life locked away. But hearing the phrase "how to fuck" leave his mouth in that deep, husky drawl, sends a pulse right through you, straight to your clit.

You chew your lip again, hesitating. “I don’t know… I just wanna be good... at it… at sex.”

Mark’s head tilts back as he stares at the ceiling, a string of mumbled curses slipping out before his Adam’s apple starts bobbing against his throat. He pauses to think—and so do you. You can’t figure out why he’s interrogating you like this. The proposition is a lot, yes, but if you’d crossed a line and made him uncomfortable, he could’ve just said so, you wouldn’t have taken it personally. There’s no reason for him to poke and prod like this.

Just as you're about to squash this whole thing, Mark speaks again. He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, his brows furrowed like he's still deep in thought, but his eyes, dark and blown wide, pin you in place.

"I'll teach you, Y/N," he says, standing up slowly. "I'll fuck you if that's what you want and if that’s what you're asking me for," he continues, moving closer until he's right in your personal space. "But I won't fuck you just to get you ready for someone else."

"Mark—"

"No, Y/N, I’m talking," he cuts you off, his long, tantalizing finger tracing from your cheek down to your neck before he whispers, "I don’t mind teaching you how to be good at sex with me, angel, but I’m sure as fuck not teaching you how to be good at it for someone else. If I finally get to fuck you, I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me."

Your mouth parts in a soft gasp, just from his words and that innocent touch alone. Mark’s eyes track the movement, and his irises darken with something you can’t quite name—want, lust, need... you don’t know. All you know is that it’s fucking hot, and it almost makes you miss what he just said.

"Finally?" you breathe out.

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, and a low, silky laugh slips from him. "Don't pretend like you don't know I want you." His finger slides to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too fucking smart to be playing dumb with me, Y/N. You know you could have me on my knees if you just asked. I’d do anything if you just asked.”

You always knew you had Mark wrapped around your little finger, but you never realized it was because he wanted you the same way you’ve wanted him. Yes, you’d only asked him to help you with this plan because you know he struggles to say no to you; but a small, twisted part of you wanted Mark to be the one to take your virginity. Because he’s him—hot, lean, experienced, sweet, loyal Mark. Your Mark.

It’s all too much. His breath is too warm on your skin, his words too heated, his proximity too hot—he’s too hot. You whimper, and you watch as his pupils soften in response.

“Y/N,” he says softly now. “I need you to use your words to tell me what you want. If you don’t want to do this anymore—because, to me, it’s more than just practice—that’s fine. But if we do... this, us, it becomes real.”

Your mind goes fuzzy. Words? He thinks you have words after just confessing that this—that you—are something he wants? Almost like he senses your hesitation, he nuzzles deeper into your neck, his lips feather-light, dusting over your skin in a way that sets your nerves alight. It’s erotic, it’s intimate, it’s so damn sexy.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His voice is soft, breath scorching against your skin, thumb grazing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing you. “I’ve imagined you—craved you—for years. If you want me to take your virginity, I’ll do it. Happily. But I’ll be your first and your last—not Xiaojun.”

The mention of your coworker feels irrelevant now—a distant, meaningless fantasy compared to this. The stupid office daydream you’d clung to seems laughable because the man you thought only saw you as a friend is standing right here, offering himself to you. Completely. Utterly asking to be yours. And who are you to deny him?

“I want this—”

Mark doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t let you finish your sentence—because he’s wasted too much damn time already. Too much time waiting, hoping, aching to hear you want him. Not just need him for something, but actually want him. Crave him. Desire him.

He has to kiss you. Now.

It starts slow, soft, and sweet. Both your mouths take their time exploring one another as his hand tenderly cups your face, holding you to him. But in no time at all, the heat builds, kisses stretching longer, deeper, until it’s not enough for him. Not nearly enough for you. A hum of approval slips from you the moment his tongue grazes yours, and he takes it as permission, sweeping in and taking control.

“I have fucking dreamed about this,” he pants against your lips. “About kissing you. About touching you. Tell me to stop if it’s too much, Y/N.”

Stop? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks you want to stop. You shake your head against his lips, legs winding around his, and he takes the hint without hesitation. His hands find your waist, lifting you with ease until you’re resting around his hips. His eyes are fully dark now, black, and locked onto you. They never waver as he carries you both to his bedroom.

Mark lays you down carefully, like you’d break if he was any rougher, but his gaze tells a different story—intense, burning, desperate. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and he just stares, eyes roaming every inch of you like he’s savouring the moment before he ruins you completely.

You’ve never been this intimate with a man before. Sure, you’re no stranger to your own fingers, to vibrators, and okay—maybe you don’t mind the occasional steamy make out session at a party. But this? In his room, under his stare, is different. You’re not even naked yet, and somehow, you already feel so bare, so exposed.

“I want to take my time with you, Y/N,” Mark murmurs, as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying flat, his body hovering over yours. “I want to savour every inch of this pretty little body of yours... and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding at the same time, and Mark smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips.

His hands slide up your legs, gliding over the fabric of your sweatpants, until they reach the hem. His eyes search yours, silently asking for confirmation, and you nod, breath catching in your throat. He tugs at your pants, so slow, so deliberate, and when they finally slip off, he lets out a low, groggy "fuck" at the sight of the pink lacy panties you’d chosen for this—for him.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, heat creeping up your chest.

"Knew I'd say yes, huh?" Mark coos, his hand tracing the band of your panties as he looks over your body, studying it because it's the first time he’s seeing you like this. Displayed for him.

You blush, squirming beneath him, overwhelmed by how new, how unfamiliar this all feels. Mark senses your discomfort and smiles softly.

"Don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl," he murmurs, "I’m losing my shit knowing you wore this with me."

His hands graze over your hip bone, fingers brushing gently, soothing as they explore the small hint of flesh you're revealing to him. The softness of his touch, of him, makes you ease up just a little.

“I wore the matching bra too,” you say on an exhaled breath.

Mark groans, his eyes closing as he takes in a slow, intentional breath of his own, nostrils flaring slightly. “Did you? Can I see, baby? Please?”

You nod, and those exploring hands of his glide up your stomach, fingers brush over your skin as he tugs the tight fabric of your tank top over your head. When it falls away, you're left in nothing but the matching set. The pink bralette, almost see-through, giving him a clear, vivid view of your pebbled nipples.

"So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice strained, almost painfully. "Can you take it off for me?"

You smile, teasing, as your hands find the clasp at the back. "After I went through all this effort to put it on for you?"

He shakes his head with a small scoff of laughter, the sound easing your nerves a bit. That familiar banter, the playful back-and-forth, reminds you why you asked him—why you wanted him to do this in the first place. You trust him.

“Is this the part where I learn that you’re a fucking brat?” he mutters, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“I can be, if you want me to be.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, predatory—and he leans in closer, his tone dropping an octave. “Take the bra off. Now, Y/N.”

And you do, the flimsy fabric slipping from your breasts and meeting the same fate as your sweats and tank. You feel so exposed, which is ridiculous considering how little modesty the bralette was offering in the first place. Still, your hands instinctively cross over your chest.

"Hey, don’t," Mark murmurs, his hand gently reaching up to move yours, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles around your wrist to reassure you. "You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, Y/N. If you want to stop—”

"No," you interrupt. "I mean, please... I want this... I want you, Mark. I’m just nervous."

His eyes soften at your words, and he licks his lips. "Can I touch you?"

You nod, and his hands steadily, gently travel up and down your stomach, hovering around your sternum before they rest beneath your breasts. You suck in a breath as his touch lingers. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, and again, you nod.

Mark’s hands gently cup your chest, the softness and weight of your tits filling his palms. The pad of his thumb teases over one of your nipples (pretty peaked nipples that are practically begging for his mouth) in a steady rhythm that has you arching into him. He continues, flicking over the sensitive bud until he elicits the reaction he wants: quiet, breathless whimpers and tiny darling moans from your mouth.

“You’re so damn perfect, Y/N,” he mutters, his eyes glued to your body as he tests his touches, watching in awe as your eyes flutter, roll, or widen. “So damn perfect for me.”

You moan, and his head dips to the valley between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to trail a slow, heated path up your skin. His mouth, warm and wet, captures your pebbled nipple, sucking and licking with a hunger that makes your body shiver. It’s then that you remember why Mark is perfect for this—he’s experienced.

“Pretty fucking tits,” he groans, “I’ll fuck these one day. Promise.”

He focuses entirely on your nipples, squeezing your breasts, and you swear you're already on the verge of coming undone for him, writhing beneath him. Terrified it’ll end too soon, your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him away from your chest to capture his lips in a desperate kiss.

His chest hovers over you, so close to you, but still hidden beneath layers of fabric. His jeans, too tight, too impeding. You want to feel him—skin to skin. It’s not fair. You’re lying here in nothing but your underwear, exposed and vulnerable, while he’s still fully dressed—his clothes a frustrating barrier that keeps you from feeling him the way you need to. You can’t stand it anymore.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to rip it off and close the damn distance. "Mark," you breathe. "Take it off. Please."

“You want it off, huh?” He teases.

You’re beyond patience now, body aching for him. “Yes. I do.”

Mark’s eyes darken at the desperation in your voice. He sits up slightly, pulling away from you just enough to shed his shirt, the fabric tugging over his head and revealing the toned muscles of his chest. You can’t help but watch, your eyes glued to the way his hands move, but he’s taking his damn time. Frustrated, you reach for his belt, but he stops you, his hand brushing yours as he undoes it himself. The sound of it unbuckling makes your breath hitch.

Finally, his jeans slip down, revealing the taut curve of his thighs before he kicks them aside, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His bulge is prominent, straining against the tight material, and you swear you can’t take it any longer.

But before you can pounce, before you can touch him and feel him the way you want to, he’s hovering back over you, his body pinning you down, forcing your back flat against the bed.

“So eager, pretty girl,” he muses with a teasing smirk. “But you asked me to teach you, didn’t you? I’m in charge.”

He’s so controlled, so assertive, it sends a flood of need coursing through your body. His hands are back on you, gliding over your now fully exposed body. Well, not entirely exposed—his fingers toy at the edge of your panties, tracing, testing, taunting, as if waiting for your permission. And you’d give him it immediately, only he wants to ride this out, prolong it.

His fingers move to dip just beneath the fabric, but then he stops.

“I know you said you wanted to be good at this, Y/N,” he hums. “But I want to be good for you. Tell me what you like. Tell me how to touch this pretty pussy.”

Heat floods your cheeks and pools between your legs. From the way Mark smiles, and the fact that he’s cupping you through your underwear, you know he can feel it too.

“I-um—”

“I already told you to stop being shy with me, Y/N,” he says. “Don’t think I overlooked that comment about you getting yourself off. You wanna learn, so do I. Let me be a good boy for you.”

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the seriousness. He wants to know what makes you tick, what works for you, what gets you off—wants to be the one to do it. His breath hitches as he studies you, chest contracting with focus.

