[skyefiles]

‪★ ──────── welcome to skyefiles!

hi, i'm skye aka zoro's plaything && nanami's housewife, i'm nineteen and this is a writing blog for my favourite fandoms! here you can access the library, here the rules, here the taglist form, here my kofi account && here you can send me an ask!

@spacejip && @lyvhie are my lovely wives, the center of my universe and i belong to them﹗

requests are currently closed!

[skyefiles]

ㅤㅤㅤPRETTY IN PINK ✶ R. SUKUNA

، 文庫𓈒 your big , bad man , sukuna , may be a little rough and scary , but in your pink , cutesy room , he's just a devotee for his goddess.

❪ smut ❫ ﹐ boyfriend!sukuna && fem!reader ⭑ established relationship, worship, sukuna is completely obsessed, unprotected sex, creampie, blowjob, cunnilingus, praise, just soft sex with a soft pairing ✿ 𝟑,𝟎𝟑𝟕 words

the room was an explosion of pink—soft, fluffy pillows piled high on the oversized bed, draped in shimmering pink satin sheets that caught the dim light from the bedside lamp shaped like a cartoon heart. plush pink rugs muffled every step, and the walls were adorned with pastel posters of smiling animals and whimsical quotes about love.

it was the epitome of cutesy, a girly haven that screamed innocence and sweetness. and right in the middle of it all, sprawled like a misplaced storm cloud, was your boyfriend, sukuna.

sukuna was built like a tank—broad shoulders straining against the black band tee he wore, ripped jeans hugging his thick thighs, and heavy boots that looked ready to stomp through concrete. his short pink hair was messy, pierced eyebrow glinting under the soft glow, and tattos snaked up his arms, telling stories of rebellion and grit.

he was the kind of guy who turned heads in dive bars, the edgy grunge type with a scowl that could scare off anyone who got too close. but here, in this sea of pink, he looked almost comical, like a wolf tossed into a candy store.

you’d lured him here after a night out, teasing him with whispers about how he’d look “adorable” in yuor space. he’d grumbled, called it “frilly bullshit”, but followed anyway, his big hand engulfing yours as you led him through the door.

now, he sat on the edge of the bed, the pink sheets bunching under his weight, his red eyes locked on you with that intense stare that always made your pulse race.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voicce a low rumble. “this place is like a goddamn unicorn exploded.” but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a hint of amusement as he reached out, pulling you between his spread legs. his hands, calloused and strong, slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just below your shorts.

you grinned down at him, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “admit it, big guy. it’s growing on you. even your hair matches it all!”

he snorted, but his grip tightened, pulling you closer until you were pressed against his chest. the contrast was electric—his hard, muscled body against the yielding pink fluff behind him.

he leaned in, lips brushing your neck, nipping at the skin there. “only thing growing on me is under my pants,” he growled, breath hot.

what started as playful teasing escalated fast. you pushed him back onto the bed, the pink sheets enveloping his massive frame like a cotton candy trap. he laughed—a deep, surprised bark—as you straddled his hips, grinding down against the growing bulge in his jeans. his hands roamed your body, rough palms cupping your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks.

“you’re playing with fire, doll,” he warned, but his eyes were dark with hunger, pupils blown wide.

you unzipped his jeans, freeing his thick cock, already hard and throbbing in your hand. it was massive, veined and heavy, the head slick with precum. you stroked him slowly, watching his jaw clench, his buff chest rising and falling faster.

he flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath him on the pink satin. the sheets whispered against your skin as he stripped you bare, his mouth descending on your breasts. he sucked your nipples hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peaks, making you arch into him.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his voice losing some of its edge, turning husky and reverent.

but you weren’t done teasing. you wriggled free, pushing him onto his back again. “my turn,” you whispered, sliding down his body.

the pink pillows cradled his head as you took his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the fat tip, then swallowing him deep. sukuna groaned, his big hands fisting the sheets, knuckles white against the pastel fabric.

“that mouth… shit,” he hissed, hips bucking up. you bobbed your head, sucking him wet and sloppy, saliva dripping down his shaft. his grungr toughness was cracking already, breaths coming in ragged gasps amid the cutesy surroundings.

when you finally climbed back up, positioning yourself over him, he was staring at you like you’d hung the moon.

you sank down onto his cock, inch by thick inch, your pussy stretching around him. the fullness made you moan, walls clenching as you bottomed out. he filled you completely, his girth pressing against every sensitive spot.

you rode him slow at first, rolling your hips, the pink bed creaking softly under your movements. his hands gripped your waist, guiding you, but his usual dominance was fading.

“doll, pussy’s fucking… heaven,” he panted, eyes glazing over. each thrust up into you had him groaning deeper, his buff body trembling beneath the frilly sheets.

the intimacy hit him like a freight train. surrounded by all this soft pink—the fluffy duvet bunched around his elbows, the heart-shaped lamp casting rosy light on his tattooed skin—something shifted. the scowl softened, red eyes turning tender, almost vulnerable. you leaned down, kissing him deeply, tongues tangling as you picked up the pace, slamming down harder.

he broke the kiss with a shuddering breath. “you’re… a fuckin’ goddess,” he whispered, the words tumbling out like a prayer. his hands slid up your sides, reverent now, thumbs tracing your ribs. “my goddess. fuck, how do you do this to me?”

you smiled, grinding your clit against his pelvis, chasing your own pleasure. “keep talking like that, i’ll make you beg.”

he did. as you rode him faster, pussy squeezing his cock in rhythmic pulses, he lost it. the big, buff guy who intimidated everyone with a glare was unraveling in a nest of pink.

“please… goddess, let me worship you. body’s divine, this tight pussy owning me… i don’t deserve it.” his voice cracked, thick with awe.

you came first, the orgasm ripping through you, walls fluttering around his cock as you cried out. he followed seconds later, thrusting up hard, spilling deep inside you with a guttural moan. cum flooded your pussy, hot and thick, leaking out as he pulsed within you.

but he wasn’t done. even as you collapsed onto his chest, panting, he gently rolled you off, sliding down the bed. the sheets tangled around his legs as he positioned himself between your thighs, on his knees now, his massive frame humbled the cutesy glow.

he looked up at you, pink hair tousled, piercings catching the light. “let me show you,” me murmured, voice soft and affectionate.

his lips pressed to your inner thigh, kissing the skin there reverently, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat and remnants of your release.

“you’re everything,” he breathed, kissing higher, nipping gently. “a goddess gracing me with your presence. this body… these thighs that could crush me, and i’d thank you.” another kiss, wet and open-mouthed, right where your leg met your hip.

you watched, heart pounding, as the tough man worshipped you. his hands spread your legs wider, thumbs stroking the slick folds of your pussy, still sensitive from his cock.

he leaned in, kissing your thigh again, then the other, alternating sides like a devotee at an altar. “please, let me taste you.” his words were a plea, eyes locked on yours, full of soft adoration amid the pink fluff.

you nodded and he dove in. his tongue licked a long stripe up your slit, lapping at the mix of your juices and his cum. he sucked your clit gently, then harder, fingers sliding inside you to curl against your sweet spot. you moaned, hands fisting the sheets as he ate you out with single-minded devotion.

“heaven,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations sending shocks through you. “your taste… it’s divine.” he kissed yout thighs between licks, praising nonstop.

the contrast was intoxicating—his buff, tattooed body on his knees in this girly paradise, face buried between your legs, worshipping like you’d hung the stars.

he brought you to another orgasm, tongue flicking relentlessly as you bucked against his mouth, flooding him with your release.

when you came down, he crawled back up, gathering you in his arms. the pink bed enveloped you both, his hard edges softened completely. he kissed your forehead, then your lips, tasting of you.

“knocked me out, you did,” he whispered, chuckling softly. “all this pink and you… toughest thing i’ve ever faced.”

you snuggled into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. in the heart of the cutesy room, the grunge giant was yours—soft, affectionate, and utterly devoted.

but the night wasn’t over. after a few minutes of lazy cuddling, his hand wandered down again, fingers teasing your entrance.

“one more time, doll?” he asked, voice husky but tender. you nodded, and he entered you slowly this time, missionary on the pink sheets, his big body covering yours.

he fucked you deep and steady, each thrust deliberate, grinding against your clit.

“feel that? that’s me giving everything to you,” he groaned, lips on your neck. his praises continued, whispered like secrets: “your pussy milks me so good, like it was made for my cock. you’re perfection, wrapping around me tight.”

you clawed at his back, nails digging into the inked skin, urging him faster. sukuna obliged, pounding harder, the bed’s pink canopy swaying above. cum from before slicked the way, making obscene wet sounds as he slammed in.

“cum for me, goddess.” his words pushed yuo over, pussy clenching hard as you screamed his name. he followed, burying deep, pumping another load into you, goraning your praises the whole time.

exhausted, he pulled out, cum dripping from your well-fucked pussy onto the sheets. he kissed your thighs once more, even as you both drifted toward sleep.

“thank you for gracing me,” he murmured, the buff man lost in pink bliss.

in that moment, surrounded by softness, sukuna was transformed—edgy exterior cracked open to reveal the affectionate heart beneath, all because of you and the intoxicating contrast of it all.

the soft pink sheets clung to your sweat-dampened skin as sleep finally claimed you both, sukuna's massive arm draped over your waist like a protective barrier. his chest rose and fell steadily against your back, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a soothing contrast to the wild intensity of the night.

the room's cutesy glow from the heart lamp dimmed as it automatically switched off, leaving only the faint moonlight filtering through sheer pink curtains, casting everything in a dreamy haze.

hours later, you stirred first, the first rays of morning sun peeking through the fabric, turning the entire space into a blush-colored wonderland. plush toys stared down from shelves with button eyes, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla from a forgotten candle.

sukuna was still out cold beside you, his buff frame sprawled across the bed, one leg kicked free from the covers. his pink hair stuck up in wild tufts, tattoos stark against the pale pink pillowcase cradling his head. even in sleep, he looked imposing—jaw set, brows furrowed slightly—but the way his hand instinctively tightened around your hip when you shifted spoke of the tenderness he'd surrendered to.

you smiled, tracing a finger along the inked lines on his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin. The contrast hit you again: this grunge god, all edges and grit, tamed by your world of fluff and sweetness.

slipping from his grasp carefully, you padded to the bathroom, the fluffy pink rug soft under your feet. a quick rinse, and you returned, finding him stirring, those dark eyes fluttering open.

