♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.”
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded.
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Sukuna, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit.
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit.
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.”
“Hurry, then.”
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination.
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him.
“Are you close?” you whispered.
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.”
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Please.”
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him.
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back.
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again.
You both snapped in unison.
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.”
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
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Villain! Seungcheol
— Synopsis: After facing constant rejection from your own boyfriend, you discover he’s a superhero flying around the city. Seungcheol, the so-called 'villain,' stepped in when you were left as bait, exposed to your boyfriend's enemies. It turns out, he's the one who truly took care of you.
— WC: 13k
— WARNINGS: fantasy, angst, smut, crack, cigarettes, stalking (for good), physical fights, injury, murder, death (not the reader, not seungcheol), paranormal elements (superpowers, misshapenness, telepathy, and floating), moral ambiguity (unclear distinctions between "heroes" and "villains"), sex toys, oral (f. & m.), getting caught masturbating, cock riding, edging, creampie, DIRTY TALK.
You’ve dated a guy from the basketball team in high school, a guy from the cafeteria you used to frequent, and had your flings with… normal people. Gym rats or those who sang at the local bar.
But never... a hero?
He was kind, and romantic, and treated you well—in the beginning of your relationship. But then he became distant, always desperate to go home at night, barely sleeping at your apartment. You thought about a whirlwind of things, like a normal person would think of; that he was cheating on you, that he had stopped loving you.
Tonight, you’re making dinner—a last-ditch effort to please him, to make him notice you again. The TV in the living room is tuned to the news, the background noise almost comforting. You chop vegetables with precise, almost robotic movements, your mind drifting.
“He’s probably just busy,” you mutter to yourself, trying to believe it. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in your chest.
Just then, a headline on the TV catches your attention. You glance up, expecting to see something mundane. Maybe an officer, a firefighter, or even a regular person with good sociology. Instead, you see your boyfriend, wearing a red hero cape, flying around the city. The spatula in your hand falls directly onto the ground, clattering loudly.
[Hero is seen flying between skyscrapers to make the city of Seoul increasingly safer.]
“What the...?” Your heart races as you stare at the screen, unable to believe your eyes.
Your boyfriend, the man you’ve been worrying over, is a fucking superhero? Just like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy?
The front door opens and he walks in, looking tired but carrying the same gentle smile that used to make your heart flutter. Tonight, though, it only fuels your confusion and frustration.
“Hey, babe,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. He pauses when he sees your expression, the dropped spatula. “What’s wrong?”
You point at the TV, unable to form words. He follows your gaze, and his face falls as he sees the news footage.
“Ah, you found out,” he says softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”
[...]
This is how it started. It's as if, when you didn't know, he still made a point of being present here and there. But now that you know, he doesn't even care about it anymore. “I have to save the country, love,” you’ve heard this a bunch of times.
So when you turn on the TV, you have to see him flexing those stupid big muscles—that he gained out of nowhere—making you doubt if he’s using padding or prosthetics under that cheesy costume.
He shouldn’t be seen around your house, so the 'villains' don’t know where you live.
You don't recognize him anymore. Was it egotistical to wish that he never had superpowers? That he was just a regular human, just like you?
"Hey," his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. He's standing in the doorway, looking worn out but with a familiar, almost hesitant smile. "I brought takeout. Thought we could have a quiet night in."
You glance at the food in his hands, your heart aching. "A quiet night in? Like the ones we used to have?"
He sighs, setting the bags down on the table. "Yeah, like those. I know things have been... different. But I'm trying, Y/N. I really am."
"Trying?" you repeat, incredulous. "You disappear for days, and when you’re here, it’s like you’re not really here. You're always thinking about the next mission, the next villain."
"I know," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "The powers, the responsibility... it just happened."
"Did it?" you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. "Because it feels like you chose this. Like you chose being a hero over being with me."
His eyes widen, pain flickering across his face. "That's not true. I didn't choose this over you. I chose this because... because I want to make the world a better place. For us."
You shake your head, "But what about making our world better? What about being here, with me? Being present?"
As you sit down to eat, the TV plays in the background, another heroic feat being broadcasted. You hesitate, looking at the man you once knew so well, now feeling like a stranger.
With great insistence, you managed to make him sleep in your bed. When you left the bath to join him in your sheets, he was already sleeping—hibernating, snoring like never before. You sigh, laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You stayed like this until you saw the perfect clouds through the window, fluffy, looking like cotton candy, with the blue sky painting a canvas behind them. It was a beautiful morning.
You don’t remember leaving the window open, so you get up to close it, stopping the wind from hitting your face. The sun was radiating, and you could see people enjoying their morning. But still... why do you feel this smell of storm coming?
The water started to flow, not from the sky, but from your eyes—your tears. The next storm is the one inside you, making small whirlwinds and huge hurricanes, carrying you and destroying you. Obviously, your boyfriend wasn't home. His smell wasn’t there, his presence was like bills payable, only at the end of the month.
You made your bed, some of your tears ruining the perfect white duvet. You walked around your kitchen, picking up the single coffee mug on your countertop and washing it.
Your coworkers noticed your face—like you had slept nothing last night—and even asked what was happening. How could you explain this? How could you explain that you were dating a guy for some years, and he turned into a superhero—flying around the city with underwear over the costume?
Of course, they would laugh, not only because it's the biggest turnoff they will ever have seen, but also because they would think it's a joke, a badly told joke. It makes you feel even more stupid for being complicit, an extra in his comic book.
You arrive home. You look at the window, open again. You roll your eyes, closing it to prevent the wind from coming in. “Are you flying through my windows now?” you mumble, half expecting an answer.
You wonder if you should watch the news again, and see your boyfriend flex his muscles in front of the pretty journalist, putting out a fire in an establishment, looking at the camera to see if they've captured his heroic act, or when he carried a mail car with one arm in front of a group of girls who were walking on the sidewalk.
You cringe, remembering all of them.
Dropping your bag on the couch, you plop down and grab the remote. You flick through the channels, each news report showing another heroic deed of his. "Great," you mutter sarcastically, landing on a channel where he’s giving an interview, his muscles practically bursting out of his suit.
He’s talking about his latest rescue, grinning at the journalist who’s batting her eyelashes at him. "And what’s next for our hero?" she asks, her voice sugary sweet.
"I’m just here to help," he replies, flashing a charming smile. "Wherever I’m needed."
You snort, turning off the TV. "Right, wherever you're needed. Except here," you say to the empty room.
You wander into the kitchen, the silence pressing in on you. You fill the kettle and set it to boil, needing something warm to soothe your frayed nerves. As you wait, you think about the early days, when he was just a guy you loved. Back when his biggest concern was making you laugh, not saving the world.
The kettle whistles, and you pour yourself a cup of tea, the steam rising in lazy spirals. You take a sip, leaning against the counter. "Why can’t you just be normal?" You whisper to yourself.
A sudden whoosh of air makes you jump, causing your hand to bump into the kettle. The same speed you touched it, you yank your hand back, a little burn forming. It’s nothing too serious, but enough to make you curse under your breath.
Your boyfriend widens his eyes and rushes over. “Let me help you,” he says, reaching for your hand.
“Fuck off,” you snap, pulling away. “I don’t need your help.”
He frowns, clearly hurt. How can someone not want his help? “I’m just trying to help.” his voice laced with exasperation.
Irritated by everything and the little burn on your hand, you cut him off. “What are you going to do, huh? Use lasers from your eyes?” You turn to the sink, running cold water over your hand.
“You’re always complaining,” he starts, his voice rising. “But you’re so difficult to deal with lately.”
You whip around, glaring at him. “Difficult? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?”
He crosses his arms, his expression turning snobbish. “And it’s a walk in the park for me? I’m out there saving lives.”
“Yeah, and flexing your muscles for the cameras,” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re never supportive. All you do is whine about how hard your life is.”
You feel your blood boil. “Supportive? How can I be supportive when you’re never here? When you act like being a hero is the only thing that matters?”