“I-I start with my clit,” you instruct, and his fingers follow suit, finally dipping under the fabric he’s been teasing for the last ten minutes right to the spot. You want to feel embarrassed telling him all the dirty ways you play with yourself, but you can’t. He won’t let you feel that way, because, like you said, he’s him—sweet, loyal Mark.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Aching for me, aren’t you, baby?” You nod pathetically. “Then tell me, what do you do to your clit? Teach me.”

“I like small circles,” you whisper, your breath shaky.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice low as he carefully follows your instructions. It’s almost too careful. Too slow. You need more—so much more.

“Faster, Mark.”

His fingers speed up, the circles on your clit growing faster, the pressure he applies intensifies with each stroke. You moan, squirming beneath him, your hips shifting in desperate need for more—more of him.

"Can I try a finger, baby?" he asks, and you nod, wanting everything he has to give right now.

Mark shifts his gaze from your face down to where his hands are stuffed inside your panties. He watches as he trails his index finger up and down your slit slowly until it’s circling around your entrance before finally easing it inside. You gasp, feeling the initial stretch, and his eyes lock back onto yours, waiting for the sting to fade and the lust to take its place again. Once it does, he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out, in and out, faster and faster until your breaths come heavier.

“Mark,” you gasp on a moan, a thrill coursing through you as he picks up the pace.

Mark adds his thumb back to your clit, the combination of his fingers easing in and out of your drenched pussy and the attention to your sensitive nerves send waves of pleasure crashing over you. Because cumming has never felt like this—so close, so quick, so desperately needed. Mark must sense your closeness too because his lips quirk, devilish and taunting.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, but it’s clearly not a question. The cocky bastard knows you are. “Or should I say finger? Think you could handle two?”

Your mind is incoherent from the pleasure, the foreign stretch of his fingers. Any thoughts you have dissolve into a haze of need, only capable of a frantic nodding at him because you want more, need more, need to cum. He eases in his middle finger, both digits slowing down as you adjust to him. Then, the world around you blurs; all that matters is the rhythm of his fingers and the growing knot forming in your stomach as his pace picks up. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel the waves of your orgasms building, until it finally, deliciously, crashes over you.

Your vision blurs, and sounds you didn't even know you could make slip from your lips. All you can hear is Mark's incoherent, muffled praise—telling you how pretty, how perfect, how good you are for him.

When you come down from your high, he’s watching you intently, his hand running through your hair as you refocus back on him with hazy eyes. You’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, and as you notice the strained bulge in his pants, a surge of eagerness wells up in you. You want to return the favour, to please him, to learn how to be good the way you asked him to twach you.

You reach for his boxers, fingers trembling as you strip them off, revealing the thick hard length of him. Your breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and needy and desperate. Mark looks down at you with his own haze-induced eyes.

“Please, Y/N.”

The heat radiating from him ignites a fire within you. You take a moment to admire the way he looks at you—hungry, eager. With a newfound confidence, you lean closer, your lips brushing against his skin, ready to give him the pleasure he’s so generously given you. You press soft, delicate kisses to his abdomen, watching as his stomach flexes in response.

You know you probably should suck his cock right now; that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Mark’s fingers clamp around your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to, not yet, not ever if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But you can touch it. Touch me, Y/N, please.”

That feels more like your speed, so you wrap a firm hand around his cock, giving it a slow, steady long tug. Mark's head rolls back from where he sits on the bed. Your hands tremble with nerves, this is all so new to you, and you desperately want to please him. But before you can overthink it, Mark’s words soothe your insecurities.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “Just like that... so fucking good, Y/N.”

He's like a fucking mind reader, because that one comment, that small ounce of reassurance, has you stroking him faster. Your hand moves in a messy rhythm, feeling the weight of his cock in your palm.

As you continue to stroke him, you start to experiment with different techniques, trying out gentler touches and firmer grips. Mark's reactions are your guide, and you watch as his face contorts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut as he lets out low groans. He sounds so sexy, you like it, you want more of him like this.

You feel a sense of power, knowing that you're the one bringing him to the edge. Your strokes become more insistent, your hand moving faster as Mark's breathing quickens. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hand, the veins standing out as he gets closer. Mark's body tenses, his muscles straining and that’s when suddenly, his eyes snap open.

“You gotta stop, Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and husky as he pulls your hands off his length. For a moment, you almost feel scorned, but then he adds, “I want to last until I’m at least inside of you...”

You both laugh, Mark's eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles, and you feel a flutter in your chest. He gently lies you back on his bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it underneath your hips. As he fumbles with his nightstand, he rips open a condom and slides it along his cock. You can't help but watch, mesmerized by the sight. It’s oddly sexy. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching upwards as if seeking him out.

As Mark positions himself between your legs, his head dips down to kiss you. It’s sweet, like the first time, and you think you could get used to them—you want to get used to them. The feeling of his lips on yours, on your cheek, the top of your head.

When your lips finally break apart, he holds eye contact with you, aligning himself with your pussy. He teases you, brushing against your folds, occasionally grazing your clit—his eyes watching your reaction, a smirk on his lips. Sensitive, he notes. And he has to note because there will be a time for more, a time where he’ll make you work for it. But today isn’t that day. Today is about you and him—together.

“Tap my arm if it’s too much. If you want to stop—”

“Mark,” it’s your turn to be stern now. “Please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, liking this side of you—the impatience, the newfound dirty mouth of yours. Something else to note for next time, he thinks.

Rubbing himself up and down your slit for a final time, Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance, hips shifting forward to slowly push into you. His nostrils flare, and his teeth clench because he has to be careful, he has to be in control. He cannot—he will not—hurt you any more than he has to.

So, slowly. Torturously slowly. Mark eases into you, inch by tantalizing inch, until his tip coaxes past the small ring of resistance. You’re so tight—so impossibly tight—that he almost regrets letting you jerk him off before hand, because he’s already teetering on the edge of cumming from merely the first few inches. He’s waited far too long for this moment; the last thing he wants is to blow his load before he’s even begun to move.

He shifts his focus from his own pleasure to your face, keenly observing for any signs of discomfort. When he catches the slight scrunch of your nose, he leans down to kiss you, wanting to distract you from the sting of you stretching around his cock for the first time.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You were made for me.”

He feels your body relax into the mattress at the praise and your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer. It’s a silent invitation, a clear signal that you’re okay with more—that you need more.

His hips finally press flush against yours, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him, all of him. Your fingers dust up and down his spine as you get used to this, how full you feel, how complete.

“Move, Mark,” you whisper barely above a whisper. “Please.”

And he does. He rolls his hips, pulling out of you completely before sinking back in, slow and sensual. You moan—right into his ear, because he’s buried in your neck—and he nearly loses the last thread of control he’s holding onto. Mark quickens his pace, keeping his body flush against yours—like he needs to be as close as possible. Needs to consume you the same way you’ve consumed him for years.

“Yes, Mark,” you cry, your nails raking down his back, scratching, digging, marking into his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”

He reaches for your hand, prying it from his back to lace his fingers with yours, pinning them to the mattress. It’s gentle, it’s sweet—it’s so Mark. He fucks you slowly, his hands holding yours as he kisses you. Intimate, tender, and so fucking hot.

You tighten around him, and the squeeze makes something flicker in Mark’s eyes—something determined, something feral.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, yes—please,” he groans. “Cum around my cock, pretty girl. I need it. I want it.”

Hearing him just as desperate, just as needy as you, sends you over the edge. Your lip trembles, your lashes flutter, and then—your second orgasm takes over you, ripping a scream of his name from your throat.

It’s the prettiest thing Mark’s ever seen, ever heard—the best thing he’s ever felt. And he swears this moment will be etched into his memory until the day he dies. He holds you close to his chest as you ride your high, feeling every desperate breath you take, swallowing every moan with wet open mouth kisses. And when he senses you’ve finally come down, he chases his own orgasm—greedy for it, for you.

He becomes ravenous for his own release, his hips pistoning faster, harder, as he drives deeper into you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest contracting as his fingertips anchor your hips in place. With every thrust his cock throbs with an almost unbearable intensity until he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with pleasure.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers your name, over and over again, like a mantra and he spills inside of the condom.

The room fills with a silence, punctuated only by the sound of your mingled breaths as he comes down. Your hands are still entwined, hearts still racing, and you both can’t do anything but look at each other. Eventually, Mark leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away. He eases out of you, removes the condom, and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

You watch him as he moves, and when he turns back to you—his gaze a mix of awe and satisfaction—you can’t help but smile.

“You know when I said I loved you platonically?” you ask, and his brows knit together. He looks like he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack, so you quickly put him at ease. “I lied. I actually just love you.”

Relief washes over his face before it melts into a smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because, I love you too. Always have.”

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #mark lee x reader #nct scenarios #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct oneshot

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seumyo · 7 months ago

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a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,” you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

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rosemaryhoney27 · 24 days ago

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MisDialed Hearts

inspired by this Prompt

Link

Tim Drake was cornered—again.

It had been one of those evenings, the kind that made Tim question every life decision that led him to being a CEO and a vigilante. Another gala. Another crowd of sharks in designer suits. Another round of well-meaning Gotham socialites asking about his dating life with a glint in their eyes like they were just waiting to pounce.

He needed out.

That’s when it happened. His phone buzzed with an unknown number. An escape hatch from the universe. A gift from the chaotic gods of Gotham.

Without hesitating, Tim pressed Answer and raised the phone to his ear like it was a lifeline.

“Hey, babe,” he said smoothly, walking briskly toward the exit, waving apologetically to the board members mid-sentence. “You’re calling now? I told you I was gonna be late—don't be mad. I'm on my way.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then a confused voice said, “Uh. I think I called the wrong number...?”

Tim’s eyes lit up. Jackpot.

“I’ll be there in just a moment to pick you up,” he replied warmly, as if this was a normal thing, as if he hadn’t just started weaving a lie that would need more patching than a Gotham street after Scarecrow blew up half the block.

“Wha–?! Wait—what do you mea—”

Click. Tim hung up with a satisfied smile. He could already feel Babs and Dick squinting suspiciously at him from across the ballroom, probably comparing this situation to “that time Tim faked an uncle for six months.”

He needed someone real to make this lie work. Even if it started with a wrong number.

And he had the number.

— Meanwhile…

Danny Fenton blinked at his phone. He was sitting cross-legged on his twin bed in his Gotham University dorm, textbooks open in front of him, a microwaved quesadilla cooling by his side.

He'd been trying to call his physics lab partner, but either she changed her number or—

Or some random dude just answered way too comfortably and now might be on his way to pick him up. For a date.

“…Gotham,” Danny muttered, flopping backwards and groaning into his pillow. “I’m too tired for this.”

He considered texting the guy back, but he’d barely locked his phone when a black car pulled up in front of his dorm building.

A tall figure stepped out. a sinfully attractive man in a sleek black suit, tossing his keys to a valet who wasn’t even there five seconds ago, like Gotham just conjured them from the shadows.

Tim Drake.

“Are you Danny?” he asked, walking toward him with a smile that said, just go with it, please, but in the most polite, billionaire way possible.

Danny blinked. “Yeah…?”

Tim opened the car door. “Perfect. Sorry I’m late.”

“…okay.” Danny got in. He was too tired to fight this. Also? Tim smelled like expensive cologne and decisions that made bad ideas sound good.