“mornin',' he rumbled, voice gravelly from sleep, stretching his arms overhead. muscles flexed under his skin, the black tee riding up to reveal a trail of hair leading down to his boxers. he sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist, and rubbed a hand over his face, piercings catching the light.

for a second, his usual scowl flickered—assessing the pink invasion—but then his gaze landed on you, naked and glowing in the morning light, and it melted away.

“fuck, look at you,' he breathed, swinging his legs over the bed's edge. he stood, towering over the room's whimsy, and crossed to you in two strides. his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, his morning wood pressing insistently against your belly through the thin fabric. “slept like the dead. you wrecked me good, goddess.”

you laughed softly, tilting your head up for a kiss. his lips met yours, slow and deep, tongue sliding in to taste you lazily. but the affection built quickly, his calloused palms roaming down to cup your ass, kneading the flesh.

“can't get enough,” he murmured against your mouth, nipping your lower lip. “this place... you... it's like a drug.”

he guided you back to the bed, but instead of pushing you down, he dropped to his knees first—right there on the pink rug, his broad shoulders level with your hips. the sight sent a thrill through you: the big, bad man, jeans discarded from last night, kneeling in submission amid stuffed animals and glittery throw blankets. his hands slid up your thighs, parting them slightly as he looked up, eyes full of that worshipful hunger.

“let me start the day right,” he said, voice low and reverent. “praise you properly, like you deserve.” his lips brushed your inner thigh, soft at first, then firmer, sucking a mark into the skin. you gasped, fingers threading into his messy hair, holding him there. he kissed higher, tongue darting out to lick a trail toward your core, but he paused, breathing you in. “this scent... your skin... it's sacred.”

another kiss, wet and open, on the sensitive spot where thigh met pussy. his fingers traced your folds, finding you already slick from the night before and the morning's tease. he groaned, pressing his face closer, nose nudging your clit.

“so wet for me already. my goddess, dripping like nectar.” he lapped at you then, tongue flat and broad, sliding through your lips to taste the remnants of his cum still lingering inside.

you moaned, legs trembling as he devoured you standing up, his strong hands gripping your ass to steady you. he sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling it gently between his lips, then flicking with the tip of his tongue.

two fingers pushed inside, thick and curling, pumping slowly while he hummed against you. the vibrations made your knees buckle, but he held you firm, worshipping with every motion.

“you're divine,” he panted between licks, pulling back just enough to kiss your thigh again, teeth grazing. “this pussy owns me—tight, hot, pulling me in like a prayer answered. i'd beg on my knees forever for one taste.” he dove back in, sucking harder, fingers thrusting deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

the orgasm built fast, your hips grinding against his face, smearing your arousal over his stubble and piercings. he praised you through it all, muffled words vibrating against your skin.

“cum for me, goddess. flood my mouth with your blessing.” you shattered, pussy clenching around his fingers, juices coating his tongue as you cried out, tugging his hair hard.

he didn't stop until you were shaking, then eased you down onto the bed, laying you back against the pink pillows. his cock strained against his boxers, a wet spot forming at the tip, but he ignored it, crawling up to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“see? you're perfection,' he whispered, nuzzling your neck.

but you weren't letting him off that easy. pushing him onto his back, you straddled his chest, the satin sheets bunching under his weight. “my turn to worship my kuna,” you teased, but he shook his head, hands on your hips.

“no—let me.” flipping you effortlessly despite his softened demeanor, he positioned himself between your legs again, but this time, he stripped off his boxers, his thick cock springing free—hard, veined, the head flushed and leaking.

he stroked himself once, eyes never leaving yours, then guided the tip to your entrance.

“slow,” he promised, pushing in inch by inch. your pussy stretched around him, still sensitive, welcoming the fullness. he bottomed out with a groan, forehead resting against yours. “fuck… so good.” he started thrusting, deep and measured, each slide pulling whimpers from you.

the pink bed rocked gently, fluffy pillows tumbling to the floor as he fucked you missionary, his buff body caging yours protectively. his mouth found your breasts, sucking one nipple while pinching the others, rolling it between rough fingers.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. sukuna complied, thrusting harder, cock dragging against your walls.

tattooed arms bracketed your head, his sharp, tattooed face above yours, scrunching in pleasure, while the room’s cutesy elements surrounded you: a pink teddy bear knocked askew, heart confetti from some forgotten decoration scattered on the nightstand.

he picked up pace, hips snapping forward, balls slapping against your ass with wet smacks. “take it, doll. let me fill you up again.” his praises turned filthy-reverent: “your pussy grips me like a vice, milking every drop. you're my salvation, squeezing my cock so tight.” sweat beaded on his brow, dripping onto your skin as he pounded relentlessly.

you came again, walls fluttering, pulling him under with you. he buried deep, cock pulsing as he unloaded, hot spurts of cum painting your insides. he growled, kissing your throat, thighs trembling from the effort.

panting, he stayed inside you, softening slowly, reluctant to pull away. when he did, cum leaked out, pooling on the pink sheets. he scooped some up on his fingers, bringing it to your lips. “taste us,” he said softly, watching as you sucked them clean. then he kissed your thighs once more, cleaning you with his tongue, lapping gently at the mess.

lying beside you, he pulled the covers over you both. his arm tucked you close, hand stroking your hair. “big bad me, turned into a sap in all this pink. but fuck, it's worth it for you.”

スカイ ﹕ a little ooc sukuna, but i just thought this concept would match him sooo fine. i live for devotee sukuna, he's just so obsessed with his woman

𝄞 ﹕ @spacejip @lyvhie @devilslittlehelper @brxght-world @myheadwillrolll @cosmosnkaz @barkwoofyapperson (to join the taglist click here!)

© skyefiles ⸝⸝ 𝟐✶𝟐𝟔

[skyefiles]

hii!! can you possibly do a Mr.5 smut fanfic? I know he’s like extremely underrated 😭

i mean... yeah? but like what the plot bc i have nothing 😭😭😭

[skyefiles]

Item: Dados da sorte Raridade: ⏶ Comum

Você se considera uma pessoa de sorte quando joga?

Coloca as respostas das minhas perguntas no painel, blogueirinhe.

não, eu sou a mais azarada possível...

[skyefiles]

Item: Caderno meio em branco Raridade: ⏶ Comum

Que game você se arrepende muito de não ter terminado?

Coloca as respostas das minhas perguntas no painel, blogueirinhe.

i fear i haven't....

[skyefiles]

Item: Seu documento Raridade: ⏶ Comum

Você tem um nome de usuário que sempre usa ao jogar?

Coloca as respostas das minhas perguntas no painel, blogueirinhe.

simmm :))

[bebx]

[skyefiles]

Item: Máscara Trágica Raridade: ✷ Épico

Que final de jogo mais te marcou?

Coloca as respostas das minhas perguntas no painel, blogueirinhe.

hehehehe épico 👅👅

eu nunca terminei um jogo, então... não faço a menor ideia.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

fanfic writers deserve better

if we post too fast, we get accused of using ai (no, you don't know how fast someone can write. you don't even know if the "too-frequent-to-be-human updates" you see are something that have long been finished and sitting in an author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted, doesn't necessarily always mean it's recently written too. a lot of writers finish the whole thing first before they start posting it chapter by chapter).

if we take "too long to update", we get people pressuring us to "update faster" even though fanfics are our hobbies and we write for ourselves first and foremost.

if our works are grammatically correct, we get accused of using ai (some of us just love correct grammars).

if our works are not grammatically correct, we get insulted/criticized (mind you, not everybody writes in their native language. kudos to writers who write in their second, or third, or fourth language — I'm willing to bet a lot of people who criticize fanfics because of poor grammar can't even speak other languages besides english).

if our paragraphs are "too long and too detailed", we get accused of using ai.

if our paragraphs are "too short", we also get accused of using ai.

if we are autistic and we write in ways some deem "too robotic", we get accused of using ai.

some people just don't use their brains to think "ai was trained on human-made works, it was trained to look human-made. ai writes this way because the way it writes is the way real humans write — real humans whose works it was trained to mimic". instead they somehow disregard this logic and think "hmmm this work looks ai-generated. I will engage in witch hunt, be a bully and harass writers whose works I don't vibe with".

[skyefiles]

Item: Tapete de boas-vindas Raridade: ⏶ Comum

Que jogo te faz sentir em casa, independente de quantas vezes você já tenha jogado?

Coloca as respostas das minhas perguntas no painel, blogueirinhe.

brah. definitivamente the sims 4 e stardew valley, meus xodós e eu nunca largo, não importa o quanto eu "enjoe", eu volto.

tá aí sua resposta no painel, divo 👅

[skyefiles]

u had this karina fic that i absolutely loved and i jus found out u deleted it im so devastated 💔💔💔

NAOOOO i'm sorry anon :( but if it makes you any better i didn't actually delete the fic... it's just private 🐦‍⬛

[skyefiles]

WRITE MORE ZORO SMUT PLEASEEEEEEe

YOU BET I WILL!!!!

[skyefiles]

the cherry to my strawberry, loving the new theme ur so hawt 😣

the strawberry of my cherry, thank you so much love you're hotter!

[skyefiles]

SHOWERING AIN'T THAT BAD ✶ R. ZORO

، 文庫𓈒 it's not a secret zoro hates showering, but maybe he just needed some... motivation

❪ smut ❫ ﹐ boyfriend!opla!zoro && fem!reader ⭑ established relationship, zoro simply calls you 'woman', shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, zoro loves your natural scent, nipple sucking, marking, cock sucking, deepthroating, riding, nami cameo by the end ✿ 𝟐,𝟖𝟖𝟒 words

you stride past zoro on the deck of the ship, the salty sea breeze whipping through your hair, but it’s his scent that hits ou first—a musky mix of sweat, steel, and lingering exertion from his endless training sessions. it’s potent, clinging to him like a second skin, and you wrinkle your nose, pausing in your tracks.

turning to face him, you cross your arms over your chest and fix him with a pointed stare. “zoro, seriously, when was the last time you showered? you reek like you’ve been wrestling sea kings all week.”

he glances up from sharpening his swords, one brown eye narrowing, the other hidden by the angle you’re in but no doubt just as unimpressed. he shrugs those broad shoulders, the muscles rippling under his tight black shirt.

