#extend grace forward and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinstae · 7 months ago

Text

French Kisses 💋

Pairings | L&DS!Rafayel x fem. reader

Genre | ☁️fluff, 💋smut

Word Count | 3.3k

Warnings | ⚠️ minors DNI ⚠️ established relationship, Dom!Rafayel. Sub!reader, nude painting, tipsy sex, nipple play, teasing, thigh riding, dry humping, vaginal fingering, bigdick!Rafayel, riding, use of Evol, squirting, creampie, fem. receiving oral, cum eating, aftercare 🤧, cute couple

🔖 m.list♡

a/n ; oml- idk why but like this has just been a scene replaying in my head so I had to share this with you guys! Thank you everyone who participated in the poll! Long awaited but 'tis here 💜 stay tuned for my Zylus series that I have planned, so excited 😆 hope you 'njoy! c;

"I want to paint you like my little French girl."

I blink up at Rafayel, my confused gaze meeting his of purple mirth.

“I’m- huh?”

Agreeing to come over to Rafayel’s I never know what to expect only that I’m definitely gonna have my hands full. Of all things, I didn’t expect my boyfriend to suggest nude painting.

“My pretty French-“

“Well, I heard you. I just mean- are you implying what I think?” He’s so close it’s hard to hide the heat rising to my cheeks. A beautiful smile graces his lips, showing off his perfect denture.

“I certainly don’t intend to draw you with a baguette-ow! Baby what was that for?” Rafayel rubs the side of his pec I’d pinched with a slight pout. A very cute pout.

“You freaky frog!”

“Am not!” I raise an eyebrow at him. “It truly is for artistic purposes but-“ He leans back down over me, caging me against the soft orange leather.

The bluish purple hue of the night makes his pretty, pale skin all the more ethereal. His eyes shine even more so when he looks at me; something I noticed from countless failed “studying” attempts which ends in me gazing at him as he paints.

“-I do also think you’d look absolutely stunning on my canvas.” He’s close enough for our noses to touch now. My breath comes up short as I’m stuck staring once again. The moonlight must be a paid actor along with the wind brushing his soft locks across our foreheads.

His breath smells fruity thanks to the amazing fresh assortment we'd gotten earlier in the day- that and the wine.

"You're drunk." I try to deflect, unsure about posing nude yet excited to be admired by Rafayel. A part of me is also curious as to what he sees, what he thinks is beautiful. What about me is so beautiful?

"You wish." He leans back into his position with his leg tucked beneath him as the other brushes the floor.

"I am." I'm not entirely but it's definitely enough to have me consider this. Seeing him in his element from time to time, Rafayel is a beast and a true creator at heart. Most pieces he's passionate about he takes the most time with. Others he could pump out by the dozen.

"Ah-ha! I knew this was a great buy. The guy in the market was on his game but I was skeptical."

"Raf, you always give in to the market sellers." I snort.

"Always? I don't- okay maaaaybe I do but in good faith! I believe they should keep at it, we all have to start somewhere." Rafayel crosses his arms dramatically and I hug my knees tighter, grinning like an idiot. "What's so funny?"

"Hm? Oh- nothing's funny just. . ."

"Just?"

"I'll do it." His eyes widen and he's analyzing for a moment, bracing himself for my fit of giggles and a "gotcha!" but that doesn't come. Instead I stare right into his deep ocean eyes and slowly his face relaxes and the corner of his lips tilt upwards.

"Truly? Ahh.. This makes me so happy. You're my perfect muse, baby." Rafayel leans forward onto his knees again to press a kiss to my lips so abruptly I have no chance to reciprocate. "Let me get everything prepared, yeah? I want you in the sunroom."

The sunroom.

Rafayel's most favorite place to paint. He has beautiful floor to ceiling windows that stretch around the dome shaped room that extends to the roof. Everything is visible there, the beautiful sunrise and sunset that bleeds into the starry night. I'm sure his reasoning is for the sake of lighting because he has a selection of colors or perhaps it's the full moon he wants to take advantage of. Part of me hopes it's because I'm just as precious as his work he keeps locked away there.

He emerges from the hallway after a while and he looks so excited that a fresh wave of anxiety and thrill envelops me.

“Come, Darling. It’s time.” I stand and walk into his open palm.

“Y/N look at me.”

I tear my gaze away from the beautiful set Rafayel clearly took his time planning. Instead of the glass windows as a backdrop against the red plush sofa, Rafayel has set up velvet curtains in a deep blue shade. Pretty jewels hang from the top creating a glittering effect with the help of the moon shining down.

I meet his eyes and he smiles, reaching a hand up to brush his thumb below my right eye. “Hi beautiful. You’re looking nervous.”

“Don’t tease. I’m super nervous.”

“Don’t be. It’s me. I’ve seen you in all your beauty already.”

“I know, I know but not like this. You’ll be staring at me for hours.”

“I also already do that.”

“Raf-“

“Baby, please. Don’t overthink this. I promise I won’t just have you pose there in that pretty head of yours. I’m here with you, yeah?” I release a shaky breath.

“Yeah, okay. Okay, let’s do this.” Rafayel’s smile reaches his eyes and he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before stepping back a foot.

“Now, allow me to unwrap my canvas.” He tucks his finger under my black muscle tank and his chilly finger leaves goosebumps in its wake. As he removes it over my head, revealing my bare breast, he presses kisses to my face then along my arms then across the top of my breast as the cloth drops to the floor.

“Raf don’t-ah~” He ignores me and latches onto a nipple, sucking softly, as both his large hands perk them up. Once he’s satisfied he frees them and stands to his full height over me, tucking a finger into the waistband of my leggings.

“I believe you can handle this, right?” His lips are blushed and slick from his saliva, a beautiful sight paired with the look in his eyes.

I nod, not trusting my voice to stabilize itself while I remove both my leggings and cotton panties to meet my tank. I should thank the Moon and stars above that I decided to randomly shave this morning.

Under Rafayel's gaze I can't help a bit of shyness but his words will always lift me into security. "The most beautiful human I've ever laid eyes on." What a way to single me out.

"Thank you." He holds out his arms and I step into his embrace. His soft fingertips start at my shoulders, massaging gently, then he moves them down the sides of my breast to my waist. He digs into my love handles with a small groan while he leans down into my neck.

"Wow, wow, wow. . .I'm the luckiest fishie ever."

"Mmhm, my fishie."

"Glub glub." He playfully nibbles under my ear making me squeal into the fabric on his shoulder. "All yours, cutie."

He provides me much needed space to breathe and get my bearings before jumping his bones by leading me at the hand to the love seat. I take a seat, blinking up at him awaiting instruction.

"Lie down on your side for me. Mhm, perfect- now relax onto your left palm- no other way, yes good girl. Stop biting your lip, freaky frog. Now let the other hand rest over your tummy just above your hip, yesss yes. Okay now stay still."

Rafayel is true to his word and through the whole process of finding his colors and creating a sketch he entertains me with countless stories and small talk. He allows me a break every so often as he obsesses over an area to avoid my limbs from going numb.

Although I wouldn't mind going numb in another sense.

"I lost you." His words halt my thoughts before they could venture further but he doesn't seem upset or in a rush to continue as he sets aside his brush. "Am I starting to bore you?"

"No, of course not my love. I get easily distracted, you know this. I'm sorry, what did you say?" I feel slightly guilty but he just seems amused.

"Being under my watchful eyes doing things to you?"

"Mmm, a little." I pick up the wine glass from the floor, taking another sip as I eye him over the rim. "Staring at your muse isn't doing things to you?"

Rafayel stands up and walks over to me, one hand tucked into his pants while the other reaches out a finger to tap the rim of my glass. I place it back down onto the floor and sit up straight. He brushes the hair spilled over my shoulder back to expose my chest again then squats down, pressing a kiss where my neck and shoulder meets.

"It's doing many things. . .My line art came out perfect, my passion came easy." I meet his eyes as I lift a hand to guide him by the cheek into a kiss, the first actual kiss of the night.

“Ah- my lipstick. Sorry baby.” I wipe his bottom lip but it just smudges into his skin.

“Don’t be. Paint me too, my love.”

I smile big, surely looking like a smitten fool as I lean in and press a cherry kiss to his cheek. I instinctively wipe it, smudging the corners of the print while Rafayel leans in for another kiss.

He guides me onto my back as he inches his way onto the couch with me, keeping our lips connected in a heated lock of lip biting. “Open..” his finger taps my chin and I open, allowing his tongue inside to dance against mine.

Rafayel pushes his thigh into my core, his clothes rough against my pussy but the friction heaven sent. I moan into his mouth and he eagerly drinks them up as he rocks into me. I feel his growing erection against my inner thigh and I try to reach a hand down to feel him heavy in my palm but he stops me, gripping my wrists together with one hand.

He breaks the kiss and I chase his mouth, releasing a puff of air as he leans further away. Rafayel chuckles, showing off his canines. “I like you like this. Panting for me, look at you.” His voice almost coos and it makes me a bit self aware, blushing under his gaze.

“Stop teasing,” Half of me is saying that while the lower part of me wants him to continue. Rafayel has never given me a night without utter bliss, falling apart at his hands (and mouth) multiple times a night with the stamina infused in him. He truly isn’t human.

"I'm not though. You look so beautiful like this. . ." He brushes stray hair from my face. "Hair in its natural state, makeup fading, skin soft." He digs his equally soft hand into my thigh and I open wider for him.

"Raf, please. I need you."

"I know sweet girl, I'm not gonna deny you." I give him a look. "Nor will I tease, I promise. I just want a last look at you." He trails his ring clad fingers down the side of my cheek to the base of my throat, squeezing gently, then ends his journey at my breast. He pinches my nipple, making me intake air, choking up on my moan.

His head dips down and follows the sting with his warm mouth and tongue while his hand continues down my body to where I want him most. Rafayel runs his middle finger along my lips, gently pushing past each time he strokes upwards until he brushes my clit.

"Oh~" My eyes fall shut as I turn my face into my bicep, clasping my hands together as I fight against my body wanting to shake and squirm under his touch. A rush of adrenaline courses through my veins turning them hot the more pressures he applies.

Rafayel looks up at me over the plump of my chest, releasing my blushed nipple with a wet pop. He adds his ring finger in with his middle as he dips into my wetness again then brings his soaked fingers up to slip into his mouth.

He moans with a mouthful. "So sweet." He licks his lips as he withdraws his fingers to bring them back down to my open legs only this time he gently applies pressure to my opening with precision. With the right amount of pressure, and an angle he knows well, his fingers easily slide in and he curls them.

"Deeper," I gasp and take advantage of his hand around my wrist loosening to reach down and grasp his long sleeve. Rafayel groans as he rolls his hips harder into my thigh, fingers sliding deeper until the cold silver around his fingers touch my warm insides.

"Fuck, you're so hot, Y/N." Rafayel is breathy in my ear as his hand slides into my own, grasping tightly, as he forces his hips away before he blows his load in his pants. His fingers keep their pace while he kisses along my temple and cheek. "Doing so good, baby. I feel you, you're close. Aren't you?"

The rasp and need in his voice is enough to help me reach my peak, walls clenching sporadically as he sneaks in a third finger to attempt to match his girth. My orgasm rips through me, nerve endings feeling like sparks as I clutch him to ground myself.

"Yes, let me hear that beautiful voice sing. My little Siren." Rafayel removes his fingers and smears my cum along my body, hands moving as if it's a paintbrush in gentle strokes. I follow his hand while he watches my face, scrunched and flushed in pleasure as I moan softly.

Rafayel smiles to himself and leans down to press a kiss to my lips then his large hands slips underneath my arms to switch our positions to me straddling his hips. I brace myself with my hands on his shoulders as I keep my hips lifted while he works his pants and briefs off.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you riding me. You look so beautiful on top." He kicks his pants to the side, hands rubbing my ass and squeezing as he lowers me down against his dick. He's fully erect and his tip is red, probably angry from the dry humping. Rafayel moans as he slides his dick through my lips and against my clit, teasing us both from the sensitivity.

"Raf~ ah!" Before I could complain he lines himself up and drags me down till our pelvis meets. The first thrust is way too deep in this position taking all eight inches of him. I jerk upwards, top of my feet resting over his thighs to help push myself. "Wait- fuck, ah please~"

Rafayel tries to help with rubbing my tummy with one hand and the other resting on my ass. "You can control it baby," I breathe a sigh of relief. "For now."

I ignore him, too lost in the growing pleasure as I rise and fall, only taking half of what he has to offer. It's more than enough with his girth filling me and it seems to satisfy him as well. Moving his hand from my stomach he guides my breast towards him, sucking my nipple with deep moans as he plays with the other.

"Thank you, thank you." I cry out in pleasure against his hair as I hug his head close, arching my back as my hips speed up taking another inch.

"No, thank you my sweet Y/N." A litter of kisses to my breast. "You're so beautiful, riding me so well... Take more for me? Please?"

I pull away, looking down at his hazed over eyes full of adoration and lust. Rafayel isn't known for his patience, especially when it comes to pleasure. While he doesn't rush, his hips certainly doesn't do slow. He has the stamina of a bunny at times and cause of that he's the only man to ever make me squirt.

The first time it'd happened he was stuck staring in awe while I was extremely embarrassed having not warned him. He assured me it was nothing to be ashamed of and he's been hell bent on making it happen any chance he gets.

Perhaps tonight.

I give in and slide down another inch, walls fluttering around him. He releases a breathy moan and his wavy hair sticking to his forehead makes him look so sinful and-

“Pretty boy~ ‘m gonna come again- ack! Gentle baby, so sensitive right now.” Rafayel giggles around my nipple he’d just bit into then presses a kiss as an apology.

“One more and you’ll surely be able to take all of me, cutie.” He litters kisses all along my jaw and neck as his hands roam my spine and ass. My pace slows as I inch closer to pleasure, angling my hips to have his tip nudge my g-spot.

“Fuuuck yes!” I squeeze Rafayel’s girth as I come, whimpering and moaning into his hair as he quickly works my clit like a DJ. I grip his wrist to halt his pace but he fights against me until he gets exactly what he wants. “Raf no~” A pornographic whiny moan bounces against the glass panes as my body shakes almost violently while I squirt all over his toned abs.

“Oh- sh-shit.” Rafayel takes advantage of my walls loosening in its relaxed state and slides me down to meet his balls, tip aching to breach my cervix. He knocks the air from my lungs and damn near my consciousness.

I feel my body start to slump when suddenly I feel coolness near my lower tummy. I look down through teary lashes and Rafayel has activated his Evol. Beautiful baby blue tendrils swirling through my cum, collecting it to create a raspberry shape then it floats into his open mouth. His eyes flash purple.

My eyes are wide, face blushing red at the sight and he just smirks.

“Mmm, my favorite taste. You’re so sweet."

"You-"

"I?"

"You just-"

"I- I-" Rafayel chuckles while I pout from his teasing, reaching out to grab the back of my neck to pull me in closer. "Take just a little more for me, Darling. Yeah?"

I nod weakly with our foreheads pressed together as he shifts my upper body weight onto his, holding my ass suspended in place to thrust up into. I keep my eyes on his, feeling every emotion swirling in his orbs. My walls slowly grow tighter with each increasing thrust into a new pace and his grunts come more frequent.

I whine at the oversensitivity getting to me while wrapped around his neck using him as a lifeline. Muscles aching, clit throbbing, nipples brushing, deep thrust send us both into an orgasm- mind numbing for me.

When consciousness finally finds me again I'm on my back in our bed with Rafayel between my legs "cleaning" me up. Really he's just being a freaky frog, slurping both our releases past his pouty lips.

"Raf~ baby please- no more." I moan the words out but Rafayel knows to call it quits with a last long lick towards my clit. He grins up at me and kisses it then trails kisses up my body, now dressed in a violet silk slip, to press a bunch of pecks all over my neck.

We roll around in a giggly fit until Rafayel cages me in his bare biceps, using a bit of strength to keep me still. I look up at him and his eyes are so soft matching his smile. Using his arm that isn't holding me, he raises his hand to brush his thumb across the bridge of my nose, cheeks then lips before leaning in.

"I love you so much, my Y/NN."

"I love you mostest, my Sea God."

I relax further into his hold feeling my sleepiness begin to creep in as he presses gentle kisses to my lips before angling my jaw to slip past my lips with his tongue. I can't remember the defining moment of falling asleep but fresh on my mind when I awake is French kisses.

494 notes · View notes

lo1k-diamonds · 8 months ago

Text

Be as it must 💜 Part 1

“They think omegas are extinct, but that doesn’t stop them from looking.”

PAIRING: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega(f)reader

SUMMARY: It’s hard being an omega in a world where they've all but disappeared, but you're safe as long as you stay under the radar. You might be risking it a little bit by working for the Jeon Family, an alpha ruling family, but they have no idea about you. What happens when you're found and taken to your boss, CEO Jeon Jungkook?