He throws his hands up in frustration. “Because it does matter! I’m making a difference.”
“And what about us?” you yell, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “What about making a difference here, with me?”
He looks at you, anger and confusion on his face. “I’m trying to balance it, but you’re making it impossible.”
Tears prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You know what? I wish you never turned into a hero. I wish you never had these stupid superpowers. I preferred it when you were just human, like me.”
He scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to be weak like you humans anymore. You’re just jealous when you should be cheering for me.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Jealous? Is that really what he thinks? “Jealous?” you echo. “I’m not jealous. I just miss the person you used to be.”
He shakes his head, looking away. “I’m still that person. You’re just too blind to see it.”
"Blind? Are you fucking serious?" you scoff, turning your back to him. "Leave," you grunt.
He furrows his eyebrows, shocked. Never in your relationship did he think he would see you like this—his cute girlfriend who begged for him to stay just one more minute, asking him to leave?
"I'm not going to repeat it," you say coldly. "You're making me feel sick."
"Fuck you then!" he curses under his breath before he storms out, leaving you stiff in the middle of your kitchen.
"Oof, I wouldn't let him get away with it if I were you."
You turn toward the voice, coming from the window—that one that you had to close again even though you already did in the morning.
A man is sitting there with the help of the fire escape stairs outside the building. He’s dressed all in black, and you can’t even distinguish how many layers of clothing he’s wearing. His hair is black, and he has one eyebrow raised as he smokes a cigarette.
People react differently when scared. Some scream, some run. But you… you feel like your feet are glued to the ground, and from your throat, not a sound escapes. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as your eyes widen in shock.
He doesn’t seem to care. He drops his cigarette, watching it accidentally fall on someone’s head below.
He hisses, "Ooh, sorry about that." Then he jumps from the window, landing gracefully in your living room as he brushes off his shoulders.
“You know, you should be more careful when locking your windows. You’re the superhero’s girlfriend, I mean—ex-girlfriend now, I suppose. It seems like he didn’t teach you some basic security stuff.” He looks around your apartment, studying it. “I even drank a coffee in your Hello Kitty mug yesterday—”
“Who the fuck are you?” you cut him off, your voice finally finding its strength.
He raises his hand mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He smirks, glancing at the mug on the counter. “Nice collection, by the way. Just here to talk”
"Talk?" you echo, incredulous. "You break into my apartment, drink my coffee, and now you want to talk?"
He smirks, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, something like that. Seems like your boyfriend left you in quite a state.''’
You cross your arms defensively. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Pity?” he chuckles. “No, I just find it interesting. You’re dating the city’s golden boy, and yet here you are, all alone. Doesn’t quite add up, does it?”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do you care?”
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your boyfriend’s activities. And you,” he says, pointing at you, “are a fascinating part of that equation.”
You scoff, still on edge. “Fascinating? What’s so fascinating about being left behind?”
He smiles, a glint of devilishness in his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe even... enjoy the freedom a little.” He winks, heading back toward the window.
As he climbs out, he turns back one last time. “Oh, and lock your windows. You never know who might drop by.” With that, he disappears into the night, leaving you standing there, more confused and unsettled than ever.
You move to the window and lock it firmly, your heart pounding.
Your boyfriend had warned you that this might happen, and it happened at the worst time—when he wasn’t there.
Honestly, you couldn’t sleep that night either, now worried that a fucking stranger could break into your apartment, and instead of just drinking a coffee, he might bake a whole cake in your kitchen or, worse, do something to you.
So, you do what a ludic person would do. You start packing an emergency bag and ask to sleep at your friend’s house, using the excuse that you’ve broken up with your boyfriend—when in fact, you were more scared than anything.
[...]
More terrifying was when you needed to return home.
You open your front door, putting the bag on the floor. Before you can turn around to close the door, a hand clasps over your mouth, and the door behind you closes. You feel a warm body pressing against yours as you close your eyes tightly.
It’s your end, you think.
You don’t even dare to open your eyes. When the hand is removed from your mouth, all you can mutter is, “Don’t hurt me, please.”
You hear a scoff, and then you open one eye. The person takes his hood off, revealing the same guy from the window.
“Are you stupid? Why would I want to hurt you? I’m not a coward.” He detaches from you, looking at your still-squeezed form. “Where were you? And you did a great job locking the other windows, but your laundry window was not locked.”
You can only stare at him, your heart racing. He rolls his eyes. “Can you stop being a pissy little girl? You’re a grown woman. I’ve told you I’m not going to hurt you, and if it comforts you, I won’t steal your mug collection either. Maybe some coffee powder—but, well, can you stop?”
You think you’re going crazy. Was all of this supposed to be normal?
He rolls his eyes again and disappears into your kitchen. You take small, shy—and scared—steps toward the kitchen to find him using your coffee machine, watching the coffee brew. His arms are propped on the counter, and he turns his head to look at you.
He sighs, seeing your still-compressed form, like you’re still scared of his presence.
“Seriously,” he says, straightening up. “I’m not here to hurt you. You need to relax.” He takes a mug from your collection and pours himself a coffee, casually leaning against the counter as if he belongs there.
“What do you want from me?” you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.
He takes a sip of coffee, savoring it before answering. “Just checking in. Making sure you’re okay. Your boyfriend isn’t exactly around to protect you, is he?”
You glare at him. “I don’t need his protection. Or yours.”
He smirks, clearly amused. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He sets the mug down and steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “But here’s the thing—you’re involved now, whether you like it or not.”
You swallow hard, trying to hold your ground. “I don’t want any part of this.”
“Too late,” he replies, his tone serious. “You’re already part of it. So, you might as well get used to it.”
You begin to shiver as his words sink in. This is your life now, tangled up with heroes and villains. And there’s no going back.
He sighs, seeing the fear in your eyes. “Look, I know this isn’t what you signed up for. But you’re tougher than you think. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, whatever—he’s not around, and that puts you in a vulnerable position.”
“You mean, you’re here to spy on me. To see if you can use me against him.”
He shrugs. “I'm here ensure you’re not caught in the crossfire. Believe it or not, I have some principles.”
You laugh bitterly. “Principles? Breaking into someone’s home and terrorizing them is principled now?”
He sets the cup down and steps closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But you need to be more careful. This world you’re tangled in—it’s dangerous.”
You stare at him, unsure whether to believe him. “And you’re what, my guardian angel now?”
He smirks. “Hardly. Think of me as a… concerned party. I don’t want unnecessary casualties.” “Stay out of trouble. Keep your head down.”
With that, he finishes his coffee and heads toward the window. “Remember, I'm not your enemy, but I'm definitely his. Don't make me your enemy too.”
"Wait!" you call out. He stops and turns around slowly, his expression curious. "W-who are you?" you stammer.
He tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you really want to know?" he asks, his tone dripping with mocking curiosity.
You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re practically living here. I should at least know your name."
He chuckles, a low, amused sound. "More like a roommate situation, huh? Alright, if you really want to know, you can call me Seungcheol. And if you’re genuinely interested in what I do, maybe I’ll take you to my HQ someday, show you my plans."
You grimace at his tone, which only makes him laugh harder.
Before heading down the emergency stairs, he looks back at you. "Stay close, alright? I need to keep tabs on you. You’re a bit exposed out here." He winks and disappears, leaving you standing there, more confused than before.
Seungcheol—the window guy, as you’d come to call him—disappeared physically for some days, but his presence lingered in odd, unsettling ways. You started finding pieces of ripped paper around your house, each with a different message.
“Keep your windows locked.”
“Log out of your social media from your home computer.”
“Check your door lock twice before bed.”
“Don’t leave your spare key under the mat.”
And one particularly embarrassing note: “I know you miss your hero-boyfriend, but can you also hide your sex toys? I’m traumatized.”
The embarrassment lasts only a few minutes each time, but then you think, nobody asked him to keep coming into your house. Still, there was a strange sense of security in knowing he was keeping an eye on things, even if his methods were invasive and borderline creepy.