“don’t have time for that shit. training waits for no one.” his voice is gruff, dismissive, as he goes back to honinh the edge of wado ichimonji.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, grabbing his wrist before he can ignore you completely. “oh, c’mon. you have plenty of time zo’. you just need some… motivation.”

tugging him along with a mischievous smile in your face, you pull him toward the ship’s interior, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden planks as he follows with a reluctant grunt. the corridor leading to the bathroom is dim, lit only by the faint glow of lanterns swaying with the ship’s gentle rock.

he yanks his arm free once you’re inside, towering over you with that signature scowl. “motivation? what the hell are you talking about now, woman?”

you flash him a sly smile, stepping closer so your body brushes against him, feeling the heat radiating off his unwashed skin.

“me,” you say simply, your voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a spark through the air between you.

zoro’s eyebrow arches, but there’s a flicker of interest in his gaze now, the swords forgotten in his hands. you don’t give him time to argue, pushing open the bathroom door and pulling him inside. the space is cramped, walls echoing the distant crash of waves, a single shower stall dominating one side with a worn bench opposite. you twist the lock with a decisive click, sealing you both in privacy.

he sets his swords down carefully against the wall, crossing his arms as he leans back. “look, i don’t like showering. it’s a waste of—”

“but you love fucking me,” you interrupt, your tone teasing yet commanding, eyes locking onto his as you start to peel of your top. the fabric slides over your head, revealing your bare breasts, nipples already hardening in the cool air. “and we can do both at the same time. imagine it: hot water running over us while you fuck me senseless.”

zoro’s breath catches, his dark eyes glazing over as he watches you. the reluctance melts away, replaced by raw hunger. he doesn’t say a word, but the way his jaw tightens and his pants start to tent tells you everything.

bewitched, he stands there, transfixed, as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and shimmy them down your hips. they pool at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your panties, the thin material already damp between your thighs from the anticipation.

you step closer, pressing your body against his, feeling the hard planes of his chest and the growing bulge straining against his pants. “see? motivation,” you murmur, nipping at his earlobe.

zoro growls low in his throat, his hands finally moving to grip your waist, rough calluses scraping your skin in a way that makes you shiver.

but you’re not rushing this. you want him desperate, want to draw it out until he’s as filthy with need as he is with sweat.

pushing him back toward the shower, you turn on the faucet, steam beginning to billow as hot water sprays out. “strip, baby,” you command, and he obeys, yanking off his shirt to reveal that chiseled torso, scars crisscrossing like a map of battles won. his pants follow, his thick cock springing free, already half-hard and veined.

you slide your panties down last, kicking them aside, your pussy exposed and aching, folds slick with arousal. zoro’s eyes devour you, darkening further as he steps under the spray, water cascading over his green hair, turning it dark and slick. rivulets trace down his neck, over his pecs, dripping from his nipples before pooling at his feet.

you join him, the heat soaking into your skin, but before he can pull you close, you put your hands on his chest, pushing him gently so he can stop.

“not yet,” you say, looking up at him through the steam. “want you to taste me first.” you open your legs slightly and use your fingers to part your lips, showing him your swollen clit and the wetness gathering there.

zoro hesitates for a split second, water streaming into his eyes, but then he’s sinking down too, his strong hands gripping your hips to steady you.

he leans in, nose brushing against your inner thigh, inhalng deeply. “fuck, you smell so good,” he mutters, voice rough with awe. “natural, like the sea and something sweeter. no soap bullshit—just you.” his words hit you like a spark, your core clenching, more slickness leaking out to coat your folds.

it makes you even wetter, a fresh gush that has you moaning softly, your fingers threading into his wet hair. “zoro…” you breathe, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

his tongue flicks out, flat and broad, lapping from your entrance up to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke. the sensation is electric, his mouth hot against your cool-wet skin, and you buck against him.

he groans into you, the vibration humming through your pussy as he dives in deeper. his lips seal around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. tongue delving inside, he fucks you with it, curling to hit that sensitive spot while his nose bumps your clit with every thrust. water mixes with your juices, dripping down his chin, but he couldn’t care less—lapping it all up like he’s starving.

“fuck, your scent… it’s driving me insane,” he rasps between licks, pulling back just enough to blow cool air on your heated flesh before plunging back in.

his hands knead your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, one slipping between your cheeks to tease your tightest hole without entering. you whimper, hips grinding against his face, the pressure building up low in your belly.

he eats you like a man possessed, alternating between sucking your clit until it’s throbbing and tongue-fucking your hole, stretching it with wet, obscene sounds that echo off the tiles. your thighs quake around his head, the compliment still ringing in your ears—his love for your raw, unmasked aroma making every swipe of his tongue feel dirtier, more intimate.

slickness coats his lips, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin, and you feel youself teetering on the edge.

“zoro, fuck—don’t stop,” you plead, pulling his hair tighter. he responds by sliding two thick fingers into your pussy, curling them to stroke your inner walls while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.

the stretch burns so good, his calluses rough against your smooth insides, and you shatter, crying out as your orgasm crashes over you. waves of pleasure pulse through you, your walls clamping down on his fingers, gushing more wetness that he drinks down greedily.

panting, you slump against the wall, but zoro’s not done. he rises, water sluicing over his body, his cock now fully erect—long, thick, the shaft curving slightly upward, veins pulsing with need. he grabs your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pins you to the tiled wall. the cool surface contrasts with the hot spray and his scorching skin.

“i think you were right all this time,” he growls, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, slick from your release.

without another word, he thrusts in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. you cry out, the fullness overwhelming, his girth stretching your pussy wide, walls fluttering around him.

he doesn’t hold back, pounding into you hard and fast, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the shower’s roar. each thrust drives deeper, his hips snapping with the force of a sowrdsman—precise, powerful, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes flutter. water splashes everywhree, your breasts bouncing with every impact, nipples grazing his chest.

“fuck, you’re so tight, woman,” he grunts, one hand bracing against the wall, the other gripping your ass to angle you better.

he pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, the head of his cock battering your cervix. you claw at his shoulders, nails leaving red trails on his skin, urging him on as pleasure coils tighter.

he shifts, hooking one of your legs higher over his arm, opening you open further. the new angle lets him grind against your clit with every plunge, his balls slapping against your ass.

“gonna fill this pussy up,” he promises, voice strained, sweat and water mingling on his brow. you clench around him deliberately, milking his cock, and he swears, pace faltering for a second before he redoubles his efforts.

the steam thickens the air, making everything slick and hazy, your bodies sliding together in a frenzy. zoro leans in, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he devours you, tasting yourself on his lips. he breaks away to bite your neck, sucking a mark into the skin, possessive and rough.

your second orgasm builds faster, sparked by his relentless drive, the way he fills you completely, stretching and claiming.

“zoro—yes, harder!” you demand, and he obliges, fucking you with everything he’s got.

his cock throbs inside you, swelling, and with a guttural roar, he comes, hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, painting your walls white.

the sensation tips you over, your climax ripping through you, muscles spasming around him, squeezing every drop from hs pulsing shaft. you scream his name, body arching, the world narrowing to the feel of him buried deep, his seed mixing with your juices and leaking out around his cock.

zoro doesn’t pull away immediately, his hips grinding in slow, deep circles to prolong the aftershocks rippling through your core. his breath is hot against your neck, ragged pants mingling with the steam as he nuzzles into your skin, inhaling that natural scent of his woman he praised earlier—now intensified with the sharp tang of sex and sweat.

“shit, you take it so well,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and low, his cock still twitching inside you, semi-hard but refusing to soften fully. the fullness keeps you stretched, every subtle shift sending sparks up your spine.

you cling to him, legs locked around his waist, nails digging into the slick muscles of his back as the water beats down relentlessly. the heat has turned the air thick and humid, beads of moisture tracing paths over your breasts, down your stomach, mixing with the slick mess between your thighs.

zoro finally eases back, his thick length sliding out inch by inch, the drag pulling a whine from your lips. A gush of his cum follows, warm and viscous, spilling down your inner thighs before the shower washes it away in pale rivulets.

he sets you on your feet, but your knees buckle from the intensity, and he catches you effortlessly, one arm banding around your waist while the other cups your ass, holding you steady against his chest.

his green hair is plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his lashes as he looks down at you with that rare, predatory grin—satisfied but far from finished.

“not done yet,” he says, his free hand trailing down to where you’re still throbbing, fingers dripping into the mess he’s left behind, scooping up a mix of cum and your arousal before bringing it to his lips. he sucks them clean with a calculated slowness, eyes locked on yours, the act fithy and possessive.

the sight reignites the fire in your belly, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching for more. you push against his chest, turning the tables, guiding him to sit on the built-in bench at the edge of the shower. water sprays over his lap, his cock lying heavy against his thigh, glistening and ready to harden again under your touch.

“my turn to clean you up,” you tease, dropping to your knees, the tile hard but forgotten in the haze of lust.

your hands wrap around his shaft, stroking firmly from the base to tip, feeling it swell and pulse back to life in your grip. precum beads at the slit, and you lean in, tongue flicking out to lap it up, savoring the salty taste mixed with the faint musk of his skin.

zoro groans, head falling back against the wall, his thighs tensing under your palms. you take him into your mouth, lips stretching around his girth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him down deeper.

the water cascades over your back, but you focus on him, bobbing your head with a steady rhythm, tongue swirling around the underside of his cock, tracing every vein. his hand tangles in your wet hair, not forcing but guiding, hips bucking up slightly to meet your mouth.

you hum around him, the vibration drawing a curse from his lips, and you pull off with a wet pop to lick along his balls, sucking one into your mouth gently before returning to the head, teasing the sensitive frenulum with flicks of your tongue.

zoro’s breath come faster, his abs contracting as you work him over, saliva and water dripping down his length to pool on the bench. “gonna make me cum again if you keep that up,” he warns, but there’s no real protest—only hunger.

you double down, taking him to the back of your throat, gagging slightly but pushing through, nose brushing his pubic bone as you deepthroat him. his grip tightens, a low growl rumbling from his chest, and you feel him throb against your tongue.

before he can tip over, you rise, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, the shower’s spray hitting you both as you position yourself over his cock.