WORD COUNT: 3.7 k

GENRE: ABO, strangers to lovers, fated lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: anxiety, kidnapping, tension, mentions of abuse

A.N. Alright, let's get this party on the road 💜 There are so many Easter eggs and details in this part to kickoff things with the right foot 👀 A huge thank you to @moonleeai for helping me with every little detail, which I appreciate so much!! 🥰

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | Next Chapter >

“Good morning. I'd like ube bubble tea, please.”

“Name?”

You smiled, giving the barista your nickname instead before paying and moving away to wait.

It was not yet past 9 AM, but you couldn’t help grabbing your work phone and activating the mobile data. Even though you'd be in the office in ten minutes, it couldn't hurt to already have an idea of what awaited you.

There was no surprise with the amount of notifications popping up; so many so fast, the expensive device froze for a second. You smirked as you reviewed the messages sent through the office’s private chats, then scrunched up your nose at a few more serious emails. But as you dismissed one notification after the other, taking mental notes of what you should do first, one message made you topple all over yourself when you thumbed it away.

What was that?

CEO Jeon Jungkook is expecting you for a one-on-one call at 9:30 AM.

Your eyes widened impossibly, your perfectly manicured nails carding through your long hair for a moment. What did you just read?!

You opened a private chat with your team director, and your mentor, Yoon Minsik, and sent him a screenshot of the text message.

You scoffed in disbelief; you couldn’t believe this was on the table again. Still, what was baffling was that the CEO himself wanted to talk to you about it. It was so ludicrous; it was nonsensical.

You started typing furiously to tell your mentor that he should have handled your rejections to move away with more grace when someone called your nickname for what sounded like the hundredth time.

You turned around on your high heels, your perfectly styled hair falling in long dark waves behind your shoulder over a white silk blazer. The barista staggered, looking at you above her eyeglasses with parted lips, before she blinked and hurried to bow and extend your ube bubble tea.

You were about to smile and thank her for her service when she tripped and lounged forward, scaring you into instinctively grabbing her forearm to keep her steady. Fortunately, she was smaller than you, and since the drink was closed, your white suit was purple-stain free.

Still, the barista fell apart in apologies and bows that left you baffled.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. No harm done, see?” You wished the people around you would stop staring and making her feel bad; it made the air too pungent for your sensitive nose. She reminded you of a younger you, going through part-time jobs to push you through law school. “Thank you for your kindness.”

You made sure to bow and smile at her properly to put her at ease before heading to your office with a rushed pace. You couldn’t risk being late, even if you already knew your answer to the CEO’s proposal.

The expansion of the Jeon conglomerate into Seoul was but a small reflection of the success the company was finding overseas. It made it impossible not to expand to the capital and, naturally, most of the executive and legal teams followed.

Only you had said no at the time, and again just yesterday, when your mentor brought it up again. He should have known better than to go directly to the CEO about something like this. You had no special rapport with the CEO; you were just part of the team that handled multiple international agreements, and you represented the company whenever necessary. You had been told the CEO resented not having his top legal representative more “at hand”, but you doubted he was even aware of your existence. Your work gave prestige to the Busan branch, and you were proud of it. You had even suggested training someone to take functions similar to yours in Seoul. That was still your answer — you’d help out in any way, but there was nothing that could convince you to go to Seoul.

You admitted you never thought you’d sway on that decision, not in a million years. But you had also never imagined someone like CEO Jeon Jungkook, and just looking at him, you thought you could be convinced. When you entered the video call with him, you were expecting a short five-minute call in which anything could happen, from a dismissive “I thought I’d give it a shot”, to “You either do it or you’re fired.” You were ready for both, as adamant as you were about your position. Yet, neither happened.

He entered the call despite clearly needing time to finish a conversation with someone in the room, so you observed him while they talked on mute. His shoulders were wide, framed by a dark blazer that made him look the size of the world. His eyes were dark, introducing a harshness with his eyebrows as he debated something he clearly disagreed on with his interlocutor. His dark hair reached his eyes, falling on what you realized were soft features. CEO Jeon Jungkook was incredibly good-looking, making the blood rush to your cheeks in an instant.

You swallowed and tried looking away, grabbing a notebook and a pen just in case you needed to take notes. Unfortunately, it didn’t give you much reprieve; your eyes found their way to his neck, thick with a prominent Adam’s apple. As he craned his head to look at something behind the camera, your eyes trailed happily down his throat to his collar bone, where a couple of open buttons revealed perfectly bronzed skin—

You cleared your voice and started scribbling the date on the notebook; anything to keep you from staring. It didn’t last long; a deep voice invaded your ears through your AirPods, “I apologize for the delay. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Your mind blanked as you stared at the screen with currents of warm, ticklish electricity running down your spine.

That was his voice. You could barely pay attention to what he was saying, which was so exceptional, it was unthinkable. His looks weren’t the issue; your whole body was trying to pinpoint something, and not necessarily his figure. It was as though you were a radio, turning the knob to fine-tune the right frequency. One you knew was yours to attune to, you just needed a bit more—

“So I wanted your opinion on the matter quickly before we meet in twenty minutes.”

You straightened your shoulders, and nodded, shaking those thoughts away. Your boss had a work-related request, and you obliged immediately.

While you resumed the current status of the agreement with an American company looking to use Jeon facilities to carry out research and development of a few products the Jeon conglomerate wanted priority access to, CEO Jeon Jungkook listened intently. You were used to talking and being met with skepticism or even indifference, especially by older stakeholders, who didn’t always respect a young woman in such a pivotal role in your department. Yet, the CEO was listening to you with utmost seriousness, as if every word out of your mouth was worth his time and attention.

Because it was; he hadn't achieved his current level of success at such a young age without being highly skilled and intelligent, just like you. You gave him the run-down of the situation and brainstormed with him possibilities that could be included in the agreement with ease. It was frankly refreshing; not too often, you had to waste time reminding board members of concrete information, boundaries, and laws that they should be aware of. Jeon Jungkook wasn’t there to waste your time or to scoff at your input; he was there to obtain advice on the best course of action, and it tranquilized you.

It impressed you, also. For someone only two years younger than you, he was phenomenal. Though, you didn’t forget what he was. You wondered if the reason why you couldn’t take your eyes off him and nearly stopped breathing to hear him attentively was because he was an alpha. You could only guess; to your knowledge, no one at the company knew of him or the Jeon family, and you had no way of knowing if you should feel any type of way about him.

According to your mother, you should. When you first started working for the Jeon conglomerate, she had almost lost her mind, wailing about the sacrifices your ancestors made to keep your family safe, only for you to work right under one of the Families. At the time, you knew better than to scoff at her; after all, you had already presented. It was a hard period for you, having grown up with stories the world told you were make-belief, only to turn eighteen and suddenly feel unexplainable things. The worst was that your sense of smell had evolved, picking up on the faintest scent. If humans could make the air change so quickly based on their emotions, you could only imagine how an alpha could influence a whole room, especially for you.

In the end, your mother had to admit that the Jeon family was too prestigious and far away to ever come into contact with you. That meant that Jeon Jungkook had never met you until now, despite your extensive work at his company. You were the middle person, the worker behind the scenes, writing the proposals, discussing, and bringing things to life. Yoon Minsik or other Seoul-based lawyers would be the ones to appear at formal events when things were done, which you didn’t mind as long as you stayed in Busan. Safe.

So Jeon Jungkook had no idea about you.

Still, he sighed when you finished talking and leaned on his right side as he seemed to debate something with himself. “I must confess Yoon Minsik didn’t do you justice.”

“I’m sorry?”

You blinked, caught off guard. He had a meeting in five minutes; you were expecting him to say his farewells.

“I knew the Busan team was holding someone exceptional, but Yoon Minsik should have warned me sooner. No one in this office can synthesize, analyze, and keep a high level of scrutiny like you just did on such short notice and in so little time. Not with me, at least.”

You didn’t answer, opting for a silent moment to process what he just said. It was surely praise, but you were not about to belittle your Seoul colleagues by agreeing. You also didn’t want to sell yourself; you were happy where you were. Finally, you had to stop your chest from swelling with pride. CEO Jeon Jungkook was telling you in so many words that you matched him skillswise, which was incredibly validating. He was also incredible, if you could say so yourself.

He glanced at the edge of the screen, then leaned forward, “Your talents are wasted in the Busan office. Come work with me in Seoul.”

Your cheeks blushed furiously as your body overreacted to his request. Fortunately, your makeup was perfect that morning, and so you could trust he had no clue how much he affected you.

“I’m undoubtedly flattered by your incredible remarks and for such an amazing opportunity, but I must politely decline.”

Your answer was automatic, even though your eyes watered, and your voice didn’t hide a tinge of emotion. You were touched by the proposition, by the whole ordeal, really. But nothing could change your mind.

He pursed his lips, “Is there something about this office you dislike? Something you’d like to request? I’m listening.”

Your heart raced in your chest and you swallowed. Your mind whipped out an impossible thought while you glanced at the clock — 9:58 AM. When you looked back at him, you were almost shocked; he was at ease, just looking at you. As though he didn’t have another meeting in two minutes. As though you weren’t a replaceable piece in the system. As though he actually was willing to stay there with you and negotiate the conditions that would change your mind and bring you to his side.

You swallowed dryly again, “The office is great; like I said, it’s an amazing opportunity. I just don’t wish to be uprooted.”

A few seconds ticked by in silence while you waited for those soft features to twist into petulance or anger at the rejection.

But then his lips pulled in a crooked smile, and you just knew he was amused, maybe even impressed by your resilience.

“It’s a shame, and an incredible loss for this office. But I don’t plan on doing without you from here on out. Thank you for your time, talk soon.”

He bowed, and you hurried to do the same through your bewilderment, and in seconds the call was cut. You were left breathless and a little stupefied by CEO Jeon Jungkook.

You weren’t sure how to feel about today.

As you shut the front door of your apartment with your heart in your throat and disheveled hair from running, you leaned your back on it as if your weight could stop whoever was chasing you from breaking it down.

Your first instinct was to push the camera button to see outside your apartment and of your apartment building, but it was all normal and quiet. Slowly, your heart calmed as you stared endlessly into such a peaceful and unmoving image, you wondered if it had been hacked to play on a loop.

But then you scoffed and reasoned with yourself; that’s just an exaggeration. This whole thing was. This whole day was.

First, the CEO of your conglomerate all but interviewed you and tried to negotiate you changing offices to Seoul. Just that implausibility could have made that day already sound bonkers.

But then, because you had taken the metro that day, you had to walk a bit home, and you were almost snatched.

You swallowed, getting your heels off. That was exactly what it was — a car had stopped next to you on the street and two men had tried to grab you and push you inside. They must have been coordinated, because the men were following behind you, and the car knew exactly when and where to stop. Still, the nearing car alerted you, so as soon as you felt someone behind you, you were ready to fight. You struggled and managed to slip through their fingers, instantly running to a very busy street nearby. You knew no one would help you even if they saw it, but you were hoping it would deter them at least.

You ran straight home; you hoped they didn’t follow you.

You went all the way to your fridge, grabbed a soju bottle in your shaky hands, then turned on the TV to create background noise. You were nervous, trembling, and you needed normalcy to calm down. The familiar sound of a journalist reporting the news allowed you to down half a bottle in a go before heaving a long sigh straight from your soul.

Abductions weren’t common, but men or cults were known for unorthodox methods like those. You tried to shrug it off as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it wasn’t enough. The news wasn’t enough, either. So you grabbed your phone and called your mother.

“Hi, my butterfly. How’s my precious daughter?”

She instantly started going on about what she was doing and her day, and you finally closed your eyes with a sense of normalcy. You managed to switch clothes while she talked, then went over the small and less impactful moments of your day for obvious reasons — the Jeon alpha and the almost abduction situations would just worry her terribly.

But then the TV reporter started speaking on a piece about a series of attacks targeting women in Busan, and you reached for the remote to increase the volume. Your mother kept talking, none the wiser, while you listened to the piece and noticed the similarities to what happened to you: men followed them on the street, shoved them into a car, asked a bunch of questions, touched them inappropriately, and then let them go.

Your mind was going over the motive of such a weird event when your breath caught. On the screen, the interview of one of the victims shocked you — it was the barista from this morning, eyeglasses and all.

Your alarms went off. “Mom…” you interrupted. “I need to tell you something.”

You started by commenting on what the reporter was saying, talking about the events happening locally, and your mother scoffed bitterly, “I told you not to move to the city.”

“It’s just Busan,” you argued, tired of that same old discussion.

“Even Busan is too big! Big cities are hunting grounds for—”

“Do you think that’s what this is?” You asked more sternly, wanting her opinion without freaking her out.

“Yes,” she sighed, knowing her daughter was dismissive of the subject. “It sounds like they’re scenting people.”

“What?”

“Hunting for omegas.”

You bit your lip for a second, still hesitating, “And why do you think that is, all of a sudden?”

She hummed, “They think omegas are extinct, but that doesn’t stop them from looking.”

You sighed with exasperation; this was serious, “You think they’re hunting ghosts and risking lawsuits?”

“These Families don’t need to worry about petty things like lawsuits! You should know that!”

You groaned, rubbing your face. You had misstepped and given her even more reasons to be agitated, and she didn’t know the half of it yet.

“An omega is a powerful tool to exert control. Remember the legends? Seven great Families once controlled the nation—”

“Yeah, yeah, omegas disappeared and now there are only four families,” you wrapped up dismissively. You didn’t care about snobs or hierarchies, not even in what concerned your disconcerting CEO. You cared where that left you.

“Whether you want to bury your head in the sand or not, it’s still very much true. The four Families have four unmated alphas, it’s a wonder they didn’t start searching sooner.”

“You think this is them?” you probed, biting down your nail.

“Or someone who knows how valuable such a person can be.”

You scoffed, “How would they even know who is an omega?”

“Some are trained to pick up the rarest of scents. Don’t forget how invaluable—”

“Right, right,” you dismissed, hiding your eyes from the TV and the world. You could still see the barista giving her testimony to the journalist; there was no dismissing it anymore. Your mother was making too much sense, paranoia be damned.

“Whatever Family gets their hands on one will get the upper hand.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you burst in a low hiss, angry at the world. You were not a tool or bargaining chip.

“You say that because you don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to be in a room full of alphas, the power that—”

“Nor do I want to,” you grumbled. “Do I have a reason to worry?”

Your mother’s tone was surprisingly calm, “No, I don’t think so. Our family is not in the registry, they have no way of tracking you down. Why?”

You went over the episode briefly so as not to shock her too much, though to no avail. “Mom…” you tried, but she didn’t stop her litany of I told you so. “There’s something else.”

You had to tell her about the barista because to you, that was the nail in the coffin. You were pragmatic and knew the law; regardless of the Families’ standing, you didn’t believe they were above it. Maybe they did hunt for omegas in order to gain advantage over each other, you couldn’t be certain. Realistically, alleging such things would get you nowhere, and you were living under the radar, staying away from the capital where most betas and alphas migrated decades ago. But the barista changed everything. Because you went to that café almost every day and this time, you had touched her. You could have left your scent behind.

It was just too much of a coincidence that the two things happened the same day.

“You need to leave.”

Your mom’s tone dropped, hinting at an incontestable seriousness. You still tried, “You said I’m not in the registry.”

“Yes, but we can’t risk it!”

You groaned, “What the hell will they do? Kidnap me?”

“Yes!” You pursed your lips this time. “You’ll be seen as a tool! And we don’t have the means to protect you!”

You rubbed your eyes but agreed, “I… I think I can go to Seoul for a while. For work. I know,” you continued, with a hint of frustration. “It’s the worst place to go, but I have my life, my work. I can't just disappear. Maybe if I leave for a week or so, it will be enough to throw them off.”

Your mother wasn’t convinced, but she was reasonable — you could leave tomorrow and ask for vacation as soon as possible to maybe travel and lay low for a while.

It was nerve-wracking, but you were willing to do anything to stay safe and hidden. To stay autonomous and live freely, to not be used as leverage in power games that deemed you a worthless pawn. You just wanted to live your life, regardless of your blood or status.

You had a plan, so after booking a flight and a hotel room, and messaging your mentor about the sudden change of plans, you were able to sleep a few hours. Because you wanted to work the next day, you had an early flight that allowed you to arrive and get ready before starting within normal working hours.

That was how you left, waiting for a taxi in front of your building when the sun wasn't even up. And that was how you were shoved inside a car when you were distracted, and finally taken.

408 notes · View notes

piccoloswifers · 7 months ago

Text

Piccolo X Reader

Different ways you disturb Piccolo's meditation

TW: A little steamy at the end, some touching and kissing

Before you two become friends, you would often accidentally interrupt his mediation sessions

Multiple times you would accidentally stumble across Piccolo sitting quietly with his eyes closed, a slight twitch in his facial expression giving away the fact that you were noticed

You would apologize and try to make a graceful exit while he continued to try and ignore you, for the longest time you probably thought he didn't like you

Or you would end up having to purposefully go find him and interrupt him for one reason or another

"Sorry to bother you but..."