“Just so you know,” Danny said as they pulled into traffic, “I have no idea what’s going on.”

Tim gave him a sideways glance, smirk playing on his lips. “You called me. I just answered.”

“You said you were picking me up for a date.”

“And I’m a man of my word.”

Danny stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you always like this?”

“Only when I’m being watched.”

Danny glanced behind them. Yep. That was definitely Nightwing in a very poorly concealed civilian outfit tailing their car. Robin was flying overhead. Batgirl’s silhouette was just visible on a rooftop.

“Oh my god,” Danny muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You dragged me into a Bat thing, didn’t you?”

Tim gave him an innocent look. “Do you want dinner? I know a place.”

Danny stared at him for another beat, then leaned back in the seat with a sigh.

“You know what? Fine. You’re hot, I’m tired, and I skipped lunch. Let’s go.”

Tim smirked again. “Excellent. Just don’t be surprised if someone tries to kill us. It’s Gotham, after all.”

Danny groaned. “That’s fine. I’m half-dead anyway.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Wait—what?”

Danny smirked this time. “You faked a boyfriend. I fake being alive sometimes. Let’s call it even.”

Tim laughed. “Oh, I like you.”

“I’m still charging you for gas money,” Danny deadpanned.

"But I'm the one driving"

"So."

They were a disaster already. Gotham might never recover.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #timothy drake wayne #dead tired #Tim is a little shit #Danny is tired #Danny casually mentioning that he's dead #No one believes him

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theglassofmiddleearth · 7 days ago

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Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 8)

HERE IS PART 8! Sorry I've been working on more music projects! (LMK If u wanna hear my cover of no seperation from heavens official blessing) THIS IS THE FAN SIGNING OF HUNTR/X AND SAJA BOYS! (PSA my tag list is full sorry guys! please enjoy sorry I'm late!

Previous - Next

‘Alright boys, let's settle down.’ Jinu said, crossing his arms and walking towards the group.

‘Hm.’ The boys relented, easing their slightly intimidating stances.

‘So, the hunters are having a fan signing in two days hm?’ Beom narrowed his eyes, moving to his favourite spot on the couch, crossing his legs. Huh, kinda like a cat claiming its territory.

‘How long do those usually take?’ Rae took his place in Y/N’s gaming chair, turning to face where Y/N was standing in the kitchen.

‘Maybe half a day?’ Y/N supplied, still looking somewhat confused. She wasn’t entirely sure of what had just conspired around her.

‘I see.’ Min sat down to her left, resting his elbow on the marble countertop, his tone light.

‘Why?’ Y/N turned, looking at the oldest man who was running his fingers through his hair.

‘Might wanna pay you a visit is all.’ Min’s eyes glinted with mischievousness, his smirk saying everything she needed to hear.

‘You can’t kill them.’ Y/N poked Min’s cheek, drawn by his smooth, unblemished skin. She shook her head, moving toward her PC to turn it off.

To Min’s credit, he only turned a light shade of pink, as he brought his hand down to hover over the spot the girl had touched. His purple hair falling back into place as he savoured Y/N’s touch.

‘But you’re saying we can visit?’ Beom gave a devious smile, lifting his eyes from his phone momentarily.

‘You don’t even have the tickets to go to the fan signing.’ Y/N laughed, spinning around as her computer monitor turned black, standing to walk back to the kitchen.

‘Hm, I think you forget what we’re capable of.’ Beom’s eyes flashed a golden colour, before turning back into his humanesque eyes.

‘That's true… I hear one of the body guard’s likes handsome men.’ Y/N looked amused, staring at Beom’s steadily reddening face.

‘NO, I MEANT HYPNOSIS.’

‘Ohh.’ Y/N chuckled, hiding her laughter behind her hand. ‘Yes of course Beom-ie. The hypnosis!’

‘How come Beom gets a nickname?’ Abel grunted, still standing behind Y/N.

‘Why are you still behind me?’ Y/N blinked, shifting her neck to glance at Abel.

‘Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darlin’.’ He crossed his arms, eyes glinting with unspoken desire, moving to sit down on one of the counter chairs.

Y/N gave a confused look, as Jinu set down a bowl of soup in front of her with a clink. The soup’s scent wafted toward her, hearty, warm and inviting.

‘Jinu, if you do this for me everyday I might as well make you my wife for real.’ Y/N let a breath of content out, picking up her spoon and digging in. A peaceful smile spread over her lips, letting the soothing broth slide down her throat.

‘Are you proposing?’ Rae chuckled. ‘You know that marrying Jinu would mean marrying all of us too?’

‘That is true. We’re a package deal.’ Jinu gave a forlorn smile, before looking at his friends with the same soft smile.

‘Huh, having five pretty husbands is better than one!’ Y/N joked, completely missing the flash of hope, resonating off of the men’s faces.

‘Hmm, I won’t let you forget this.’ Jinu whispered, watching as Y/N brushed her thumb finger over her lips.

‘Hmm? Did’ya say something?’ Y/N asked, standing to get herself another bowl of soup.

‘The rice is ready. Have a bowl of that and soup, then you have to go to bed. You’ve been awake for too long.’ The black haired man replied, without missing a beat.

‘Mmh, what are you, my mother?’ Y/N whined, as her bowl was taken gently from her hands by Abel, who was now scooping rice into it.

‘No, we’re your wives, remember?’ Min said, his head laying to rest on his arm.

‘And such pretty wives you’ll make!’ Y/N nodded, thanking Abel with a nod, as the muscular man gently set down her last bowl of food.

The room began to blur, as Y/N continued to pick up her spoon. Listening to the men chatter around her, slowly becoming a lullaby. Dozing off was inevitable, seeing as she had definitely overworked herself

‘Shh, look, she’s nodded off again.’ A voice whispered, soft and teasing.

‘Y/N does realise we’re men right? Even worse, we’re demons. Does she have no care for her own safety.’ Beom sighed, walking toward the girl who had fallen asleep.

The youngest man bent his knees, sliding his arm under Y/N’s legs, putting an arm under her back. He gently slid the girl from her sleeping position, bringing Y/N to the ensuite in her room.

Y/N had two toothbrushes for some reason, an electric one and a regular one. Beom opted for the electric one, seeing as it would be easier to brush Y/N’s teeth that way. He chuckled at the cartoon stickers on the toothbrush.

‘Come on open up.’ Beom muttered, wetting Y/N’s toothbrush, applying a mint toothpaste.

Beom gently pulled Y/N’s jaw down, turning the electric toothbrush on to the lowest setting, brushing over Y/N’s teeth gently.

‘Okay Y/N-ie. Time to rinse.’ He whispered, ‘Spit it out.’

Y/N gargled the water weakly, before spitting it out back into the sink.

‘That’s my girl.’ Beom smiled, picking Y/N back up, walking out of the bathroom.

Laying Y/N on her bed, Beom took notice of another presence in her room.

‘Don’t forget to wipe her face.’ Min walked forward with a warm towel.

‘Thanks Min 형.’ Beom held his hands out, as the oldest man placed the warm town into his grasp.

‘It’s nice to see you taking care of someone else now, for a change Beom-ie.’ Min gave a subtle smile, patting the youngest on the head.

Centuries ago, when they took in Beom. They had found him, hollow and void of emotion in the underworld. It genuinely was heartwarming to see that Beom had developed his own sense of compassion. Gwi-ma had made it almost impossible to have any emotions other than shame and anger.

The underworld was his pen of cattle, ready for disposal at any moment. His demons no more than play things for him to pass the time as the Honmoon drew closer and closer to being closed.

And yet, there was something these five boys had since long lost.

Hope

Hope in the form of a girl, who had freed Abel and Beom.

Hope that ignited a spark in them that had been extinguished for centuries.

‘Urgh.. I’m still hungry,’ Y/N whined, in a half asleep state, opening her eyes slightly to spot the purple haired man.

‘You can eat tomorrow morning. No one’s taking your food. Come on now, it’s time to sleep.’ Min hushed the girl, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s face.

‘Thanks for taking care of me Beom. You too Min.’ Y/N brought her hand up to touch Min’s hand, for a brief second. ‘Min, you have such pretty eyes.’

A flash of white blue and gold. Just like the one Beom and Abel had experience. A ripple of iridescent colour echoed through Min’s patterns as Y/N’s hand fell limply to her side.

‘Wha-’

‘Shh!’ Beom hushed the older man, quickly putting a hand over his mouth.

‘Wah wash dat.’ Min mumbled, gently peeling Beom’s hands off his mouth, staring incredulously at the now lightly snoring girl.

‘That was what caused Gwi-ma to think we were dead.’ Beom looked at Y/N, heaving a sigh. ‘Me and Abel also felt the same spark. Although, we aren’t sure what causes it.’

‘But how could she just-’

‘She also doesn't know. Y/N said that it could be something to do with the fact that she was meant to be a hunter.’

‘Meant to be?’ Min looked confused.

‘Yes, meant to be. She can see the Honmoon and see the lines but apparently she can’t use spirit power to create a weapon.’ Beom explained, pushing Min out of the room with his hands. ‘She also said we had to stay quiet. Jinu wouldn’t be happy if he found out this was possible.’

‘But what if Jinu found out he could be free too? I can ignore Gwi-ma but he's actually just not in my head anymore. He’s completely gone!’ Min whispered excitedly, looking as if he had been healed from a century long headache.

Beom paused, contemplating his response.

‘But you heard him, he said Y/N was just a means to an end.’

‘Right…’

‘Is she asleep?’ The mentioned man piped up, startling Beom and Min as they eased the bedroom door shut.

‘Yeah, she’s down for the night.’ Beom recovered quickly, smoothing out his handsome face from its momentary, anxious display.

‘That's good.’ Jinu nodded, before slinging his arm around Beom. ‘I grabbed a bowl of soup for you. You better drink every drop of it.’

‘Did you-’

‘I put extra salt in it just how you like it.’ Jinu nodded, crossing his arms triumphantly

‘Okey I’ll eat it.’ Beom power walked over to the kitchen, forgetting about the previous situation. His mind was now focused on the bowl of soup waiting for him in the kitchen.

‘Two hundred years and he still enjoys salty food.’ Min shook his head, looking amused.

‘Wasn’t salt used as a trading tool back in your day grandpa?’ Jinu jeered, nudging his oldest friend with his elbow teasingly.

‘Why you little.’ Min quickly twisted Jinu into a playful headlock, dragging him to the kitchen.

‘Hey, hey! I was kidding! Come on grandpa, it’s time to go back to the retirement home!’ Jinu continued, as Min released him.

‘You brat.’ Min gave a soft snort, shaking his head.

–

The fan signing came, Y/N had spent the morning pleading to the men to leave the Hunter/x girls unharmed.

Honestly, she wasn't sure how they were going to get into the fan signing. They didn't camp out like the movie, they had spent the morning pestering Y/N, wanting her to stay home.

‘Guys, I promised to go. They're my friends.’ Y/N sighed, staring at the downcast group. They genuinely hated the idea of Y/N being anywhere near Huntr/x. Not because the girls were hunters, but because they seemed to also share an interest in what the Saja Boys had already deemed as their girl.