“want you inside me again,” you whisper, sinking down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed once more.

the stretch is exquisite, your walls still sensitive from before, fluttering around his renewed hardness. you start to ride him, hands braced on his shoulders, rolling your hips in a grind that has his head nudging deep inside.

he meets your movements, thrusting up to match your pace, the bench creaking under the force. water splashes with every slap of your bodies, your breasts pressing against his chest, nipples dragging over his skin. zoro’s mouth finds one, latching on to suck hard, teeth grazing the peak while his hands roam—one palming your breast, the other slipping between you to rub tight circles over your clit.

the dual assault has you moaning loudly, pace quickening as pleasure builds anew.

“harder,” you demand, and he obliges, bouncing you on his cock with powerful upward drives.

the head battering that sweet spot relentlessly as your ass slaps against his thighs, the sound obscene and echoing, drowned only partially by the water. he switches to your other nipple, biting down just enough to sting, then soothing with his tongue, the contrast making you clench around him tighter.

sweat and steam blur the lines between you, bodies slick and sliding, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. zoro’s fingers pinch your clit, rolling it between them, and you shatter again, pussy convulsing in waves that milk his cock. he follows seconds later, grunting as he pumps another load deep into you, hot and thick, overflowing to leak out with each final grind.

you collapse against him, both panting, the water now lukewarm as it rinses away the evidence of your passion. zoro’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, his lips brushing your temple in a rare moment of tenderness amid the raw intensity.

he chuckles low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through his chest into yours. “yeah, showering ain’t that bad after all,” he admits, his voice rough from exertion, one hand idly stroking down your spine, fingers tracing the curve of your hip where it presses against him.

the words barely leave his mouth when a sharp bang echoes against the door—fists pounding hard enough to rattle the frame.

“what the hell are you two doing in there?” nami’s voice pierces through, shrill and furious. “you’ve been at it forever! turn off that damn water before you flood the whole ship, and keep it down—we can hear every fucking moan from the deck!”

you stifle a laugh against zoro’s shoulder, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks, pussy sore and full from his repeated fillings. he smirks, unfazed, his cock softening but still nestled against your thigh, slick with your combined releases.

スカイ ﹕ i lied... daryl won't be my comeback... i'm finally back my cherries! i'm still working on the new theme, but i like this post layout and content so far hehe >.< i'm glad to be back and i hope you haven't forgot about me :(

𝄞 ﹕ @spacejip @lyvhie @trishki @chillrkillr @csbnova @choso-ver @devilslittlehelper @brxght-world @myheadwillrolll @cosmosnkaz @dreamcastgirl99 @barkwoofyapperson (to join the taglist click here!)

© skyefiles ⸝⸝ 𝟐✶𝟐𝟔

[skyefiles]

i think i'm ready to comeback 🤟🏻

[skyefiles]

✨🎬 INTRODUCTION — “The NeoVerse”

Every universe needs its heroes. Some rise with courage. Some fall to darkness. And some… weren’t meant to be heroes at all.

Across dimensions, something stirs.

Fate bends. Masks are donned. Powers awaken.

This is a collaborative event where each writer steps behind the camera and takes the director’s seat — choosing one (1) NCT member and pairing him with one (1) superhero or supervillain from any universe.

From Marvel to DC, from cult classics to chaotic originals — anything goes, as long as your chosen duo hasn’t been taken.

Got bigger plans?

If your story calls for two NCT members as main roles, it’s possible — but only after a discussion with the rest of the team. Because even heroes need backup.

The rest? That’s up to you.

Write them as:

📝 a headcanon set

📖 a blurb

🎬 or a full oneshot

Give them powers. Give them pain. Give them purpose.

And when the smoke clears, let the world see what kind of legend they became.

Choose wisely. Once a name is claimed — hero and idol — it’s sealed. No doubles. No rewinds. No second takes.

🎥 Lights dim. The screen flickers. The multiverse opens.

Welcome to — THE NEOVERSE.

RULES — The NeoVerse

Every universe has its laws. Every legend, its code. Before you step into the NeoVerse, remember this:

Any genre is welcome. Comedy, angst, fluff, adventure, smut — take your story anywhere. 🔒 However: no dark content or smut for Ryo and Sakuya. Their stories must remain safe.

How to join: To participate, simply send me a DM! To keep things smooth, please bring two (2) options for your pairing (NCT member + hero/villain), just in case your first choice has already been claimed.

Claims & roles:

Once a character is chosen, they’re locked. No duplicates.

If you’d like to use two NCT members for the main roles, this must be discussed first.

Timing: There is no strict deadline, but let’s try to keep this collab from stretching on too long — every legend deserves its moment.

Masterlist post: This announcement doubles as the official masterlist. If you’re writing a oneshot, please include:

✍️ Word count

⚠️ Content warnings

Future possibilities: If this collab goes well, who knows? The NeoVerse may expand again…

Spread the word: Tag @skyefiles and use the #neoverseisopen! So we can all read your amazing works!

CHOOSE YOUR NEO —

Johnny as Hawkeye — Claimed by @filmrku

Taeyong

Yuta as Joker — Claimed by @skyefiles

EVIL WITHIN US | angst, smut | 8.9k words

For years, you lived in Gotham’s shadows—fiancée to a hero, mother to three boys, invisible in your own life. When neglect and broken promises finally push you to reclaim your identity, you dive headfirst into dangerous journalism, crossing lines you once swore you wouldn’t. As chaos pulls your protectors away, you're left alone for the first time—and someone has been waiting for that moment. Watched, tested, and drawn into a quiet, terrifying game, you must face the truth about freedom, obsession, and who really holds the power.

Doyoung

Kun

Ten

Jaehyun as Batman — Claimed by @skyefiles

EVIL WITHIN US | angst, smut | 8.9k words

For years, you lived in Gotham’s shadows—fiancée to a hero, mother to three boys, invisible in your own life. When neglect and broken promises finally push you to reclaim your identity, you dive headfirst into dangerous journalism, crossing lines you once swore you wouldn’t. As chaos pulls your protectors away, you're left alone for the first time—and someone has been waiting for that moment. Watched, tested, and drawn into a quiet, terrifying game, you must face the truth about freedom, obsession, and who really holds the power.

Winwin

Jungwoo

Mark as Spiderman — Claimed by @chenlezip

Xiaojun

Hendery

Renjun

Jeno as Nightwing — Claimed by @yutarot

Haechan as Venom — Claimed by @tynlvr

Jaemin as Flash — Claimed by @ohmytyong

Chenle as John Constantine — Claimed by @winwintea

Jisung

Sion

Riku

Yushi

Jaehee

Ryo

Sakuya as Robin — Claimed by @peterm4rker

Ps. The same writer can choose one (1) or more Neo — for the same story or different ones. But the same Neo can't be chosen twice.

[rikunotfound]

EVIL WITHIN US, jeong jaehyun & nakamoto yuta (part one)

❛❛ For years, you lived in Gotham’s shadows—fiancée to a hero, mother to three boys, invisible in your own life. When neglect and broken promises finally push you to reclaim your identity, you dive headfirst into dangerous journalism, crossing lines you once swore you wouldn’t. As chaos pulls your protectors away, you're left alone for the first time—and someone has been waiting for that moment. Watched, tested, and drawn into a quiet, terrifying game, you must face the truth about freedom, obsession, and who really holds the power. ❞

genre | angst, smut, squint of fluff word count | 8.9k

content | jaehyun neglects your relationship, you're kind of reckless, jeno as nightwing, haechan as red hood and sakuya as robin, stalking, sexual content (nipple sucking, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex)

skye notes | this one is part of NEOVERSE EVENT that's finally here! it was supposed to be posted a loooong time ago, but i was super lazy to proofread it and ugh i'm still doing it because there's like more 10k words to reread and correct and that's why i decided to cut it in half and post as two parts or else you'd never have this fic. i also want to say that evil within us was supposed to be something else, but rereading it and rewriting it, something changed and idk if i can keep the name or the main story, but i hope you enjoy it and support it regardless! lots of love from skyepie!

the NEOVERSE masterlist (open!)

Sirens wailed in the distance, far too distant to matter. The western docks of Gotham had turned into a war zone—overturned crates, gunshots ricocheting through the air, and the sharp, acidic smell of gasoline clinging to everything. Masked men moved through the shadows, their laughter loud and careless as they traded gunfire with the police securing the perimeter.

Through the chaos, a dark figure appeared and vanished from sight—cape, cowl, fists sharp as knives. Batman was brutal tonight, his movements faster, angrier than usual, scattering men across the ground like broken dolls with every strike.

And then you appeared. Notepad in one hand, recorder in the other, tucked behind a container, eyes shining with the reckless hunger for a story worth telling. You leaned a little too far out, reaching for a better angle—

“What are you doing here?”

The voice was low and furious, right against your ear. Before you could even react, a gloved hand yanked you back hard enough to spin you into solid armored plating.

“Jae—” you started, but he cut you off instantly.

“Not here.” His arm tightened around you, protective to the point of pain as more bullets tore through the air. Even so, he moved with terrifying control, shielding your body while his free hand deftly disarmed a scavenging thug.

You struggled, doing your best to break free from Batman’s grip. “I was working! People deserve to know what’s happening in their city.”

“People deserve to live.” The words struck like lightning, his masked stare pinning you in place as he practically dragged you into the shadows. Another man lunged at you, a metal pipe raised like a weapon, but Batman spun, shoving you behind a crate for cover, his larger frame shielding yours as his fist connected with the man’s face.

Your pulse spiked, but it wasn’t fear. It was fury. “You can’t keep pulling me around like I’m a child. I know how to take care of myself!”

He locked eyes with you even as the sounds of chaos swelled around you. “You’re trying to get yourself killed. And I can’t save the city if I’m too busy saving you.”