"..."

You would start bringing the kids with you to make things less awkward when you two had to interact, something that unintentionally brought you two closer

But once you two start to become closer and consider each other friends, then you start to seek him out without the social protection of the kids with you

You would often find an excuse to go see him, bringing him water and just sitting with him. Piccolo would make a big show of being annoyed but on the inside he was happy

On days he wasn't in the mood to talk, then he would just sit there and listen to you ramble, or you two would just sit together in comfortable silence

Otherwise, you two would talk all day, which was something he wasn't really used to but enjoyed it and looked forward to it the more he got comfortable with you

You two would talk until the sun went down and the night turned cold, your body calling it quits as you started to shiver. Something that made you upset because you wanted to spend more time with him

Reluctantly, you would call it a night and he would insist on walking you back, offering you his cape before realizing you probably couldn't handle the weight of it

If you can't handle it, then Piccolo will get flustered and extend his arm to you to try and keep you close to his body, keeping you warm while complaining that you should bring a jacket next time

You never do bring a jacket, and he never really insists on it

If you're able to handle the weight, then Piccolo will offer it to you every time, never saying anything about your lingering scent on the fabric and his scent on your body

He will sniff it once you're gone and feel embarrassed by his actions, but you're doing the same thing soooo-

Your budding feelings for each other start to build up even more during these little visits, the two of you aching for more but also super embarrassed with each interaction

Once you even brought an old school boombox and played music, singing and dancing along to it until Piccolo was forced to stop ignoring you

"Do you mind!?"

His brain stops for a moment as he watches your body move to the music, a smile on your face as you turn to look at him

"Not at all! Keep being a sour puss!"

He had gotten so annoyed that one moment he was sitting and the next he was suddenly right in your space, grabbing your wrist to get you to stop and using his other hand to grip your chin firmly

You both had froze in that moment, gazing at each other before eyes began to wander to full lips that parted sweetly at the attention...

...only for the music to break the moment, your favorite song playing and making you start to dance again, this time moving Piccolo with you

"Dance with me, Piccolo~!"

"I don't know how!!"

"I'll teach you!"

After you two become a couple, you still go and interrupt him while he meditates but he enjoys it openly and even gets pouty/grumpy if you don't do it

You'll need to come by and kiss his cheek while handing him a bottle of water at least once a day, or else he'll think you're upset with him

Some days, you'll walk up behind him and hug him, leaning all your weight on him and making him grunt softly as he reaches back to touch you

He'll guide you into his lap and wrap his arms around you, letting your hands wander up his chest, ghosting over his neck and cupping his cheeks

It's an act that soothes and grounds him more than any meditation, it makes his heart swell when he looks down and sees your blissful expression

Piccolo is content to keep you in his lap all day, your legs wrapped around him and your face buried in his chest, a clawed hand scratching soothingly down your back

If you try to leave, then his arms will tighten around you, and he'll grunt unhappily before reluctantly setting you down

On certain occasions, when you're in a heated mood, you'll seek him out, pressing your chest into his muscled arm and nipping playfully at his ear

A hot hand will stroke at his chest while you start to kiss at his neck before he catches your wrist, panting softly and visibly flustered

"Right now..?"

His voice already sounds rough with arousal, and you're suddenly pulled flushed against him, both of you already knowing the answer

You lean to accept a greedy kiss from him, his hands guiding themselves down your body and squeezing the plumper parts of it

You run a teasing finger along his jaw as you go in for another kiss, stopping just before your lips touch

"I'll show you a different type of training to meditate on...~"

#piccolo x reader #dbz x reader #piccolo dbz #dragon ball piccolo #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z x reader #piccolo dbz x reader #piccolo #piccolo dragon ball z

367 notes · View notes

mahowaga · 20 days ago

Text

WHERE THE PLUM BLOSSOMS FALL | N.K. — TEASER

SUMMARY: you were born beneath a crown, nanami was raised beside a blade—two lives shaped in silence, crossing in the hush between breath and bloom.

PAIRING: general!nanami kento x princess!reader CONTAINS: slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, historical au, imperial court shenanigans, period, monarchy dynamics, political intrigue, court politics, non-sexual intimacy, mutual respect, power dynamics, repressed emotions, courtship in silence, loyalty and betrayal WC: 0.4k SERIES MASTERLIST: here

“General,” you say softly, your voice a whisper, threading effortlessly through the distance between you and him. It wraps around him–soft, precise, purposeful.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Nanami’s response is instant, respectful, calm.

You lift one graceful hand, slender fingers gesturing delicately toward the bloom. “Pluck that flower for me.”

Nanami hesitates–for just a fraction of a heartbeat, nothing more. Yet it is enough to betray the faintest ripple beneath his careful mask. Not out of defiance–Nanami would never–but because the act itself feels strangely intimate. He is a man who has cut down enemies without hesitation, who has waded knee-deep through rivers of blood for the empire’s glory. And yet, here, in the fragile sanctuary of the Garden of Tranquility, the thought of reaching upward to claim a single blossom feels somehow intrusive, sacred.

But duty–his constant companion–guides him forward without further hesitation.

Without a word, Nanami steps toward the plum tree. The worn leather of his gloves creaks softly as he reaches upward, his tall frame barely needing to stretch to grasp the branch. The flower is delicate, its petals thin as rice paper, fragile enough that even his careful touch risks bruising it. He considers the flower solemnly, brows drawing together slightly in concentration–then gently, meticulously, plucks it free.

Turning toward you, he finds your eyes already waiting, unreadable, reflecting the dying embers of the sunset. You watch his approach silently, the heavy quiet lingering between you like a tangible presence. Nanami extends the blossom toward you, his movements slow, deliberate.

“For you, Princess,” he says simply.

You do not take it immediately. Instead, your gaze drifts from the flower to his eyes and back again, quietly appraising. “Why this one?” you ask, a curious lilt in your voice.

Nanami’s golden eyes meet yours evenly. “You chose it.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curls at your lips, but there is no warmth in it–only something like quiet amusement. “Did I?”

He does not waver. “Your gaze lingered on it longest, Your Highness. Thus, you chose.”

“Observant,” you murmur softly, a subdued hint of approval edging into your voice. You finally reach out to take the blossom, your fingertips grazing softly against his gloved palm.

The instant your skin meets the worn leather of his glove, something sparks–quiet, fleeting, but undeniably there, a crackling charge neither of you openly acknowledges. Nanami’s jaw tightens subtly, and as your fingers brush his palm, he flexes his hand involuntarily–almost as though to erase the sensation, or perhaps to preserve it. You do not comment, though your gaze flickers briefly, knowingly, to his hand before returning to the flower.

“Thank you, General,” you say softly.

He nods, his voice steady, professional, despite the way his heart batters against his chest. “Of course, Princess.”

A/N: thank you for reading! i hope you liked this little snippet. feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment if you would like be tagged when chapters are posted! (art by ykRRR23 on X)

157 notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 2 years ago

Text

cake testing with miguel for the wedding!

a/n: featuring a very possessive miguel

continuation from this!

—

it has been one of your favorite wedding plans that you always look forward to. When your best friend got married, she took you with her to help her choose which one was the best. The caterer brought six classic flavors and both of your eyes twinkled with excitement. The same goes for your best friend. You and her almost demolished that one special raspberry lemon cake with her, since both of you have a sweet spot for fresh fruits.

You could guess which one ended up at the wedding reception.

And now, getting to do it with your soon to be husband, Miguel, just seems like a dream come true.

"So, Darla isn't gonna be with us since she's got errands to run, her assistant is going to replace her today." You inform your fiancee as he drives.

He squeezes your thigh with his hand as an answer, focusing his eyes on the road. You look up from your phone to watch him drive. A smile graces upon your lips as you think how good he looks while doing it. Furrowed eyebrows in concentration, a small pout on his lips with one hand on the wheel.

Fuck, he looks absolutely delicious.

Miguel senses your gaze on him, causing him to glance at you for a second before a grin spreads across his handsome face.

"What?"

You shrug. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look sexy while driving"

He snorts out a laugh before making a turn. "I don't"

it's your turn to snort as you shake your head. "Humbleness is good. But God you're a liar."

"Ah, si? But you do love me, no?"

"Unfortunately" You answer, causing him to pinch the inside of your thigh making you giggle. "If we're not on our way to the boutique, I would hop on that dick right now"

He groans at that, eyes shutting briefly as the thoughts of you riding him in the car fill his mind. And seeing the seductive smirk on your face and how divine you look in that white sundress, it's already hard enough.

''Just say the word and I'll pull over mami." He's dead serious. You could see his hand gripping tightly around the wheel.

"And be late? No can do. Plus, I dressed really nicely for today and I do not want to ruin that."

"We can be quick" He tries again, smirking at you. "20 minutes top."

"Knowing you, it could never be 20 minutes. An hour and a half maybe." You point out, re-applying the gloss on your lips before smacking it. "And that's why I'm always late to work"

"You're killing me here, Y/N." He sighs loudly, pulling over to where the boutique is. "I never hear you complain about you being late when my cock is buried deep in your pussy, anyway."

You feign an offensive look as you slowly turn your head at him, shooting a soft glare. "Excuse me? What happened to getting rid of the first-name basis?!"

Yes. You made it clear from the start of the relationship that you refuse to be called by your first name anymore. It simply just won't cut it. You made sure to give him hell every time he called you that, even if he had done it by accident. Miguel was silently pulling his hair because you can be quite mean about that. Though he won't admit how you driving him insane is sexy. Like, really, fucking sexy.

it's a turn-on for him at this point.

"Shit, my bad" He parks the car as you both get ready to walk out. "Sorry baby." He leans over to peck your lips with his hand still on your thigh. The action makes you smile.

“That’s better”

Miguel gets out first, not allowing you both to walk out at the same time because he wants to be the one who opens the car door for you. Despite you telling him that you're perfectly capable of doing that by yourself, he argues with the fact that gentlemen always open doors for their women. Your heart does a somersault every time. It never goes away.

"Got everything, mi amor?" He asks as he extends his hand which you take, before shutting the door. You nod at him, and the two of you walk into the boutique hand in hand. "Dios... You look so good right now, I might just have to fuck you out here"

You gasp at that, slapping him in the chest, earning a low chuckle from him. "Easy there, tiger. I'm not going anywhere" You scold him but secretly love it when his filter's off

“How can i take it easy when your… Girls look so inviting?” His eyes glances at your breasts being pushed up by the cups of your dress, gulping at the sight. “They want me to play with them” A pout on his lips making your heart melt.

“Ugh, Miggy! please do not call them girls” You whine, shaking your head. “I thought we agreed on ‘tits’? Just tits.”

“Alright, alright fine… You’re no fun sometimes” He jokes, kissing your cheek. “Now, is this it?”

You nod, pushing your sunglasses up to the top of your head. “Darla said we can just walk right in.”

Miguel opens the door before allowing you to walk in first as he follows from behind. Red orbs scanning over the interior of the shop. It’s pretty. Lots of flowers in each corner, the paint is mostly pink and white.

“So is this where you and Darla had done the cake testing?” He asks, hand snaking around your waist.

“Yes! It’s so beautiful isn’t it? It’s like something coming out of fairytale or that ‘Enchanted’ movie we watched the other day. Darla really did amazing with this one. Though i did advice her to fix up the ceilings a bit and enhance the structure on that specific corner there.” You point with your manicured finger. “I offered to redesign and oversee the construction more. Just to help her a bit.”

He hums, squeezing your waist before planting a kiss on top of your head. “Look at you go… My little architect” He mumbles softly.

There’s no doubt on his mind that he’s proud of you. He loves seeing you work and help your friends who are in need. And that smart little brain of your is one of the things that made him fall in love with you in the first time. Jess had introduced you to him one time when he was scouting for a new architect to remodel the Spider Society’s HQ.

He was definitely entranced by your beauty when he saw you walked into his office with Jess by your side. You looked so sophisticated and elegant with glasses and the dress you had on that time. Long hair fixed into a messy bun as you shot him a smile before saying your name.

From that moment on, he was hooked. And made it his mission to make you his.

“Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. O’Hara?” Both of your ears perk at the sound of someone calling your names. You see a man, who’s probably in his late 20s emerging from the back with a smile. No doubt about it that he is quite handsome.

“Hi there! How are you? My name is Cameron, i’m Darla’s assistant. And my my, Darla didn’t say anything about her client being beautiful.” He chuckles as he lets out the joke. “She said you are stopping by for the cakes?” He flashes his toothy smile at you, and only at you.

Miguel frowns, at that. That doesn’t seem professional now, does it?

You choose to ignore that comment before smiling. “Yes, we are actually! I mean, I’ve done it with Darla about two weeks ago but my fiancé haven’t. So I’m bringing him, so he can taste it for himself.” Your hand squeezing your lover’s arm that is still settled around your waist.

The man nods, smiling as his eyes aren’t leaving yours which makes Miguel even more uneasy. And the way he looks at you from head to toe makes his blood boil.

He knows how men think, and he thinks. No, he knows that this asshole is basically undressing you with his eyes.

But Miguel is not the type create a confrontation. At least not anymore now that he’s with you. So he might’ve to push those feelings aside because he knows how much this means to you.

“Well step right here, I’ve prepared it all just for you, Ms. Y/L/N” He winks, gesturing you to follow him to where the cakes have been displayed.

Is he fucking serious?! Miguel thinks.

“So 6 different flavors, yes? Chocolate Lava, Lemon Raspberry, Strawberry Champagne, Red Velvet, Hazelnut Praline, aaand Hawaiian. That one is vegan” He checks off the last one on the list. “Customer’s favorite always been the Praline or Lemon Raspberry. You look like you deserve the latter. The best reserved only for the prettiest”

Again, you ignore his comment. “Oh well i tasted the Strawberry Champagne and it was amazing. But I’m leaving it to my fiancé here, so he can choose” You look up to him and notice there’s a slight frown on his face. “Baby?”

Miguel regains his composure when you call him, snapping him out of the thoughts of him killing Cameron in his mind. “Oh. Yeah yeah. Sure. You know my taste buds don’t matter just as long my woman is happy”

He makes sure to emphasize the words ‘my woman’ just so the guy can get the picture but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“Well, we’re in this together so your taste does matter, as well.” You’re completely oblivious with the soft glare that Miguel throws at Cameron’s direction. Hands softly picking the forks from the table to cut a piece,

“Here. Let’s try the Chocolate—“

“Why don’t you feed it to me, mi amor?” He asks, looking at you with a smile. “One fork for two.”

If he can’t be violent then he’s got to find a way to make sure that this Cameron fellow understands that you’re fucking off limits.

You raise an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Sure, papi” You mirror his expression before cutting the cake, lifting it to feed him,

He takes a bite. Eyes dead set on the man who stands awkwardly from across, gaze looking anywhere but him.

“Hm” He nods. “That one’s good. Dark chocolate is it?”

“Right?” You ask cheerily. “Darla is amazing, i swear i need them all 6.” As you turn to fees yourself with the chocolate cake.

He shrugs, wiping a bit of the frosting from the corner of his mouth. “You’re the bride baby, you can have all 6 for the wedding, i don’t mind. I got the money for it anyway.”

You smile at him, kissing his jaw. “I love you, but we can’t be too greedy now can we?” A giggle escape your lips.

Oh he knows. He just wanted to make sure that son of a bitch gets it through his thick fucking skull that you’re his.

The two of you continue to feed each other’s cakes— more like you feeding it to him to be honest— rating each and every single one. Making sure to put a mental note on whichever you prefer before coming back next week and pick one.

Miguel glances at Cameron every now and then and watches how he stays quiet for the rest of it, letting you and Miguel do your thing. Probably too scared after seeing the intimidating look on his face.

“Gotta say, Strawberry Champagne and Chocolate one are amazing.” Miguel points, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. “You sure have a great taste, cariño. Confío en ti con todo.”

“Gracias, mi corazón” you put down the fork back on the table, smiling up at Cameron. “That’d be all i guess, yeah? But i think we’ll be back next week to pick one for sure. Will Darla be here?”

“She hasn’t said anything about it but uh, i-i’ll make sure” He stutters a bit, smiling nervously and trying to avoid Miguel’s death stare.

“Okay then. Well, thank you, Cameron for assisting us today. We have to get going now, still have a lot to work on” You offer a polite smile to his direction. “Shall we get going?”

Miguel nods, eyes still fixated on Cameron. “Yeah sure. But uh.. Can you wait for me by the car? I just need a few words regarding with the cakes with Cameron”

He’s not letting this off easy.