Days turn into a week, and the silence feels heavy.
You find yourself almost missing the bizarre meetings. One night, as you’re cleaning up after dinner, you catch a glimpse of movement outside the window. You draw the curtains aside to find Seungcheol lounging casually on the fire escape, looking like he belonged there.
“Miss me?” he quips, flashing you a smirk.
You roll your eyes, opening the window slightly. “You really need to get a hobby, Seungcheol.”
“This is my hobby,” he says, slipping inside without an invitation. “Keeping tabs on you is surprisingly entertaining.”
“You know, you could at least pretend not to notice my vibrator,” you snap, half-joking, half-mortified.
Seungcheol grins, “Hey, it’s hard to miss when it’s just lying around. You could be more discreet.”
You huff in annoyance, continuing to clean up. He opens your fridge, rummaging around like he owns the place. “Any news?” you ask, trying to sound casual.
He casually bites into an apple. “Yep. One of his enemies is planning to invade your place tomorrow at 7:48 p.m. The exact time you get home from work.”
You spin around, eyes wide. “What?! What do I do?”
“I suggest you stay close to me,” he shrugs. “I can keep you safe, make sure no one uses you as a pawn.”
“You want me to trust you?” you ask, incredulous.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to be safe, or do you want to have some alien freak shoving its tentacles down your throat?”
You give him an exasperated look. “I knew you’d have this reaction,” he says, shrugging. He places a flash drive on your kitchen counter. “Watch it yourself.”
You close your eyes, massaging your temples. You don’t know if you’re ready to see what’s on that flash drive, much less trust a stranger who claims to be your ex-boyfriend’s enemy.
“I need you to leave. Even if he’s my ex, I still can’t do something like this.”
Seungcheol nods, looking up like he expected this. “Your boyfriend won’t be here to rescue you if that’s what you’re counting on.”
“How can you be so sure of that? I don’t even know you!”
“Because if your stupid boyfriend didn’t buy those superpowers, he’d be nothing. Without that silly red cape and the TV cameras, he’s just an insecure guy who wants to be seen. And— come on, he didn’t care about the girlfriend he had waiting at home. You think he cares about saving random people? Don’t be dumb.”
His words sting, and you feel like you’ve been slapped in the face. He nods negatively as he walks out again, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words sinking in. You don’t want to believe him, but deep down, you know there’s some truth to what he’s saying.
With a sigh, you look at the flash drive on the counter.
The next day was a mess from the moment you woke up. You couldn't find your white shirt, and your baby liss was nowhere to be found. Running late, you had to leave without fixing your hair.
Work was a blur of you staring blankly at your computer screen, your mind preoccupied with the fear that some tentacle monster might actually show up at 7:48 p.m.
Were you being stupid for believing a guy you met barely a week ago? Absolutely. But who wouldn't be a little suspicious?
As you stepped off the bus and walked along the sidewalk toward your building, your watch read 7:58 p.m. You glanced up at your window. The lights were off, and everything looked normal. No way a villain would get you, right?
"I knew he was lying," you mutter quietly to yourself, almost convincing.
But your conviction didn’t last long. A massive purple tentacle exploded through your living room window, sending concrete and bricks crashing to the street. Your eyes widened in disbelief. Was that a person in the middle of those giant tentacles? Were you homeless now?
"Are you gonna hop on or let these ugly tentacles suffocate you?" Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the chaos.
You didn’t need to look to know it was him. You turned to see him in his black outfit, waiting on his motorcycle. Your instinct was to kneel on the ground and cry about your now-destroyed apartment, but you didn't have time for that.
You sulked a bit before grabbing the helmet from his hand and hopping onto the bike, your hands wrapping uncertainly around his waist.
As Seungcheol sped off towards his HQ—or hideout, whatever it was—your tears started to flow. "My apartment... it's ruined. All my stuff, my mug collection, my unicorn pajamas I didn’t even get to wear yet," you whined into his back.
Seungcheol fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Seriously? We're running from a monster, and you're worried about unicorn pajamas?"
“Yes!” you sniffled. “They were so cute. And now I don’t even have a place to sleep. My place is ruined, and all my goods are probably destroyed.”
“Focus on staying alive first,” he said, trying to sound more patient than he felt. “We’ll deal with the rest later.”
“But my mugs… My unicorn pajamas…” you continued, your voice muffled against his back.
“Alright, alright,” he said, trying to placate you.
Seungcheol had to concentrate to keep from crashing as he listened to you cry and whine about your lost belongings. He knew you were overwhelmed, and though it was annoying, he understood. Reaching his hideout, he finally stopped the bike and helped you off, letting you lean on him for support.
Your first instinct is to look around. It’s a large industrial loft, the walls made of bricks, and the long windows hidden behind some opaque plastic.
The place seems to have only the essentials: a large bed with a vintage headboard, a couch, a TV. Turning around, you notice the kitchen has a coffee machine just like yours.
Then your eyes widen as you spot familiar items: the white shirt you were looking for this morning, poking out of a huge black bag, a big box labeled 'mugs’ in bad calligraphy, your hair iron with the princess tape patch on the cord, emerging from another black bag.
Several bags are sprawled on the floor, all looking ready to burst.
"M-my things!" you squeak as Seungcheol looks unbothered, though you can see the faintest hint of a smile at your happiness. You run to him, giving him a clumsy hug that he doesn’t reciprocate, before opening the bags.
"It was very difficult to bring all of your stuff," he says, trying to hide his amusement. "Can I know why you have three... inflatable flamingos all the same color?" he asks, clearly judging the quirky items he found while gathering your things from your dresser.
You don’t respond, too busy rifling through the bags like a kid on Christmas morning.
You open another bag with a big smile on your face, which quickly fades when you see what’s on top: your vibrator, handcuffs, and lube.
You widen your eyes and try to close the bag with an awkward smile, but it’s too late. Seungcheol turns his head to the side, taking a deep breath as if trying to pretend he wasn’t the one who had to gather your spicy stuff.
You clear your throat, standing up and brushing off your knees. “When did you get all of this? I mean—how did you do it so quickly?”
"Some friends helped me," he answers, watching your reaction.
You widened your eyes, and he knew why.
“Chill out, I packed your Christian Grey stuff myself,” he said, looking up as if remembering something. “And what's with that neon green, dildo? Seriously?”
You stuttered, your face flushed. “I-I didn’t use that, it was a gag gift!”
“Trust me, I don’t want to know,” he said, cutting you off with a furrowed brow.
“That’s… oddly considerate of you,” you admitted, still processing everything.
He shrugged again, “Don’t get used to it. I’m not a nice guy.”
“Thanks, Seungcheol.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, turning away. “Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”
You sighed, “Thanks, I guess. It’s just… embarrassing.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve seen worse,” he shrugged.
“Worse than a neon green dildo?”
He chuckled, “You’d be surprised.”
You point at the large industrial loft around you. “So, this is your place?”
"Not as fancy as yours, but, yes, it is," Seungcheol responds, shrugging nonchalantly.
You shake your head, still taking in the surroundings. "I wouldn’t call my place fancy. Just... more pink."
He chuckles, nodding. "Yeah, I noticed. You have a thing for unicorns and pastels."
You look around, taking in the mix of sparse furniture and personal touches. "Why do you have my stuff, anyway?"
He leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Had to make sure you had everything. Can't have you running back to your place and getting into trouble."
You shake your head, still in disbelief. "You really don’t look like a villain."
He scoffs, giving you a sideways glance. "That's because I don't have a red cape? You don’t look this naughty either. I discovered it in the worst way."
You try to slap his shoulder playfully, but he catches your hand with his quick reflexes, smirking as he lets go and starts walking toward the loft above. You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Different from your boyfriend, I don’t need muscle superpowers to be relevant,” he says, glancing back at you as he ascends the stairs.