The words cut deep, sharper than any bullet ever could. For a moment, you nearly forgot the war raging around you—forgot everything except the truth neither of you wanted to say out loud.

He didn’t stop moving until the chaos was far behind you, the docks swallowed by the distant echo of sirens. The night air was colder here, cleaner, but his grip still burned where the glove pressed into your arm.

When he finally let go, it wasn’t gentle—it was rough, abrupt, as if he couldn’t stand touching you for another second. His cowl shifted for a brief moment, revealing the pale skin of half his face, his lips drawn tight with irritation.

“What were you thinking?” His voice was low, but it cracked like thunder, rough with anger and something heavier beneath it. “Running into a war zone—do you have a death wish?”

Your chest felt heavy as you rubbed your arm. “I was doing my job. Someone has to show the truth about this shithole city, since you seem too busy throwing people through walls to care.”

His jaw clenched, the silence louder than the distant screams of civilians. He stepped forward; you stepped back. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice colder now, calculated. “Every second I spend pulling you out of danger is a second I lose not saving someone else.”

Batman again—even when he was supposed to be Jaehyun.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the ache in your chest. “So that’s it? I’m just a distraction to you?” Your voice rose with each word, then dropped. “I never asked you to save me.”

His eyes—those unblinking white lenses—locked onto you. For a split second, you almost saw something soften. Then he turned away, pulling the cowl back into place.

“I can’t be everywhere at once,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And then, quieter—words you weren’t sure you were meant to hear—“Even if I want to.”

You didn’t look back when he pulled you into the shadows again, away from the docks and the smell of smoke. His cape shielded you from prying eyes, the heavy rhythm of his boots never faltering. You were safe—safe enough that there was no reason left to shout at him. So you stayed silent, jaw clenched, notepad held tight in your hand as proof that you hadn’t risked yourself for nothing.

The ride home was silent. The city blurred past the darkened windows of the Batmobile, neon signs bleeding into the night. You didn’t even try to speak; you knew he wouldn’t answer, not with the mask still on his face. And his silence was worse than anger. It left you boiling alone.

When the doors of Jeong Manor closed behind you, they slammed like a hammer striking stone. The cowl was the first thing to come off, tossed onto the coffee table with a dull thud. The gloves followed, discarded as if they burned. Jaehyun’s face was finally revealed, flushed with fury and exhaustion.

“You can’t keep doing this.” His voice was low now, but no less sharp. “Running into danger zones like they’re some kind of… playground. Do you have any idea how close you came today?”

You dropped your bag onto the couch, refusing to look at him. “And you—do you have any idea how useless you make me feel?”

That stopped him. His breath caught, just enough for you to notice. You kept pushing, the bitterness spilling out faster than you could stop it.

“You save everyone, Jaehyun. Everyone except me. You grab me, drag me back home, lock me in, and then you leave. Back to the city. Back to the people who actually matter.”

His jaw locked, knuckles whitening at his sides. “That’s not fair.”

“Yeah? Isn’t it?” You laughed, but it came out broken, sour. “Out there, you’re Batman—the hero who never rests, never hesitates, always shows up. But with me? You’re barely here. Maybe the city needs you more than I do. Maybe you love it more than you love me.”

The silence that followed was louder than the chaos at the docks. He looked at you, and for a moment, the guilt was there—raw and undeniable—but he blinked it away, burying it deep, the way he always did.

And suddenly you wondered if this hurt more than the danger you’d faced at the docks.

“You think I don’t care about you?” Jaehyun’s voice finally broke, louder now, echoing through the mansion’s living room. “You think I spend every night breaking bones and dodging bullets because I enjoy it? I do this because it’s the only way to keep you safe.”

You straightened, your anger rising to meet his. “Safe? You don’t keep me safe, Jeong Yuno. You make me invisible. I can’t even do my job because you want to lock me in here while you run off to fix everyone else’s messes. Don’t pretend this is about me when you’re the one who can’t stand the idea of choosing.”

“Choosing?”

“Yes!” The word tore out of you like thunder. “Choosing between being Batman and being with me. You always choose Gotham. And you always will.”

The silence that settled afterward was heavy, suffocating. He opened his mouth once, then again, only to close it. His throat worked, but no words came. Guilt was written all over his face—a truth he’d tried to bury and ignore, now far too clear to deny.

Your chest burned, but you didn’t let him see it. Instead, you turned and walked down the hallway with heavy steps. He called your name once, twice, but you didn’t stop. The bedroom door slammed shut behind you, the lock clicking with intention.

Jaehyun froze on the other side, one hand pressed flat against the wood as if he could will you to open it. His breathing came out uneven, ragged in the quiet of the manor. And for the first time in years, Batman had no idea how to fix what was right in front of him.

The manor door creaked open.

“Wow, sounds like fun,” Haechan drawled as he stepped inside, shrugging off his leather jacket. His eyes flicked briefly to the guest bedroom door—where you were—and then back to Jaehyun, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth, barely hiding his concern. “What did you screw up this time, Romeo?”

Behind him, Jeno followed, quieter but sharper-eyed, already clocking the heavy tension in the room. He set his escrima sticks down on the coffee table beside Batman’s gear. “Let me guess—you pissed her off, didn’t you?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer. His hand slipped from the door, falling uselessly to his side.

Haechan dropped into the arm of the sofa, arms crossed. “You know, for the world’s greatest detective or whatever, you’re impressively stupid when it comes to your fiancée.”

“Hyuck,” Jeno warned softly, though his voice stayed calm. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed as well. “He already knows he screwed up.”

Jaehyun pressed his palms to his eyes and dragged in a long breath. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to say it out loud,” Haechan cut in, sharp and irritated. “But you meant it. You think you can carry the whole fucking city on your shoulders and she’ll just… wait. Sit quietly until you’re done playing savior.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Isn’t it?” Haechan leaned forward, his eyes holding a kind of honesty that hurt only because it was true. “You can’t keep doing this, Jaehyun. Splitting yourself in half and always giving more to the city. Gotham or her. You don’t get both if you keep treating her like a side mission.”

Jaehyun’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to choose.”

Jeno finally spoke, calm but cutting. “Not choosing is still a choice, Jaehyun. And she’s the only one paying for it.”

The words settled heavily over the room, heavier than any bullet Jaehyun had ever taken. He let himself sink into the sofa, the weight of the night pressing into his bones. For the first time in a long while, Batman felt less like a salvation—and more like a curse.

The alarm went off at six, but you were already awake—not that you had slept. Your hair was tied back, your blouse buttoned with careful precision. Your bag sat neatly by the door, the notepad tucked inside, as if tidiness alone could keep the pain from the night before from spilling over.

A knock sounded, soft and hesitant.

“It’s me,” Jeno said through the door.

“Come in.”

He opened it carefully, stepping inside with his mask in hand. His smile was small but warm. “Morning. You okay?”

“I’m great,” your answer came out far too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know, for a journalist, you’re a terrible liar.”

A laugh slipped out despite yourself. “You’re starting to sound like Hyeok.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this. It’s six in the morning,” Haechan piped up as he appeared behind Jeno, hair a mess and his leather jacket only half on. He’d clearly just rolled out of bed and shaken the sleep off. He leaned against the doorway, smirking. “But he’s right—you look like you didn’t sleep a second.”

“Because I didn’t,” you admitted, smoothing your hands over your skirt, adjusting the fabric. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It’s completely our business,” Haechan said, crossing his arms. “You’re basically our mom. And when mom’s upset, the whole house feels it.” He pouted dramatically.

Before you could reply, a third head appeared—the youngest, Sakuya, still in his Robin patrol uniform from the night before, mask resting around his neck. “I saved some of those sweet rolls from the bakery,” he offered shyly, holding out a paper bag. “I figured… you might not have eaten.”

Your heart tightened, warmth blooming even through the ache. You took it, gently squeezing his cheeks before grabbing the bag. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sakuya ducked his head, hiding a smile.

Haechan groaned theatrically. “Unfair. He brings pastries and gets all the affection?”

“Then maybe you should try being half as thoughtful and bring your mother some sweets, huh?” you shot back, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m not sweet enough already?” he argued, spinning once and pointing at himself.

Jeno chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hopeless. All of us.” Then, more seriously, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “But we’ve got your back. No matter what. Don’t forget that.”

The tension in your chest cracked, just a little. You smiled at them—your chaos, your comfort, your family—and for a moment, the heaviness of the night before eased.

From the living room, from the faint creak of the floorboards, you knew Jaehyun was awake. But for the first time, you didn’t look at him.

He stood in the shadows of the room, arms crossed over his chest, watching in silence. The soft morning light slipped through the blinds, and the laughter and conversation drifting from the guest room—your laughter, Haechan’s teasing, Sakuya’s shy words and clingy affection, Jeno’s quiet care—hit him like a punch.

He wanted to step forward, interrupt, reclaim his place in your life. But the words stuck in his throat. Every smile you gave them, every gentle, affectionate gesture, reminded him of how badly he was failing you. Not in the streets of Gotham, not fighting villains or saving lives—but here, in your life, in the small moments that mattered so much more.

The sound of your laughter made his chest tighten. You were glowing, alive, surrounded by people who adored you—and he hadn’t even managed to apologize properly yet.

He pressed a hand against the doorway, fingers grazing the wood, as if touching it might let him reach you without shattering the fragile peace you’d built with the kids.

He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, to explain that saving Gotham didn’t mean he didn’t care—but listening to your laughter, seeing the small smiles of the three you’d made into a family, he realized it wasn’t his place. Not yet.

He retreated into the shadows, silent and rigid, letting you have that morning. Letting them be your warmth while he had only ever been your weight. And for the first time, Batman’s armor felt heavier than any villain he’d ever faced.

By the time you reached Gotham Journal, the city had already slipped into its usual morning grind. Horns blaring, hurried footsteps along the sidewalks, the smell of coffee and exhaustion hanging in the air. People carried on as if nothing had happened the night before—after all, this was Gotham. Nights like that were normal. Your notepad felt heavier in your bag, stuffed with notes, scribbles, and memories of the chaos you’d survived.