You watch how his eyes trained to the young employee, scrunching your brows as Miguel turns to look at you with a soft gaze. “It’ll be just a minute, baby.” He presses a reassuring kiss on your temple,

“Okay” You nod, smiling softly. waving a hand at Cameron before walking towards the exit. Soon as you’re out of their sight, Miguel turns his gaze back on Cameron. The young man looks like he’s about to piss in his pants.

The two stands in silence for a while as Miguel looks at him up and down.

“You ever gotten your ass kicked, Cameron?”

The question throws him off guard. Eyes widening while his mouth hangs open.

“S-sir?”

“It’s a question. Yes or no.”

“Well uhm, n-no sir” Cameron shakes his head. “Wha-“

“You do know that me and my girl came as a couple, yes? Or are you fucking blind?” Miguel’s eyebrow raises at him, arms crossed over his chest.

“I see that, Mr. O’Hara. I-i didn’t— I’m sorr-“

“You flirt with every customers? With their soon to be bride? Or is it just my woman you’re after?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“N-no, Mr. O’Hara.”

“No as in what?”

“J-just her, i-i mean your woman.” He nervously confesses,

Miguel lets out a dry chuckle. “Let’s get one fucking thing straight, kid.” He leans forward, balling his fists before resting them on the table

“If you ever flirt with her, look at her or hell, if you even think about her when we come back next week, i will make sure no one remember how you look. And trust me when i say that this is not a threat but it’s a promise. Understood?” His voice laced with venom as he points his finger at Cameron’s chest who gulps,

Nodding quickly, he answers. “Understood.”

“Very well” Miguel retreats, taking a bottle of water from the table. “Stay away from my wife”

With that he walks out of the boutique, breathing out a heavy sigh, unscrewing the bottle cap before taking a gulp.

“How’s the interrogation goes?” You speak up with a playful smirk. “Did you manage to make him piss?”

He looks at you as he walks towards the car, shrugging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He replies.

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms. “I saw you, papi. You almost kill the kid.”

“Again, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiles innocently, both arms snaking around your waist to pull you close. Seems like a good kid. So i didn’t say anything”

A laugh escapes from your lips, one that he loves most—besides your perfect moans— “I know you, O’Hara. Like i said, a bad liar.”

“Alright fine, you caught me” He holds his hands up in defense. “He’s lucky i didn’t punch him.”

“That would be a sight for sore eyes.” You tease. “You know there’s nothing to be afraid of, right? Ain’t any other man could possibly steal my heart like you did three years ago.”

“Yeah well maybe if you stopped looking so fucking beautiful with your big pretty eyes and soft pouty mouth, then maybe men wouldn’t try to chase you off and i wouldn’t have 50+ competitions” He complains. But in reality he doesn’t mind.

“Oh excuse me, Mr? You don’t think i got one too?” You ask him through your lashes since his physique is towering you. “I had to put your ex back in her place at the Gala we attended three months ago, you remember? Slimy bitch.”

He laughs hard at that, head shaking at the memory of you confronting Dana was truly one of the unforgettable moments he has of you. “So, what’s next on the agenda?”

You look back at your phone before replying, “Seating arrangements on 112th street. Now this, we can use that 20 minutes up for something else since they’re running late.”

Miguel’s eyes harden as your finger running up and down his chest. “You mean—“

“Offer still stands. Want me to ride you while we wait?” You chew on your lower lip, gazing up at him and giving him your best doe eyes.

“Baby, if i ever said no to that question… Please feel free to grab my gun under my desk and shoot me in the head” He states, making you laugh as you throw your head back.

This feels like shit :/ I’m sorry but i need to clear out a few WIPs in my drafts

Though i still hope you all like it!

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara imagines

3K notes · View notes

xichilie · 3 months ago

Note

hiii!! i love all your Brant fics so much omg thank you for feeding my brainrot, i literally check back for updates almost every day YOU FEED ALL THE BRANT LOVERS SO WELL AHHH i come with a request!! so, troupe of fools! reader and Brant, they've been pining each other for awhile, like the tension is crazyyy, anyways they have to perform a dance/duet together. basically think of the scene with Rover and Carlotta dancing at the troupes base in the story while Brant was narrating, the romantic undertones and everything!! except in this scenario Brant and reader are dancing while another troupe member is narrating it, and doing the same thing Brant did in the story quest and like seeing their chemistry they decide to take creative liberty and take a more romantic approach hehe i leave the rest to your creative powers on how it'll end (and of course feel free to tweak things around too)!! thank you again for all your fics i love them dearly <3

I'm happy you enjoy my fics♡, I will keep feeding you 🤭

I hope everyone got lucky on his banner, I still have to wait. it's not out yet for EU servers 🤍

Brant x (fem)reader

The Dance of Fools

Fool’s Elysium was alive with sound, the cavern filled with the rhythmic beat of drums, the lively chatter of performers, and the flickering warmth of countless lanterns strung along the rocky ceiling. The stage—an aged but beloved wooden platform—stood at the heart of it all, surrounded by the eager eyes of the Troupe of Fools.

Tonight was not yet the Carnevale itself, but rehearsals always carried their own magic. The air was thick with anticipation, buzzing with energy as the Troupe prepared for their grand performance. It was a ritual, a tradition, a spectacle that bound them all together.

Brant had always thrived in moments like these.

Yet, tonight, something was different.

Tonight, his confidence felt stretched thin, barely concealing the turmoil beneath.

And the cause of it?

Y/N.

She stood just beyond the stage, adjusting the delicate ribbons of her costume, the crimson fabric flowing over her form like liquid fire. The candlelight played along her features, accentuating every graceful movement, and Brant had to force himself to breathe.

They had been dancing around each other for months now, skirting the edge of something unspoken. A lingering glance here, a brush of fingers there, laughter that lasted just a beat too long. It was a game neither of them dared to acknowledge, yet neither of them could stop playing.

But now, there was no room for pretense. No stolen moments hidden in the background.

Tonight, they would dance together.

Brant had danced with countless partners before, had commanded the stage with effortless charm and practiced ease. But this? This was different.

Because it wasn’t just a dance.

It was her.

And that changed everything.

“Alright, you two ready?”

Brant barely registered Riff’s voice, though the other Fool was lounging comfortably atop a pile of cushions, script in hand, preparing to narrate the scene.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his embroidered coat, forcing an easy smirk onto his lips. “Born ready.”

Then Y/N turned to him, her eyes catching his, and for a split second, the world shrank to just the two of them.

A challenge. A question.

And something deeper. Something that sent heat curling low in his stomach.

The music began, slow and intoxicating.

Brant extended his hand. “Shall we?”

She hesitated—just for a breath—before slipping her fingers into his.

The moment they touched, he felt it.

A spark, a pull—something dangerous.

Riff’s voice rose above the melody, slipping into that same poetic cadence Brant himself had once used.

“Once upon a time, in the shadows of a fallen kingdom, two souls danced upon the edge of fate… A Fool, ever laughing, ever free, and a Wanderer, searching for something lost…”

Brant stepped forward, guiding her into the first movement. Their steps were smooth, effortless—muscle memory taking over as they moved in perfect harmony.

But it was the way they moved that made the air thick.

Every turn brought them closer.

Every touch lingered a second too long.

Brant’s hand found the curve of her waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of her costume, grounding himself in the warmth of her. Her palm settled over his chest—right over his Tacet mark—and a thrill shot through him at the thought that she might feel the wild rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But gods, it did.

“They danced not as strangers, nor as mere performers, but as something more—tangled in a story neither dared to name…”

Brant spun her beneath his arm, only to pull her back flush against him. Their bodies fit together too well, moving with a synchronicity that couldn’t be rehearsed. His breath hitched—he could smell the faintest trace of something sweet on her skin, could feel the warmth of her against him.

And then—

Her fingers brushed against his jaw.

Brant stopped breathing.

The touch was light, barely there, but it burned like wildfire.

For the first time in his life, his mind went blank.

She was touching him.

Looking at him like she knew.

Like she had always known.

The music swelled. The final movement approached.

Brant knew what was supposed to happen next—

He was meant to dip her, hold her there for a beat, and then spin her away in a grand flourish. A show-stopping moment, nothing more.

But when the time came—

He didn’t let her go.

Instead, he held her there, dipped low in his arms, her body molded against his. Their noses brushed, their breath mingling, and the cavern fell into absolute silence.

The music had faded, the performance had ended—

But he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

The only thing anchoring him to reality was her.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Well… I think we just found our new finale.”

Scattered laughter, a few teasing whistles—

But Brant barely heard them.

Because Y/N was still in his arms, looking up at him with something raw and unguarded in her expression.

This wasn’t just a performance.

This had never been just a performance.

And judging by the way she was staring at him—

She knew it too.

Brant wasn’t sure how he made it through the next few minutes.

There was applause, murmurs of praise, playful nudges from the others—none of it registered.

His body was moving on autopilot, smiling where he needed to, nodding when expected, but his mind was still caught in that final moment.

That final touch.

By the time he realized she was no longer in the room, she was already gone.

His heart stuttered.

Without hesitation, he followed.

The deeper caverns of Fool’s Elysium were quieter, the echoes of music and laughter fading into the distance. He found her by the water’s edge, lanterns casting golden ripples across the surface.

She didn’t turn when he approached.

“Running away?” His voice was light, teasing—his usual mask.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

Brant hesitated.

Then—softer—

“You felt it too.”

It wasn’t a question.

A pause.

Then, finally—

“Yes.”

Brant closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.

When he opened them, she was watching him, expression unreadable.

Brant swallowed, taking a step closer.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her, to close the impossible distance still between them.

“We can’t keep dancing around this,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rougher.

Y/N smiled, small but real.

And then—

“What if I don’t want to?”

Brant’s heart stopped.

The weight of those words, the meaning behind them—

His usual charm, his quick wit—gone.

All he could do was stare.

At her.

At the way her lips curved in amusement, waiting for him to say something, anything.

But he couldn’t.

Because for the first time in his life—

Brant had no words.

He had always been quick with words. A charmer, a performer, a master of knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

But now?

Now he stood before her, utterly speechless.

Because Y/N was still looking at him like that—like she knew. Like she had always known.

And she had just given him permission to stop pretending.

The silence stretched between them, thick with something that made the air feel heavier, warmer.

Brant could hear the faint sounds of the others celebrating deeper in the cavern, but here, at the water’s edge, it was just the two of them.

Waiting.

The golden glow of lanterns flickered against her skin, reflecting in her eyes, and damn, she was beautiful. He had always known it—always been drawn to her in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But now, there was no audience, no music, no script.

Just them.

And Brant had never been more terrified in his life.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to move, to do something—say something—but all the usual bravado, all the witty lines he might have used, failed him.

Because this was real.

And he had never been very good at real.

Y/N tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips. “No clever remark?”

Brant exhaled a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

Her smile widened. “That’s a first.”

And then—before he could second-guess himself—Brant moved.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing along her jaw, light as a whisper. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the touch, her breath hitching just enough for him to hear it.

That sound—soft, vulnerable—nearly unraveled him.

Brant swallowed hard. His thumb traced over her cheekbone, memorizing the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. His heart was a wild drumbeat in his chest, but for once, he didn’t care if she felt it.

He wanted her to.

His voice was lower when he spoke, rough with something unsteady.

“Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she reached up, fingers curling around his coat, pulling him closer.

Brant barely had time to register the movement before she closed the remaining distance between them.

Her lips met his—soft, warm, real—and for a moment, his mind went completely blank.

Then—

Everything exploded.

The tension that had been building between them for months snapped like a taut string, and Brant melted into her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he deepened the kiss.

She made a quiet sound against his lips, something like a sigh, and gods, that was enough to set him on fire.

This was the breaking of a dam, the answer to a question neither of them had dared to ask.

His fingers tangled in her hair, his other hand pressing firmly against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. She was warm, intoxicating, and Brant was drowning—willingly.

By the time they broke apart, both of them were breathless.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, searching his, her lips still parted, her breath mingling with his.

Brant grinned.

“Now that,” he murmured, voice husky, “was a finale.”

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Brant smirked. “Not when it comes to you.”

Her smile softened, her fingers tracing absent patterns over the fabric of his coat. “Good.”

Brant’s heart stuttered.

There was no teasing in her tone. No hesitation.

Just certainty.

And that—more than anything—was what undid him.

For the first time in his life, Brant wasn’t just playing a role.

This wasn’t a performance.

This was real.

And damn, he was all in.

#x reader #wuwa brant #brant wuwa #brant x reader #wuthering waves brant #brant #wuwa art #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #brant wuthering waves #x y/n #x you #love

197 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 11 months ago

Text

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part III

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1k | warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

Feyre laughed as Rhysand had told her about Cassian’s most recent disastrous hookup. The female came by the townhouse, knocking furiously before stalking inside past the entire family, and serenaded all of them in song in hopes of finding true love with Cassian.

Rhys had to politely escort her out before telling Cassian to please limit his dating life to females who did not have singing ambitions.

Feyre’s voice was soft as they sat at the table, Rhys waving to the waiter to fill up their wine glasses. “What about Azriel? Does he have any awkward hookup stories?”

Rhys’s shoulders locked up at her question, swallowing harshly as he looked down to his glass. The light air between them sank quickly, the uncomfortable silence making Feyre antsy as the waiter topped off their glasses.

“No. No he does not.”

That conversation was all Feyre had known for a long, long time about Azriel’s love life. For years she would look up to find him watching her and Rhysand, Cassian and Nesta, and eventually Elain and Lucien, his eyes not lingering for long before quickly looking away. For years she had wanted to ask, but everytime she had the chance, she dropped the subject.

She watched for so long as Azriel adored his friends, never extending that adoration to anyone outside of the Inner Circle.

Once she had broached the subject with Cassian, playfully suggesting to him the two of them should set Azriel up on a date. Cassian had sobered up immediately, looking directly at Feyre before telling her simply, “do not ever make such suggestions again.”

Until today.

Feyre had walked into the foyer, expecting her mate and brother-in-law to be there. Rhys had tugged on their bond, but hadn’t sent words of explanation to her. Blue eyes moved between Azriel and Rhysand before landing on the female between them, brows quirked at the sight of her. She was pretty - an Illyrian nose and lips, dark curls down her back. Her ears were the first giveaway - sharpy, pointed tips that had dark curls tucked behind them. When she opened her eyes, violet eyes met Feyre’s, the High Lady didn’t have to wait for Rhys’s voice to fill in the gaps. The similar features to her mate would have been enough to give it away, if it weren’t also for the fact Feyre had just completed a set of portraits for Rhys - one to honor his deceased mother and sisters.

She just had them hung up in the drawing room three doors away.

Feyre took in the way they were both keeping some distance from her, but Azriel’s body was slightly in front of hers, ready to push her back if necessary. As if anyone, even Feyre, could be a threat.

She looked to her mate and watched the way his eyes kept flitting to her back at the empty space behind her, his hand lifting slightly and hovered over her back before his eyes met Feyre’s.

Don’t tell her who we think she is.

Feyre wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but the female in front of them moved forward, bowing at the waist deeply before addressing her. “High Lady.”

Rhys wanted to roll his eyes, the action a repeated one whenever you two bickered.

“My apologies, your grace.”

The bend of your waist just so, barely perceptible, a subtle way of saying this is obligation, not respect.

“Alright, asshole.”

The memory would have made him laugh if he weren’t watching it play out again before him. Feyre cleared her throat, moving forward and extending a hand out. “Welcome to our home.”

You took her hand, a firm grip that made Feyre nod. Rhys’s voice was soft in Feyre’s mind, we thought it might be better for you to show her around.

Feyre masked the surprise she felt, instead offering an elbow out to you. “May I show you around?”

Everything inside of Azriel vibrated as he had to stay in place, a mere observer as Feyre escorted you down the hallway, his restraint on his shadows loosening once you were out of sight. The dark tendrils slithered across the room, shadows clumped in the spots you were, basking in your scent. Several of them made their way to the path you took with Feyre, leaving footprints in your wake.

“Feyre won’t let anything happen to her.”

Azriel’s eyes were practically black as he gazed at Rhysand, his throat dry as he spoke, the first words he had spoken since seeing you in that bar.

“It’s her, I know it is.”

And before Rhys could respond, Azriel disappeared into a swarm of shadows, several still lingering in his absence. Rhys watched them swirl about the room, watching them flit about in all the places you had been.

Azriel rematerialized in a place long untouched, his shadows slinking off of him and coating the ground at the comfort they felt at being back. The sounds of the Sidra helped drown out the ringing in his head as he walked the overgrown path, his shadows attempting to push down some of the grass to make his movements easier. His feet grew heavier with each step, making his way through the wards and the threshold, until the shadowsinger found himself standing in the front hallway of the house.

From here, he could see a sliver of the living room and of the kitchen. It was a limited view - one he spent many nights taking in, allowing his shadows to echo your voice through the house, allowing himself just one moment to play pretend.

