also i mean just a bit bizarre that if apparently Everyone At The Fund Knows abt the ungodly rian & prince involvement there that winston doesn't mention at all like oh yeah i had a crush on rian immediately and for like a year and a half or smthing there. but idk maybe he wouldn't b/c it's a bit personal beyond [who would you hypothetically be dtf casually] & a bit of an amped up topic rn And winston has almost zero experience like, getting to bring up anything personal / about his own earnest emotions & having anyone respond on those terms or simply not seize any opportunity to turn it into a dunk/joke at his expense, so. and the issue continues of [rian might've been written into this arc b/c she was like the sole woman available for it, and here where someone who's maybe straight it also talking about who they'd hook up with, we immediately have to start listing these hypothetical women coworkers we've never heard of in our lives b/c lately it's Just wendy & sacker & rian & the couple of nigh extras who occasionally get lines though like. woops, and potentially the few women who Are here get yanked into being sexual / romantic partners when it's time to give a more prominent cishet man that drama / that Required material b/c he deserves it. why the hell has ben kim Never had any sexploits / romantic arcs that we know about. for god's sake]
anyways yeah idk i guess he wouldn't want to talk about it in the first place and couldn't expect even the basic sympathy for a neutral / matter of fact reaction if he did (and maybe he could worry about it getting back to rian, who, even if he knows she knows he liked her like that ever, could have a further negative response & neither of them need that, obviously nobody's bothering to keep things too confidential around here) but like we can be informed he's maybe jealous? unhappy? about rian & taylor being besties or whatever else he might suppose about them having a chat & a hug, but nothing in particular about the fact he has this whole history w/rian specifically & idk might just stare at the wall about it but nah just chatting w/the boys.....which, again, could be conscious lmfao like fuck it i'm just doing this Instead of being miserable & marinating in that. we just never fucking know w/this character & how they write for him. which goes for virtually all other characters but boy winston gets Exceptional treatment (negative)
Girl Dads Boy Dads: Brendon Park. Jack Abbot. Titus Danforth. Headcannons
Dr. Brendon “The Shark” Park. Girl Dad and Eventual Boy Dad.
Dr. Park the Shark who has made numerous residents and even a few fellow attendees cry over the course of his career, getting weepy at the sight of his baby during that first ultrasound. It doesn’t look like much of anything; just a shapeless blob on the screen if anything; but it’s enough to make his eyes damp. He is thankful for his reputation around PTMC as the sonogram tech seems to be wise enough not to go around announcing they saw Park the Shark show an ounce of emotion other than disdain and annoyance.
Dr. Park who is already known to take advantage of his scary guard dog privileges with Reader now being ten times more overprotective now that she’s carrying his child. He is a constant looming shadow lurking around behind her when they’re out in public. She was certain if they worked in the same department he’d be just as suffocating at work. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t jump at the chance to be the one who gets to go down to the ED for any ortho consultation though. He’s just being a dedicated surgeon…totally not checking in on Reader.
Dr. Park who calls his Nona to share the good news the second Reader and he has the bloodwork to confirm what the pregnancy tests already have told them.
Park who insists they need to upgrade their living situation. The penthouse he talked Reader into moving into with him just won’t do for a kid. A kid should have a backyard and a white picket fence. He moves to the burbs for his kid; leaving behind the sleek expensive apartment he loves and trading it for a little house where he has to wave to the neighbors and pretend that he can stand block parties.
Park the Shark who now has to put up with one million Baby Shark jokes from the peanut gallery in both the Ortho and ED departments once the news of impending Baby Park is too difficult to hide any longer.
Park is a big guy and his kid isn’t tiny…okay. Baby Park is big enough that there’s fear that a C-Section might be the route to go if the kid doesn’t flip in the right direction in time.
Reader who has a massive pregnancy bump and has been known to spend her final trimesters grumbling about her dumb attractive giant husband and his large offspring.
Park who whispers “a girl” with a dazed dreamy grin across his features when they receive a gender reveal during the 22nd week sonogram.
Park whose daughter manages to turn to the right position just in time to make her entry into the world saving her parents from the stress of worrying over a C-Section. Park is such a control freak that he’d probably have to fight the urge to be a backseat surgeon during a c-section never mind the fact that he’s not an obgyn.
The labor is not fun; not that Reader expects it to be; but holy crap was this massive kid a struggle to birth. Many threats upon Dr. Park’s life may have been made by Reader during active labor.
Intimidating Dr. Park who actually does look a little worried by some of the more colorful threats that are made towards him by Reader in between pushes and screams. He’s quite attached to his manhood and doesn’t enjoy the threat of Reader ripping it off him if he ever knocks her up again.