‘Are we not your friends?’ Min whispered, as if not wanting to know the answer.

‘What? Yes. Okay look, if I let the tiger-’

‘Derpy.’ Jinu cut in, looking hopeful.

‘Okay, if I let Derpy come with me, will you guys stop pouting.’ Y/N said, trying to fight a smile, watching five handsome men speak in hushed whispers. Deciding amongst each other of this was good enough for them.

‘Okay. But can we come if we don't kill Hunter/x?’ Rae asked, his dark lavender eyes were wide, pleading.

‘HAH. If you can somehow get in, sure! You underestimate their staff.’ Y/N turned around, walking towards her front door to pull on her shoes. Derp had since appeared out of a portal, striding over to Y/N, rumbling a question for pets. One that Y/N happily gave, giving Derpy scritches under his chin.

Five pairs of eyes, flashed bright yellow for a second from behind Y/N, all filled with a touch of deviousness.

‘I’m heading out now!’ Y/N called out, blissfully unaware of the challenge that she had unknowingly issued. ‘Come on sweetheart, we’re gonna go meet my friends!’

‘Oh, we are so crashing that stupid fansign.’ Beom smirked, watching Y/N wave as the elevator doors closed.

–

‘Alright, team! I know everything is Saja, Saja, Saja. But we’re gonna turn it, Huntr/x, Huntr/x, Huntr/x!’ Bobby cheered, the three girls stretched as Y/N walked into the room.

‘Y/N/N!’ The girls chorused, standing up from their table.

‘Hey girls! I’m here!’ Y/N walked over, letting herself be enveloped in a group hug. ‘Hey Bobby! Hope you’re doing well!’

‘I’m doing good! Glad to see you’re up and awake!’ Bobby replied, before looking around, checking if anything else needed organising.

‘We’re so glad you’re here! We missed you so much!’ Zoey chirped, dragging Y/N to stand behind where the girls were sitting.

‘Zoey, it’s only been like a day and a half max.’ Mira chuckled before adding, ‘No but for real, we have missed you.’

‘You’re still down to have us over after the fan sign right?’ Rumi asked, eyes round and earnest.

‘Of course! We can have dinner and then come back to mine to record!’ Y/N nodded, giving Rumi a soft pat on the head.

‘Oh my gosh, I want a headpat too!’ Zoey whined, grabbing Y/N’s other hand, placing it on top of her own head.

‘You’re so cute Zoey.’ Y/N gave a soft hearted grin, patting Zoey’s head.

‘Okay girls! These fans have been sleeping on the sidewalk all night for this! Let’s get started!’ Bobby smiled, watching the interaction.

‘Happy fans, Happy Honmoon!’ The girls whispered, clinking their pens together.

‘Alright, let's bring ‘em in!’ Bobby called out to the security, as the doors opened.

Y/N frowned as she watched five sleeping bags huddle to the front of the line. Surely it wasn’t… Wait, how did the boys show up in the movie again? Y/N put her finger to her chin, tapping it thoughtfully.

‘And who should I make this out to?’ Rumi hummed, without looking up.

‘To Y/N’s biggest fans.’ A hauntingly familiar voice said.

‘Oh no…’ Y/N slapped a hand on her forehead in disbelief as the boys dropped their sleeping bags, jumping into a quick group pose.

‘It’s the Saja Boys!’ The fans chorused, cheering excitedly.

The three Huntr/x girls let out a collective groan, snapping their pens. Y/N however, gave a menacing glare (as menacing as she could). Staring at the demon boy band. In return, the group of boys beamed at her, finding Y/N’s anger to be akin to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

‘It is an honor.’ Bobby gave a fake smile. ‘Table, now!’

‘Joint signing!’ The fans gasped, half of them moving to the other table.

‘We’d lose half the fans?’ Rumi gaped.

‘The Saja Boys will sit with us!’ Mira called out, displaying a fake, yet beautiful smile, whilst Zoey waved unenthusiastically.

‘Genius.’ Bobby smiled, tears running down his eyes.

‘Same table?’ The fans said in hushed whispers.

‘Y/N’s ours.’ Rae snickered, sitting next to Mira.

‘Y/N called me cute not even five minutes ago.’ Zoey bragged, taking a jab at Beom who was reluctantly sitting down next to her.

‘Yeah? Well she called me handsome.’ Beom spat back, crossing his arms, face twisted in a somehow still attractive scowl.

‘Hey Y/N.’ Jinu smiled, coming to sit on the chair Y/N was standing in front of. Y/N couldn’t see his face but she could practically hear the smugness dripping off his tongue.

‘Jinu…’ Y/N sighed, as Derpy rubbed his body on Y/N’s legs, having reappeared now that the Huntr/x girls were facing forward.

‘So, apparently you’re part demon.’ Jinu whispered to the girl who was glaring knives into the side of his face.

‘Yeah, and?’ Rumi snarled, signing a poster and handing it to a fan with a smile.

‘I didn’t think you’d share that with your friends.’

‘Oh, no! I love sharing.’ Rumi rolled her eyes, wanting to keep her cool in front of Y/N and her fans.

‘If only I could smash in your demon face right now.’ Mira growled at Abel, signing a poster before changing her face to one of gratitude for the fan. ‘Thanks for coming!’

‘Oh, is that so?’ Jinu snickered, leaning back to look at Y/N. ‘Y’hear that husband?’

‘Jinu! Hush!’ Y/N whined, pushing Jinu’s head back up to its natural position.

‘Are you two whispering?’ A fan asked, looking at Y/N and Jinu with a smile.

‘Uh-’ Y/N panicked, darting her eyes between Jinu and the fan.

‘Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me!’ She pointed to her shirt, a drawing of Y/N and Jinu together with a shipname.

‘Wha-’

‘Thanks so much!’ Jinu beamed, whilst Rumi fumed, scribbling her autograph onto a poster.

‘We’re not-’ Y/N protested, as the fan left, replaced by another person.

‘Did you know Y/N’s seen us shirtless before?’ Abby jeered quietly, provoking Mira.

‘Yeah? Did she run away from how ugly you are?’ Mira sneered, signing another poster, her pen almost breaking from the sheer force behind it.

‘Mm, she’s so cute isn’t she?’ Rae hummed loud enough for Y/N to hear, signing his own poster.

‘Rae, shh.’ Y/N put a finger to her lips, a heat creeping up her neck.

‘Anything for you, my dear.’ He grinned, enjoying the reaction he received.

‘Y/N will never like you more than me.’ Zoey hissed, before beaming at another fan, handing them their signed poster. ‘Thanks so much for supporting us!’

‘Yeah? Well I can be cute, but you can’t be handsome.’ Beom grinned maliciously.

‘I could so be handsome.’ Zoey said indignantly, turning to look at Y/N.

‘Y/N! Do you think I could be handsome?’

Y/N looked puzzled, not entirely sure of what was being asked of her.

‘I think you could be handsome if you want to, Zoey. Why?’ She tilted her head, blinking.

‘Nothing! Love you Y/N!’ Zoey smiled victoriously.

‘Y/N, who do you think is cuter! Me or this person.’ Beom asked, shoving Zoey discreetly.

‘Beom, come on, behave.’ Y/N walked over, smoothing down the boy’s hair quickly in an attempt to calm him down. At the same time, she placed a warm hand on Zoey’s shoulder, effectively reassuring Zoey.

Derpy gave a rumble, which seemed to be a laugh.

‘Yeah, I’m glad this is amusing to you.’ Y/N chuckled quietly, walking back to her spot behind Jinu.

‘Yeah? Well we’re going over tonight to Y/N’s apartment so beat that.’ Rumi huffed, before smiling at another fan.

‘You’re not gonna like what-’ Jinu began as Y/N put a gentle hand on his back, halting him instantly. The man stilled at Y/n’s touch, turning slightly to spot Y/N shaking her head.

‘Uh, well, she’d have more fun with us.’ Jinu restated, understanding the meaning behind Y/n’s touch. The way Y/n’s hand lingered on his back, set a small flame of comfort, flicking in his chest.

‘Well too bad.’ Rumi smiled triumphantly. ‘She’s ours.’

‘Yeah, for tonight.’ Jinu bit back, slouching slightly in defeat.

‘I don’t get a say in this do I?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, as Derpy circled figure eights against her legs.

‘Of course you do Y/N!’ Both said in unison, before glaring at each other.

‘Oh boy…’ Y/n sighed, before backing away from the two leaders, who seemed to be ready to start another argument.

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realcube · 2 months ago

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CONNECTED!

desc ;; how can two best friends be connected forever?

tws & tags ;; best friend ! atsumu, nsfw, food sharing, vaginal, degredation, praise, impact play, slight daddy kink, breeding kink & begging

it started with an innocent question..

you're sprawled out upon his bed, laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, while best friend! atsumu does the same, except he is sat with his back against the headboard, and one of his arms stretched out behind his head, drawing attention to his flexing bicep in his black MSBY t-shirt.

you've spent the majority of the day hanging out, which you rarely get to do because he's so busy with practise and his contract with the jackals. but today was like a blast from the past, as you went on a run through the neighbourhood, talked shit and played videos games for hours like you used to. now you were both tired out and waiting for your delivery from onigiri miya to arrive.

but you were feeling peckish so you had a small bag of chips with you on the bed. plucking another one from the bag, you idly took a bite, and you were about to pop the rest into your mouth until atsumu leaned forward and snatched it right out of your hand and gobbled it up himself.

you gasp in horror, " 'tsumu! gross, you realise i already bit that one?"

atsumu quirked an eyebrow, but didn't avert his gaze from his phone screen. "so?" he grumbled through a mouthful of chip.

you saw his point. the two of you have been friends for so long, since before you could even properly remember. and he's been stealing and eating your food since the very beginning — and vice versa. without a care in the world as to whether the other's saliva was on it or not. usually you're quite weary about other people's germs, but with atsumu it was different since you're so familiar with each other and you know that neither of you have any oral illnesses. so what's the big deal if you eat something that's his mouth has already been on? you've already done so hundreds of times before.

but considering the sheer length of time you've known each other, the situation sparked a query in your mind. "we must share a lot of dna, huh?" you thought aloud.

atsumu halted chewing, and hesitantly looked up at you. "... what?"

"not in a genetic way! i just mean that we've been sharing food for so long. surely some of my dna must have incorporated itself into your system by now. maybe that's why you're so good at volleyball.." you suggested.

atsumu just stared back at you, dumbfounded. while you prattle on.

"i probably don't have as much of your dna in me, since i'm not a greedy food-stealer like you are." you tried to make a comment about his thieving habits, but atsumu seemed to be focussed on the wrong parts.

"that's not fair, is it?" he purrs with a smirk.

"what's not fair?"

"that you've not got any of me in you. like you said. even when we aren't together—"

"like when you are on the other side of the country competing in volleyball tournaments!" you add.

"yeah," he replies softly, "we're not really apart; i've still got a lot of you inside me. 'cos of that chip i just ate." you nod hesitantly in agreement, since he's got a good point but you can tell by the sinister glint in his eye that he's plotting something strange.