From this vantage point, he couldn’t see who was inside the house. If he took a step forward, he would see the empty couches, the layers of dust that had accumulated since his last visit. He would see how dark and lifeless this place had come to be with only him to fill the space.

But he can’t see all of that yet. Instead his feet planted themselves in the spot, his shadows carrying your voice around like a song.

Because for the first time in centuries, they finally had new notes to play.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage

series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchii @i-am-infinite @bsenpai @sstrohma @teenagellamaangel @allthatisbuck1917

Thanks for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #i got cursed like eve got bitten

521 notes · View notes

bnny0rgnz · 3 months ago

Text

The Ballet Effect

A spacious ballet studio with mirrors lining the walls and a grand piano in the corner. The wooden floor is polished, reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. Y/n stands at the barre, dressed in a pastel leotard, her expression focused as her ballet instructor, Madame Colette, walks toward her.

Madame Colette clapped her hands once, looking straight at Y/n. “Alright, Y/n, let’s begin from the top. First position. Shoulders down. Spine elongated.” Her voice carried across the studio as the other dancers subtly watched.

Y/n adjusted her posture, her feet moving into first position. She took a deep breath as Madame Colette walked around her, observing every detail.

“Good. Now, plié. Smooth and controlled.” Madame Colette nodded in approval.

Y/n bent her knees gracefully, keeping her back straight and heels grounded. She exhaled softly, focusing on her form. The other dancers whispered among themselves, but she shut out the noise.

“And up—don’t rush it. Feel the movement. Let the music guide you.” The piano swelled gently, wrapping Y/n in its embrace. The pianist played a soft melody as Y/n rose back to standing, the motion fluid and effortless.

“Now, into tendu. Extend your right foot forward—yes, like that. Point the toes, keep the leg straight.” Madame Colette watched closely, her sharp eyes catching every movement as the other students watched in silent admiration—or envy.

Y/n slid her foot across the floor, pointing it in front of her before bringing it back into first position.

“Lovely. Again, but this time with more expression. Dance is more than movement—it is storytelling.” Madame Colette's voice softened, looking at the rest of the students to remind them as well.

Y/n repeated the motion, adding more grace and emotion into the movement. She pictured herself as a swan gliding over a lake, her arms light and delicate, embodying the role completely.

“Yes, that’s it. Now, let’s move to the center. We’ll begin with a pirouette.” Madame Colette smiled generously at Y/n. A small warmth bloomed in Y/n’s chest. She wanted to smile back but kept her focus sharp.

She stepped away from the barre, adjusting her stance. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself.

“Find your spot. Shoulders relaxed. Arms rounded.” Madame Colette's voice resonated in the quiet studio.

Y/n nodded, fixing her gaze on a point in the mirror. She pushed off her back foot, spinning gracefully before landing softly in fourth position.

“Beautiful control! One more time, with confidence.” Madame Colette clapped, her approval evident.

Y/n smiled subtly, determination flashing in her eyes. She prepared again, this time feeling lighter, stronger—like she belonged in the air, if only for a moment. The music swelled, and she spun—graceful, elegant, weightless.

After practice at the studio, Y/n always found herself going to an abandoned subway station to practice more—to exceed perfection. She practiced five more times before eventually heading home around 10 pm. And when she was at home, she practiced her expression, her graceful gestures, her fluid movements. It needed to be perfect. She needed to be perfect.

She had won so many awards—martial arts, figure skating, beauty pageants. Her room was filled with trophies, tiaras, sashes, and gold medals. But no matter how many accolades she earned, the love and attention she craved never came.

Maybe ballet would change that. Maybe this time, they would see her. Maybe this time, they would be proud.

The next afternoon, Y/n rode the subway home from school. She didn’t ask Alfred to pick her up anymore. He was busy with the family, after all. The subway was crowded, filled with strangers, but she found comfort in the anonymity.

When she entered the manor, she removed her pink poncho and hung it on the coat hanger—right next to her father’s coat. Maybe he would notice. Maybe he would take it as a sign of adoration.

“Master Y/n, is that you coming home from school?” Alfred’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Alfred.” Y/n made her way inside, seeing him preparing dinner.

“Would you be kind enough to sign a permission slip for me? It’s for a field trip to a science lab. I need to return it by Friday.” She pulled a crisp paper from her folder and handed it to him.

“Why, of course, dear.” Alfred pulled a pen from his suit pocket, his writing graceful and fluid.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Y/n smiled.

“You are very welcome, Master Y/n. You should wash up, dinner will be ready soon.”

“I think I’ll skip this time. I have to practice. The recital is in a week, and I can’t get too distracted.”

“Master Y/n, skipping meals isn’t good for you. Surely, you can eat before practicing?” Alfred’s voice held concern.

“I’ll see about that in,” Y/n glanced at the timer, “about four minutes.” She smiled before heading to her room.

Alfred sighed. Stubborn as ever. But he was proud of her dedication.

Y/n sat in her room, looking at the pictures on her walls. Team photos, pageant crowns, trophies. A life of achievements. Yet, a void remained.

She stopped.

Why was she thinking about her mother? She was free now—free to eat what she wanted, to wear what she wanted, to do the activities she loved.

So why did she still crave their approval?

She skimmed her arm, feeling the old scars buried beneath her skin. Her mother had shaped her into this, always pushing her to be the best, to be perfect.

Perfection was the only way to be loved.

Laughter echoed downstairs. Y/n hesitated. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day.

She made her way down and saw them—the family, laughing together, sharing jokes she would never understand.

The moment they saw her, silence fell over the room.

She sat in her assigned seat, across from Jason, next to Damian, with Bruce at the head of the table. It was clear. They hadn’t been expecting her. Maybe they had forgotten she even lived there.

“Thank you for dinner, Alfred. It looks appetizing,” she said, her voice polite.

A chair scraped against the floor. Y/n turned.

Damian had moved away, sitting closer to Cass as if she carried a disease.

Her appetite vanished.

Bruce cleared his throat.

“Uh, so, Tim, how’s your invention going?”

Tim responded enthusiastically, but Y/n barely heard him.

“What’s the gadget you’re working on, Tim?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Tim hesitated. “Not like you’ll get your hands on it anyway.”

Y/n frowned. “What was that?”

“He’s saying you’re not one of us. Is that hard to comprehend?” Damian scoffed.

“Damian,” Bruce warned.

Y/n’s head lowered. Silence stretched. She felt their stares. She knew what they thought of her.

Not one of them.

A burden.

She stood abruptly. “I think I’ll call it a night, Alfred.” Her voice was quiet. She left without another word.

Alfred shook his head, disappointment heavy in his heart. He only wished they could see her the way he did.

And perhaps, one day, they would.

#batfam #batfamily #batfamily x neglected reader #batman

118 notes · View notes

tttabii · 28 days ago

Text

—박성훈 FALLING INTO TROUBLE (OR LOVE)

PARK SUNGHOON X READER

note: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader. reader was slightly traumatized by ice skating. pure fluff. word count: 3501

"ARE YOU SHAKING from the cold or from fear that you are going to die on ice?" Sunghoon asked, mild amusement in his voice as he looked over at you.

"Both," you grumbled, pulling your coat closer around your body. The live broadcast had already started, and you both stood outside the rink, snow lightly falling. You had an idol smile plastered on your face; but your insides were screaming. The only thing you had to do was survive.

After getting your skates and walking over the benches, you looked down at them like they were an unknown cursed object. You fiddled with them trying to loosen them, tighten them, basically just anything—to no avail. They might as well have been alien technology.

"You don't know how to put them on do you?" Sunghoon asked, already kneeling in front of you.

"Is it that obvious?"

He chuckled lightly and extended his hand out to you, "Let me."

Unsure, you lifted your foot slightly. He grabbed your sock-covered foot with both hands, heat radiating from his palms, and slowly guided your foot into the skate.

He didn't say anything the whole time, but you definitely felt your cheeks heat up as he laced the skate up with his expert fingers before moving on to the next one.

"There," he said as he tied the knot perfectly before putting his hands into the pocket of his coat. "Put these on too," he added as he passed you a pair of gloves.

You blinked. "What about you?"

"I have my own," he smiled, pulling his gloves from his coat. You nodded, putting one on just as your throat began to feel dry.

After a nervous wave to one of the managers nearby, you mimed water with a sense of urgency.

Sunghoon noticed and chuckled softly to himself as you worked to maintain your composure in front of the cameras. He looked so soft toward you, as if it wasn't embarrassing at all for you—like it was actually cute.

The cameraman, moving easily on the ice as if it was a second language to him, pulled back to catch a wide shot of you entering the rink together. You clung to Sunghoon's arm, almost shivering in anticipation as your blade hit the ice for the first time.

And then—disaster.

You lost your balance completely, giving a startled squeak as your foot slipped out from underneath you. Just as you were set to hit the ground, Sunghoon gripped you by the waist tightly and steadied you with the same calm grace that caused his fans to call him the "Ice Prince."

"I got you," he murmured, looking slightly amused but mostly concerned.

Your hands flew to the railings, holding onto them like they were the last thing keeping you alive. "No," you mumbled, eyes wide, breath puffing in the cold. "No, I really can't do this..."

Your voice was small, lips trembling—not from the cold, but from fear. Sunghoon paused, his hand still hovering near your back as he studied your expression.

He could tell.

You really couldn't skate for shit.

The livestream comments began pouring in already:

"Sunghoon save her!!"

"Not our bunny baby clinging for life—"

"ICE PRINCE AND OUR RABBIT, I'M CRYING"

"Their dynamic is so real—baby chick teaching baby bunny to skate—"

"Just... move with me slowly," he said gently, reaching for your hands. You tried. Really, you did. But your legs were wobbling like jelly and you were nearly about to collapse again.

"Sunghoon—!"

"I got you." He caught you before your butt hit the ice, arms wrapping securely around your waist to stabilize you again. But even then, your skates kept sliding, making you tip forward. His hand went straight to your back, his other arm wrapping fully around you as he held you upright. You were pressed lightly against him now, your face heating up despite the freezing cold.

"Sorry, sorry," you whispered, breathless, trying not to look directly at him because, well—this close, his features were way too flawless. Snowflakes rested on his lashes. His breath was steady. You, however, were about to pass out from embarrassment.

"You're okay," he said softly, not letting go yet. "You're doing better than you think."

Another flood of comments hit:

"THEY'RE GONNA MAKE ME BELIEVE IN LOVE"

"That soft 'you're okay' just punched me in the heart"

"Okay but WHY does this feel like a drama?"

After what felt like a dramatic rescue, Sunghoon slowly skated back a little, giving you space to try for yourself as he explained how to move your feet. "Okay, just put your weight on one foot—no like that—yeah, a little more, and with your knees bent not locked."

You nodded, biting your lip and concentrating. One hand still on the rail, you went through his step-by-step instructions one-by-one. For a second, it actually looked like it was working. Your skates glided an inch, then another. You were doing it. You were actually—

Thunk.

You were on the ice with a small yelp, just as Sunghoon turned to take a brief glance back at the counter, eyes scanning for something—anything—to help you.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he caught sight of a little push-assist skating aid, which was pastel blue rabbit shaped with handles—had been made precisely for little kids or... well, for adorably helpless idols like you. He turned to the rink staff at the counter. "Can we go ahead and borrow that one? The rabbit?" he asked, and politely nodded to it.

Then he turned back—only to turn back to you, who was still all to definitely on the floor, and you struggled like a helpless baby rabbit trying to get up, arms flailing as your skates kept slipping underneath you. Your group's mascot nickname really wasn't helping the image.

"Oh my god," you whispered under your breath, trying to plant one foot down, only to have it slide away again. "Please, end me now."

Sunghoon suppressed a laugh, skating over quickly to knelt in front of you, his hands gently finding your arms. "Don't move too much, you'll just slide again. Just let me help."

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and fully embarrassed. "I swear, I was doing okay for two seconds..."

"I know," he smirked, the soft, quiet one that made fans melt. "You were doing great. You just... weren't built for ice."

The chat exploded:

"THE RABBIT FOR THE RABBIT—"

"HE GOT HER A RABBIT RIDER THING???"

"I'm sobbing why is this so cute"

"GETTING HER A KID'S PUSH THING THAT IS SO SUNGHOON"

Then, after what felt like forever, the rink staff brought over the rabbit-shaped skating aid. Taking extra care with you, Sunghoon helped you sit on it, holding your hands like you were glass, and making sure your balance was right before he gripped the back of the little rabbit and pushed you forward gently.

"Okay," he said, eagerly grinning. "Now you’re skating."

"Sunghoon," you said deadpan, arms wrapped around the ears of the bunny, "this is a child's thing."

"And yet, you're not falling," he teased, pushing you along slowly like you were on a royal sled.

You buried your face in your gloves, groaning in mock defeat as the viewers spammed:

"I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE"

"PRINCE SUNGHOON AND HIS RABBIT PRINCESS"

"This is literally healing content. I feel reborn."

"He's so gentle with her I'm gonna cry."

As you continued laughing, your gloved hands tightening around the bunny's ears, Sunghoon abruptly stopped near the center of the rink. "Okay," he said with a smirk, stepping around you, "you sit here—I'm gonna flex now."

"Huh?" You blinked.

He adjusted his sleeves, the wind catching his coat slightly. "You've never seen me skate properly, right? You should at least know you're in good hands."

With that, he skated backwards, slowly building up momentum, before ringing off a nice, clean, spin that had everyone aghast, your mouth agape. He followed with an elegant glide, then a jump—not diagonally across the rink like a competition move, but clearly showing everyone he still had it. Everything he did was free and easy and elegant and confident.

And the live chat exploded:

"ARE YOU GUYS SEEING THIS???"

"EX-FIGURE SKATER MY ASS, HE STILL GOT IT"

"Look at our prince show off for his princess!!!"

You were clapping in your seat on the bunny, laughing in shock. "Okay okay, fine, that was cool!"

He skated back over to you with that shy little smile, now a little breathless, running a hand through his hair. "I told you."

"You didn't have to make it look so easy," you teased, nudging him lightly with your glove.

Leaning in slightly, voice low just for you, he said, "I'll teach you someday... properly. No cameras."

Your heart was thudding, warmth blossoming in your chest that had nothing to do with the multiple layers of clothing you wore.

"Deal," you whispered, just as the camera zoomed out capturing your smile and the way Sunghoon looked at you like you were the cutest thing he had ever seen.

After Sunghoon completed his little stunt, he skated back to you, took both of your hands and said," okay, you got this. No railings this time." While looking directly into your eyes, there was a soft gentleness in his gaze that made your heart skipped a beat.

"Nope. I don't. I do not got this," you muttered as panic coursed through your body trying to started to grow and your skates wobbled underneath you. you grasped his hands tightly, your eyes wide.

"You're fine," he chuckled softly, and then pulled you just a little. "trust me."

But your knees buckled practically instantaneously and before you knew it, just before you could nosedive and faceplant onto the ice, his arms were around you—tight and assured. You gasped as you felt your feet lift off the ice, letting out a small yelp of panic as he laughed. "S-Sunghoon! Put me down, seriously—!"

He laughed, effortlessly lifting you in a bridal carries while gliding across the rink like it was nothing. "you were about dive off, I had to save you."

You buried your face in his scarf as you couldn’t stop giggling. "I'm going to pass out, like literally I'm about to pass out. I can't be this high above the ice again."

"Okay, okay, "he grinned and slowed down and gently lowered you down back onto the rink, but kept one hand on your waist to steady you. You clung to him like your life depended on it.

The live chat exploded once again:

"THE WAY HE PICKED HER UP???"

"That was NOT in the script and you cannot convince me otherwise."

"me and who."

Once you both stepped away from the rink, and back into your normal shoes, your hands were still shaking a little but mostly from the cold. Snow had started falling again, landing in your hair and sprinkling Sunghoon's lashes. You both strolled to the food booths, following the scent of tteokbokki and roasted sweet potatoes.

He bought you a hot drink and handed it to you without saying much, just giving you that soft look he always had. You took a sip, blowing into the cup as you looked over at him. His coat was dusted in white, cheeks flushed red, and his hair sparkled with melting snowflakes. You almost forgot how shy he actually was.

You weren't much different. It took everything in you not to shrink under the stares—even though there weren't many people around, the live was still rolling, and comments weren't slowing down.

"Introverts IRL falling for each other omg."

"I have never seen either of them so comfortable with anyone."

"Even Sunghoon doesn't normally do fanservice like this. I'm suspicious."

You chuckled softly at the last one, showing him the comment on your phone. He looked at it and smiled, then looked away, taking a sip of his drink. "They're not wrong," he said, almost too faint for the mic to capture.

That silence between you had this familial comfort to it. Safe. The kind of silence that you didn't have to fill with anything weird. It wasn't about being funny or charming, just you and him.

Just warming up with food, cheeks red from the cold and adrenaline, stealing shy little glances while watching each other in case there was something to say that neither one of you knew how to say yet.