Reader who manages to surprise Dr. Park with her strength squeezing his massive hand with her smaller one so hard it actually hurts during labor. He’s actually kind of amazed she didn’t manage to break any of his fingers…it would have been a disaster given his hands are an asset in his career.
Dr. Park who almost forgets he’s literally hammered rods into bones and replaced entire joints with titanium the second he’s handed scissors and given the offer to cut the umbilical cord. Nothing feels more intimidating than taking those scissors and snipping that cord. He almost feels pathetic as his hands shake not at all looking like the precise methodical hands of the best orthopedic surgeon in the state.
Dr. Park who feels his emotions betray him once again the second he hears his child let out her first cry. He’s known to be stoic and calculating; but he’s a mess at the sight of his newborn daughter; fat tears rolling down his cheeks, the smile on his face so bright the medical staff in the room are almost stunned. This is the same Dr. Park the Shark who puts the fear of God into every resident in the hospital; crying and grinning at the sight of his daughter.
She’s stunning even covered in afterbirth. She’s so delicate and the nurses can’t help but to comment on her head full of dark hair just like her father. She’s perfect.
Dr. Park who named his daughter after his Nona. Elena Rose Park. She has her big scary surgeon father absolutely wrapped around her delicate little fingers.
Dr. Park, who looks so out of place in a soft pink and white nursery, his massive frame sitting up in a rocking chair cradling his tiny daughter in his arms and humming softly to her.
It’s his nightly routine especially if he makes it in later than usual after spending his day in the OR. His body is exhausted and he wants so badly to sink into bed after a long hot shower. He can’t stay away from the nursery though. His desire to hold his daughter rules out any other needs at the moment.
Scary mean Dr. Park carries photos of his daughter in his wallet and changes his phone background to a photo of Reader and their little girl. Intimidating Dr. Park who will sooner glare at someone than offer a smile gazing down at his phone in quiet moments admiring photos of his child.
Strong intense Dr. Park who feels weak when his daughter gets her first immunizations. She cries and it breaks him. He scoops her up the second it’s over burying his face against her soft baby curls murmuring quiet apologies to her.
Dr. Park who bounces his angry little daughter in his arms rubbing her poor gums with one of his massive fingers while she’s teething, softly cooing to her that he knows it hurts.
Elena Park who has her father’s glare when she’s pissed. People are a bit taken back when they realize it. That is so Park the Shark’s irritated glare on a tiny adorable little baby girl face.
Elena Park who’s first words are Daddy…though Park has absolutely been coaching the words for months now when its become clear that the sweet little babbles will become words any day now.
Dr. Park who has the privilege and the prestige of taking a role as the head of the ortho department and gaining his own little office on the orthopedics floor. The once dreary and sterile office now has a bit of life to it. It started when Reader and he were just dating with a simple photo of Reader on his desk; small enough that it wouldn’t draw too much attention but still in his line of vision. Now there’s more photos: Park holding his newborn daughter the day she was born. Dr. Park at Christmas time with his Nona, Reader, and his daughter. His daughter sitting in his lap in front of her pink first birthday cake. His daughter on her very first Halloween dressed as a Shark…Reader couldn’t resist okay. As his daughter grows fingerpaintings and child’s drawings of a stick figure family are framed on the walls of that little office.
Dr. Park who always answers phone calls from his wife no matter where he is. Even if he’s in the middle of the OR if his wife calls stating his daughter wants to speak with him. He’s shoving the scalpel in Dr. Garcia’s hand and leaving the OR to take that call.
Dr. Park who will sit on the floor of his daughter’s bedroom in front of her play table drinking tea and eating oreos making sure he’s on his best manners for the tea party she insists they’re having.
Dr. Park whose hands have pieced bones back together and performed joint fusions gently braiding his daughter’s hair each morning before school and carefully dressing barbie dolls at his child’s request.
Dr. Park who can’t wipe the proud grin from his face when Reader comes to him with another positive pregnancy test she grumbling about having to push out yet another massive Park baby.
Dr. Park who feels just as dazed and blissful when he finds out he’s having yet another daughter.
Dr. Park whose hands still shake when he has to cut an umbilical cord for the second time in his life.
Dr. Park who cries just as hard at the sight of his second daughter entering the world as he did at his first.
Dr. Park who snuggles his first born daughter and gives her sweet gentle reassurances that having a sister doesn’t mean he loves her any less.
Dr. Park who reassures his eldest daughter insisting she has an important job as a big sister giving her the confidence not to feel intimidated by her new sibling.