Inside the office, fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as you walked up to your editor’s desk. Joshua looked up at you, one eyebrow lifting. “You look like hell.”

“And you look surprised. Were you expecting me to screw it up?” you shot back, dropping your notepad—and every hard-earned detail inside it—onto his desk with a satisfying thump.

He opened it, flipping through photos, notes, and statements. His hands hovered nervously, fingers tapping the edge of the desk. Every moment of doubt from the night before—every step you’d taken into the line of fire, every risk you’d accepted—flashed through your mind.

Then he looked up, eyes lit with approval. “This… this is great. Better than great. This is exclusive. Gotham Journal doesn’t get material like this every day. I want you on this immediately.”

Your heart soared. The adrenaline from last night’s danger was nothing compared to the rush of seeing your work finally recognized. “Right now,” you said, grabbing your notepad.

He nodded. “Go. Show the city what it’s been missing.”

As you walked to your desk, the hum of the newsroom surrounding you, a smile spread across your face. The risks, the fights, the tension—it had all been worth it. Every scrape, every heartbreak, every pulled muscle had led to this moment. Gotham was messy, terrifying, and sometimes cruel—but it was alive. And you? You were exactly where you belonged.

Outside, hidden in the shadows, a figure watched. Tall, slender, a smile carving across his face like a slash of madness. He had no intention of stepping into the light yet. There was no need. All he needed was to see you—to watch you thrive, unaware of the attention trained so carefully on you.

The way you leaned over your notes, hair falling into your face in soft disarray, made his chest tighten with a strange blend of amusement and obsession. He’d seen you in danger, imagined you fighting for your life, watched the Bat snatch you away from the chaos. But now—seeing you calm, in control, glowing with the kind of purpose that made people notice—it made the pursuit irresistible.

He didn’t move. He simply lingered in the shadows, plotting, savoring the thrill of remaining unseen. And somewhere, deep down, he knew the game was only just beginning.

The boys were in the middle of gearing up—Haechan tightening his gloves, Jeno adjusting his mask, Sakuya checking his sword and hood. You sat on the edge of the sofa, legs tucked beneath you, a book already forgotten on the coffee table. From there, you could see everything, hear the soft murmur of instructions and the scrape of leather and metal as they prepared.

“Remember what I said,” you told them, your voice firm despite the edge of exhaustion beneath it. “Everything on camera. No surprises. Or you deal with the consequences.”

Haechan smirked as he adjusted the camera on his suit. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone teasing. “Don’t worry—we’ll make sure Gotham knows who’s in control tonight.”

A tired laugh slipped out of you as you watched them, the tension finally easing from your shoulders. One by one, the three of them stepped closer, pressing kisses to your cheeks and one to your forehead before heading into the Batcave. Jeno lingered a second longer, his eyes soft. “Take care,” he murmured, leaning in to place a quick, affectionate kiss against your temple.

Jaehyun appeared last, pausing in the doorway. He looked at you—his mask long gone, just the man beneath it standing there. He hesitated, then stepped closer, brushing a quick, almost reluctant kiss against your lips before disappearing into the shadows.

You let out a quiet huff, slumping back against the sofa. “What am I even doing with my life, Alfred?” you murmured to the butler, your voice rough with fatigue.

He paused by the window, his expression gentle but knowing. “That is for you to decide, miss. But if I may say so—you are keeping this household running better than most ever could.”

You closed your eyes, letting the quiet settle around you.

You really wanted to believe him.

Six years. Six years as Jaehyun’s fiancée. Nine years of him being either Batman, the powerful CEO Jeong, or some exhausting combination of both. Six years without even a mention of a wedding. Three years without intimacy that actually mattered. Sex had become a distant memory, reduced to rare moments of obligation rather than desire.

The only part of the house that felt worth it—the only warmth not overshadowed by tension—were the kids. Jeno, Haechan, and Sakuya. They were chaos and laughter and life. Everything you’d ever wanted. Your children.

Alfred’s quiet presence beside you was comforting, but it couldn’t fill the hollow ache in your chest. “I don’t even know who he is anymore,” you whispered. “I’ve been… Jaehyun’s fiancée for so long, I don’t even know what it means to be me.”

The sofa creaked as you leaned back further, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the weight of your life pressing heavier than Gotham’s chaos ever could.

Alfred moved silently toward the kitchen to prepare tea, leaving you alone with your thoughts. He knew you needed that. The mansion suddenly felt larger—too still, too empty. The echo of Jaehyun’s kiss and the warmth of the children’s affection lingered only as reminders of everything you had let slip by while you were just… waiting.

Out of the corner of your eye, your phone vibrated. You picked it up lazily, expecting an update from the boys—maybe, even though you knew they’d be busy. No messages. No calls. Nothing. Just the fragile sensation of being watched, even if you didn’t yet know by whom.

Somewhere in the city, unseen, the Joker leaned against a rooftop, hidden in the shadows. His gaze lingered on the same windows you stared through, noting every small movement, every breath, every restless flick of your fingers as you turned the pages of the book you’d gone back to reading.

He wasn’t in a hurry. Chaos, the thrill, the slow unraveling of control—it was all far more delicious when savored. And you, completely unaware, had become the perfect trap.

You leaned back against the sofa, letting out a long, weary sigh. The quiet was both a relief and a warning you couldn’t hear yet. Somewhere in Gotham, the pieces of the Joker’s game were already moving.

You moved through the newsroom like a storm in soft, comfortable shoes—flipping through pages, flagging names, scribbling notes in the margins.

When a lead came in—one that could compromise someone far too powerful in Gotham—you paused for just a second before deciding it was worth printing anyway. The editor looked at you, eyebrows raised. You gave a small smile and slipped the page back into the stack.

The night before, you had fallen asleep crying, thinking about your failed relationship. You waited for the kids to come back, praying they’d return with something worthwhile on the recordings—but there was nothing. You stayed up anyway, since sleep refused to come, and when they finally returned, you rushed to check the footage, only to be disappointed all over again.

The boys were a little frustrated too. There hadn’t been much action, nothing out of the ordinary—especially disappointing since you’d been expecting something. But there was nothing they could change. They wished you good night, if you managed to sleep, and headed off to their respective rooms.

Later, out in the field, you lingered a moment longer than necessary near a restricted-access area, snapping photographs from an angle that was, technically, illegal. You didn’t care. You needed the story, and you were going to get it.

An informant gave you a name—whispered in the shadows, the kind of name that could get you killed if spoken out loud. You wrote it down in your notebook anyway, carefully and precisely, already thinking about how you could use it.

By the time you returned to the office, your notebook was full of information that was half legal and half dangerous. No one noticed. No one tried to stop you. And the thrill left a sharp, lingering taste behind.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Haechan: Be careful.

Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought. At least not to your son.

You didn’t reply. You just went back to work.

Once in your office, you spread your notes and photos across the desk, piecing together the threads of the story. You made a call to someone who technically wasn’t listed as a contact, asking for confirmation. When he hesitated, you pushed. The line clicked, the information came through, and you hung up with a satisfied smile.

A delivery arrived—anonymous and unmarked. Inside was a folder filled with photographs and security camera footage, along with a handwritten note: For your eyes only. You skimmed through it, flipping past images of a meeting that should never have been recorded, and the corner of your mouth twitched into something resembling a smile.

Then you edited, annotated, highlighted—connecting dots no one else had noticed. Or maybe no one else had dared to. Every decision, every small risk, felt like stepping off a ledge, but you didn’t hesitate. Not once.

By the time you finally relaxed, leaning back in your chair, tired fingers tracing the edge of the desk, your notebook heavy with the day’s work, you could feel the city murmuring beneath your hands. The risks, the rules, the limits—they were just another set of lines to cross, and crossing them felt so… right.

The office slowly emptied, the buzz of phones fading into a quiet hum. You stayed behind, reviewing your notes one last time, rereading details, marking contradictions. It had to be perfect. A second Pulitzer would look incredible on you.

A shadow passed across the blinds, but when you looked up, the street was empty. The only sound was a car door clicking somewhere below. You ignored it and smiled to yourself—no one watching you, no one telling you to stop. You felt untouchable, even if only within the city’s fragile rules.

You checked the time, realizing one of the kids might be coming to pick you up. You began gathering your things. The thrill wasn’t just the story itself—it was knowing how close you were to the edge, how much power rested in your hands.

Every decision, every small rule or law you’d broken—it had all been worth it. And you knew you wouldn’t stop.

You had forgotten the promise you made when you graduated. But there was still time to make good on it.

Anything and everything for a good story—and above all, to keep Gotham’s citizens informed about what was really happening in their city. You’d bring them all down eventually. After all, Gotham’s so-called vigilante, Batman, was starting to look more like a placebo than a solution.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Jeno: Sorry, Mom. Alfred is on his way to pick you up.

You sighed, but you understood. Nothing was going to ruin that night anyway. You’d spent far too long on Jaehyun’s leash. Now, finally slipping free, you needed to celebrate.

A shame Lois lived so far away.

The front door clicked shut, followed by the familiar scrape of boots against the floor. You were still in your coat, your bag strap heavy on your shoulder, when Alfred’s footsteps sounded behind you as well.

“Miss, do you need anything? Shall I draw you a bath?” the butler asked. You turned to him with a half-smile.

“No, Alfred. I’ll take care of it myself, thank you.” You dismissed him and took a few steps forward before stopping and turning back again. “The boys won’t—”

Your words were cut off as the door opened once more.

Your favorite people were coming home.

Haechan was the first to walk in, kicking off his jacket with a grin.

“You should’ve seen it out there,” he said, tossing a takeout bag onto the coffee table. “Chaos, explosions—and me, of course, looking heroic as ever.”

Jeno followed, quieter, setting his escrima sticks neatly beside the bag, his eyes flicking toward you. “Don’t forget who was actually keeping the city together while you were playing the flashy hero,” he teased, warmth softening his tone. “Mom, we managed to get some footage from the cameras. Sakuya will send it to you tomorrow.” He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Haechan mirrored his brother’s movement, pulling you into a tight hug and planting a loud kiss on your cheek as he took your bag from you.