You glance around as you reach the upper level, which is filled with computers, chemistry equipment, and some jackets thrown randomly around. "So, what exactly do you do here?"
"Let's just say I have my ways of keeping an eye on things," he replies, tapping on one of the computer screens. "Information is power, you know."
You nod slowly. "And what's your plan with all this power?"
He raises an eyebrow, amused by your question. "That depends. What do you think I should do with it?"
You let out a nervous laugh. "I'm not exactly an expert on villainous plots."
Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, I'm not planning world domination. Just...taking care of some business."
You tilt your head, still trying to piece everything together. "And what kind of business would that be?"
He sighs, looking frustrated at you—but trying to be patient. "Let's just say there are a lot of things that need fixing, and sometimes you have to break a few rules to get it done."
You frown, thinking about his words. "And my ex-boyfriend...does he know about any of this?"
Seungcheol shrugs. "He knows I exist, but he doesn't know the details. Probably too busy flexing for the cameras."
You can’t help but smile. "Yeah, he’s definitely good at that."
Seungcheol looks at you seriously. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me, it’s better you know the truth. You can’t go back to being ignorant."
"So, what do we do? I can't just hide forever."
Seungcheol sits on the edge of a desk, looking thoughtful. "You’re here because you’re vulnerable—"
"Vulnerable?" you interrupt, crossing your arms. "You make it sound like I’m helpless."
Seungcheol stops for a moment, looking at you blankly.
"Think fast!" he says suddenly, throwing a sock ball in your direction. You instinctively step back, catching the ball, but your back overtakes the loft railing.
Seungcheol gets up from his chair, moving swiftly to grip you tightly before you fall to the floor below. You go static as you look at him, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you.
"You're good at catching," he says, glancing at the sock in your hand. "But you need to have a better sense of space."
Your heart pounds, both from the near fall and his closeness. "What was that for?"
He releases you, but his eyes stay locked on yours. "Training. If you’re going to stay here, you need to be alert."
You nod. "Okay, but maybe warn me next time?"
He chuckles, stepping back to give you some space. "Where's the fun in that?"
You roll your eyes, tossing the sock ball back at him. He catches it effortlessly. "So, what’s the plan? How do I learn to protect myself?"
Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. "I don't know... Maybe some basic self-defense? For example, if i do this—" He moves quickly, throwing a punch towards you—not to hit, but to test your reaction.
You manage to dodge, but not gracefully. He smiles. "Not bad for a beginner. We'll keep working on that."
[...]
You still miss your apartment, and a lot of your things are still in bags, which you pick through only when you need something. You always wondered what really happened in movies when heroes destroyed the whole city during battles. Now, you’re experiencing it firsthand. Your apartment is being repaired by the building’s construction company, with help from insurance. So, more days living with Seungcheol.
It’s not bad. It’s strange, for someone used to being alone at home. He leaves at night, just like your ex-boyfriend, but spends more of his days in the loft—more than your ex-boyfriend ever did.
He’s actually teaching you something useful. The two of you spar in the loft, not even needing to move furniture since there isn’t much. And he’s hard on you.
You support your hands on your knees, panting, while he looks untouched. "C’mon! Are you tired already?"
You straighten up, mocking his tone. "Unfortunately, my ex who fights around didn’t give me a preview of how to box."
He puts his hands on his hips. "Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to fight. He only has his powers to his advantage."
“You didn't watch what was on the flash drive, did you?” he asks.
You shake your head.
He sighs and asks you to come up. He sits you in his chair, in front of his computer, and opens a folder. There’s a video of your boyfriend inside a laboratory. It looks very old.
"I need more than just strength and flight," your boyfriend says in the video, addressing what looks like a scientist. "We’ve been studying this for years. My time has come."
“Are you sure? There’s no turning back,” the scientist asks.
“I’m sure. I can’t keep living this mediocre life,” your boyfriend replies.
“But what about the people around you? They’re at risk,” the scientist says.
Your ex-boyfriend's response breaks your heart, though you can’t deny it fits his recent arrogance. "I don’t care. I need this."
The scientist sighs and then injects several different colored serums into your ex’s body. He groans, and as he begins to levitate, the video blurs and turns off.
You stare at the blank screen, processing the information. Seungcheol leans back, giving you space.
"See what I mean?" he says. "He wasn’t thinking about you, or anyone else. Just himself."
“So, he chose this. He actually wanted this.”
Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, he did. It wasn’t some accident or noble cause. He was just desperate to be more than he was.”
You sit back, processing the information. “He used to be so different. I don’t even recognize him anymore.”
“That’s what power does to some people,” Seungcheol says, leaning against the desk. “It changes them.”
Seungcheol’s screens start to beep urgently, pulling his attention away from you. He walks calmly to the other side of the room to grab his jacket. The steady rhythm of his movements contrasts with the beeping noises filling the space.
He’s about to leave again when he pauses, his back facing you.
You watch him, restless, pacing back and forth as your mind churns over the recent revelations. His peripheral vision catches your agitation. He glances sideways, noticing the anxiousness in your steps.
He moves towards the door, then hesitates and turns back. “If you need anything, just—”
“Yeah, I know. Just call you, right?” You finish his sentence, giving him a small, knowing smile.
He smirks, nodding. “Exactly. Stay put. I’ll be back soon.”
With that, he leaves the loft, the door closing behind him.
You knew Seungcheol would arrive home late, and you needed to calm down. Unfortunately, the last bottle of wine was finished yesterday when you couldn't find anything else to drink with your popcorn.
Sweets maybe? Well, a villain’s house would have sweets? No, just as you thought. The only thing left was a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter.
You find yourself on the rooftop of Seungcheol's loft, the cigarette smoke filling your lungs and burning your throat. You didn’t like the smell of cigarettes and coughed every time the smoke filled your lungs.
But that’s what you had to dissolve a bit of your anxiety, your last moments with your ex replaying in your mind. So he never cared at all?
Suddenly, your cigarette is slapped out of your hand. You turn around to see your ex, his costume perfect, but his eyes deep and face scarred.
“This is what Seungcheol has taught you then? Aren’t you ashamed?” He sneers.
You open your mouth to answer, but he comes closer, making you flinch.
He scoffs. “What? You’re scared of me? Let me tell you something... He is the villain. And you’ve joined his side, my enemy, after all we had.” He spits the words out with venom.
Rage boils within you, making you feel not like yourself. “Seungcheol took care of me. If I were alone, I would be dead. You don’t know what kind of superpower this is.”
He grabs your arm, making you feel dizzy, your vision cloudy. The pain is intense and senseless.
“What? You thought a villain would help you? You’re fragile. You need attention so bad that I couldn’t even handle you.” You fall to the ground, the pain spreading through your body as you groan.
“You know what? If you think he’s going to be your enchanted prince, you’re wrong. So damn wrong. The chances of him wanting to kill you are greater than that stupid dream of yours—”
You hear an impact, and the dizziness and pain slowly dissipate. You breathe properly again. When you come back to your senses, you look up to see Seungcheol, fighting with your ex. Seungcheol is taking a beating, only advancing when your ex's power falters, like a lag.
You could leave sneakily, but was it right? Seungcheol literally protected you from your own ex, showed you his true colors, and taught you the best of himself. Even though he is cold and "cruel" as they say.
As you're thinking, a glass sound pulls you from your mind. It's an injection.
You see your ex crawling desperately to get it. Seungcheol gives you an exasperated look, signaling for you to pick it up.
You grab it, walking back as your ex roars for you to leave it. You clutch it in your fist and, in a moment of desperation, inject it into your leg.
Your ex widens his eyes. But the substance is too powerful for you. You fall again, the pain overwhelming you.
He laughs, but Seungcheol is on him, beating him relentlessly. The fight intensifies, Seungcheol’s blows becoming more furious. You can barely focus on their struggle, the pain in your leg is consuming your thoughts.
The injection burns through your veins, making you feel like you’re on fire. You clench your teeth, trying to endure it. Your ex's laughter turns into cries of pain as Seungcheol lands a particularly harsh blow.