Dr. Park who rolls his eyes and gives looks that could kill when people ask him if he’s disappointed to be having another girl instead of a son.
Dr. Park the Shark who calls his daughters his princesses and his angels.
Dr. Park who melts when Reader brings his girls up to share a lunch break with him when he’s stuck up at PTMC during a weekend shift. He pays no mind to the stunned faces of his newest residents when the usual stern mean Park the Shark smiles and drops down to his knees to embrace two little girls who chatter a mile a second to him as they walk into the orthopedic department.
Dr. Park who is overprotective of both his daughters. No trampolines ever, fully decked out in protective gear when learning to ride a bike or roller skate. No jumping on the bed for heavens sake. He cringes when his youngest daughter falls off the jungle gym at the park and it takes Reader talking him down to stop him from insisting they should take a trip to the ED just in case.
Dr. Park who is attending every ballet recital and piano recital with bouquets of daisies in hand and a standing ovation.
Dr. Park who is not any less delighted when Reader shoves yet another positive pregnancy test into his hands when his youngest daughter is three.
Dr. Robby sighed not shocked to see Dr. Park the Shark stomp into the ED glaring at patients and medical staff alike as he shoves his way through towards Robby. “Where’s my wife?”
“Room A6. She told me not to call you. She’s going to kill me. I thought she was intense not knocked up but pregnant her is another animal.” Robby remarked rolling his eyes thinking of Reader who had long worked as a nurse in the ED. He at times thought that her husband had rubbed off on her a little. Reader had once been so meek and soft spoken but Park had gotten her to present a bit more of a backbone as she progressed in her career.
“I would have been called anyway. I’m her emergency contact. This is a damn emergency.” Park snapped shoving his way past Robby heading for the room.
Y/N sat up on the exam table fully expecting Robby or a resident her face paling at the sight of her husband. “Crap.”
“Crap is right. You’re having cramps?” Park snapped his anger dissipating for a moment as the other two people in the room noticed him.
Squeals of ‘Daddy’ softened his irritation, dropping down to his knees to embrace his seven and three year old daughters the girls so petite against his massive frame. “Hi, My Loves.”
Reader watches her brooding husband drop his attitude for a moment to embrace Elena and Sophia Park he never quite capable of remaining grouchy when in their presence.
“It’s just Braxton Hicks, Bren. I’m fine. Robby already confirmed it. I’m just waiting for my paperwork to clear and I can get home. I can’t believe he called you down here.” Y/N offered a sheepish smile crossing her features well aware she was in deep shit with her husband at the moment.
She had known he had a major surgery scheduled in the OR today; a spinal fusion. She knew a surgery of that type could take a minimum of six hours and it held massive risks. A wrong move could result in paralysis and nerve damage. Performing the procedure would take a massive toll on him as a surgeon even though he was well equipped and more than confident in his abilities.
So, she had figured it would be smart to keep her little trip to the ED on the downlow…she would have broken and called him if it had been serious.
“I don’t care if it’s just Braxton Hicks. You should have called me.” Park stated standing up reluctantly parting from his daughters.
“You have a surgery scheduled.” Y/N sighed as he husband made his way over to her his large hand pressing to her round belly he staring down at her clearly giving her a once over as though he didn’t trust Robby’s diagnosis.
He let out a huff quick to say the words. “I don’t care. Dr. Garcia can handle it if she needs to. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of an operation and have my hands against a shattered femur. I’m dropping everything the second you call.”
She twisted her lips unable to stop herself from saying it. “That’s gonna suck for whoever that femur belongs to.”
He let out a gruff sigh his eyes narrowing slightly though she did not miss the slight upturn to his lips. “Very cute.”
“I know huh.” She remarked proving she was still mouthy even after being softened a bit by motherhood.
She spoke again placing her hand over his her voice reassuring. “I’m fine, Bren. We’re both fine.”
Before he had a chance to question it Robby entered the room a chart in hand he speaking. “You’re good to go. Baby Boy Park isn’t quite ready to join us just yet.”
He paused nodding at the other two Park children. “Man, Princess and Donnie are going to hate this. They put so much cash on another girl for you two.”
Park let out a huff rolling his eyes well aware of the betting board going on courtesy of Ahmed a security guard in the ED who seemed to think that it was appropriate to put together a friendly bet concerning the personal lives of the staff at PTMC.
“Sorry to disappoint.” Park snarked turning to gather his wife’s clothing knowing she was more than ready to get out of the hospital gown.
Park spoke again before Robby had a chance to say the words. “And no we weren’t trying for a boy all this time. Don’t even ask.”
Robby held the chart up in a defensive stance nodding his head at Y/N. “You really want a mini version of him?”