Sakuya came in last, hood clutched in one hand, eyes fixed on you. “You didn’t go too far today, did you?”

You smirked, draping your coat over a chair. “Far enough,” you replied, letting the weight of your independence show. “You three should be out saving Gotham, not babysitting me.”

Haechan laughed, looping an arm around your shoulders. “We can do both at the same time, ma’am.” He shot you a knowing look, and you remembered the message from earlier. They absolutely could.

Jeno leaned in, carefully pressing his forehead to your temple. “We missed you,” he murmured.

Sakuya tugged lightly at your sleeve, his smile small but affectionate. You pulled your youngest into your arms, holding him close.

You let out a slow breath, allowing the warmth of the three of them to settle around you. Everything felt calm—happy—with them. But beneath it all, the thrill of the day still buzzed under your skin. You wanted to tell them. Tell them that, finally, after years, you felt alive. Free. But you couldn’t. Not because you didn’t trust them—because you trusted them too much. You knew they’d hover even closer, protect you at any cost.

When the quiet lingered, Jaehyun appeared in the doorway. He was out of his gear now, dressed casually, dark eyes tense. He stepped closer, hesitating, before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“I—”

You pulled back slightly. He noticed. His jaw tightened.

The boys’ eyes flicked between the two of you, silently hoping you’d be okay—while knowing, just as well, that you were never someone who stayed still for long.

A smile curved your lips as an idea sparked. “I think…” you began, and all three of them turned toward you immediately. “That when things calm down, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin should take a vacation with their mother.”

They stared at you.

“Just the four of us?” Jeno asked, glancing briefly toward Jaehyun.

“That’d be amazing!” Haechan grabbed you, abruptly pulling Sakuya from your arms and spinning you around. “I seriously need a vacation.”

“Perfect. Then we can start planning. It’ll be so nice to spend a few worry-free days with my babies.” You squished Jeno’s and Haechan’s cheeks, your voice soft and deliberately sweet, making them groan while Sakuya laughed.

“I get to choose the place!” he shouted, already running for the stairs.

“No way—you’ll pick something ridiculous!” Haechan bolted after him.

“We need somewhere with cool history for Mom!” Jeno called, racing after them.

They liked the idea more than you’d expected.

Jaehyun remained by the kitchen entrance, his shadow darkening the room. His gaze flicked to your smirk as it shifted—happy turning into something more mischievous.

“What did you do today?” he asked, voice tight but controlled.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Haechan wasn’t the only one who saw you there,” he admitted, and your smile widened.

“Oh? Look at that… the great bat keeping his sharp little eyes on me?” You turned fully toward him, mockingly polite. “To what do I owe the honor, Batman?”

Then his gaze dropped—to your right hand.

Where your engagement ring should have been.

“Where’s the ring?” he asked, never looking away.

“It’s probably in my bag.” You shrugged, grabbing your coat from the chair and turning toward the bedroom.

Jaehyun followed you, dragging a hand down his face. “Look,” he sighed once you stepped into your shared room, closing the door behind him. “I know I haven’t been the best partner, but I want to do better.”

You froze, your back still to him. You couldn’t let him see how much those words hit you.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to hear that, Jaehyun?” you asked, your voice cold. “Years. We haven’t kissed in years. For years you’ve pushed me aside for your work. For years I’ve been failing at my job. For years we haven’t celebrated our anniversary. For years I’ve been unhappy—and it’s because of you!” You turned, pressing a finger into his chest, your voice rising.

There was nothing in your eyes but anger. And then he understood just how badly he had failed you. The woman he’d met—the one he’d fallen hopelessly in love with—would never have looked at him like that. She had been pure happiness, pure ambition, still innocent enough to see something good even in Gotham.

“Honestly, I don’t know when you went from ‘the love of my life’ to ‘the karma of my life,’ but somewhere along the way, that’s what you became.” You couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. “And the worst part is that I can’t… I can’t leave.” You broke then, sobbing. “I must be the dumbest bitch in the world…” you murmured, and Jaehyun pulled you into his arms.

For the first time in years, you were held by the man you loved. For the first time in years, you could cry freely, knowing someone would be there to catch you when you fell. And that someone would be him.

You just didn’t know for how long.

And that made your chest ache.

“I want to try. For you,” he whispered. “I know I failed, but I have to try. I can’t lose you. Not for me, not for the boys.” His voice was muffled against your hair, his face buried there. “You’re the woman I love. I might be doing everything wrong, but I love you. I don’t know what’s happening—”

“Stop,” you whispered, lifting your face to look at him. “I’m tired of promises, Yuno. And I can’t wait anymore. One day I’m going to come back to my senses and leave.” He nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “If you really want to try, then don’t promise me. Just… do it.”

Jaehyun nodded, holding you tighter as if he were afraid to let you go. And he was. He would rather die than lose you.

And even though Jeong Yuno was cold—and sometimes even rough—he loved you more than he loved himself.

The house was quiet now. No kids arguing over travel destinations, no fights between you and Yuno. You could almost say everything felt perfect.

You were in the bedroom, freshly showered and already in your nightgown, brushing your hair. Your mind was half on tomorrow’s story, half still caught in the lingering warmth of Jaehyun, when the door creaked open.

Jaehyun stepped inside carrying a tray with two cups of tea. He looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in days. He set the tray down on the bed—then almost immediately tensed again. You’d been watching him since the moment he entered, and knowing him as well as you did, you spoke first.

“Just say what you want already.” It came out rougher than you’d intended, but he didn’t seem bothered at all.

“You… didn’t answer my question earlier.” Yuno chose his words carefully. You’d openly given him a chance to change, and he didn’t want to ruin it—even if, sooner or later, he probably would.

You stopped mid-stroke, the hairbrush hovering in the air. “Earlier? You mean when you saw me doing my job?”

“It was a restricted area. You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said, looking away.

A soft, deliberate laugh slipped from you as you leaned back against the dresser, resting on your elbows. “I’m just doing my job, Jaehyun. Learning how to push the edges. Seeing what I can get away with without breaking—well, too many rules.”

His jaw tightened. “Rules aren’t the point. You can’t just… skirt danger, bend morals, and expect it not to come back to you. Especially when I can’t be there for you all the time.”

You swallowed, meeting his eyes through the mirror. “I know that. And I don’t need you hovering over me like a guard dog. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Do you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Or is this just… the thrill? Testing lines you shouldn’t be crossing?”

You paused, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and letting the words hang in the air. “Maybe it is,” you admitted carefully. “Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I’m just… waiting to see what I’m capable of. On my own.”

His hands dropped to his sides, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “I thought we were a team.”

You shook your head gently, almost regretful. “We used to be. But then you chose to be Batman—or Jeong Jaehyun. There isn’t a ‘we’ anymore, Yuno. Not in this.”

Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. Jaehyun’s chest rose and fell while you went back to brushing your hair, seemingly unbothered. For a long moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

Jaehyun let out a deep breath, stepped closer, and placed his hands on your shoulders, massaging them softly but firmly. You set the brush down and closed your eyes, sinking into the feeling—his touch, something you hadn’t felt in so long.

But what came next surprised you.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. It was warm and gentle—so unlike Yuno—that your eyes flew open, surprise clear in your reflection. He met your gaze in the mirror and murmured,

“I’m sorry… I just don’t want you to get hurt. Can you promise me that? Please?” He pressed another kiss at the base of your neck.

You only nodded, closing your eyes again, letting yourself enjoy the affection of the man who then took your hands, lifted them, and gently turned your body to face his.

Jaehyun looked at you before lifting a hand to the back of your neck, angling your head so he could kiss you properly.

His eyes met yours—dark, vulnerable, filled with regret and longing. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you. I love you more than anything.” His words wrapped around your heart, pulling you in. You nodded, your throat tight, and leaned into his touch.

The reconciliation unfolded in that moment, a silent promise in the way he pulled you against his chest, arms enveloping you completely. You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling his familiar scent—clean soap and a hint of his cologne.

He held you there, rocking gently, until your breathing steadies. Then, his lips found your forehead, pressing soft kisses that trail down to your temple, your eyelid, the corner of your mouth. Each one was careful, a balm to the wounds of the past days. You tilted your head up, and your lips met in a kiss that's tender at first, exploratory, like rediscovering a lost path. His mouth moved against yours slowly, savoring the taste, the warmth. Tongues touched lightly, not rushing, just reconnecting.

Jaehyun's hands slid down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine through your shirt. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching.

"Let me make it up to you," he murmured, voice low and earnest. You nodded, heart pounding, and he guides you toward the bed, easing you down onto the soft sheets.

He knelt between your legs, hands working the hem of your nightgown up, exposing your skin inch by inch. His gaze was reverent as he peeled the fabric away, tossing it aside.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your collarbone, then lower to your breasts. His lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking in slow circles that send sparks through your body. You arched into him, a soft moan escaping as he lavished attention on first one, then the other, his hands cupping and kneading with a tenderness that speaks of his devotion.

"You feel so good," he breathed against your skin, the words vibrating through you. He kissed a path down your stomach, pausing to nuzzle your navel, hands working at your panties, sliding them off.

Now fully exposed, you felt his eyes on you, hungry yet patient. He parted your thighs with gentle pressure, settling between them. His fingers traced your inner thighs, teasing closer but not quite touching where you ache most. When he finally stroked your folds, it was feather-light, parting you to circle your clit with the pad of his thumb. You gasped, hips lifting instinctively.

"That's it," he encouraged softly, watching your face as he dips a finger inside, then two, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot within.

He moved with unhurried precision, building the heat slowly. His mouth joined in, lips kissing your inner thigh before his tongue lapped at your clit, flat and broad, then pointed to flick. He sucked lightly, alternating with long, slow licks that make your toes curl. Pleasure coiled tight in your core, his free hand holding your hip steady as you writhed.

"I want you to feel everything," he said between licks, voice muffled but intense. "Let go for me." His fingers thrusted deeper, thumb pressing your clit, and the wave crashed over you—your body tensed, then shuddered in release, cries spilling from your lips as he worked you through it, never stopping until you were trembling and spent.