Seungcheol’s eyes briefly meet yours, and you see the determination in them. He’s fighting for you, protecting you with everything he has.
Seungcheol pauses, turning his attention away from you as the hero rises once more, clearly summoning his last reserves of strength.
Seungcheol stands confidently, knowing he has a chance to defeat him—if only he weren't standing on the edge of the building.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t possess flying superpowers. Instead, he grips the edge of the building with nothing but the strength of his fingers, looking up at the hero who towers above him.
Yet, Seungcheol has one special superpower, the reason he's considered the villain: the ability to listen to those who need help, like an echo in his mind. He hears the calls for aid and responds in his own way, without the expensive, extraneous superpowers the heroes pay billions for.
Unlike them, who need to buy their abilities, Seungcheol was born with his. He helps those living on the margins of society, without seeking fame or recognition. He doesn’t want to appear on TV or in the news.
Inside the heroes' world, he is well recognized, but without the money and science they have.
Seungcheol has nothing in his favor.
Yet, he still manages to help people. They can’t understand him. And hate can come easily to that which is too remembered.
His body can't manage more than this—more than his telepathy.
If it could, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He’s going to end up like this. His death won’t be caused by a big octopus or a giant RoboCop, as other heroes did. But by a great show of charity. He would do it for any citizen, but the fact that it’s you makes him have no regrets at all.
Seungcheol’s fingers start to slip, and he knows his time is running out. The hero stands above him, a look of triumph on his face. But Seungcheol’s mind is calm, even serene. He’s made peace with his fate.
The hero moves closer, ready to deliver the final blow. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s telepathy kicks in stronger than ever. He hears the cries of the people he’s saved, their voices filling his mind.
He has always fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, without the need for glory or recognition.
The world may see him as a villain, but he knows the truth.
His life has been a quiet rebellion, a stand against the notion that only the powerful can be heroes.
Seungcheol's mind becomes silent, and he can only hear your groans. His eyes close as he tries to hear from you again.
“Y/N?” he telepathizes, his voice entering your mind, velvet and deep.
You groan again, and he asks. “I’m here... are you alright, my love? Can you walk?”
The affectionate nickname makes your heart flutter. Seungcheol agonizes when the hero's steps on his fingers, but he agonizes more because he can't hear a proper response from you. Desperation sets in.
“Answer me, please. I’m not going to last,” he telepathizes again.
“Seungcheol...” he hears your voice and breathes out, relief washing over him. He looks down, watching the movement on the street below. It was too much of a drop to survive. His fingers were burning with pain.
“Seungcheol...” you call again. He shuts his eyes, clinging to the sound of your voice. “Let go,” you tell him. The words hit him like a jolt. He doesn’t understand. His arms tremble with the effort of holding on.
“Trust me, trust me, trust me.” He hears it like a whisper around his head. The conviction in your voice pierces through his fear.
He loosens his grip, his fingers slipping from the edge.
The air envelops his body like a hug as he falls, the distortion from the speed making the street sounds blur into a cacophony. The only thing he can think of is how you’re going to live by yourself now.
As he falls, memories flash before his eyes. He remembers every face he saved, every life he touched, his quiet acts of heroism, every moment of your brief time together, and then, vividly, your face.
He thinks of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy.
The moment Seungcheol hits the ground, he expects the pain, the end. Instead, he feels a strange warmth spreading through his body. He blinks, realizing he’s lying on a soft cushion of air, suspended just above the pavement. The hero stares down in disbelief.
Seungcheol’s body is gently lowered to the ground. He looks up to see you standing on the rooftop, your hand outstretched, eyes closed in fierce concentration. As his feet touch the ground, your eyes snap open, and you breathe out in relief.
Before Seungcheol can react, you advance on the hero, the two of you disappearing in a blur of motion and light atop the building.
Blinding flashes illuminate the rooftop as Seungcheol scrambles to his feet, urgency driving him forward. He runs into the building, tripping on the flights of stairs in his haste. The sounds of the battle above echo down to him, and he pushes himself harder, every fiber of his being focused on reaching you in time.
Seungcheol bursts onto the rooftop again, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. The sight that greets him makes his blood run cold.
Your ex-boyfriend lies lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. In your trembling hand, the hero’s heart reactor device glows faintly, now smeared with blood.
“Y/N!” Seungcheol shouts, rushing to your side as your knees give way, collapsing under the weight of what you’ve done. The powers from the injection still course through your veins, but your energy is completely spent. You tremble in his hands, your body feeling like it’s made of lead.
The weight of what you’ve done hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare down at the reactor in your hand, the blood smeared on your fingers, and a violent shudder runs through you. The metallic smell of blood mingles with the acrid scent of smoke, and it’s all too much.
“I never wanted it to end like this,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Your face is frozen in shock, eyes wide and unseeing as you try to process the magnitude of your actions. “I-I’ve killed someone.”
Seungcheol shakes his head, his grip on your shoulders firm yet gentle. “You did what you had to do,” he says, his voice low and steady. “He would’ve killed you, Y/N.”
You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to become a killer.”
Seungcheol’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth seeping into your cold, shaking body. “Listen to me,” he says firmly, his lips close to your ear. “You’re not a killer. You’re a survivor. He put you in this position, not the other way around.”
You cling to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you sob uncontrollably. The reactor slips from your grasp, clattering to the ground with a dull thud. “I just wanted to be safe,” you cry, your voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“I know,” Seungcheol murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “I know, Y/N. It’s going to be okay.”
You pull back slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “How can you be so sure?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Because you’re strong,” he says simply, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Stronger than you realize. And because I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart ache. Despite everything, there’s a flicker of hope in his gaze that you can’t ignore.
Seungcheol brings you back to his loft, your body feeling heavy and numb. He helps you inside the shower, carefully removing your clothes. You sit on the floor, naked, as the warm water cascades over you, washing away the blood and grime.
There’s no malice or ulterior motive in his actions—only a quiet, pure care. You stare blankly at the tiles of his shower, lost in your thoughts, while his hands work methodically, washing your hair and scrubbing away the blood stains from your skin.
You needed this.
The side effects of the injection, the strain of using powers you didn’t fully understand, have left you weak. So weak that you need him to do something as simple as this for you.
Once you’re clean, Seungcheol wraps you in a fluffy towel, drying you carefully. He dresses you in one of his shirts, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin.
He guides you to his bed, tucking you in. You sink into the mattress, the exhaustion pulling at you like a heavy blanket. Seungcheol sits beside you, watching you for a few minutes. His body aches from the fight, but his concern for you overrides his own pain.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “You need to rest. Let your body recover.”
You nod, closing your eyes. The events of the night replay in your mind, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing Seungcheol is there, watching over you. “You don’t have to stay,” you murmur, feeling a pang of guilt.
“I want to,” he replies softly. “Just sleep, Y/N. I’ll be here.”
As you drift off, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand holding yours, grounding you in the midst of the turmoil. The darkness of sleep pulls you under, but for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.
He waits for you to fall asleep before quietly moving around the loft, gathering what’s left of your belongings.
With quick, calculated motions, he loads his things, along with yours, into the trunk and backseat of his truck. The apartment, once filled with traces of both your lives, now stands empty, its furniture the only remnants of your presence.
When he looks at the empty space one last time, he takes a deep breath, then returns to the bedroom. Gently, he lifts you into his arms, careful not to disturb your sleep.
You’re so exhausted that you don’t stir as he carries you to the truck. His eyes flicker to you now and then as he drives, taking the road that leads to the other side of the country.
Long hours later, the sun starts to rise, casting a golden hue over the landscape. You wake up, eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the day. You find yourself parked outside a roadside restaurant, the car silent. Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. Sitting up, you notice a blanket draped over you and realize you’re fully dressed, not just in his shirt anymore.