The manager motioned from the side, gesturing for you and Sunghoon to keep walking down the path of snowy vendors. "They want you two to explore more. Maybe show the viewers some cute snacks or souvenirs," he said, voice just barely caught on the mic.

Sunghoon gave a small nod, brushing his fingers against his own sleeve to dust the snow off. "Let's check out the game booths," he suggested softly, glancing at you.

You looked up from your drink, blowing into it to keep your hands warm. "Are we even allowed to play in these shoes?" you whispered, pointing down at your boots with a chuckle.

"We'll risk it," he grinned faintly, and the camera caught the way he tilted his head just a little to look at you longer. You tried not to visibly melt.

As you wandered past food stalls filled with warm food and noisy lights, you stumbled upon a small vendor with plushies hanging from the ceiling won from a ring toss game. One caught your attention—a sky blue dolphin with sparkly eyes and little mittens.

"Oh my god," you mumbled as you slowed down. "That's so cute."

Sunghoon noticed where you were looking and chuckled. "That one?"

You nodded, then turned to the camera like a child at a fair. "I want it."

The live chat went wild:

"Get it for her Sunghoon, don't play."

"He better win that dolphin or I'm rioting."

"They're literally in a drama. I'm the camera."

The vendor smiled at you both and handed Sunghoon three rings. "Good luck," they said, but you could tell they knew who he was without saying anything. It was nice. Gentle.

You stood next to him, nervously clasping your hands in front of you. "Are you good at this?" you asked.

"I used to be..." he muttered, lining up his first toss seriously. He missed.

You giggled. "Used to?"

"Don't distract me," he said, playfully eyeing you from the corner of his eye. The second ring landed—barely—and the third one missed again.

"That's one ring! That counts!" you grinned.

The vendor nodded. "That's enough for a small plush."

Sunghoon turned to you, gesturing toward the dolphin. "That one?"

You lit up, nodding quickly. "Please."

When he handed it over, you clutched it to your chest like it was the most important thing in the world. "I'll name him Icey."

He blinked, then laughed—a real one. "Icey?"

"Ice prince, Icey," you teased with a grin, nudging him with your elbow. "He's part of the lore now."

"ICEY. STOP I CANT DO THIS."

"She made a nickname out of his nickname I'm gonna scream."

"No fr they're flirting. This is flirting."

You kept strolling together, you hugging the dolphin to your chest and Sunghoon occasionally glancing at you, his expression just barely softening each time. The snowflakes continued to fall, settling in your hair again—and once, he quietly reached over to brush one off your sleeve without a word.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. But it felt like something quietly blooming in the middle of winter.

The van door made a soft thud as it shut behind you as you buckled in, the live continuing to roll. You picked quietly at the warm waffle you had purchased earlier, your eyes trained on the screen reading the fan comments streaming in like a waterfall.

"Thank you for watching," you said, a small smile on your lips, almost a crumb at the corner of your mouth. "I'm glad you guys liked today's-"

Without a word, Sunghoon leaned slightly over and meticulously brushed his fingers against the left side of your mouth. He flicked away the crumb without any fanfare and leaned back into his seat.

Your mouth hung open in surprise, unsure if you should say something and be an annoying girl, but you had also not stopped him either. Instantly, your ears warmed with a soft blush, trying your best to go unnoticed like this was all normal. The plush dolphin sat between you both like an approved chaperone on a very expensive date inside an even more expensive van.

The cameraman let out a gentle laugh before turning off the live.

"HE WIPED THE CRUMB SOMEONE HOLD ME."

"I'M SCREAMING, MY PARENTS ARE HOME PLEASE."

"The way she just let him??? Oh this is real."

When the van pulled up to your dorm, you held the plushie close to your chest as you stepped out, waving goodbye to Sunghoon. "Text me when you get back," you said softly.

He nodded, gaze lingering for a second too long. "Don't fall asleep before replying."

You turned around quickly so he wouldn't see your red ears again.

The moment you stepped into the dorm, your members pounced.

When you walked into the dorm, your members jumped on you immediately.

"Is that the dolphin?!"

"Why were you BLUSHING like that?!"

"Oh my god, he wiped your mouth? Are you dating?!"

You gasped, embarrassed, and held Icey even closer to your chest as you said in a small voice, "You're all so loud!" while bolting to your room.

Halfway across the city, Sunghoon came into his dorm to absolute chaos.

"Hyung."

"Explain yourself."

"Wiping her face?"

"Giving her the plush?"

"He gave it to her because he won it for her. He was gentle."

He just shook his head and walked straight to his room. All he mumbled was "it was live."

But then a week later, you were on another live again—this time just a casual hangout with your group. The living room was a disaster zone of snacks and laughter, with board games everywhere on the floor. You, the maknae, were lounging on the couch in a pair of soft Hello Kitty pajamas, a plushie in your lap, and a star pimple patch stuck to your cheek.

No makeup, just plain skin, and just being you. It was everything the fans wanted.

"HER PJS I'M GONNA CRY."

"she's wearing no makeup and still pretty, I wanna be like her when I grow up."

"She is like... real real."

While your members were bickering over UNO cards, you were half paying attention to your phone, your thumbs tapping away quickly. Every once in a while though, you would stifle a small smile as you replied to a message.

"Yah," your older member said from behind you and peered over your screen with interest.. "You're texting him, aren't you?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What-"

She gasped dramatically, "It is him!"

The chat lost it:

"WHO IS HIM???"

"IS IT ICE PRINCE"

"WHAT IF SHE'S TEXTING SUNGHOON RN."

"SOMEONE HACK HER PHONE."

You covered your face with the plushie, groaning. "You guys are the worst."

And the plushie? Still there sitting on your lap like a silent witness to your entire soft, slow-burn chaos, loved every moment of it.

You finally put your phone down, your cheeks still warm, and walked back to the table where your members were halfway through a chaotic game of UNO. You slid in between two of them and set the plush dolphin with your deck as if it was now an honorary member of the group.

"Okay, next round!"

"Maknae, no mercy this time."

"Give me all your Draw Fours."

Laughter bubbled up as the game began, only for the chaos to shift into a casual game of Would You Rather halfway through. Fans were still watching the live, loving how comfortable and low-key everything felt.

Meanwhile...

In another dorm, Sunghoon sat at his desk with his laptop open, watching the live with one hand lazily propping up his chin. His expression was unreadable, but the smallest smile tugged at the corner of his lips every time your voice came through. His fingers tapped idly on his phone, clearly in your messages.

The camera caught you biting your lip, squinting at your cards.

"Would you rather kiss someone right after they eat garlic or text your crush right now and tell them you like them?"

You rolled your eyes and groaned, "Do I have to pick?"

The girls shrieked. The fans blew up. Sunghoon froze.

"...You're playing with fire," he muttered under his breath.

Then—

THUMP.

The door to his room swung wide open and slammed against the wall.

"Hyung! What are you—" Ni-ki's voice trailed off abruptly, mid-sentence, when he noticed the obviously live feed happening on Sunghoon's screen.

Sunghoon panicked. "I-I was just checking in-I-" He slammed the laptop shut so suddenly it snapped. "Privacy?! Ever hear of it!?"

Ni-ki raised a brow, a suspicious smirk forming on his face. "You were watching her, weren't you?"

"No," Sunghoon terribly lied.

"You're blushing."

"Shut up, close the door."

"Would you rather kiss someone or text your crush," Ni-ki teased before he backed out. "Y/N's probably waiting for your text."

"Close the damn door, NISHIMURA."

And somewhere across the city, your group had just dared you to answer the next spicy "Would You Rather" question, and you looked down at your phone again—only to see:

[1 New Message]

From: Park Sunghoon

ice prince : just so you know... i'd rather text mine.

101 notes · View notes

kiemiu · 5 months ago

Text

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓢𝐈𝐗: 𝓒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝓞𝐧 𝓨𝐨𝐮

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc 2.1k

summary -> getting an urgent call from the orphanage frightens you, until you realize the true reason why you were needed. warnings -> none. :)

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

9:20PM

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 help but silently thank whatever higher power above that gave you a valid excuse of getting out of the house without David breathing down your neck and accusing you of something degenerate.

Rolling your neck around, you gathered the energy to muster up a smile before entering the coffee shop. Gia had once again called you into work, no urgent tasks to handle, no deadlines looming, no sudden customer rush, it was just another case of her being desperate for some company. Spending time with her was easy, comforting even, so gaining the chance to escape the suffocating tension of your apartment, and him, felt like a gift. It was as if you could breathe properly again, even if only for a little while.

You rested your head against the car seat, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief second, savoring the fragile peace. But the sharp, sudden rapid knocking on your passenger window startling you out of your reverie. You jolted upright, clutching your chest as your eyes flew open in alarm, only to find Gia grinning like a mischievous child, her palms flattened against the glass.

“Come onnn! What are you waiting for?” she called out, her voice muffled but her playful pout unmistakable. She tapped her nails against the window with exaggerated urgency, her uniform slightly askew, and stray hairs falling loosely from her ponytail due to the wind.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes at her antics and grabbed your bag from the passenger seat. “Is anyone working with you today?” you asked as you got out of the car, brushing off the remnants of your nerves.

“Nope,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug, looping her arm through yours as the two of you made your way toward the shop. “Sohee was supposed to, but she called in sick.”

You stopped short, narrowing your eyes at her. “Wait, did you leave the shop completely unattended just to come shout at me?”

Gia grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Well, yeah. You were sitting out there for ages. I had to make sure you weren’t, you know, dead or something.” She leaped over the counter with the grace of someone who’d done it a hundred times before, plopping down on the other side like a cat claiming its territory.

“I pulled into the parking lot 5 minutes ago,” you deadpanned, setting your bag down at a nearby table and unpacking your laptop.

“Sure, sure,” she murmured, waving you off with exaggerated indifference before letting out a dramatic sigh and slumping forward on the counter. You couldn’t help but shake your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you powered on your computer.

You had planned to spend this quiet moment tackling the mountain of overdue schoolwork weighing on your conscience, but as you stared at the blank screen, your thoughts drifted elsewhere—back to your mother. They always did. Her absence hung over you like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. It wasn’t just the ache of loss that clung to you, but the unanswered questions, the way her death didn’t make any sense.

After 17 years of complete silence, you had finally been met with the opportunity to contact her. After so much wondering, so much yearning, you were finally going to meet her—your biological mother. The plan had been set, a meeting arranged for your 18th birthday. It would be in her hometown, she’d show you around and introduce you to all of your extended family, it would've been perfect. But a week before the long-awaited reunion, your adoptive mother had shattered your fragile hope with a single sentence: she was gone. Dead. Just like that, the one blood relative you knew of now a distant memory, a farce and a fantasy to something you foolishly desired.

Even now, months later, you couldn’t make sense of it. The documents they’d given you after her passing felt incomplete, fragments of a story left half-told. You’d read over them again and again, desperate to fill in the blanks, but each revelation only led to more confusion, more doubt. Nothing about her death fit together the way it should have. And that gnawing uncertainty, that lingering sense of something left undone, followed you everywhere—no matter how far you tried to run.

Just as the weight of exhaustion began to press heavily against your temples, your eyes glazing over the same set of documents you’d read a hundred times before, your phone suddenly buzzed against the table. The vibrations were rapid, insistent, breaking through the fog of weariness and pulling you back to the present. The screen lit up with a number you knew well—the orphanage’s main line.

You snatched up the phone, heart already picking up its pace and before you could even say hello, your mother’s voice poured through the speaker, sharp and hurried.

“Cheol’s asking for you,” she said, her tone tight and edged with frustration.

“Wh—me? Why? Is everything okay?” you stammered, already feeling your hands move on their own, quickly packing up your belongings.

“I—I don’t know! He won’t tell me anything—please, just come now,” she said, her voice cracking under the strain of stress.

You didn’t waste time replying. The call ended before you could form a coherent response, and you shoved the phone into your pocket, throwing your things into your bag with frantic hands. Next to you, Gia, who had dozed off with her head resting on your shoulder, jolted upright at the sudden burst of motion.

“Wait, are you leaving already?” she asked, blinking in confusion as she tried to process what was happening.

“Yeah, I—uh, something came up. I’m needed at the orphanage,” you said quickly, your words tumbling out as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll text you, okay?”

Gia hesitated, her worry evident in the way her brows knitted together, but she swallowed any protests, simply nodding instead. “Okay. Be safe,” she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of the door swinging shut behind you as you hurried out to your car.

The drive to the orphanage stretched endlessly, the familiar streets melting into an indistinct haze as your mind churned with countless possibilities. Each turn of the wheel felt slower than the last, the hour-and-a-half journey dragging on like an eternity. Your fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, an outlet for the growing anticipation.

When you finally pulled into the gravel driveway, the crunch of stones under your tires barely registered as you started unbuckling your seatbelt, leaving your belongings behind as you hurried toward the entrance with a brisk jog.

Inside, the familiar hum of the orphanage greeted you, a mix of children’s chatter and the occasional laugh echoing through the halls. Around this time, the kids were enjoying their downtime after torturous hours of studying. Navigating the hallways, you made a beeline for the Boys’ Quarters, your eyes sweeping over the room as you entered. Some boys were sprawled out on their beds, a few immersed in comic books, and others dozing peacefully. It didn’t take long to spot Cheol, sitting on the edge of his bed, his legs dangling off to the side and swinging lazily.

Hearing your voice call his name, his head shot up, and his small face broke into a grin—a mixture of relief and playful mischief lighting up his features. His smile widening as you approach, kneeling down to meet him at eye level.

“Cheol,” you breathed, your voice gentle but edged with concern. “Is everything okay?” your eyes scanning him quickly.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, though his eyes sparkled with something unreadable. “I’m okay,” he said with a small nod. “I was just wondering why you weren’t here yesterday or today.”

The tension in your shoulders melted, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. The weight you’d carried on the drive over lifted as a faint smile touched your lips. “Cheol,” you said softly, “I don’t work on weekends, remember? I’m only here on weekdays.”

He nodded again, his gaze dropping to his lap, where his small hands fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “Noona was looking for you,” he murmured quietly.

You blinked, confusion evident on your face as you leaned in slightly. “Your sister, Sae-byeok?” you asked, the words coming out unsteady and slow.

Another nod, his fingers curling into the soft fabric beneath him. “Mhm,” he affirmed. “She said she wanted to thank you for helping me at movie night.”

From under his blanket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, its edges worn and torn with a mysterious orange stain. Written across the shredded piece of paper in neon green crayon was a phone number, accompanied by smaller, tidier writing, obviously written in a haste: ‘ Kang Sae-byeok. For emergencies only. I respond faster to texts. ‘

You took the note delicately, treating it as though it were fine china. Your thumb slowly brushes over the creased surface, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Cheol,” you whispered, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Raising a hand, you ruffled his hair affectionately.

He giggled, catching your wrist in his smaller hand and pressing it to his cheek. “Are you staying for dinner?” he asked suddenly, his wide, hopeful eyes locking onto yours.

Your heart tugged at the question. As much as you wanted to stay, you couldn't. Still having other responsibilities to tend to. A small frown crept onto your face as you shook your head. “Not tonight, Cheol,” you said gently. “But tomorrow, I’ll eat dinner with you. Pinkie promise.” You held out your pinkie, waiting.

Without hesitation, he hooked his pinkie around yours, his face lighting up once more. “And Noona will be there too,” he added with a cheeky grin.

You laughed softly, ignoring the uncomfortable knot that formed in your chest at the thought of actually sitting down to have a conversation with her. “I can’t wait,” you replied, your voice warm but quiet. With a playful pinch of his cheek, you added, “But listen, Cheol, I have to go now. Don’t give my mom any more trouble while I’m gone, okay?”

Though you tried to sound stern, there was no real authority behind your voice, and Cheol could tell. He gave you a mischievous smile, his eyes glinting as he replied, “Can’t make any promises.”

You shook your head, an amused chuckle escaping as you stood up. He flopped back onto his bed, opening a comic book and hiding his quiet laughter behind its colorful cover. You watched him for a moment, that mischievous grin still playing on his lips, before turning toward the door. Even as you left, the sound of his soft giggles followed you, lingering in the air like a reassuring reminder of why you always came back.

As you made your way back to your car, the gentle breeze brushing against your face did little to distract you from the crumpled note in your hand. Its weight felt far heavier than the paper itself, your thoughts spiraling with every step toward the vehicle.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you shut the door behind you, cutting off the outside world. The momentary quiet inside the car gave you a fleeting sense of peace, but it was quickly replaced by a nervous energy thrumming beneath your skin. The note rested in your lap, its edges curling slightly, as if urging you to act. With trembling hands, you picked up your phone, the screen glowing softly.

Your fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard. The words felt trapped, refusing to come out the way you wanted. ' Yo, it’s Kim Y/N from the orphanage.' Delete. 'Heyyy, it’s–' No, no that's way too deserpate. again. Each failed attempt only heightened the tension coiling in your chest.