"but," he continues, "you've not got any of me in you. so how can we be connected?"

you blink. slowly, you take a chip from the bag and hand it to him. he takes a bite then gives it back to you and allows you to finish it with a smile. as you gulp, you declare profoundly, "there! now you're a part of me too."

atsumu tilts his head in amusement, and leans forward until his lips are mere inches from yours. "i think you can do better then that."

before you can even respond, his lips come crashing down against yours, and he captures you in a heated kiss. you're stiff at first due to this unexpected behaviour from who you thought was your friend, but there's something so addicting about the way his skin feels against yours. you let him guide you and soon you're melting into his touch, allowing your lips to weave together rhythmically, a small moan even slips past your defenses and rumbles against his mouth.

your basically sucking at each other's faces like deprived animals until he yanks himself away and rasps, "want something else inside you? something you can keep, angel?"

the moments after the faintest mewl of 'yes' escapes your mouth was a blur of atsumu lunging off the bed, readying himself at the other end and flipping your skirt up to rip your panties clean off in a matter of seconds. conveniently you were already in the perfect position, laid on your stomach with your ass hanging off the bed. all he really needed to do was spread those pretty legs and fix himself between them.

he rubbed at your folds with his fingers, and relished in your growing wetness. you could hear him groaning and thankfully for him, you couldn't see his obscene expression as his pupiled were stuck to your pussy. "fuck, such a pretty girl. where've you been hiding this?" he bit his lip, the mere sight of your delicious cunt alone was enough to get his cock throbbing his pants.

with no time to waste, he unzips his fly and smears his leaking tip across your hole, lubricating it further with his own precum. then, without warning, he thrusts himself inside your tight hole and gasps at the constricting sensation of your cunt suffocating his length. "damn, knew you'd be tight but— this is— fff.. fuck." he can barely get his words out. his thoughts were scrambled by your sweet walls clamping down on him like there were trying to keep him there.

his hands held onto your waist and his fingers dug into your soft skin. looks like he was giving you scars to keep too. due to his inability to move while your pussy was gripping onto him, your were allowed some time to adjust to his absurd length.

his girth shoved at your sensitive walls and it felt like he was pushing against your stomach too. he was just too much for your insides to handle, but it's not like there was anything he could do about it. plus, it didn't help that the stretch of your cunt to accomodate him was so euphoric and overwhleming, leaving you unable to form any more than a couple of slurred sentences, " 'tsumu, you're so big.. it's too much.."

"just need to take it, baby. i know you can." he reassured you in a low voice. you've never heard him quite so hoarse before; it was only feeding the growing pool of arousal between your thighs. his dick twitched eagerly within you and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to vigoursly thrust into you. piercing into your sopping hole at a rapid speed, despite how your walls desperately clung to him.

"atsumu!" you gasp, arching your back against the mattress as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, trying cope with the ecstasy coarsing through you from his thick girth. you weren't certain as to what was going on; a part of you still thought this was all one big overwhelming dream because of how surreal it felt.

you didn't understand what had overcome him. the two of you have been best friends since forever, and yeah, there was maybe a little bit of chemistry and flirtation before he left to join the black jackals, but any lingering feelings were shut down by the distance seperating you. never did you think he'd randomly get up and start frantically rearranging your guts on his bed. but fuck, it was a long time coming, you could feel the pent-up emotions behind each and every brutal thrust into your cunt. amplified by the lewd slapping of his balls against your sticky folds.

still, it confused you as to why he chose now to act on these feelings, and that manifesting through your feeble cries of, "why.. nghh— what're y'doing?" so weak and delicate, if it wasn't for your moans of delight and your hips instinctually rocking against his, atsumu might've thought you wanted him to stop (but that couldn't be any further from the truth.)

"sorry, (y/n).. couldn't— shit, hah, couldn't hold back anymore." he huffed out with his teeth grinding together, lips pulling into a wide smirk as he watches your tits bounce from the force of his cock. "gettin' too old for these games. and you're gettin' too hot for me to— mmph, to not do something 'bout it."

if it wasn't for the fact you were choking on your own moans from the way his length was splitting your poor pussy in half, you would've chuckled at his previous comment. you were both only in your twenties but he was claiming to be 'too old' for games.

but you kinda understood what he meant. being coy and play-flirting was cute in high school, but now it was time for you to come to terms with your feelings and act on them. you couldn't be more relieved that he took action; atsumu's dick working your needy insides was akin to receiving a long awaited massage, and finally undoing an strenuous knot that's been irrating you for ages. years, even.

"please keep going. i need you so fucking bad." you whined.

"drivin' me fucking crazy with this perfect pussy.." his jaw is clenched yet he spits onto his fingers and draws sloppy circles over your clit while he continues to ram into you. however, his pace grows sporadic and begins to faltered with each staggered breath he inhales. his eyes squeeze shut, "shit, angel, what've you done t'me? 'm close already.." his voice trails off, almost like he's losing steam until a final surge of lust-fuelled adrenaline shoots through him.

his eyes shoot open as his hips pick up the pace, piercing into your aching cunt even faster than they were previously, slamming all the way into your cervix repeatedly. "almost there. gonna fill up this little hole with all of me. that's what you want, huh?" deranged ramblings fall from his lips, while his brows are knitted together and his energy is focussed solely on ploughing into you, "you want me to leave a big mess in ya? so you keep apart of me forever. that what you want, slut? my cum dripping out of ya?"

your eyes screw shut at the intense sensation, and you bite down on the blankets in attempt to cope with it all. that is, until he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, which causes you gasp and squeal, "yes, 'tsumu! leave it inside me, please. all of it."

"you sound like such a whore." he chuckles, but only to conceal how badly that turns him on. he knows it's perverted, but there is just something so sexy about hearing his sweet friend beg for it like a desperate slut. it was humorously uncharacteristic. "ask again, baby. let me hear you, scream for daddy."

"i need you to— nghh, fuck! oh my god, i need you to cum in me. pleasee~." you pant, head spinning as he relentlessly pounds into your cunt, not faltering for even a split second. "i want you so bad.."

and that'll do it. your final breathless comment was enough to send him flying over the edge of his climax. one hand gripped your ass while the other held your thigh, and he heaved out a deep sigh as his thick load released from his tip and spurted into the safe confines of your pussy.

the warm sensation spread throughout your insides, like a sticky blanket coating your walls. it was beauitful, and there was no way he was going to let go just yet. not when your cunt was still gripping onto him; he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

he leaned forward, and pressed gentle kisses across your spine and the nape of your neck, "you did so good.." you could feel him smile against your skin, as he whispered, "can you promise me something, doll?"

"mhm.."

"gonna keep that inside you?"

"of course." you hum, amused that he was still attached to what you were discussing earlier, "now we're connected."

"yeah." he nods, resting his head against your upper back and relaxing his frame against yours, "for a week, at least. then you'll have to visit me in osaka, and we can do this all again."

#atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!

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ashnnix · 1 month ago

Text

"I fucked your husband, till he's dumb"

Sukuna x Married male reader

Warning: NTR, Overstimulation, Noncon, spanking, crying, no lubed, cheating, PWP, fingers on mouth, nipple play. Neglected reader. Based on manga named "I fucked your wife till morning"

“Stay safe, honey,”

you spoke softly as you watched your husband leave for work.

“Hmm,” he replied without emotion, closing the door behind him.

Your heart ached the moment it clicked shut.

It had been three years since he last showed you affection–three years without real conversations or sex.

At first, you thought it was just work stress. But even if he was tired, he could’ve still come to you. You would’ve let him use you to relieve his stress. You would’ve done it again and again, just for him.

You looked down and quietly made your way to the living room to start cleaning.

You missed feeling loved. Missed being wanted. He never used to be like this. Even before marriage, he was affectionate, sweet, and had a high sex drive. Now, he barely looks at you. He treats you like a maid.

‘What did I do wrong?’ you thought.

You always did your part–woke him up with breakfast ready, said yes to whatever he asked, and gave him consent whenever he was in the mood.

So why? Did he get bored of you?

You sighed after finishing the living room. It was already afternoon. Time to cook lunch.

A ring from the doorbell caught your attention.

You walked over and gently opened the door.

Standing there was your old college friend with benefits, Sukuna.

He smirked, red eyes looking down at you. “Hey Y/N, long time no see.”

You frowned and folded your arms. “Hello. Why are you here?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Not inviting me in?”

You sighed and stepped aside. He walked in, closing the door behind him and taking off his shoes while watching you walk ahead.

You grumbled as you opened the fridge. “State your business.”

Sukuna chuckled, his thoughts drifting. ‘Fuck, I missed that cocky mouth.’

“Your husband asked me to pick up the folders he forgot.”

You blinked, glancing over your shoulder as you set the vegetables down in the sink. ‘Right, I forgot he works for our company.’

You gave a small nod and walked toward your husband's office. On the desk was a brown envelope. ‘This must be it.’

You picked it up and carefully handed it to Sukuna, who was still staring at you with that same hungry gaze… like before.

“Here,” you said, feeling a bit uncomfortable under his intense stare.

You turned your back. “If you’re done, then get ou–”

You didn’t get to finish when you suddenly felt his hand squeeze your ass.

“What the!” you shouted, quickly stepping back. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

Sukuna chuckled. “What? You used to like that before.”

You glared at him. “That was before. I have a husband now!”

Sukuna stepped closer, his large frame towering over you. You swallowed hard, feeling a little intimidated.

He leaned in, his voice low as he whispered, “You look neglected... like a wilted flower.”

Both of his hands grabbed your ass again, and he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Let me water you. Spray you with something again?” he whispered with a smirk.

You let out a soft gasp. This—this was what you’d been craving.To be touched again. To be wanted.

But not by him by your husband. ‘No, my husband I can’t…’

You pushed against Sukuna’s muscular chest, looking down to hide your flushed face.

“Please respect me and my husband's relationship,” you said quietly. “I can get you fired.”

Sukuna slowly backed away, still grinning as he watched your reaction. “I wouldn’t mind risking it to fuck you.”

You clenched your pants tightly, your body betraying you.

He left, walking out of your home,but not without a plan in his mind.

He had left you hot, needy just like before.

You put a hand over your crotch.

‘Fuck… I need to stroke it.’

--------------------

The very next day, your husband left quietly again as if you didn’t exist.

And that day, Sukuna came back. He wore a tight-fitted button-up shirt with a black necktie, showing off his muscles, paired with fitted black pants. It looked so tight, it almost seemed like he had a third leg.

You gulped and were about to close the door, but his hand stopped it.

Sukuna easily pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. “Relax. I’m just here to grab something again,” he said casually.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re not here to touch me? Because I swear, I’ll get you fired.”

You turned and walked into the living room, letting him in.

Sukuna took off his shoes and entered, his eyes fixed on your backside. He licked his lips, a slow smirk forming.

“Like your husband would care.”

“Wha–” Before you could finish, you felt him touch your nipples through your clothes.

“Ng–what the, Sukuna!” you gasped, biting your lip as he teased your sensitive nipples, twisting them playfully.

“Haa… ngh…” Your legs felt weak just from the stimulation. After three years of celibacy, your body has become far too sensitive.