You take a moment to gather your thoughts, fingers curling around the edges of the blanket. The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you see Seungcheol approaching with a box of food in his hands. He opens the car door and slides into the driver’s seat, placing the food on the console between you.
“Hey,” he says softly, glancing at you. “How are you feeling?”
You blink a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Tired,” you admit, your voice still groggy. “Where are we?”
“We’re on the road,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you could use some breakfast.” He opens the box, revealing a variety of pastries, fruit, and a couple of sandwiches.
You nod, reaching for a piece of fruit. “Thank you,” you say, taking a bite and savoring the sweet taste. “For everything.”
He watches you eat for a moment before responding. “You needed to get away from there. It’s not safe.”
“I know,” you reply, your voice soft. “But where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” he answers, his tone reassuring. "Somewhere, they won’t find us.”
You look at him, studying his face. There’s a determination in his eyes, a resolve that gives you a sense of security despite the uncertainty of your situation. “Okay,” you say, trusting him.
He nods, his eyes softening. “Finish eating. We’ve got a long drive ahead.”
As you pass through small towns and sprawling landscapes, a sense of peace begins to settle over you. The rhythmic hum of the truck and the steady presence of Seungcheol at your side are comforting.
You share the occasional snack with him, your fingers brushing against his lips, eliciting a small smile from him each time.
As the truck continues down the road, the cityscape starts to take shape on the horizon. Tall buildings stand proud, their windows reflecting the sun’s light. It’s a bustling place, full of life and opportunity.
It’s everything you’ve been yearning for—a fresh start, a new chapter.
After you arrive, your legs stretch as you step onto the new asphalt. You look around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and ask, “Where are we?”
Seungcheol smiles, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “I’m going to show you,” he replies, leading you towards a big, white house. The house stands in stark contrast to the urban scene around it, classic and serene.
You follow him inside, and immediately, you notice people dressed in white moving about with purpose. Some are tending to children, others to elders, each room filled with an atmosphere of care and compassion. It's a place of healing and sanctuary, you realize, a refuge from the chaos you’ve just escaped.
As you walk through the house, you reach a garden at the back. The same people in white are there, playing with the children and dogs, the air filled with laughter and joy.
You notice a girl in white sitting by an easel, her fingers pressed to her temples. To your amazement, the brush on the canvas moves on its own, guided by her powers.
You stare in awe. “She’s painting without touching the brush,” you whisper, your voice filled with wonder.
Seungcheol nods. “Yes, she’s using her powers. This place is a sanctuary for people like her, like us. A safe haven where they can learn to control and use their abilities for good.”
You look around, taking in the peaceful surroundings, the sense of community and support. “It’s beautiful,” you say softly, feeling a sense of hope blossom within you.
The next stop is a small, vintage apartment where you and Seungcheol place your things. The walls are adorned with faded floral wallpaper, and the furniture has a charming, old-fashioned feel. You sit on the living room floor, surrounded by boxes, and trail off, lost in thought.
“So, you’re a hero, not a villain,” you murmur, looking up at Seungcheol.
He pauses, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. “I guess it’s not that simple,” he says, sitting down across from you. “People see what they want to see. To some, I’m a hero. To others, I’m a villain.”
You nod, digesting his words. “But you saved me. You brought me here. That makes you a hero in my book.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I just did what needed to be done. Sometimes, the line between hero and villain isn’t so clear.”
You lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “It’s strange, you know? All this time, I thought I knew who the good guys and the bad guys were. But now… everything’s different.”
He nods, his eyes distant. “Life isn’t a simple story. It’s messy, complicated. People have layers, motives that aren’t always black and white.”
You turn to Seungcheol, who has laid himself out on the living room floor beside you. The gentle hum of the old radiator fills the silence between you as you finally ask the question that's been on your mind.
“Can I ask you something?” you say, glancing over at him.
He turns his head to face you, nodding slightly. “Sure. What’s up?”
“How did you meet me?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.
Seungcheol sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he begins, his tone thoughtful. “I first heard you every single night in my head before I even knew where you lived. It started with your thoughts and feelings—your fears, your doubts. I heard them all.”
You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “You heard me in your head?”
He nods. “Yeah. I didn’t know who you were at first, just that there was someone struggling. I could sense your pain and your frustration. It was like an echo in my mind.”
He pauses for a moment, then continues. “When I'vve found you, I started watching the movements in your apartment. I saw you and your boyfriend fighting—a lot. I saw the nights you were left alone...”
You shift uncomfortably, thinking about all the arguments, the hurtful words exchanged. “What did you see?”
“I saw things that were hard to watch. There were nights when your boyfriend would come home drunk, lashing out at you for no reason. I saw him bringing people over, strangers who didn’t have your best interests at heart.”
Your heart aches as you listen. “So, you were watching all of this?”
He nods. “I was. I needed to be sure of what was happening before I intervened. I couldn’t just act without understanding the full picture. He was involved in some dangerous activities, connections with people I didn’t want you to be near.”
He looks at you with a serious expression. “I knew I had to do something. It’s my job, in a way. The place I showed you before, is where people like me come from. We’re spread out across the country, helping those in need.”
You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “So, you felt like you had to save me.”
“Exactly,” he says softly. “It was more than just a job. It was a responsibility. When I saw how much you were suffering, I knew I couldn’t just stand by. I had to step in.”
As you lie there, processing everything Seungcheol has told you, it dawns on you that the man who once seemed so mysterious and distant wasn’t a villain at all. He was the one who sat on your window, smoking and wearing a black outfit, seemingly a shadowy figure.
He was the one who risked falling from a building to ensure your safety, who gathered your belongings—even your mug collection, and your… dildo—before your apartment was destroyed by an alien.
He was the man who, despite the doubts and fears, saved your life and now laid by your side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Seungcheol’s presence beside you, so unexpectedly comforting, makes you feel secure in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. His gaze meets yours, a question in his eyes as if trying to decipher the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind.
Unable to hold back your emotions any longer, you roll over and drape yourself across him like a koala. The sudden weight makes him emit a funny gasp. You both end up laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth. He wraps his arms around you, reciprocating the hug with a soft giggle.
“What?” he asks with a playful smile, his eyes twinkling.
You look up at him, your heart full, and press a soft kiss on his lips. Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed, and he melts into the kiss, holding your face gently as if he’s been waiting for this moment all along.
But then, he pulls back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Wait, no, are you sure about this? I mean, you’ve just come out of a… complicated relationship.”
You can see the concern in his eyes, the careful consideration behind his words. “I am sure,” you say softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “You’ve been amazing. You’re not a villain, and you’ve shown me what it’s like to be cared for.”
You move to kiss his forehead, then his neck, making him giggle again, his laughter bubbling up despite the seriousness of the conversation. He closes his eyes, savoring each tender kiss, his heart racing with every touch.
“I guess I’m just worried,” he says, his voice a mix of hesitation and affection. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want you to think that I’m just trying to fill a void or something.”
You shake your head, placing one last kiss on his lips. “You’re not just filling a void. You’re something real and true, and I can feel it.”
“Can you… feel it?” he asks.
You smile against his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to reassure him. “Of course I can,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper.
The moment your lips meet his again, you notice his reaction is less restrained this time. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might disappear. His kisses grow more passionate, each touch of his lips filled with a desperate need to communicate everything he feels.
You can taste the sweetness of his affection, feel the way he melts into you, and you respond with the same intensity. Your hands explore the familiar contours of his face, as if memorizing every detail, every emotion he's conveying.
His breath quickens, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the way his entire body seems to respond to you, to the connection that’s unfolding between you both.
He pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked onto yours. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could.”
You brush your lips against his once more, a soft, tender caress. “It’s because it’s real,” you whisper. “It’s something I’ve needed for a long time.”
[...]
If you ever thought your life would change drastically, you never imagined it would be like this.
When Seungcheol left to handle his tasks for the night, it felt different. The house, though quiet, seemed fuller now.