Y/N gave Robby a small smile giving Park a playful nudge even as he shot Robby a harsh glare. “Can’t wait for it.”
Robby and a few other brave staff members in the ED watched as Dr. Park the Shark walked out of the ED alongside his wife, two little girls on each side of Dr. Park, their hands locked in his.
Dr. Park was still quite capable of striking fear in just about every resident he came across, but the man walking, allowing his daughters to swing his arms as they walked beside him, looked a little less like a shark. No one was going to be brave enough to mention that though.
JACK ABBOT. Boy Dad and Girl Dad.
Jack Abbot has almost given up on parenthood when Reader finds out she’s expecting.
They didn’t exactly talk about kids when they discussed what they wanted in their future. They just knew they wanted to spend their lives together. They’d not talked kids.
He’s delighted though if not scared to death.
Abbot is well aware he’s not getting any younger; the silver in his hair and the lines in his skin reminds him of this fact every day.
He’s stunned he even managed to land Reader. She’s younger than him and so bright and lovely. She has a future ahead of her and for some insane reason she wants a fifty year old disabled widowed war vet by her side in that bright future.
She’s always fast to remind him that she could not ask for a greater man. She thinks he’s resilient and courageous. She loves his soft heart and his steady strength.
She’s not entirely confident in her own abilities to be a mom. She had such awful parents.
They decide to face their anxieties about parenthood together.
Abbot gets plenty of ribbing from his old army buddies and Robby about how they’re impressed a man his age is still shooting anything with lead to it and not dust.
Abbot is a nervous wreck throughout the entire pregnancy. He makes a habit of dropping in on the obgyn department and asking a few questions to a few colleagues who take pity on him.
Reader works through her pregnancy. She’s not leaving her shift as a night nurse in the ED until she absolutely has to.
Abbot is none too pleased but Reader reminds him if she is to go into labor then she’s in the perfect environment for it.
And she maybe does tempt fate because of course she goes into labor right in the middle of her shift.
Abbot is tied up taking care of a patient that’s been brought in after a car accident when Dr. Shen practically trips over himself to break the news that it’s Baby Abbot time.
He barely manages to shove past Dr. Shen barking out orders to take care of the patient before he’s running off towards the exam room his pregnant girlfriend has taken up residence in.
Reader maybe remembers that scalpel her boyfriend carries in his scrub pocket and does maybe threaten to use it to castrate him when she’s in the deep throes of labor.
Thankfully Abbot is well aware her threats are empty and is able to dryly respond that she “doesn’t mean it. You’ll miss it if you cut it off.”
People might comment when speaking about Jack Abbot that he’s the strong stoic combat vet who is resilient and headstrong enough to survive just about anything.
He is amazed at Reader’s strength though. He’s sure she’s stronger than him as he watches her go through a difficult labor which she doesn’t even get to get her epidural for…a fact she’s bitter about.
She might cry that it hurts and need his reassurance to keep pushing, but she doesn’t falter for even a moment bringing his son into the world.
Jack Abbot cuts the cord and fights the urge to yank his son from the arms of the labor and delivery doctor who made it just in time to assist with the delivery.
He stands back his stomach in knots, his mind going a mile a second resisting the urge to step in and take over as his son’s measurements are taken and his vitals are checked confirming he’s a healthy baby boy.
Jackson Abbot is a healthy happy baby boy weighing in at seven pounds and four ounces.
Abbot stares down at his boy overcome with the purest love he’s certain he’s ever felt in his life. It’s such a strong emotion he’s almost overwhelmed by it.
It isn’t the first time in his life that Abbot feels regretful knowing his own father died when he was so young. This is a time in Abbot’s life where he wishes his father was here to answer all his questions and soothe all his anxieties.
He wants to ask his father if he’ll ever stop worrying about his son. Is it normal to stand by his cradle at night and watch the gentle rise and fall of his belly just so Abbot can be sure he’s breathing and is safe? Is it normal to feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest when your son is sobbing miserable with an ear ache and you’ve got to rush him to the ED on your night off? Is it normal to be perfectly calm and not cringe when your son upchucks formula all over your bare shoulder at three am?
There’s a million things Jack Abbot wishes he could ask his father, but he knows he’s on his own.
He worries about not being enough for his son. Abbot knows he’s an old dad. He knows he’s got his baggage still waking from nightmares from ptsd. He knows his body has limitations. He resents having to grab a crutch and hobble to the nursery because he doesn’t want to waste time putting back on his prosthetic when he goes to his crying son in the middle of the night. He cringes the few times someone assumes he’s Jackson’s grandfather instead of his father when they’re out together in public.