Sukuna didn’t respond, he was too focused on corrupting you all over again.

You gripped his hands as he continued playing with your chest. “P–please, stop… S-Sukuna! My husband…!”

Sukuna tilted his head and spoke calmly, “He’s overworked today. You know that, right?”

You whimpered, your resistance fading. You grabbed his hand and pressed it over your mouth to muffle your moans. “Nhm~ mhmp!”

Sukuna chuckled as he remembered your wedding –the wedding where his co-workers were also invited by their boss. “Man, that wedding was hilarious. To think you were getting married? Seeing you wear a white suit to a wedding when back in college...”

He leaned close to your ear. “You were my fuck toy.”

You immediately shot back, “That’s because you took advantage of my drunken state! Ah!”

Sukuna lifted your shirt off. You felt tears forming in your eyes–was it from fear? Or excitement? “No!”

Sukuna continued to play with your perky nipples. “I really missed these nips!”

He recalled the day he first fucked you. “At first, I just saw your nipples when you lifted your shirt while you were drunk. There was no way I could stop myself that day after seeing these cuties,” he smirked, licking your neck, making you shiver from the warmth of his breath and the coldness of his saliva.

Your mouth trembled. ‘That’s right, this man stole my virginity that night.’

Suddenly, Sukuna went under your arms to suck your nipples.

“Ahn! Hmm~♡” you whined like a slut.

Sukuna nibbled on them while speaking. “I still think about these while masturbating. I miss fucking you.”

Your brows furrowed as you felt him pull your pants down and touch your boxers.

‘Stop…’ You felt your body tingle and grow needy. It was so hot you grabbed him even more, even though it felt wrong. ‘What’s with this feeling?’

Sukuna pulled your boxers down, his gaze never leaving your face. “You were a cute pet who’d changed his style to my taste.”

Your body trembled as his tongue licked your cheek. ‘Stop, don’t make me remember’

Sukuna felt something wet down your shaft as he touched it. “Oh?”

He looked down, seeing your dick twitch already hard and leaking pre cum. “I only mentioned the past, and you’re already leaking pre? HAHAHA!what a fucking whore.”

Your nipples twitched from the cold air while your body trembled against him. “N-no,” you shook your head as you felt the familiar tip grinding on your hole.

“I’m his husband now! I’m not your–”

THRUST!!!

“Ahn!!” Your mouth opened wide, tongue out, as you felt a hard tip poke your prostate. It burns, but it also feels so fucking good.

“Haaa! So thick! Sukuna!” you said between breaths, trying to adjust to his size.

FWAP FWAP!!

Sukuna immediately thrust without caring that there was no lube used his precum covered for that.

He leaned close to your face with a wide smirk. “Squeeze your ass tight! Stick your tongue out!”

Like before, you obediently opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him to kiss you deeply.

“Mhm! Hmmp!” You moaned while he devoured your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his dick fuck your prostate, hitting deeper inside your guts. Your legs shook, feeling vulnerable and already fucked. Every sensation felt like electricity, making you dumb on his dick.

You were about to lose yourself to the feeling of his dick when suddenly you remembered your husband’s face. ‘No! No!’

Sukuna somehow noticed you weren’t focused on him, so he thrust deeper and played with your dick.

FWAP FWAP FWAP!!

Your body shook as Sukuna pulled away from your mouth. “Ngh! Slow down! You’re too de-deep! My gu-guts!” you whimpered as you felt his fingers playing with your tip.

Suddenly, he pushed you to the ground, and your phone fell in front of you.

Your head rested on the floor while your ass raised up. He kept thrusting so fast you felt like you were going to cum.

Your body trembled, feeling his thick dick filling you up.“Cum-cumming! Ku-kuna ngh!” you gasped.

He ignored you and kept thrusting.

“Cumming♡♡!!” you cried out, arching your back. Your eyes rolled back, your tongue out, drool leaking onto the floor.

Sukuna’s thrusts didn’t stop, he kept going brutally.

You tapped the floor helplessly, moaning and crying, tears running down your cheeks.“No…kuna…so de-deep. Eek!!”

PLOP PLOP FWAP!!

Sukuna grinned as he looked at your body. “Don’t try to build a home when you’re just a fuck toy.”

He pulled your head back, making you arch, your ass grinding deeper into him.

‘Hurts! So harsh!’ Your head leaned back, tongue still out, crying from the mix of pain and pleasure.

Sukuna looked down at your pathetic state.“Aren’t you embarrassed?”

You nodded, completely dumb like he had made you before. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!♡ Ahhhn!”

Sukuna let go of your hair and slapped your ass, spanking it red.

You squeaked from the sting “Eek! Noo!”

Sukuna watched his fat cock disappear as your ass swallowed it whole. ‘So tight. Still hasn’t changed. Still so fucking good!’

He grunted, feeling himself about to cum.

FWOP FWOP!!

“Mhm! Ngh~ ahhn! Hugna!!” You whined, drool staining your hair. Your tears ruined your face –ruining yourself again for him.

Sukuna clicked his tongue as he pushed his fingers inside your mouth.

“Mhngh!” You shuddered, swallowing and licking his three fingers as he played with your tongue.

Your eyes saw a message notification from your phone, coming from your husband. You closed your eyes tightly.

“Cummingh!” Your moans were muffled because of his fingers. Your body twitched again as you came, your dick spurting semen and staining the floor.

“Fuck… I’m cumming!” Sukuna grunted as he felt you tighten more around his thick cock, twitching inside you as he came.

Sukuna pulled out his now soft cock– watching his semen come out your hole like before. He smirked as he stood up, putting on his pants again “Make sure to change your style like before. And get lubed up tomorrow”

He left your body trembling and messy.

You felt the familiar warm, thick, and slimy feeling inside you. Trailing down your thighs.

‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll revert back to being his slut♡’

--------------------

“I’m home.”

Your husband grunted as he closed the door. His eyes widened at what he saw.

“You changed your style? You look good”

His gaze traveled over your body. You used to wear baggy clothes, but now you wore tight, revealing ones. You even changed your hair and were wearing makeup.

You shyly looked down.

“Thank you. I love you, darling♡”

#bottom male reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #male reader smut #x male reader #jjk x male reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x male reader

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fanficgirl429 · 2 months ago

Text

Jealous Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Bucky gets jealous when Torres flirts with Y/N

The hum of fluorescent lights cast a pale glow over the East Side briefing room of the Helicarrier hangar. Equipment cases lined the walls, gear sorted and labeled with precision, and the scent of metal, oil, and sterilized fabric filled the air. Sam stood at the table in the center, hands braced on either side of a glowing tactical map.

Y/N leaned against the edge, tying her hair back into a messy braid, a black combat vest snug over her base layer. Her movements were quick but unhurried—second nature. Bucky watched her from across the room as he adjusted the shoulder harness of his stealth suit. His fingers moved slowly, distracted. He'd already checked his gear twice.

She caught him looking and gave him a soft, secret smile. The kind of smile that said I'm okay. The corner of his mouth lifted in return, subtle but real.

“You two gonna kiss or kill something?” Sam asked, not even looking up from the map.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “You know which one I’d prefer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a half-laugh, walking over to Sam’s side as Joaquín Torres pulled up a holographic overlay from the nearby terminal.

“Guard rotations are clockwork,” Torres said, pointing. “Three-man teams sweep the corridors every twenty minutes. Entry point’s here, west stairwell. You’ll have a five-minute window to get past the security grid.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, leaning in, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table. Bucky’s gaze followed the motion.

“Split and sweep,” Sam said, already sliding into briefing mode. “Y/N and I take the server room. Bucky clears the vault corridor. We regroup at extraction in twenty.”

“Sounds clean,” Torres said. Then his eyes flicked to Y/N. “Wish I was going with you guys. Could use someone with your instincts on my team.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You calling me predictable or reckless?”

“Neither,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Just saying, if I had someone like you watching my six, I might not get shot at so much.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

Y/N laughed it off, casually stepping closer to Bucky without seeming to realize she’d done it. But he noticed. He always noticed. The subtle way her body leaned toward him when someone else was around. The way her hand rested on his forearm briefly, grounding both of them.

Torres was still grinning, oblivious. “You ever think about switching teams, Y/N, let me know. I could use a partner who looks that good and knows how to break a guy’s arm in two seconds.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the air. “She’s not switching anything.”

The room stilled for a second too long. Sam looked up, eyebrows raised. Torres blinked and took half a step back, holding his hands up in defense.

Y/N let out a slow breath and gave Bucky a look—half amused, half warning.

“Just saying, man. No offense,” Torres said.

Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked toward the lockers, snapping his gloves tighter than necessary.

Y/N followed.

When they were out of earshot, she leaned against the locker beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” she said softly.

Bucky looked down, then back at her. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean it’s easy watching someone else talk to you like that.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You think I care what Torres thinks? I let you zip my vest this morning.”

His eyes flicked to her chest, then to her face, his voice lower now. “Yeah. That was the highlight of my day.”

A smile played on her lips. “I can give you another highlight, but we’ve got a mission in ten.”

“Damn timing,” Bucky murmured.

She stepped closer, hand brushing lightly against his side—right where his arm met flesh. “I’ll be careful.”

“I know.”

“I mean it,” she whispered. “I don’t want you losing your mind if someone so much as looks at me funny again.”

“Too late for that,” he muttered, then softened. “But I’ll keep it together. Just… stay close. And come back to me.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, unseen from the others. “Always.”

Sam called from across the room, “Time to move out, kids. Jet’s hot and ready. Let’s go look cool and kick ass.”

Y/N turned with a wink. “Let’s go make some noise.”

Bucky watched her walk away—confident, calm, dangerous as hell. And his.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and followed.

No one would ever get close enough to take her from him.

Not on his watch.

The mission had ended hours ago.

Madripoor had been chaotic—twisting alleys, cold steel corridors, fire flashing off concrete and bad choices. But they’d made it out. Banged up, bruised, a little breathless, but alive.

The quinjet hummed softly as it cut through clouds somewhere over the Atlantic. Sam had passed out three seats back, his arm thrown over his face, muttering occasionally in his sleep. Bucky sat near the front, freshly bandaged, bruised, quiet.

Y/N sat curled up across from him wearing one of his hoodies and her tactical pants, legs tucked beneath her. She’d changed out of her suit, hair loose now, damp from a quick shower at the airbase. Her eyes had been on Bucky since takeoff—not in worry, but something else. Something quieter. Deeper.

He looked tired.

Not physically—though the gash on his shoulder was proof enough the mission hadn’t gone easy—but emotionally tired. Like he’d been holding onto something all day that still hadn’t been said.

She crossed the aisle and slid into the seat beside him, saying nothing at first. Just letting the silence speak.

He glanced at her, then looked away. “You should sleep.”

“You should talk to me.”

A beat passed.

He exhaled. “You could’ve been killed today.”

“You say that like it’s not part of the job.”

His voice dropped. “It’s different when it’s you.”

Y/N turned in the seat, facing him fully. Her hand reached over, fingers brushing his knuckles—just barely. But he felt it like a jolt.

“You saved me. Again.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.” His jaw flexed. “I should’ve cleared the corner faster. Should’ve—should’ve gotten between you and that guy.”