His presence lingered in the way he had filled it with his energy, his routines, his little touches that made the space feel like more than just four walls. The absence of his constant presence was noticeable, yet somehow, it felt like a comfort.
You wandered around the house, touching things you hadn’t noticed before. There were small, personal details—like a collection of old vinyl records stacked neatly on a shelf, and a set of quirky, handmade coasters on the coffee table. They made the house feel lived in, like a real home.
In the kitchen, you found a note Seungcheol had left on the counter, scrawled in his familiar handwriting: “Pick a movie tonight. I’ll be back soon.” You smiled at the simple gesture, a small piece of normalcy in the midst of the whirlwind you’d been through.
When he arrives at the apartment, the warm aroma of dinner wafts from the stove. He glances around, noticing that the movie on the TV is paused at the very beginning. It’s strange that you’re not here; usually, you’d be curled up on the couch, waiting for him.
His eyes sweep over the space, and he hangs his jacket on a dining chair, the soft thud of the fabric against the wood mingling with the hum of the refrigerator.
A sudden noise catches his attention—an “Ah!” from somewhere in the apartment.
Seungcheol freezes, his heart rate quickening. He tilts his head, straining to hear again. The sound came from the bedroom. Curiosity and concern propel him forward as he moves cautiously toward the door.
Pushing the door open just a crack, he peeks inside. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the scene before him.
You’re sprawled out on the bed, your legs were spread open in a way that revealed everything.
Your body glistens with a sheen of sweat, and you’re arching back, clearly horny. The vibrator, the very same one he had glimpsed in your old apartment—a sight that had piqued his curiosity—was now pressed tightly against your clit.
He could see the pleasure etched across your face, the way you bit your lip and gripped the sheets. He hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to intrude but unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.
The sight is so intimate, so raw, that he feels a blend of emotions—desire, awe, and a sense of protectiveness. His initial impulse is to step in, to be there for you, but he’s also painfully aware of how private this moment is.
His own breath hitches as he wrestles with the decision of whether to interrupt or simply stand back. He knows this is a vulnerable part of you, one that you might not be ready to share with him just yet.
Seungcheol takes a deep breath, his desire is real as he steps fully into the room. The bulge in his pants is a constant reminder of just how affected he is by the scene unfolding before him. But he pushes past his own need, focusing on you.
He kneels beside the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements that might pull you from your reverie. His fingers, though trembling slightly, are gentle as he reaches for the vibrator. He eases it away from your clit, the sudden absence making you gasp, a sound that’s part surprise, part frustration.
You blink rapidly, trying to catch your breath as you process his presence. Your cheeks flush a deep red. Just as you begin to open your mouth, ready to speak or perhaps to protest, Seungcheol silences you with a touch.
Without a word, he positions the vibrator back against your wetness, the cool touch of it sending you screaming on your bed. Slowly, he guides it back to your clit, applying a steady pressure as he begins to circle it.
His eyes are locked onto your every reaction, absorbing each tremor and gasp as if they were treasures.
The immediate pleasure that jolts through you is overwhelming. You clench his forearm, your grip desperate and needy as you roll your eyes back in pure, unfiltered sensation. The way he controls the vibrator, the way he’s so deliberately attentive to your body—it drives you wild.
The intensity of your arousal triples, the added thrill of Seungcheol’s touch making it feel like every nerve is on fire. You sob, the sound escaping from you as you struggle to stay grounded amidst the stimulation.
Each circle of the vibrator on your clit feels like an eternity, stretching out the sensation to a nearly unbearable edge.
Seungcheol’s gaze never wavers from you. He watches you with an intense focus and tenderness, his own breath coming in uneven puffs as he fights to keep his own desires in check.
He’s controlling your pleasure with an expert touch, making sure that each movement is precise and perfectly tuned to your reactions.
He knows you’re on the brink, and he’s both savoring and prolonging this moment for you.
The control he exerts is deliberate, his movements are carefully calculated to push you to the edge without letting you fall over just yet.
As your body writhes beneath his touch, Seungcheol’s expression softens. He can see how much you need this, how much his presence, his touch, is amplifying everything you’re feeling. It’s a heady blend of power and vulnerability, and he’s completely consumed by it.
As the waves of pleasure begin to crest, you feel your moans transforming into quieter, breathless gasps. Your body tightens, with every muscle pulling taut as you approach the brink of orgasm.
It’s right there, just a heartbeat away, when Seungcheol suddenly pulls the vibrator away. The abrupt absence of its buzzing sends a shock through you, your body jolting as you let out a delayed cry of frustration.
Seungcheol doesn’t look at you. Rather, he sets the vibrator on the bedside table as if it were a routine, doing so with practiced ease.
Then he gets to his feet and strips off his shirt, baring his chest. Your need is heightened by the sight of him, so masterful and totally devoted to you. You watch him, breathless and with wide eyes, while he dismisses your little cries of protest.
He seems determined to show you something more personal than the toy could ever offer, judging by the steady, unwavering look in his eyes.
He says, taking off his belt, “I want to see you cum for me, not for a toy.” “I want to see you cum in my mouth,” he murmurs.
You swear you see your soul leave your body just like in a cartoon,with his words. He spreads your legs wide, putting himself between them. You can almost feel the need in your body quivering with anticipation.
His mouth feels like fire when it first touches your clit; the buzzing vibrator has made you more sensitive. You gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily. His tongue is moist and warm as it hungersily probes every part of you.
You let out a deep moan as he laps at your entrance, gathering your slick and spreading it over your clit.
He sucks gently, then more firmly, his tongue flicking over your most sensitive spot in a way that has you writhing beneath him. Every nerve ending in the body is hyperaware of intense pleasure.
Your hips are held in place by Seungcheol's hands as he consumes you. You can feel the strength in his hold, the way his fingers dig into your skin just enough to anchor you. His eyes glance up at you, watching your reactions, ensuring he’s giving you exactly what you need.
“Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice shaky. “I’m so close.”
His response is a deep hum against your clit. He intensifies his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his lips sucking harder. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold on for dear life.
Every muscle in your body tightens, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He doesn’t let up, his focus entirely on you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
When your orgasm finally crashes over you, your back arches off the bed, a loud moan escaping your lips. Seungcheol continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure, his eyes locked on your face as you come undone.
You take a deep breath, your vision slowly clearing, and catch sight of Seungcheol gripping his cock through his boxers. The outline looks thick and big, making your mouth water at the sight of it.
“Seungcheol,” you murmur, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your orgasm. His eyes meet yours, dark and round.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice husky.
You reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you press your palm against the bulge in his boxers. He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you touch him.
“I want to make you feel good too,” you say, your voice gaining strength.
He groans softly, his restraint slipping. He helps you pull his boxers down, his erection springing free. It looks even more impressive without the fabric, flushed, throbbing, and you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation.
You lean forward, taking him into your hand, feeling the warmth and the weight of him. He watches you, his breath hitching as you stroke him slowly.
“You’re so big,” you whisper, looking up at him.
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “And you’re so beautiful.”
You smile. Leaning down, you place a soft kiss on the tip, tasting the salty precum. His reaction is immediate, a shudder running through his body as he groans your name.
Encouraged, you take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just holding you gently as you work him with your mouth.
“Just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re doing so well.”
You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw. His size is a challenge, but you’re determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His groans and gasps spur you on, each sound a reward for your efforts.
You bob your head, taking him as deep as you can, your hand stroking the base where you can’t reach. His hips begin to move, a slow, careful thrust that shows how close he is to losing control.
“Y/N, I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained.
You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you continue your movements, letting him know without words that you want this. He curses softly, his grip on your hair tightening just a bit.
One thing he didn’t notice was your sneaky hand grabbing the forgotten vibrator on the bedside table. With a naughty grin, you hold the base of his cock to keep it still, then turn the vibrator on and press it against his length while your mouth sucks on his tip.
Seungcheol lets out a deep grunt, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes closing tightly. “You little—” he curses, his voice strained. Your smirk widens at his reaction, the vibrations traveling through his body, making him shudder.