Reader has to get Abbot out of his head when he goes far too down the rabbit hole. “Jackson loves you. You’re his father, Jack. You will always be everything to him.”
Abbot finds himself alternating between night and day shifts when his son gets older. He wants to be able to have family dinners with his son. Reader does the same. It’s difficult to navigate but they make it work.
Abbot who sits on the floor with his son while Jackson plays with a plastic doctor play kit. Abbot proves he is a good patient as he allows his son to use a toy stethoscope to listen to his heart. He plays along with enthusiasm “Doctor, please tell me what you think is wrong with me?”
Abbot who will not put his kid down, even when his leg isn’t feeling too great. Reader maybe has to remind him to take care of himself and give his prosthetic a break. Jackson needs him to take care of himself.
Abbot who feels his eyes fill with tears overcome with emotion as his son sits on his lap resting on his knee not seeming to notice nor care that Abbot is taking a break from his prosthetic. For the first time Abbot feels complete even without the prosthesis.
Abbot who is a tiny bit disappointed that Jackson’s first words are ‘Mommy’ and not ‘Daddy’ but to be fair Jackson did take his first steps towards Abbot.
Abbot who buys Jackson plastic dinosaurs and is delighted with how smart his boy is naming each and every plastic toy able to identify his stegosauruses from his triceratops
Abbot who proposes to Reader by having his son bring her a velvet box with a scrap of paper containing one question: ‘Marry My Dad’
Abbot who insists his son is his best man even if Robby grumbles that he’s the actual best man at Reader and Abbot’s wedding.
Abbot who cheekily suggests trying for another kid on Reader and his honeymoon. She’s on the pill but she does agree that they should practice making another one.
Jack Abbot who attends his son’s soccer games and does his best to kick the ball in the backyard with Jackson even if he knows the prosthetic can make his movements a little clumsy.
Abbot who feels all the medical knowledge in his brain leave him when his son is snuggled in his lap sick with chicken pox. All he can do is cradle his boy against him and rely on Reader to be the brains of the operation, giving their son fluids and keeping socks on his little hands so he doesn’t scratch at his bumps.
Reader who gently tells her husband how lucky their son is to have him as a father when Abbot is feeling vulnerable and having a rough time after a hellish shift. Reader who takes Abbot’s mind of the wails of his deceased patient's family as she presses her lips to his skin and tells him how much she and Jackson love him.
Jack Abbot who comes home and cuddles his son after a bad shift instead of heading to the roof of the PTMC.
The poke to his arm was quite harsh from such little hands. Jack Abbot jerked awake from his slumber a less than attractive snort leaving him as he woke. He stared at his bedside at the sight of his boy staring at him expectantly. “Hey, Buddy. What’s going on?”
“Spiders.” Was the only response he got Jack sighing his sleepy brain decoding the odd reply.
The recent trip to the zoo had included a trip to the insect house…Jackson was not a fan of the spiders.
Y/N reassured her husband that he had not given their son a lifelong trauma that would haunt him for the remainder of his days. Nightmares were normal at his age. If it had not been spiders it would be something else entirely.
“You want up here?” Abbot asked, already knowing the answer.
He did not get a verbal response from the boy reaching out for him. Abbot moved despite his exhaustion strong enough to lift the child up into the bed grunting somewhat as the boy climbed over him kicking him a bit before settling down between his parents.
Abbot glanced at the alarm clock by the bed knowing he still had a long night of sleep ahead of him.
He turned in bed, not surprised he could see his wife clearly even in the dim room. She’d been leaving a small nightlight on on her dresser. She felt clumsy in her current state and didn’t want to trip during one of her frequent late night pee breaks.
He reached out over his son placing a hand against Y/N’s belly, she nearing her third trimester meaning they would go from a family of three to a family of four.
He’d not anticipated this at his age; being a father to two. He’d joked it was better late than never though.
He felt guilt wash over him as she parted her eyes her voice soft. “What time is it?”
“Late, Sweet Girl. Sorry to wake you. We’ve got company.” Abbot explained she nodding glancing down at their son who was already drifting back off to sleep feeling soothed from whatever nightmare that had plagued him now that he was between his parents.
Abbot gave her a sheepish sleepy smile. “I know we’ve been trying to get him comfortable sleeping in his own bed, but I folded.”
“You always do.” She replied a drowsy smile crossing her features knowing Jack Abbot might be a military vet who carried the strict leadership role into his work as an attendee, but he was mush for his kid.
Abbot spoke rubbing a hand along her stomach his voice soft. “I’ll make breakfast tomorrow, let you sleep in.”