Finally, after cycling through countless drafts and second-guessing yourself more times than you could count, you settled on something simple and straight-forward.

' Hi Sae-byeok, it’s Kim Y/N from the orphanage. :) '

You reread the message twice, your thumb hesitating over the send button. Then, with a deep breath, you pressed it. The message disappeared, and the phone screen dimmed as you locked it, placing the device on the center console as though distancing yourself from it might make the moment feel less significant.

Leaning back against the headrest, you closed your eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply. Your hand instinctively found the pendant hanging from your necklace, fingers curling around it as if seeking comfort. When your eyes opened again, they caught the faintest hint of a smile on your face reflected in the rearview mirror—a smile that surprised even you.

What are you doing to me, Kang Sae-byeok?

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here @monroesturnns

#kang saebyeok x fem!reader #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #kang saebyeok x reader #kang sae byeok x reader #kang saebyeok #kang sae byeok #067 x reader #player 067 x reader #player 067 #067 #squid game x fem!reader #squid games x reader #squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game

139 notes · View notes

bat-mom-writer · 7 months ago

Text

Four Left Feet

(Sons) Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne X

Reader(mom)

Bruce Wayne(husband) X Reader(wife)

Summery: You want to teach your sons tango, but it turns into a mess of fun.

Rating: Fluff

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

"Why we doing this again?" Tim mumbled, tugging at his collar as he stared down at his feet.

"Yeah, it's not exactly a Bat-skill," Jason quipped, earning a playful swat on the arm from Dick.

You, watched the three young men with a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. Dick, ever the charmer, had agreed to the lessons with ease. Tim, the cautious one, was probably just here to appease you. Jason, well, you hadn't quite figured out his angle yet. Damain, the youngest, was still too young to fully grasp the concept of dance, let alone tango.

"Because, my dear wards," you began, your voice as smooth as silk, "grace and poise are just as important as strength and strategy." you gestured to the grand ballroom, the chandeliers casting a warm glow over the gleaming wooden floor. "Besides, I've seen you four dance before at charity galas. We're just… fine-tuning your skills."

"Fine," you said, turning on the music. The dramatic opening notes of a tango filled the room. You stepped forward, extending your hand to Dick, who took it with a grin. "Now come here, I'll show you how it's done."

Dick's posture straightened as he stepped closer, your palms touching. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the room around you melted away. "Your left foot forward," you instructed, guiding his leg with yours. "Now, right, left." Dick followed your lead, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone who'd spent more time fighting in the shadows than gliding across a dance floor. You felt a surge of pride. Maybe he had picked up some moves from watching Bruce.

The tension grew as you stepped back, pulling him closer. "To the right," you say, your breath brushing against his cheek. The tango was a dance of passion and control, and it was clear that Dick was trying his best to master it.

Tim, Damian, and Jason watched on, their initial skepticism giving way to curiosity. "Okay, okay," Dick said with a playful smile, finally finding his rhythm. His movements grew more confident, his steps quickening to match the tempo of the music. The smile on your face grew wider.

With a dramatic flourish, Dick spun you around. The fabric of your dress fluttered out like a cloud of moonlight. As he pulled you back in, your bodies connected in a perfect arc, the tension palpable. The way he moved, the way he led, it was as if he'd been born for this.

Jason's eyebrow shot up, a hint of admiration in his gaze. "Alright, I might just have to give this a try," he said, taking a step forward. His tone had shifted from mocking to competitive.

You turned to him, holding out your hand. "Come here," you said, your smile challenging.

Jason grinned and stepped up, taking your hand. He didn't even pretend to do the tango, instead opting to mess around, pulling you into a series of improvised moves. His movements were rough around the edges, but there was a playful grace to them that spoke of a natural athlete.

"You're not even trying," you chuckled, trying to keep your balance.

"I'm just not a 'tango' kind of guy," Jason said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now follow my lead. One, two, five, ten, four."

You couldn't help but laugh as you allowed him to lead you through his chaotic improvisation. He was a whirlwind of energy, making up steps as he went, turning the elegant dance into a playful romp around the ballroom. Despite the lack of structure, there was something infectious about his enthusiasm, and you found yourself enjoying the moment.

"And now, for the show stopper," Jason said, his grip on your hand tightening. Before you could protest or ask what he had in mind, he dipped you low, your back almost parallel to the floor. You let out a gasp of surprise that turned into a laugh as he held you there, his strength surprisingly gentle. The room tilted around you, the chandeliers spinning in a dizzying display of light.

"Jason!" you exclaimed, your heart racing, but his smirk told you he had it all under control. With a swift pull, he brought you back up to standing, your cheeks flushed with excitement.

With a smirk still playing on his lips, Jason executed a dramatic bow, the kind that would have earned him a standing ovation from a Broadway audience.

"Your turn, Tim," you said, turning to the youngest of the bunch, who was now watching with a mix of envy and apprehension.

Tim took a deep breath and stepped up, his eyes darting to Dick and Jason before returning to yours. You placed one hand in his and rested the other on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I've got you."

As the music began, Tim's gaze remained glued to the floor, his eyes flicking up only briefly to check on yours. His steps were tentative at first, as if the floor might give way beneath him.

"Relax, Tim," you murmured, your voice a gentle encouragement.

Tim nodded, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. The music swelled, and you began to guide him through the steps, moving slowly to help him find his rhythm. His movements were rigid at first, his mind likely racing with thoughts of missteps and embarrassment. But as the song progressed, you could feel him start to let go, his body loosening up as he began to trust both you and the music.

"Look at me," you instructed, lifting his chin with a gentle touch. His eyes met yours, and you saw the fear begin to dissipate, replaced by a flicker of determination. You stepped back, pulling him closer in a traditional tango embrace. "You're doing great."

Tim's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, but he managed a small smile. As the music grew more intense, so did the dance. You could feel him trying to keep up, his movements becoming more fluid as he allowed the music to guide him. His steps grew surer, his body moving in time with yours, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest.

"Good," you said, your voice low and encouraging. "I believe I could make a tango dancer out fo you yet."

Tim's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled slightly, breaking the rhythm. "Don't push it," he murmured, his smile a little self-conscious.

You rolled your eyes playfully, then chuckled. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that." With a sudden, surprising twirl, you spun him around, watching as his expression shifted from concentration to shock, and then back to determination.

Tim's feet stumbled a bit, but he quickly regained his footing, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity. "I thought I was the gentlemen here," he said with a smirk.

You winked at him. "Sometimes, it's good to keep everyone on their toes. Sometimes literally."

Damian watched the two of you with curiosity, his young eyes taking in every move. He tapped his foot in time to the music, the only indication that he was absorbing the lesson. He was still too young to truly understand the dance, but the rhythm called to him, and he was eager to join in.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. Despite being Bruce's biological son, he was the most unpredictable of the bunch. "Alright, little one," you said, holding out your hand. "Let's see what you've got."

Damian looked up at you with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He was only eight, and his understanding of the tango was probably limited to what he'd seen in cartoons, but you had a feeling he'd surprise you. He took your hand, his small palm fitting perfectly in yours.

"Okay," you said, crouching down to his level. "We're going to start slow." The music softened, a more gentle tune playing to suit his age. "Just follow me. Left foot, right left, good."

Damian's eyes narrowed in concentration as he stepped in time with the beat. His movements were awkward, his feet stumbling over themselves occasionally, but he had a fiery determination in his eyes that was impossible to miss.

"Good," you said, keeping your voice soft and encouraging. "Remember, it's about the passion, not the perfection."

Damian scoffed, his little brows furrowed in concentration. "I have passion," he said, trying to mimic the intense gaze you'd shared with the others. "But I do not find it in this… tango."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the ballroom. "Fine," you said, ruffling his hair gently. "But keep an open mind. You never know when you might need to charm a lady at a gala."

"Mother, I'm eight," Damian said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "The only woman I would find myself dancing with is Jason."

The room erupted in laughter, even Jason couldn't help but chuckle at the innocent jab. "Hey! I have you know I would look dashing in a dress," he said, striking a dramatic pose.

You couldn't hold back your laughter any longer, it bubbled out of you like a fountain, filling the air with warmth. "Oh, you certainly would," you said, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "But let's focus on the tango, shall we?"

"Yes, let us get back to work," Jason said, a glint in his eye. "Now step out of the way, Mother," he teased, gently pushing you aside. "Let the master be the teacher. Come here, Damian."

Before Damian could protest, Jason had him scooped up in his arms, his little legs dangling in the air. You watched, a mix of amusement and concern playing across your face.

"Jason, what are you doing?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

"Teaching him the 'Bat-Tango' move," he said with a wink.

Damian's eyes widened as Jason held him close, moving him through the air in a series of twists and turns that were more acrobatic than graceful. The boy's laughter filled the room, echoing off the high ceilings at Jason's movements.

"Put me down!" he squealed, his giggles only adding to the chaos.

"The trick is to not put your dance partner down for any reason," Jason said to the others, as he spun him around in mid-air.

Dick, ever the showman, took your hand again. "Well, whatever teachers say," he quipped, and before you had a chance to react, he swept you into the air, your legs hanging lose. Your heart skipped a beat, a thrill shooting through you as he whirled you around the room.

"Dick!" you exclaimed, half in protest, half in delight. His arms were strong around you, moving with the same precision and grace as when he fought crime as Nightwing. The world around you was a blur of color and light as he danced with you in a way that defied gravity.

Jason fake gasps, stilling holding Damian, "You dare to challenge the 'Bat-Tango'?"

"I do," Dick said, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "And not only do I, but I dare say, I do it better."

With that, he spun you around faster, your dress billowing out around you like a cloud of silk. The wind from the spin kissed your cheeks, your hair swirling in a dance of its own. You gasped, half in shock, half in exhilaration.

"Is that all you've got, Grayson?" Jason called out, noticing the heightened tempo. He swung Damian around with surprising agility.

"I'm going to be sick," Damian complained, his little face a mix of excitement and queasiness.

"This should be called the 'Ragdoll-ango,'" Tim quipped, watching from the sidelines as Jason continued to whirl Damian around in a series of moves that were more suited to a circus act than a dance floor.

"You dare in the Bat-tango?" Jason repeated, his voice filled with mock indignation as he set Damian down gently. The little boy stumbled a bit, his legs wobbly from the dizzying experience, but his eyes were alight with excitement. "For your insulative comment, you're my next partner."

With that, Jason reached out and grabbed Tim, who squeaked in protest. "I was joking!"

But Tim's protests fell on deaf ears as Jason whirled him around in a series of moves that were more wrestling than tango. The room was filled with laughter and the sound of their footsteps echoing off the polished floors.

"Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up on you!" you called out to Dick, your voice a mix of playfulness and actual dizziness. Dick set you down gently, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the dance. "Show-off," you murmured, though your own smile was just as wide.

"But you love me non the less," Dick quipped, his hand still holding yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand gently.

"Yes, I do," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. Despite the chaos, there was something beautiful in the camaraderie, in the way the boys had come to see this as more than just a dance lesson, but a chance to connect. You looked over at Tim, his cheeks flushed from the spinning. He was trying to regain his balance, his eyes on the floor as if the answers to his disorientation lay there.

"Okay, okay! Jason, I think you've tortured him enough," you called out, a hint of laughter in your voice.

Jason looked at Tim, his face a shade greener than before. "Oh, come on," he said, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. "It's all part of the training."

"Training for what?" Tim managed to ask, his voice wobbly. "Barfing in public?"

"Jason, drop him," you said, your tone firm but playful, as if you were speaking to a mischievous dog.

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly, and he bent his knees, preparing to set Tim down. But his grip didn't loosen. "Jason," you repeated, your voice a gentle warning.

Jason smirked, his eyes flashing with playful rebellion. "No, Jason." you said again, your voice carrying an underlying current of seriousness. But the look on his face told you that he had no intention of stopping his little game.

"Jason, no!" you called out, but it was too late. With a mischievous grin, he dashed away out of the ball room and into the hall, Tim's legs kicking in the air like a ragdoll.

Dick's eyes lit up with the chase, and before you could blink, he had scooped Damian up into his arms. "Come, little brother, we must save our brother from our brother!" he declared with a dramatic flair.

"Oh brother," Damian muttered, his expression a mask of feigned boredom. Dick sprints off after Jason, Damian being swung side to side with each stride.

You watch them disappear down the hall, the laughter fading into the distance. The ballroom feels eerily quiet in their wake, the music continuing to play but the dance floor now abandoned. You take a moment to catch your breath, a soft smile lingering on your lips.

"Guess I wouldn't get to teach any tango," you murmur to yourself, the words carrying a hint of amusement.

Suddenly the music began again, "Not with them at least."

You whipped around to find Bruch standing beside the sound system, a knowing smirk on his face. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a hint of amusement. You couldn't help but smile back at him. He'd been so busy with Wayne Enterprises that he'd missed the start of the lesson.

"I couldn't help but notice that we have a few… unorthodox… tango moves going on here," Bruce said, stepping onto the dance floor.

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist the smirk that tugged at your lips. "I had it all under control until Jason decided to turn it into an acrobatics show."

Bruce chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling in the chandelier light. He stepped closer, extending his hand to you. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Care to show me what you've been working on?"

You took his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. As the music played on, you stepped into Bruce's embrace, your bodies moving together in perfect sync, as if you'd been doing this dance for years. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension between you was palpable, a silent communication of trust and understanding.

"You tease," you say with a playful smirk, your voice low and intimate. "You already know how to tango."

Bruce raises an eyebrow, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly. "Do I?" he questions, the corners of his mouth lifting. He's footwork is precise, each step measured and deliberate. The dance floor seems to shrink around you as you glide in perfect unison. The tango is a dance of passion and control, and in that moment, you could feel the full extent of Bruce's control, not just in his dance, but in his life as well.

"Well, I'm a bit rusty." he admitted, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. But his movements said otherwise. He was as smooth and in command as the night he'd first swept you off your feet.

"Such a liar," you whispered, your eyes locked with his. His gaze was intense, as if he could see straight to your soul.

Bruce leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Am I?"

You met his gaze, a challenge in your eyes. "You're just showing off again."

"Only for you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His movements grew more intimate, the tango becoming a silent conversation between your bodies. Each step was filled with a subtle tension that spoke of the love and trust that existed between the two of you. Despite the chaos of the evening, in this moment, it was as if you were the only two people in the world.

The music grew louder, the strings more insistent, as Bruce spun you around the room, the fabric of your dress swirling around your legs like a second skin. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the faint smell of leather from your cloths, but it was the scent of Bruce, the scent of home, that filled your senses.

As the tango grew more intense, the boys' laughter and shouts from the hallway grew fainter, until it was just the two of you, dancing as if the fate of Gotham rested on the beat of your hearts. Bruce's grip was firm, yet gentle, guiding you through the intricate steps with a confidence that was as reassuring as it was thrilling.

With a dramatic dip, he lowered you, your back arching gracefully, your hair brushing the floor. The chandeliers above cast a dizzying pattern of light and shadow across the room, making it feel like you were dancing in the heart of a diamond. For a moment, you were suspended in time, the world around you fading away as you looked into the depths of his eyes.

Then, with surprising gentleness, he pulled you back up, your bodies molding together as one. The music grew softer, the steps more deliberate, as if the world had slowed to match the tempo of your hearts. You could feel the tension in the room shift, the playfulness of earlier replaced by something deeper, something raw and real.

Bruce's hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb tracing gentle circles. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart. The tango was a dance of passion, and in that moment, it was as if the dance had become a physical manifestation of your love.

The music reached a crescendo, and Bruce spun you out, only to pull you back in, your chests brushing together. The air was charged with energy, and the room seemed to hold its breath as you moved in perfect harmony. Your heart pounded in your chest, the thrill of the dance mirroring the excitement of your early days together, fighting crime side by side.

As the song approached its end, Bruce's steps grew more deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. He leaned in, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you, but instead, he whispered, "You're right, I am showing off."

You grinned, "Know it," and with that, the dance ended with a dramatic flourish, leaving you both standing in the center of the ballroom, breathless.

The sudden silence was broken by the distant sound of yelling, echoing down the hall. The laughter and shouts grew louder, and you couldn't help but worry that the boys had gotten into some kind of trouble.

You sigh, "Lovely while it lasted." The brief moment of tranquility dissipates as the chaos of your unconventional family life crashes back in.

Bruce's smile grew into a chuckle, his eyes alight with amusement. "Yes, it was," he said, his voice a warm rumble in the quiet room. "But the night is young, and I suspect we'll have more opportunities to dance like that."

The words hung in the air, a promise of future moments of shared intimacy and joy, a stark contrast to the life of shadows and danger they often led. You leaned into him, feeling the strength of his embrace, and whispered, "We shall dance again soon, Mr. Wayne."