Jaehyun rose, shedding his clothes with quiet efficiency—shirt, pants, boxers—revealing his hard cock, thick and straining. He positioned himself over you, but instead of entering, he grinded against your slickness, letting you feel his length slide along your folds.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, kissing your neck, your jaw. You pulled him closer, wrapping legs around his waist, and he notched himself at your entrance, pushing in inch by inch. The stretch was exquisite, slow, his eyes locked on yours as he filled you completely.

He stilled once buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shared. Then he began to move—long, unhurried thrusts that drag against your walls, hitting deep each time. His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his hips. The rhythm was sensual, slow, every roll building the embers back to flame.

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as emotion swells—love, forgiveness, raw connection.

He focused on you, angling to graze that spot inside, thumb circling faster. Your second orgasm built languidly, cresting in waves that made you clench around him.

"Come for me again," he urged, voice strained with restraint. You did, shattering with a sob, body milking him as stars burst behind your eyes. Only then he let go, thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own peak. With a guttural moan, he spilled inside you, hips jerking, collapsing gently atop you.

You stayed tangled like that, his weight a comforting anchor, breaths mingling as the aftershocks fade. He kissed you softly, murmuring endearments, sealing the reconciliation with the intimacy you've both craved.

The morning was sharp with Gotham’s early chill. You felt brighter—lighter, even—as you stepped out of the bedroom. You went through your routine: brushing your teeth, watering the plants, waking your sons like always—but they noticed something different.

There was an unusual glow about you.

As your boys lingered in bed, slow to wake, you realized one was missing: Donghyeok. He’d probably slipped out in the middle of the night to patrol, restless from lack of sleep. With a sigh, you headed to the kitchen, where Alfred immediately noticed. Of course he did—you had always been affectionate and cheerful, even when it was a mask hiding a miserable life. But today was different.

“Miss, I didn’t expect to see you up so early,” he remarked as he set the table for breakfast. “It’s good to see you happy. Genuinely happy.” The butler smiled, making you feel a little shy.

Alfred had known you long enough to read you inside and out.

“Yuno told me he loves me…” you said with a smile, even as tears threatened to form. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us from here on, but for now… I really am happy, Alfred.”

“I hope you and Jaehyun reconcile—or, if not, that it leads to happiness for you both. You deserve the world, miss.” The older man touched your shoulder in acknowledgment, and you pulled him into a hug.

Alfred returned it warmly, almost paternal.

After a few long seconds in his comforting arms, you pulled away. “I need to get ready. I’m surprised Yuno isn’t up yet.”

You excused yourself and left the kitchen, heading back to your bedroom.

When you opened the door, you found Yuno getting dressed. He was wearing his usual Jeong Jaehyun attire—tailored slacks, a dress shirt, polished shoes. Even he, the Dark Knight, seemed brighter.

You didn’t want to assume anything or fill your heart with false hope, so you simply walked past him, murmuring a quiet good morning. He followed you with his eyes, then caught you by the waist, pulling you back until your body was pressed against his.

“Good morning, my love.” And then he kissed you.

Jaehyun held you close; your hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, gripping him, anchoring yourself there.

When you pulled apart, your fiancé rested his forehead against yours, and you couldn’t help thinking you might be dreaming.

“Please… tell me this is real,” you whispered softly, making Jaehyun’s chest ache.

Had he hurt you that badly without realizing it? Broken you enough that any show of affection from him felt like a dream?

Damn it, Yuno. You really were a piece of garbage.

“It is… it’s real,” he replied just as softly, lifting one hand to your face and stroking your cheek as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

Remembering that you should be heading to work instead of staying wrapped in that bubble of love in the bedroom—something you had wanted and needed for so long—you pulled away from him.

“I need to get ready,” you said, walking toward the closet.

“Is Jeno going with you?” he asked, finishing getting dressed as well.

“Yes. Well, that’s the plan, right?” Yuno murmured, a little condescendingly.

And there you were—waiting for your son, something that had become routine, since Jeno had this chronic issue with being late. It was impressive, considering he was the Golden Boy and—according to Donghyeok, never said with any pride—never messed up.

Since things had gone sour between you and Jaehyun, one of the kids always made sure to get you safely to work. They wanted to avoid conflict between you and him, or the Bat getting on your nerves first thing in the morning. They also hated the idea of you going anywhere alone, under any circumstances.

“I’m here!” your eldest finally appeared, restless and buzzing with energy.

“Now that’s a good morning,” you laughed, slipping your phone back into your bag.

“Sorry… the bed was way too comfortable, and I only managed to fall asleep at dawn. I heard Haechan making a ton of noise trying to leave,” he grumbled as he unlocked the car—but before he could get in, his phone started ringing nonstop.

“There’s something going on downtown,” he muttered, eyes wide. “Haechan says it’s a situation involving thieves, and Sakuya’s already on it—”

He was interrupted by the youngest brother running up to them.

“Jeno!” he called, panicked. “It’s not just thieves,” he said, breathless. “They’ve got biological weapons, and Haechan suspects they were supplied by the Joker.”

“And how does he know that?” you asked, confused.

“Because there’s a ‘J’ on every single one of them. He got too close, but we can’t leave him alone,” Sakuya explained, apologetic.

Jeno looked at you, torn. Take you safely to work—or help his brother and stop him from getting killed? Damn it.

You touched his shoulder. “Go. It’s okay. If something’s happening downtown, all the attention will be there. The paper’s in the opposite direction—I’ll be fine.”

“Promise you won’t go there. I want you inside that building until either me or Haechan confirms you’re safe,” Jeno said, gripping your shoulders.

“I promise, Jen.” You cupped his cheek affectionately. “Go help your brother.” Then you turned to your youngest. “And you stay here. Batman will show up at that circus any minute now and help your brothers.”

Sakuya nodded, and you smiled, satisfied. You watched your kids hurry back into the mansion, then turned and left.

The building where you worked wasn’t that far. Sure, it was a decent walk—but maybe you needed it. Was it a good idea? Maybe. After all, more chaos was happening downtown, so the danger was there, right? If you walked fast enough, you’d reach work safe and sound.

And you couldn’t deny it—there was a small spark of satisfaction. Of pride.

Independence had never felt so… potent.

From a certain distance, he watched. The orchestrated chaos was working perfectly. Each boy was pulled farther and farther away, distracted by calls, alerts, and crises calculated down to the second. And at the center of it all—you—completely unaware as the trap tightened around you.

His smile widened, hidden in the shadows. He adjusted his jacket, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Soon, he thought. The bat distracted, the little birds busy, the prey oblivious… then the game would truly begin.

You paused in an alley, finally noticing the silence around you. Without Jeno’s solid presence, without Haechan’s jokes, without Sakuya’s voice on the line teasing his brothers—there was only Gotham’s cold, oppressive air and a handful of people on the streets, long used to it.

“Great, you’ve done this plenty of times,” you muttered under your breath. “Just keep walking calmly to the building and everything will be fine.”

You lifted your chin, let out a steadying breath, and kept moving, gripping the straps of your bag tighter on your shoulder.

A shadow moved across the street—too fast to identify, and nothing like the bat’s familiar presence that, one way or another, always made you feel safe.

You froze, scanning the sidewalk, instincts sharpening. Whoever it was, they weren’t just a passerby.

“Hello,” a low, smooth voice called from the shadows.

You barely had time to react before a figure stepped into view, calm and dangerous.

“Who are you?” you asked firmly, even as a flicker of fear poked at your chest.

He raised a gloved hand in mock surrender, then tilted his head, studying you with predatory curiosity. “Relax,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m not here to hurt you. Well—not yet.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to assess the threat. But he didn’t move. He simply stood there, letting the sense of danger settle and fill the space between you.

“Alone, aren’t you?” he mused, almost to himself, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Funny… you’re never alone. Did your little birds let mommy leave the nest all by herself?”

You took a careful step back, clutching your bag tighter. “I… need to go,” you said, already mapping out an escape route.

But the shadow tilted his head again, as if amused by your caution. “Ah, going somewhere?” he said, almost reverently. “You’re not used to walking around alone—you might get lost. I suggest you follow me.”

He leaned forward slightly, letting the light catch part of his face—and that smile. In that moment, you realized you might be deeper in this than you’d thought.

So the Joker had been watching you.

Of course. Every enemy’s weak point—catch four little bats with one rabbit.

He stepped back just enough to give you space, but the movement was controlled, almost coaxing. “This way,” he said softly—not a command, more like an invitation.

You hesitated, glancing down the streets again. The city felt emptier than usual, the distant hum of traffic failing to mask the tension coiling in your chest.

“Why are you… leading me?” you asked, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline.

“Observation,” he replied with a slight tilt of his head, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “I like watching people in their element. And you… you’re fascinating when you think you’re in control.”

You rolled your eyes—but followed him anyway. Your curiosity had always been stronger than caution, and the reporter’s instinct—to witness, to record, to understand—got the better of you.

The streets shifted, growing even quieter now, the familiar sounds of the city fading into shadow. He kept just enough distance so you wouldn’t feel trapped, but close enough that his presence was unmistakable.

Eventually, a warehouse came into view—abandoned, silent, its edges softened by time and neglect. He gestured toward the entrance.

“Inside,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “You’ll be safe. Comfortable, even.”

You hesitated at the threshold, your pulse quickening. Every instinct screamed caution, every part of your mind warned you this was a bad idea. And yet… the calm in his tone, the careful, calculated way he moved, made you take a step forward.

The door closed behind you.

The air inside was surprisingly cold, carrying the smell of dust and oil. He moved along the edges of the room, adjusting the space with a meticulousness that irritated you as much as it intrigued you.

He didn’t look anything like the Joker Jaehyun had described.

And that was terrifying.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said again, his voice almost gentle. “I just want… your attention. That’s all.”

You let out a scoff, half disbelief, half amusement. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

He paused, studying you, his smile sharp and unreadable. “Oh, you will,” he said softly. “Eventually.”

And for the first time since you’d met him, the thrill of danger mingled with the faintest hint of comfort—and you realized, uneasily, that a part of you wanted to see just how far this could go.

tagging the writers participating! @filmrku @chenlezip @yutarot @tynlvr @ohmytyong @winwintea @peterm4rker