“Bucky.”

“I saw the way he raised the gun. He wasn’t aiming at me. He wanted you. And all I could think was—”

He stopped himself. Chest rising, falling. The words stuck somewhere between his lungs and his heart.

“All I could think was, what if this is the last time I see you?” he finished, softer now. “What if I lose you before I ever get to tell you…”

Her hand moved to his jaw, thumb tracing the stubble just below his cheekbone.

“Tell me what?” she asked.

He met her eyes, blue and stormy and full of something that cracked her open inside.

“That I love you,” he said. No hesitation now. No fear. Just the truth.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She was already smiling, already blinking away tears she hadn’t realized were there. “Took you long enough.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Guess I’m still learning how to say things before I almost lose them.”

She cupped his face, pulling him in gently, and kissed him—slow and deep. When they parted, her forehead rested against his.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Even when you’re brooding and jealous and act like you invented angst.”

His lips curved against hers. “I did invent angst, actually. 1943. Patent pending.”

She laughed, and he held her close, letting the sound soak into his skin.

They stayed curled together for the rest of the flight, her head on his shoulder, his fingers tangled in hers. No words needed.

Outside, the storm had passed.

But inside the quinjet, something far more powerful had settled.

Peace. And love.

2K notes · View notes

jaylaxies · 2 months ago

Text

JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON ME!

PAIRING: yang jungwon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of calling someone mid sex, mentions of nicknames, mentions of jay.

WORD COUNT: 4349 words.

SYNOPSIS: It was supposed to be just friends with benefits—no strings attached, no feelings, no late-night jealousy, but all it took was one party, one touch from someone else, and it sent Jungwon unraveling into something darker, and deeper. Now, he’s not asking who you belong to—he’s showing you, and the world.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, angels! i finally wrote a jungwon fic aaa this was supposed to be 1k words long but here we are <3 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

“You always look the prettiest when you’re about to walk away from me, huh?”

You paused mid-way applying your lip gloss, jaw clenching at the sudden intrusion which you didn’t appreciate one bit. You could see him through the mirrors clearly as he leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed as he stared at you with dark eyes.

His voice was calm—almost sounding lazy to you, yet it slithered into your spine like a warning.

He looked good—too good for your liking, clad in his casual blue jeans and a black button up, sleeves rolled up casually as his dark permed hair covered his forehead, jaw tight as he waited for your reply.

You weren’t sure why he was here, but then again, you were the one who gave him the passkey to your apartment, hence, you’ll be facing the consequences.

“What?” You asked, keeping your voice in check, not bothering to turn around.

His expression was unreadable, eyes stuck on your figure, raking you up and down, especially paying attention to your little black dress that hugged your body a little too well for his liking, “you’re going to the party dressed like that?”

You twisted the cap of the gloss shut, taking your time with it as you replied, “hm, why wouldn’t I?”

“Jay will be there.”

That’s it, that’s the reason why he’s here. The reason behind your tension that’s been eating you both throughout the day, enough for you to turn around and face Jungwon now, heart pounding despite your efforts to appear confident.

“So?” You challenged him.

He scoffed, pushing himself off of the doorframe, taking slow steps towards you, “so—he’s been all over you lately.”

“Is that jealousy, Jungwon?” You scoffed as he stood close to you, a little too close for your liking as he towered over your figure, “because the last time I checked, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s not yours either.”

The silence after that is thick as you glare at him with anger bubbling up inside of you, “so what exactly are you implying here?”

He swiped his tongue on his bottom lip, hesitating slightly—the first crack in his masked, nonchalant persona.

“Y’know, I just think it’s funny. You say that we’re just fucking, but the second someone else even looks your way—I fucking lose it, I can’t breathe.” Jungwon seethes out.

You blink, almost stunned at his sudden confession.

He shook his head though, replacing the melancholic look on his face with a devilish smirk, “but, hey! Jay might just be a better match for you, right? He’d probably remember to text you back, and maybe he won’t leave the second you fall asleep, right?” He taunted you, leaning down enough for his nose to brush faintly against yours.

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you harder than you expected.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, full of rage.

“You already do, kitten,” he chuckled.

You move back, throwing your lip gloss on him on your way out the room, which he catches with ease, a bitter laugh escaping his throat, “yeah, go ahead! Run to him. At least then we won’t be pretending that this thing between us doesn’t mean something.”

You hate him for saying it like that. For turning it into your fault when he’s the one who built the walls first. He’s the one who laid out the rules.

“You made the rules, Jungwon,” you snapped, “don’t you dare get mad at me for playing the game you clearly started.”

His face almost twitched into an angry snarl, but he held himself back—his words? Emotions? He wasn’t sure either.

“See yourself out once you’re done,” you muttered, leaving him standing alone in your room.

And just like that, you’re gone. Like Jungwon said, you looked pretty—pretty to the point that he couldn’t leave you at the party alone. So, he did what he had to—follow you.

Maybe being at a party wasn’t the brightest of the ideas for your distraction. The lights were glowing far too much for your liking, heat too high, broken laughter and the smell of perfumes all melting into one beneath the pulsating lights. The steady bass seemed to be in tune with everyone’s heartbeat and you were already out of sync.

You stood at the end corner of the room, watching the chaos unfold, your face showing slight interest as to not seem out of place. However, your eyes keep wandering around in search of something—in search of him.

It was a promise you made as you left, that you wouldn’t look for him, that you came here to forget the fight and to prove to yourself that you were unaffected—that nothing you shared with Jungwon meant anything.

It was as if your body was wired to his presence, you could feel it before you even spotted him in the crowd. He was here. Jungwon.

Leaning against the farthest wall to you, one arm lazily draped over the edge of the counter, head tilted in a way which made him look maddeningly attractive, still clad in his black shirt, a few top buttons undone, enough to show his clavicle where a gold chain rested perfectly.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

Or maybe he had, and just chose not to react, which was more hurtful, stinging you harder than it should.

“Damn,” a voice interrupted your massive train of thoughts, “didn’t expect you to show up looking like this,” Jay said, his usual warm smirk plastered onto his face, coming close to stand next to you.

You managed to put a lazy smile on your face, turning to look his way, your laugh light but automatic, “hm? And what does this look like?”

Jay chuckles, far too attractive for his own good, “like you’re here to ruin people.”

“Maybe I am,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, something sugary, cold, numbing.

Jay’s hand brushes against your lower back, simply testing how far you’ll allow him to go. So you don’t stop him, you let him be.

You’re aware of his body heat, the way his eyes look you up and down. You’re also aware that across the room, Jungwon has finally decided to pay you attention. Now, he’s watching, his gaze locked on the way Jay is leaning into you, how your hand casually rested on Jay’s chest as he said something in your ear to make you laugh.

What makes him mad is how you keep your eyes solely on Jungwon, well knowing he’s watching your every move, his stare burning into you like a brand.

His expression was unreadable at first, almost calm before he found himself gripping the glass a little too hard around the rim, a tic visible in his jaw, a slow swipe of his tongue on his bottom lip as if he was preparing himself for a mission. He looked as if he’d break something.

The second you smile and lean into Jay, Jungwon starts walking towards you, not rushed, but with burning anger as if he tried to contain himself, only for him to explode instead. His presence hits you first—hot, almost electric.

“Y/N.” He takes your name, voice full of spite and authority.

“Hey, man—”

“Not talking to you,” Jungwon cuts in, not letting Jay say a word to him, eyes fixated on your face. His tone is eerily calm, the kind that comes before the storm that shatters everything.

You stiffen, “what are you doing here?”

He chuckles darkly, “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, staring at your waist, where Jay’s hand rested so naturally, “but I already know,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head before looking up again.

“You don’t get to do this,” you seethe out, “you don’t get to show up and act like—”

“Like what?” He challenges, brows raised, stepping further into your space, “like I care?”

You go still, his words hitting you harder than ever, a low blow indeed, which only makes him lean in closer, “you wanted me to see you? I did. Wanted me to watch while he put his hands on you like he’ll ever have you the way I do?”

Jay shifts besides you, tension rising as if the room had turned ten degrees hotter all of a sudden.

“Is he bothering you?” Jay asked, Jungwon’s eyes flicking to him, jaw tightening.

“You should leave,” he said.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out why she never makes those sounds for you, yeah?” Jungwon felt like a madman, challenging Jay as if he was nothing.

“Fucking stop it, Jungwon!” You shout.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother blinking, eyes locked onto yours.

“I don’t know what your problem is dude—”

“My problem,” Jungwon says slowly, turning to Jay, “is that you’re touching something that belongs to me.”

Your face is on fire by now, heartbeat erratic at his words. It shouldn’t feel this way, you should hate him, “I’m not a fucking thing.”

“You’re mine.” He said in a beat, words soft and final, hitting you harder than they should.

Jay’s jaw clenches, “don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh she lets me do it alright. Don’t talk like you know what we are.”

You stop breathing. We. That’s the first time he’s said it.

“Is it true?” Jay asks you.

You open your mouth to speak, only for no words to come out of them, because in all honesty—you didn’t even know anything anymore.

Then Jungwon scoffs, leaning into you again.

“Tell me,” he practically growls, “do his hands feel better than mine?”

Your throat tightens, heat creeping up your neck as you try your best to look unbothered, “you don’t get to ask me that.”

“Oh fucking hell I don’t,” he snaps, “you show up here with him, dressed like that, smiling as if you’ve never known better, huh? I do get to ask, kitten.”

That cursed nickname again, it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, but you cross your arms instead, nails digging into your own skin.

“You’re the one who leaves, did you forget?”

“You pushed.”

“Because I was the only one feeling anything, Jungwon. You were fine as long as I stayed quiet, stayed casual. But the second I wanted more—”

“I never fucking said I didn’t want more.”

“No, of course! You just made sure I never expected it.” The air between you is thick, suffocating.

He steps closer. You don’t bother moving.

“You let him touch you,” he says tightly, “you let him look at you like he could ever fucking have you.”

“Maybe I wanted him to.” Your voice is quieter now, but it hits harder.

He stares at you, his expression twisting, “don’t.”

“Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like,” you continue, forcing the words past the knot in your chest. “To be wanted without being hidden. To be chosen.”

He looks like you just punched the air out of him.

You hate how good that makes you feel.

You hate how much it hurts.

“Maybe I wanted him to kiss me.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Say it again.”

You swallow, “Maybe I still want him to.”

That does it.

He grabs your wrist—not to hurt, not to pull—just to feel that you’re real. That you’re still here.

“Say it looking at me, go on.”

You do, and for the first time all night, neither of you blink.

“I want him to kiss me.”

The lie hangs there. Heavy. Bitter. You’re shaking, he sees it, “then why are you still here?” he asks.

A moment. A pause in the noise. A second where the floor feels like it might crack open. You stare up at him, heart thudding, then you smile up at him with a smirk.

“Solid question.”

And you turn, you walk away. You feel the silence snap behind you like a whip. You don’t get far. You’re five steps out when he comes after you, his fingers wrap around your wrist and yank you back, your back hits the wall around the corner—shadowed, dark, loud music muffled—and his body cages yours in.