With a chuckle, Bruce took a few steps back, his hand still holding yours, and bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. It was a gesture that spoke of respect and affection, a reminder of the gentleman he was beneath the cape and cowl. "I await for it," he said, his voice filled with warmth and mischief. He kissed the back of your hand, his lips lingering for a beat longer than necessary. The touch was electric, sending a jolt through your body and igniting a fire in your soul.

You curtsied in response, your heart racing from the intimacy of the moment. "I'll hold you to that," you whispered, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

#batman #bat family #dc universe #bat boys #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #dc fandom #batfamily #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman x reader #reader mom #tango #bat mom #bruce's wife

264 notes · View notes

ruinaimagines · 2 months ago

Note

Really wanna see some romantic don quixote hc, don't see that stuff often

Did someone say Don Quixote. I’m alive speaking from the casket over here, ringing the little bell in the coffin to signal IM ALIVE. This includes pre- and post-canto parts.

Don Quixote x Reader Headcanons:

Don Quixote as a partner is, as you’d guess, easily excitable. She revels in your time together, fantasizing about your adventures as two brave heroes who gallantly traverse the lands!

Hand-in-hand, any new experience she wishes to rush forward will always be with you to accompany it.. Even if you aren’t aware that you’re going to be involved. Nonetheless! No time to think, for she’s devised a plan for your own enjoyment!

It’s the eccentricities and solid code of justice she upholds that are so charming, her lack of shame to step in when no one else would. And considering you’ve found yourself in a romantic situation with her, you’re likely well aware of all her mannerisms. Perhaps participating in them yourself!

I do think that she would do well with someone who either shares that energy, or knows how to listen intently and treat her with a mutuality. And in return, she’d listen to you a tad more! A tad. That’s more than the majority of the sinners can succeed in herding her, so they’re already grateful.

It isn’t that she doesn’t retain what you tell her or ward her of, rather that when the thought surges of something she must do, it’s an impulse. Most often it’s acting without considering the consequences, and it might take a soft nudge or similar to bring her back to reality.

But trust me, she tries to absorb what you tell her, especially if you regale her with your own travels. The imagery plays out visible before her eyes; you, standing tall and proud as the lighting hits just right or! Or! Maybe it’s more of a tragic tale, one of woes.. But fret not! You will be back on your own feet in no time, that she knows!

Don Quixote would not stand whatsoever for any slander on your name. Any rude comments, she’s practically scrambling to retort before you can even process what was said. It doesn’t matter whether you took it personally or not. You may have to defuse the situation lest Outis will need to strangle her back again.

It doesn’t sit right with her that people can get away with saying or doing such vicious things when it coincides with what she’s passionate about. She’d voice this to you, about how you shouldn’t tolerate such behavior. It’s more complicated than that, but getting that through will be difficult.

Perhaps.. It is just the more noble route for a knight to extend the grace of mercy and forgive, yes! That ought to be it! She finds her way around eventually, even if it’s through her own peculiar mind loops.

When I consider it, I do think that she would be quite good at communicating about being upset. She feels strongly, and voices that. And in instances where she may not, it is rather easy to tell when she is disgruntled or put down.

I don’t think all too many arguments would occur as she wouldn’t want to fight with you. Her perspective is more prone to mending when it comes to you. Which you might have to be a bit wary of. She trusts in you absolutely, but that also means not quite being able to accept you doing wrong– which isn’t humanly possible. So keep an eye out. It’s good to acknowledge that the perspective she comes to should be one that she believes.

(Not saying this blind following would extend to blatantly cruel things that go against her definition of justice. As in saying you can’t just kick a child in an alleyway and give a thumbs up and go along the way. She’d have an adverse reaction. But if you’re with her, doubt that would be much of a situation you run into to begin with.)

With dates it's rare you’re sitting in just one place, but that’s the fun of it! Often they’re her idea, given it usually spurs from one thing she overheard through the fixer forums she’d read and wanted to try. She is motivated often by things she wants to do, but this doesn’t mean she won’t go places you ask. You just have to remind her.

Getting into her canto and post canto there is a lot of change to unpack. Learning that she herself was one of the bloodfiends she so despised, that the others were family, and what happened to her father is a major strain.

I don’t think she’d want to face or acknowledge you at that time, truthfully. You may be outright ignored. She’s picking up the pieces of her own history, and it’s distressing that she does care for you, that she can’t simply return to her family because there are things holding her back. (She does have other reasons contending for why she stuck with the sinners, of course, but focusing on you)

Her own self-definition is really being challenged, and with that comes another reason she tries to avoid you; with all her self-loathing she entirely expects for you to no longer want to be with her. She’s not the same person you believed her to be, who you’d grown to love, so why would you? She believes she has (wrongly) already figured out your decision.

Surprise. That's a flawed train of thought. Of course you care! It might take some expressing in your words that she is still herself, just as she was long ago, just as she is as a sinner. She still truly felt those things, did she not? And it wasn’t as though she was intentionally lying.

It is a rough canto for the both of you, but you make going forward a lot more approachable, possible. She chooses to go forward with the enthusiasm you’re used to, but so are you aware and appreciative of her more grounded moments.

She has greater control in her impulses now. Still not happy if people are being rude to you. But you’re able to talk her down from certain things without as much resistance.

She was already quite loyal, but I think it’s rooted even deeper now. In a way your accompaniment helps her avoid falling into the blind mistakes and cycles of the past.

Not going to lie it may be a bit of an awkward subject to broach at first; being a bloodfiend that is. There is no easy way to bring it up, but highly recommend doing so in private. It allows her to be more earnest without needing to upkeep the title of Don Quixote.

Expect a lot of patience to be needed. Chances are she won’t feel ready to acknowledge or confront it all. She trusts you, she does, but it’ll take time.

Ohhh I do imagine there is a great regret she feels after the LCB checkup event with her attacking the rest of the sinners and you. Being so overwhelmed with bloodthirst that you aren’t rationally in charge of your own actions is a terrifying experience, especially when it can come to harm you.

But it might prove to offer the window you need to talk one-on-one, learn more about what it is she goes through, and confirm that no, she is not some beast. You still love her, and it need not be something she deals with on her lonesome.

Though a lot is similar to how she acted in the past one notable thing is her more often fetching you things that you like. She acknowledges that you choose to remain by her side, and she is very deeply appreciative of it. So rather than scrounging around fixer catalogues to find things she wants, she'll try and figure out what you'd want as well. Now how accurate that is to your actual tastes is... debatable. its the thought that counts, right?

#limbus company #limbus #lcb #x reader #limbus company x reader #headcanons #don quixote #don quixote x reader #don quixote headcanons #lcb x reader #hcs #limbus company don quixote #lcb don quixote #limbus x reader #limbus company hcs #limbus company headcanons

96 notes · View notes

anakin-skywalker-always · 2 years ago

Note

padawan/atoc era anakin x reader, they're in love with each other (both jedi) but obviously can't come forward. Anakin confides in Padmé, reader becomes convinced/jealous that anakin is with padme

(bonus points if you can make it angsty and fluffy)

As Easy As Breathing

Hi nonnie! Thank you so, so, so much for this rec! It’s my first one on this account and it’s really quite the christening. Hope its okay, I’m not the best at angst!

Pairing: Padawan!Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Reader (Star Wars)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none!! Should be all good, let me know if you caught anything I may have missed. Not beta read!

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: Anakin is canonically 19 in AOTC, reader is the same, maybe a year younger. Clone Wars have not yet started in this fic, I’m just assuming Padmé and Anakin stayed besties after the whole nonsense in Phantom Menace.

The warm sun filtering through the windows fell upon Anakin’s face, in a soft moment of solitude, the sounds of the Coruscant cityscape provided him with a brief reprieve to Padmé’s chastising. He often thought that his ability to talk to Padmé about anything was his strength, but in this moment he couldn’t help to think of it as a weakness. Anakin cringed as Padmé continued to berate him; On a rare afternoon off the nineteen-year-old padawan found himself lounging on the senator’s couch.

“Seriously Anakin, you should just-” Padmé stilled, her slender hands finding her hips, huffing, she continued, “Are you even listening to me, Ani?” The forceful tone on his nickname got Anakin’s attention once again.

“I am!” Anakin raised his eyebrows in addition to his hands, in mock surrender. “I swear Padmé!”

The senator found it easy to roll her eyes at his antics, like always. But she could see the change in Anakin, could see how his emotions for his fellow padawan learner have caused conflict in him. Her friend wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating. Padmé knew Anakin was an intense person, a strong personality, everyone knew that about him. But this, this was different. He seemed lost, like he was missing something he needed to operate. Padmé found her way to the couch, sitting beside Anakin, grabbing his tanned, calloused hands in her own.

“Anakin, if you do truely care this strongly for her, you must tell her.” Anakin’s eyes found Padmé’s own. “It would be cruel, to withhold this love.” There was a time in Anakin’s life where this is all he wanted, being with Padmé and he knew his nine-year-old self would be so excited by innocent hand holding. But his nineteen-year-old self was happier to have such a strong, nonjudgemental friend.

“How did you know that you loved Sabé?” Anakin asked gently, knowing how the senator safeguarded her relationship with her handmaiden fiercely.

Anakin noted how Padmé seemed to glow at the mention of her lover. A warm smile graced her pink lips, eyes crinkling at the sides, a faraway glaze coated her sparkling eyes. Her signature in the force felt warm, it wrapped around Anakin’s brain, made him feel safe. Padmé’s love for Sabé was so tangible it extended outside herself, adjusting her force signature.

“I realised I loved Sabé when being around her became a necessity, an honesty, a truth that I did not know I was constantly seeking out.” Padmé gushed, a light trail of pink lit itself over her high cheekbones and freckled nose. “I felt as if Sabé had breathed new life into me everytime I saw her, it was natural, it was right.”

Anakin was quiet for a moment, Padmé became worried that she had overstepped somehow, projected to far onto Anakin’s feelings.

“Loving y/n is as natural as breathing.” He replied.

Anakin rolled over on his hard, standard issue, Jedi temple bed. A sleepless night was not uncommon for him, but this felt inherently different. Padmé’s words from earlier in the day rattled around his brain, demanding to be dealt with. Anakin never saw love as a weakness, never saw attachment as weakness. How could he? Love was the basis of the light, the well of Jedi power that Anakin drew from was a labour of love, was purity, was peace, was built with empathy and centered by knowing himself. His love for you did not make him a bad person.

But he knew it would make him seem like a bad Jedi.

Not knowing your stance on him, on the rule of attachment was slowly eating away at Anakin’s peace.

Groaning aloud, Anakin ran his hands down his face.

Your head whipped around, anxiously. You knew it was embarrassing that you always looked for him in a crowded room, but you could not help it, you felt as if the force was electric until he calmed it. His signature singlehandedly smothering anything else it came in contact with. Being around Anakin, to you, felt as natural as breathing.

“Looking for young Skywalker, are you?” Your master, Mace Windu asks, a small smirk whispers across his face, lightly nudging you in the shoulder. The two of you stood in one of the reception rooms of the Republic building. The Senate was hosting a charity gala with the invite extending to the Jedi temple. So, there you stood, in your best robes, breaking your neck to catch a glimpse of The Chosen One.

“No Master.” You said, quietly. Turning your head away from the powerful Jedi Master to not embarrass yourself further with the luxury of him catching your furious blush. Your master excused himself, laughing, finding Master Plo Kloon.

So, you stood there, alone, foolishly searching the room for your fellow padawan, the one that consumed your mind and soul.

It wasn’t completely unlikely, you reasoned with yourself. You and Anakin were friends, were very well matched, sparring partners. But, Anakin was a good Jedi. A strong Jedi. Following orders wasn’t Anakin’s strongest suit, you’d admit. Pondering whether he would disregard the rules of attachment for you, however, was different.

Nonetheless, like a junkie craving death sticks, you craved Anakin’s presence, his force signature was all you needed to feel right. The anxiety of the gala was too much. Closing your eyes, tightly, you reached out into the force to find him. Anakin’s signature, golden like it always was flocked to your senses, like always.

Opening your eyes, you began to weave through the bustling crowd as quickly as one could who was masquerading as casual.

“I’m not going to say anything to her now, Padmé.” Anakin huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, defensively. “Not in front of all these people, you’ve got to be joking.” He scoffed.

Sabé giggled quietly, the two women joined their arms at the elbow. Padmé just rolled her eyes at Anakin’s supposed insoclence.

Your frame weaving through the crowd in his direction caught Anakin’s eye. He smiled, quikly raised a hand, and was delighted when your devastating smile echoed back.

“Anakin.” You greeted him, with a small bow of the head. His name sounded heavenly whenever you deigned to let it fall from your lips. Anakin was convinced he could breathe easier with you around, like he had been purged of something suffocating him.

“Y/N, this is Sen-” You quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the name of your rival come from his beautiful mouth. Your jealousy that you held for Padmé reared its ugly head, and you couldn’t help to feel shame burn deep inside the space between ribs.

“Senator Amidala, a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” You stuck your hand out, awkwardly hoping for a handshake. “Anakin has told me so much.” Cordial. It was a good tactic. You were a good person, a good jedi. You would not succumb to jealousy. Besides, Padmé had other qualities you were far more jealous of than just her nonexistent romantic relationship that you deludedly conjured up in your mind when you tried to sleep at night.

“All good things I should hope.” She smiled, her soft hand finding your own, a small shake. You could empathise with Anakin for falling in love with someone like her. Someone so intelligent, powerful, beautiful.

It was not lost on you, the way the senator’s hand quickly found the one of the woman she stood beside.

“This is Sabé.” Anakin started, introducing Padmé’s guest. “Padmé’s hand-” For the second time tonight, but surely not the last, Anakin was cut off.

“My partner.” Senitor Amidala said firmly, though her eyes twinkled with pride. Sabé’s own shock manifested itself into a wide smile. The two looked eachother in the eyes and you couldn’t help but feel silly. Of course. Of course.

For whatever reason, the words you thought you had died swiftly in your mouth, “Oh.” was all you managed to get out. “A pleasure to meet you too, Sabé.” You tried quickly to save the situation, to save embarrassment. But Padmé’s slight smile, Sabé’s coy smirk. You felt like the two Naboo women knew you, saw you. They somehow, in this embarrassing blunder of a meeting had already clocked that you harboured feelings for Anakin Skywalker. It made you feel foolish, moreso than what you already did.

“If you’d excuse us, Jedi, we have futher business to attend to.” Sabé quipped strongly, leading her senator lover to the next group of politicians. The art of smalltalk was something else you could add to the list of Padmé’s items you were jealous of.

Anakin turned to you, chuckling. His standard-issue Jedi robes moving effortlessly with his chest. Running a hand through his cropped hair, you felt his eyes scanning your face. You knew your blood would betray you, like it so often did around your friend, rising to the surface of your cheeks, splattering down your neck and chest. Embarrassment clung to you like a rash.

“Don’t mind them, they like setting me up.” Anakin scoffed, shaking his head.

“Setting you up for what?” You asked, eyeing him micheviously. Chatting with Anakin felt natural; He was quick witted and liked challenging you, he was a tease.

And, more often than not, a flirt.

This was different though, Anakin had an air of nervousness about him. You noticed as your fellow padawan’s large, veiny hands found the way to the back of his neck, rubbing sheepishly.

“Oh you know…” He trailed off, looking everywhere except for your eyes, his own blue ones scanning the ornate ceiling of the reception room. “Setting us up to be alone together.” He admitted, squinting as if the words bought him some kind of physical pain.

You quirked a brow, your arms quickly crossing your chest - a defensive stance. “Would that be so bad? Being alone together?” The words meant to be teasing, non-serious. But it was too late, the seed was planted in Anakin’s brain.

To him, that felt like an admission of sorts, an admission that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Well, if he squinted it seemed like that.

In a tender moment, something rare for Anakin, he reached out. Tucking stray hairs behind your ear, gently following your padawan braid around the cusp of it.

“You know, y/n, that I want nothing more,” He smiled. It was pure, and real. You felt the sincerity in the force, the truth within him. Moreso, you felt your ear burn from the brief contact, felt your heart swell in your chest at the mere thought of being alone in close quarters with him. “I want nothing more than to be alone with you.”

He retracted his hand, but you still felt alight with his closeness. His force signature felt palpable, you were enraptured in his warmth. He was golden. Your golden boy.

“Why don’t we go get lost then?” You whispered, scared anything too loud would betray your eagerness. Anakin’s smile split across his face, eyes crinkling and dimples showing. Smirking he placed a strategic hand at the low of your back. He was so incredibly tall, bending over you to whisper back,

“After you, my lady.”

—--

AN: Hehe all done! Left it open for more if you wanted, but teasing enough to be left as it is! Hope it’s alright and I hope you could enjoy at least some of it <3

P.S This is a side account, my main is @mayhemories, so I will be answering any comments with that account but rest assured it is still me :) <3

Much love, El.

2K notes · View notes