“Bold of you to assume your daughter won’t have me up peeing at the crack of dawn.” Y/N remarked a small huff leaving her lips. It seemed she lived in the ladies room lately.
Abbot nodded his head his voice drowsy he struggling not to fall back to sleep just yet. “You can go back to bed afterwards. I’ll make pancakes.”
“Make them blueberry and you’ve got a deal. The girl loves her some blueberries right now.” Y/N remarked Abbot chuckling at the comment.
“At least you aren’t craving what you were craving with Jackson. Blueberries are way less of a pain to put together than cottage cheese and pickles.” Abbot remarked Y/N scrunching her nose at the memory of her favorite snack during her first pregnancy.
He spoke again continuing to rub her stomach as he watched her drift off back to sleep. “I love you.”
She managed to murmur an ‘love you’ as she faded off back to sleep he not shocked it was that easy to get her to drift off again. She was exhausted lately not that he blamed her given she was growing an entire person in her womb.
He felt his own eyes begin to droop staring at his wife and son his voice slurring as sleep took hold. “Love you both.”
Titus Danforth Girl Dad
Titus Danforth who marries Reader with the understanding that heirs are a part of the marriage arrangement.
Saying they’re part of the arrangement and actually producing them is easier said than done.
It doesn’t help that Chester Danforth is breathing down Titus’ neck the longer it takes to produce an heir.
It isn’t from lack of trying. They’re trying often multiple times a day.
Titus who puts his father in a chokehold his eyes filled with fury when Chester dares to suggest that if Reader doesn’t produce an heir that she can be disposed of and they can try again with a working model. Titus almost squeezes the life from his father until the family butler and Ursula yank him away. Titus stares down at his gasping father, the words harsh from his lips. “Never threaten my wife. Next time you think about suggesting she can be replaced I won’t let anyone pull me back from ending you.”
Thankfully the situation does not have a chance to escalate to that point as Reader comes to Titus with a positive pregnancy test a few short weeks later.
Titus keeps his father far from his wife even if the man celebrates the newest Danforth as though he was not threatening to kill Reader just weeks before.
Titus is already an obsessive and protective husband but he’s a menace now that she’s carrying his heir.
She doesn’t move anywhere without Titus near and if for any reason he has to be a part for her then she had a full security team always nearby.
The staff is fully expected to wait on Reader’s every need and whim.
She has the best medical team available making housecalls.
Reader comments that it seems inconvenient having to haul any necessary medical equipment back and forth from Titus’ estate but Titus is quick to point out that he’s paying for the inconvenience.
Titus is anxious about impending fatherhood. He knows what he came from. He fears becoming Chester Danforth. Reader is fast to reassure him that if there was any chance of him becoming a thing like his father that he would not even be worried about it. Terrible fathers tended to not worry about what kind of father they would be.
The Danforth heir will have everything they could ever desire. Titus makes sure of it. The nursery is filled with the best baby gear money can buy.
When the 22 week sonogram fails to capture the gender Titus tries not to get too petulant. He does admit that it seems fitting for their child to be stubborn enough not to be in the right position to see if they’re having a son or a daughter.
It takes a few more tries before they finally get an answer; it a girl.
Reader is uncertain of how to read her husband’s reaction. Titus does not have an emotional reaction. His face remains even and stoic.
She finds the words as soon as they’re alone. “I’m sorry, I know its not what you were expecting.”
He stares at her as though she’s sprouted another head at the comment and she’s fast to elaborate. “I know you were anticipating a boy.”
“I was not.” Titus is fast to respond she letting out a scoff. “Your father talks about this child as though he’s already decided its a male.”
Titus is fast to press his lips to hers at the statement his hand pressing to her cheek firmly as he pulls his lips from hers. “I don’t care what he’s decided. This is my child, not his. This is our daughter; ours. She’s my heir, not my father’s.”
He is quick to press soothing kisses to her lips after this statement reassuring her that his lack of emotion was not disappointment. He admits it was more his mind going a mile a second planning for her future. She was Titus Danforth’s heir and he had great plans for her future.
He’s fast to shut down any negative comments about having a girl. “Her husband can take her last name. We stay the Danforths, problem solved.”
Reader has every craving met. Titus is hiring a private chef to meet her desires for whatever she wants to eat at all hours of the day.
When she expresses anxiety and insecurity of her changing body Titus is quick to show her just how much he desires her still. If anything he’s more insatiable now than he’s ever been before which is saying a lot considering the passion he’s shown for her throughout their marriage.
The birth isn’t easy. Titus is haunted by the knowledge that Reader’s mother died giving birth to her. A cruel voice in the back of his head taunts him history will repeat itself.