Eyes wild, darker than ever. You had never seen him this mad—this desperate.

“You really thought I’d let you walk away?”

“You always do.”

“Not this time.” He’s breathing like he ran through fire to get to you, “you wanted a reaction?” he breathes out, “fuck—congratulations because you got one.”

You say nothing.

His hands rest against the wall on either side of your face. He leans in, his mouth a breath from yours.

“You think he could make you feel what I do? You think he’d know how to touch you without you teaching him from scratch?”

You close your eyes, throat burning as you mumble out, “God—fuck you.”

“You’ve tried,” he whispers, “and you keep coming back.”

You open your eyes.

“So what? Are you going to drag me out of here now?” You mean it as a challenge.

But Jungwon’s eyes—they flick down to your lips, and something in him just breaks. You see it happen, no hesitation, no warning.

Just movement.

He grabs your wrist, the same one Jay touched, and pulls—hard. You stumble, breath catching, but his grip only tightens. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t look at anyone, not even you—It’s like he can’t.

Like if he meets your eyes, he’ll lose the thin thread of control keeping him from tearing your clothes off right here. He weaves through the crowd like a storm parting the sea. You hear someone call after you—Jay’s voice, confused, concerned. Jungwon doesn’t even blink.

The front door bursts open with how angry he is. Cold air caresses your skin harshly, and he still doesn’t bother stopping, hauling you down the steps, across the sidewalk, to his car like a man possessed.

You open your mouth to speak, only to be cut off, “Jungwon—”

“Don’t,” he mutters.

“Wait—”

“Don’t talk to me right now,” his voice is low, rough, almost shaking with the jealousy burning him alive. “If you say one more word, I swear I’ll fuck you in the backseat just to shut you up.”

Your stomach flips, your legs barely keep up as he unlocks the door, yanks it open, and practically shoves you inside. Not violently—but with purpose. Like if he doesn’t touch you, own you, now, he might lose what’s left of himself.

He gets in. Slams the door, followed by utter and complete silence, to the point you were scared of breathing too loud, your thighs rubbing against one another with anticipation? Anxiety? You didn’t know anymore.

You glance at him—his jaw tight, nostrils flared, fingers white knuckled around the steering wheel.

“Jungwon,” you whisper.

He turns his head slowly, looking at you like he’s seeing nothing but red, “I don’t care if you hate me after this,” he mutters. “I don’t care if you scream and fight and curse my name.”

A pause, a deep breath, a statement that left no room for argument, “but you’re coming home with me.”

That’s when you realize that right now—there’s no reasoning with him. He’s not hearing anything anymore, not your protests, not your pain, not your fear or want or anger.

He’s hearing everything you didn’t say.

All the begging between the words, all the need in the silence, all confessions you never dared speak.

The engine roars to life, tires screeching as he drives—fast, so determined, his hand gripping the wheel as the other one curled into a fist, holding himself back.

You don’t speak again.

Because, now, you want Jungwon’s actions to speak louder than his words.

The moment the door slams shut behind you, silence drops, you barely got time to take a breath before Jungwon’s hands were on you—pushing you, grabbing you, dragging you back by the wrist before you can take a single step deeper into the apartment.

“You want to piss me off?” he seethes, lips near your ear, “you want to talk about Jay?”

He spins you, slams your back against the wall.

You gasp—but you’re not afraid of him. You’re afraid of what’s to come, lit from the inside, burning with everything you didn’t get to say, everything you couldn’t scream back at him at the party.

His breath fans across your cheek, hot and shaking from anger, from the need of wanting you, “you knew what you were doing,” he growls, eyes locked on yours, “wearing that dress—laughing with him. Letting him put his hand on your waist.”

“So what?” you snap. “You didn’t want me there anyway, right?” You shove at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“You said you didn’t care. You said it was just sex. So why do you care now?”

His jaw flexes. His silence is deafening.

“Answer me,” you spit.

“Because I’ve been going fucking insane,” he explodes.

His fist slams into the wall beside your head—not too close, but enough that you feel the vibration in your ribs.

“Because every time I close my eyes, I see you with him.” He leans in—nose brushing yours, lips barely an inch away, “and I want to kill him for touching what’s mine.”

The word echoes between you. Heavy. Final.

You let out a shaky breath.

“You don’t own me,” you whisper.

“No?” he breathes, hand sliding up your throat to cup your jaw. “Then why are you here?”

You glare at him.

“Because you dragged me—”

“Oh no, baby. You could’ve walked away.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, “but you didn’t.”

He kisses you. It’s not sweet. Not soft. It’s brutal. A crash of mouths and breath and bruised desperation. You kiss him back harder, messy enough for you two to gasp for air.

Your hands tangle in his hair, his teeth scrape your bottom lip, agitating you enough for you to bite him, he groans into your mouth like it hurts, bleeding slightly, letting you taste himself at its worst.

“You said you wanted Jay to kiss you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Say it again.”

You hesitate.

“Go on.”

You look him dead in the eye as you say, “I did,” pushing for a second to let him react to this information.

His pupils blow wide, only darkness in them and a reflection of your lying self.

“Wrong fucking answer, princess.” He throws your phone on the bed, “you want to mess with me?”

He grabs your waist, lifts you, throws you onto the mattress as you let out a yelp, trying your best to adjust into the new position but Jungwon was faster.

“Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s already on you, hands hot and heavy on your thighs, forcing them apart, his gaze trails down your body like he’s starving.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” he growls. “Not after everything we’ve done. Not after everything I’ve given you.”

Your breath catches as his fingers dig into your hips.

“You belong to me,” he says, voice low and lethal. “And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

“Jungwon—”

“No. Shut the fuck up, kitten.”

He grabs your face—softly, but firm enough to make you feel it, to make you feel every bit of emotion that coursed through his body.

“You talk too much when you’re scared.”

You blink up at him, heart hammering.

“I’m not scared.”

“Good.”

He leans in—lips brushing your ear.

“Then remember this,” he whispers. “Every moan. Every scream. Every time I fuck you so deep you forget your own name—”

His hand slides under your dress.

“You remember who did it to you, yeah?”

You shudder beneath him, and in that moment, there’s nothing left to say, his words are final, and you’re at his mercy.

Just the sound of your breathing. The tension in his hands. The ache that’s been building for months and is finally—finally—about to break.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and ragged. “Say you liked him touching you.”

You opened your mouth—hesitated, yet you wanted to test his limits, your mouth working faster than your mind when you finally said it, “maybe I did.”

His whole body went still, you stared up at him, chest heaving, watching him lose the last bit of sanity that was holding him together, the snap of the thread breaking wasn’t real, but you heard it anyway.

“You wanna play games?” he sneered, “fine, kitten.” He reached for your phone on the bedside table, where you had thrown your bag, he unlocked it with a flick, knowing your passcode, and tapped a contact.

“What are you—”

“Let’s call him.”

You froze, he couldn’t be serious about it, could he?

“Jungwon—”

“No, let’s fucking call him and show him exactly who you fucking belong to.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, your mouth opening to say something, to stop him, but you didn’t.

Because deep inside, you knew you wanted this, you needed this—to see how far he would go to prove himself this time.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” Jay’s smooth voice answered your call, as if he was waiting to hear from you.

Jungwon locked eyes with you, his hips grinding between your legs, his hands working faster than ever to free his cock from the restraints of his pants, the thickness making you gasp as he covered himself with your sweet juices, rubbing his cock on your cunt.

“Moan,” he said, mouth against your ear. “Let him hear you.”

You whimpered, your body arching into his as he finally lost control, fucking his dick into your ever so inviting, tight little cunt.

“Jungwon—”

“Louder.” He ordered as he thrusted into you, and the sound that tore from your throat was filthy, helpless, humiliating.

Jay said something on the other end—confused, almost startled.

“She’s busy,” Jungwon said darkly into the phone, “busy moaning my name.”

You gasped again as he pistoned harder, thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“Wanna know why?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “Because you’ll never touch her like this, never fuck her like this, never ever fucking own her the way I do.”

Your fingers dug into his back as he pushed deeper, his eyes locked on yours.

“You think she wanted your hands on her?” he asked out loud, “you think she wanted your mouth?” This particular thrust was harder, making you cry out louder, toes curling with the need to have him closer to you, impossibly so.

“Then why is she cumming on my cock right now?” He chuckled, almost evilly.

You broke, shattered completely with the overwhelming need to cum, to prove Jungwon right, to prove that nothing else truly mattered but him, humiliation thrown aside as you let Jay hear you without any ounce of self control holding you back.

Jungwon watched you unravel under him, then calmly ended the call and tossed the phone to the floor, but making sure to tell Jay before he cut the call, “hope you enjoyed hearing her pretty fucking voices, because it’s the first and the very fucking last time you’ll get to hear her.”

“No one touches you but me,” he practically growled into your skin, panting against your neck. “No one gets to see you like this.”

“Jungwon—” you whimpered, crying and shaking, but Jungwon was far from done.

He pulled out, only to flip you over and drag you back by the hips.

“You want to tease me, huh?” he rasped, breathing hot against your shoulder, “want to pretend I’m nothing to you?”

You whimpered as he pushed back inside, deeper this time, agonizingly slow, full of something else now. It wasn’t just fury—it was his emotions, too much of it.

“You’re everything,” he whispered, the words choking out of him. “You’re fucking everything.”

You turned your head, trying to see him, but he buried his face in your neck, “I love you.” He mumbled, voice broken.

You froze.

His hands trembled on your hips.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter. “I didn’t want to—I didn’t mean to, but lord I fucking do.”

You turned beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your mind fuzzy, heart erratic, a confusing mix of hurt and warmth spreading through your body.

He looked down at you—eyes red, lips parted, body still tense with unshed rage and desperation.

“Then say it again,” you whispered, not knowing what else to say. You wanted confirmation, you wanted to hear it, you needed to hear it.

He pushed into you, slower now, reverent, “I love you.��

Again.

“I love you.”

And again, with each thrust, he poured his love into you, “I’ve loved you every fucking night you stayed over. Every time you made morning coffee wearing my shirt. Every time I heard your laugh and thought, ‘God, I can’t lose this.’”

Your heart cracked wide open at his brutally honest confession.

Jungwon was in love with you—you meant something to him, and that was enough for you to cry out, his lips catching every stray tear that cascaded down your face, every bit of tears that came from the hurt he caused you.

“You’re mine,” he said again, kissing your cheeks, your mouth, your collarbones. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “Fuck—I’ve always been yours.”

His hips moved again—slow, deep, building you both up together now. Not punishment. Not anger. Just raw, terrifying honesty.

You cried out again, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the weight of everything he was finally giving you.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you came again, shaking and sobbing into his skin, you knew this was it.

Not friends with benefits.

Not casual, not pretend, not anything else.

Just you and him.

Molten into one—into each other.

His body stilled inside you one last time, and he collapsed over you, arms locked around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stayed there.

Tangled.

Breathing.

His confession still rings in your ears.

“I love you.”

And you believed him, for real this time.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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#fic : jealousy looks good on me #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha smut #jungwon smut #kpop smut #smut #jungwon x reader #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines

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