“Who’s the villain now?” you tease, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.
His response is a strangled moan, his hips jerking slightly into your mouth. “You... you’re the villain here,” he groans, his hands gripping the sheets. “Fuck!”
The combination of your mouth and the vibrator makes his body tense. You can feel him throbbing in your hand, his muscles tightening as he gets closer to the edge.
You increase the intensity, your hand moving the vibrator up and down his length while your mouth continues its assault on his tip. His breathing becomes ragged, and he’s practically panting now, his moans growing louder with each passing second.
“Y/N, I’m gonna—” he chokes out, his voice desperate.
You let go of his tip, a knowing smirk playing on your lips as you realize you’re giving him a taste of his own medicine. The vibrator still buzzes in your hand as you reach for his cock, straddling him and slowly sinking down.
The sensation is electric—your drenched, sopping cunt engulfs him almost like a vacuum, drawing a desperate moan from his lips. His eyes flutter shut, and you can tell he’s loving it just as much as you are by the way his face contorts.
When you bottom out, Seungcheol squirms beneath you, his hands gripping your hips. He reaches for your wrist and places the vibrator on your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you clench around his length.
His moan mingles with a teasing smile, his eyes dark with lust. If he wasn’t a villain before, he definitely looks like one now.
You ride his cock in circles, the vibrations on your clit making your body curl inward, your nails digging into his abdomen. The pleasure is overwhelming, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you move faster, chasing the high that’s just within reach.
His grip on your hips tightens, guiding you as you move. “That’s it, baby,” he growls “Just like that.”
Seungcheol sneaks a hand to the vibrator and turns it to the highest level. You grunt, throwing your head back as the intense vibrations radiate through your entire body. He can feel them inside you too, the added stimulation making him groan.
“Fuck, Seungcheol!” you cry out, your voice shaking as you jump up and down on his cock. Your pussy meets his length and then his base, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room.
“Yeah, take it all, baby,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Your pussy is so fucking tight around me.”
You moan louder, the dirty talk driving you wild. “Tell me more,” you gasp, craving more of his words, the filthier, the better.
He thrusts up into you, his own pleasure building as he watches you ride him. “You love this, don’t you? Being my little slut, taking my cock so well,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of speaking through his moans.
“Yes! Oh god, yes!” you reply, your movements becoming more frantic. “I love it, Seungcheol. I love being— Fuck!”
He grins. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Look at you, bouncing on my cock like a desperate little whore.”
You shiver at his words, your body responding eagerly. “Shit, Seungcheol, you feel so good inside me,” you pant. “I want to cum all over your cock.”
“Do it, baby,” he encourages, his voice rough. “Cum for me. Show me how much you love it.”
“I’m gonna cum again, Seungcheol,” you gasp, riding him faster. “I want you to cum with me.”
“Fuck, yes,” he grits out, his hands sliding up to your breasts, squeezing them. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
“Cum inside me,” you moan, your nails digging into his chest. “Fill me up, Seungcheol.”
He thrusts up hard, matching your frantic pace. “You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”
“Yes, please,” you beg, leaning back to get a better angle, driving him deeper. Your voice breaking with need. “I need it, Seungcheol. I need your cum.”
His grip on you tightens, and you can feel him getting close. “You’re gonna get it,” he promises, his voice rough. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby.”
Seungcheol presses the vibrator harder against your swollen clit, and you convulse on him, your body shaking uncontrollably from the combined sensations.
“Fuck,” he growls, “You’re creaming all over my cock. Look at you, so fucking soaked.”
You moan loudly, barely able to respond as the vibrations and his cock drive you wild. “Yes, Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “I’m so wet for you.”
He chuckles darkly, his eyes locked on yours as he continues to thrust upward, hitting every sensitive spot inside you. “Hm… The way you’re dripping all over me. I can feel every drop.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders as you bounce harder, trying to chase the overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t stop cumming,” you whimper. “It’s too much.”
Seungcheol’s breathing grows ragged, his gaze fixed on the way your pussy pulses around him. “That’s right. Let go for me. I want to see you lose control. You’re such a fucking mess for me.”
The pressure of the vibrator against your clit makes you cry out. “I’m cumming so hard,” you moan. “I can’t handle it.”
He grunts, his voice deep and raw. “That’s it, baby. Cream all over my cock. I love how you’re losing it. I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.”
Your eyes roll back. “Seungcheol,” you cry out, your body arching and trembling. “I’m gonna—”
He groans as he feels your inner muscles clench around him, the vibrations making every nerve in your body explode. “Yeah, let it all out,” he commands. “Show me how much you fucking need me.”
You convulse one last time, your vision blurring as the orgasm washes over you. Seungcheol holds you tightly, his cock still buried deep inside you as he continues to grind against your clit, making sure you get every last ounce of pleasure.
Seungcheol wastes no time, flipping you over onto all fours like you're a rag doll. The sudden shift leaves you breathless, your body pliant and obedient to his every move. He quickly turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. His hands find your ass, squeezing and fondling your cheeks.
Without missing a beat, he thrusts his cock back inside you, abusing your sweet spot with relentless precision. You feel the sting of your skin meeting his pelvis with each strong thrust.
You bite down on the pillow, muffling your sobs as your body trembles beneath him. The orgasm still pulses through you, but now Seungcheol is fucking you through it with a ferocity that has you seeing stars.
His grip tightens on your hips, one foot propped up on the mattress to give him more leverage. The bed creaks under you, the mattress springs creaking.
His moans become whiny and throaty. You can feel him getting closer, his cock twitching inside you with every thrust, and the sight of the white ring around his shaft driving him feral.
Summoning strength you didn't know you had, you lift your head and glance over your shoulder. You need to see his 'bad boy' posture crumble.
Seungcheol's face is a picture of raw emotion, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry. His expression is utterly shattered, as if he's about to break down and cry like a boy.
The sight of him like this, so helpless and undone, makes you squeeze harder around him. The reaction is immediate—Seungcheol's eyes roll back, and his hips slam into yours, grinding deep as he reaches he orgasms.
You feel the warmth of his cum filling you completely. He groans as he cums harder than ever before, his hips twitching with each spurt. The room is loaded with the sounds of his heavy breathing and the wet, obscene noises of your bodies joined together.
He stays buried inside you for a moment, savoring the sensation of your bodies connected, his cum still dripping from where he's filled you to the brim.
Seungcheol sleeps soundly, like a baby, his face peaceful and unburdened. In that moment, it doesn't matter who he is or where he is; his mind is completely consumed by thoughts of you.
The room is quiet, the only sound being your synchronized breaths. Exhausted and spent, you don't even have the strength to clean up. You sleep without a care, even as his cum slowly drips down your thighs.
[...]
Morning breaks gently, the soft light of dawn seeping through the curtains. Seungcheol stirs, his senses gradually returning to him. But something feels off. He blinks his eyes open, expecting to see you lying beside him. Instead, he’s met with a sight that jolts him fully awake.
You’re floating.
Your body is hovering a few inches above the bed, suspended in mid-air. Your eyes are wide with shock, mirroring his own as you both take in the surreal scene.
“Seungcheol,” you whisper, your voice tinged with panic. “Lower me down.”
He scrambles out of bed, his mind racing to process what he’s seeing. Without hesitation, he reaches out, his hands gently guiding you back down to the bed. The moment your body touches the mattress, the floating sensation ceases, leaving you both staring at each other in stunned silence.
You sit up slowly, your hands trembling slightly as you brush your hair back. “Wasn’t the injection supposed to last only for a few hours?” you ask.
Seungcheol, still healing from the sight of you floating, nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s what they said. But…maybe there’s more to it. Maybe it’s affected you in ways we didn’t expect.”
“So, does this mean you can fuck me while I'm floating in mid-air?”
Seungcheol's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He laughs, a surprised sound escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, clearly caught off guard by your audacity.
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