The best medical team money can buy pays off and Reader does well despite how difficult the labor proves to be. She does make her husband swear though that the next child will be born at a hospital. He can rent out an entire hospital wing if he wants to that badly.
Titus’ daughter is born screaming her lungs out and Titus can’t help but to think that his girl is already showing her ability to command attention and respect; just like her father.
He cuts the umbilical cord with enthusiasm watching over the medical staff as they clean his daughter and tend to his wife his hand resting on the scissors he used to cut the cord certain he can put it to use if anyone steps out of line in caring for his family.
He holds Dahlia Corinne Danforth for the first time with damp eyes he unable to take his eyes off her. She’s perfection, of course she is, she’s a Danforth and she’s his.
Titus does not allow his father to be alone with his daughter. Memories of his father’s treatment of him tell Titus that the man will never be allowed to around Dahlia without Titus present preferably with a weapon at his disposal.
He’s a little more lax with Ursula. Of course he does still monitor the interactions but he’s less likely to fear that his twin will harm her niece.
Titus is OVERPROTECTIVE. He does not let Dahlia out of his sight for even a moment.
They barely need a nanny because Titus is practically attached to his child.
He begrudgingly will leave her alone long enough for Reader to hold her as well but he’s always eager to scoop her back up.
It is not uncommon for Reader to wake in the night to see her husband standing up looking down at the bassinet at their bedside those first few months of their daughter’s life. He feels the need to watch over her as she rests. It soothes him.
Dahlia has the finest things money can buy. Her wardrobe probably costs more than a grown woman’s. Titus spares no expenses in making sure his little girl is dressed in the best clothing money will buy. She looks the part of her father’s little princess.
She has him wrapped around her fingers. She sits in his lap content to spend time with him as he goes through the mundane task of being trapped discussing the Danforth families business investments with Ursula and whatever client they’re dealing with.
It’s not uncommon to see Titus bouncing a chubby sweet little infant in his arms while he threatens to eviscerate someone who’s displeased him.
Reader is almost certain their daughter’s first word is going to be stab or disembowel. Luckily though her first words are far less deadly. They delight Titus ‘Daddy’ The words spill from her lips as she reaches out for him early in the morning from her crib demanding his attentions.
He rewards her by scooping her up in his arms and pressing kisses to her cheeks praising her for being so clever.
Titus does not blink twice when his daughter brings him a stuffed animal to hold while she plays with one of the other dozens upon dozens of toys he’s gotten for her. In fact he’s quite content to see on the floor with her while she places plastic toy food in front of him and several of her stuffed animals insisting they’re having a dinner party.
Titus is absolutely feral for Reader after he becomes a father. He wants another and another and another. Reader at least convinces him to wait until Dahlia is potty trained before they start to try for another.
Trying the second time around is not filled with any pressure from any outside sources. It thankfully comes much easier the second go around.
Titus does not let Dahlia feel an ounce of jealousy though easily explaining to her that he has a sibling in Auntie Ursula and Ursula is his elder sister even if they are twins.
Titus does not let anything come between him and his children. He may want power and enjoy a hunt, but he knows that the power he hopes to claim will be to benefit his heirs and his wife. The power will mean nothing without them.
Y/N tried not to press her palm to her face as she entered her daughter’s room knowing she should not be shocked by what she’d walked into.
Titus gazed up at his wife a sheepish smile crossing his features, lowering the tea cup he was pretending to drink from. “Hello, Darling. Care to join us?”
“Cake, Titus? She’s not going to eat dinner.” Y/N pointed out her arms crossing as she gazed down at the slice of strawberry cake sitting between father and daughter; two forks dug in it clear they were enjoying a real cake with the pretend tea.
Titus shrugged his shoulders avoiding her gaze. “She can have a late dinner, Darling…it’s a special occasion.”
“Uh huh, and just what is that occasion?” Y/N dared to ask knowing very well when her husband was absolutely full of shit.
“Tea time.” Titus offered a weak smile crossing his features, his wife sighing, shaking her head at the comment.
“You are incorrigible." She remarked watching him reach out for a fork taking a bite of cake, his daughter doing the same.
He gave her a calm smile, the words leaving him without hesitation. “You knew I was irredeemable when we married, My Love.”
She gave him a crooked grin quick to respond. “I wouldn’t say you’re totally irredeemable. You are pretty soft for her.”
“How dare you.” He huffed chewing his cake slowly though the look in his eyes definitely betrayed him.
She gave him another smile quick to reply. “Don’t worry, I still know you’re more than capable of bashing teeth in.”
Titus did not have a chance to reply as Dahlia spoke, holding out her fork with a large bite of cake on it. “Mommy, eat.”
“Fine, guess we’ll all have a late dinner.” Y/N surrendered taking a seat with the pair.
Titus smirked as he watched his wife willingly eat from the fork. He smirked all the more leaning in pressing his lips to hers tasting the hint of frosting on her lips.
A satisfied thought slid through his mind as his lips parted from his wife’s: He would bring up tonight once they were all alone that it was high time they considered getting started on another heir.
during a trip with your friends in brazil, you decide to go out to a nightclub, but who would have thought you’d meet the hottest man out there?
pairing: musician!jungkook x law student!reader
genre: smut with plot, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, part 1???
warnings: explicit sexual content, rough & passionate sex, dom!jk, light choking, fingering, shower sex, female oral sex (eating out), squirting, standing/bench sex, riding, pull-out method (mention of condoms!!), size difference, jk has got a curved veiny dick, mentions of an ex-boyfriend, emotional confusion, eventual love confession.
summary: while staying in rio de janeiro, a girls' night out leads you straight into the hands of a hot stranger who wrecks you for the night. what started as a wild vacation hookup turns into something neither of you can walk away from when fate brings you back together in LA a year later.
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“i don’t know about this dress,” your friend sophie said, checking herself out in the mirror.
“i like it. it looks good on you, soph,” andrea replied as she fixed her makeup, sitting in front of the shiny mirror in the hotel room.
you were having the holiday of your life in brazil with your best friends, what else could you ask for? after your ex-boyfriend broke up with you months before this trip, it had messed with your head. you weren’t even sure if you could get out of your house, let alone travel outside the country. he had confessed that he wasn’t sure about the two of you and that he hated himself for it, that he didn’t want to break up, blah blah. truth is? he cheated on you. no wonder he was so unsure!
“y/n,” sophie said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “girl, you look stunning! why don’t you try on my necklace?”
she walked toward you as she sat on the edge of one of the matrimonial beds, handing you a beautiful golden necklace that shone against your sunkissed skin. brazil’s sun was no joke.
“oh wow,” you started, looking at yourself in the mirror where andrea was doing her makeup. “it’s really beautiful, soph. thank you!”
“oh, it’s nothing! come on, ready to take some photos?” she asked, turning up the volume on the speaker as loud music resonated through the large hotel room.
“yeeees!” andrea squealed, jumping out of her seat and pulling you all into a group hug, everyone bouncing with excitement to be there.
you took some photos and posted them to your instagram story, just like your friends did. once you were all ready, you spritzed on some perfume and headed outside where your uber was waiting.
the ride made you feel like you were in a movie, windows rolled down, your straightened hair a mess in the strong wind, but it was perfect. you could even smell the ocean from copacabana’s beautiful beach. it amazed you how many people were still out at 1:30 am. you had eaten dinner at the hotel lounge before leaving.
the driver was hilarious, trying to talk to the three of you in broken english, but thankfully you knew how to speak the language. he even let andrea connect her bluetooth to the car stereo and blast loud music. you were so thankful for your life and your friends in that moment, and for once, you could let go of the heavy thoughts.
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there was a long queue to get into the club, with people chatting everywhere, but luckily the line moved fast and in less than ten minutes you were inside. the place was huge, a three-story building. sophie had managed to get vip tickets so it wouldn't be too crowded. the weather was insanely hot, so paying a bit extra for your own booths to dance and enjoy freely was worth it.
you went up the stairs and settled down in the area one of the hosts guided you to: two black leather couches facing a low table with a bucket filled to the brim with ice and vodka in the center. you looked at each other, and as if the music held some sort of magic, you automatically started moving your bodies to the brazilian rhythm. you swore those instruments awoke something inside you. you were dancing like crazy while andrea and sophie danced alongside you with big smiles.
at some point in the night, you couldn't even tell where you were standing. you took your sweet time taking in your surroundings. every single guy was so hot. andrea was already gone, probably making out with a handsome local, while sophie danced next to you, holding your hips while you both sipped on caipirinhas. you kept looking around, feeling like an absolute goddess. plenty of men were already staring and smiling at you, and you smiled right back.
you decided to turn all the way around and that’s when you caught sight of a tall guy over your shoulder. his face was full of piercings, and he clearly wasn't a local, he looked foreign, probably asian, and ridiculously hot. before you even had time to think, he was already walking your way with a bottle of beer in hand. you smiled, and he smiled back.
“heeey,” he said, joining you and sophie, moving his shoulders to the rhythm as he took a sip from his bottle.
you gave a nervous smile, but the alcohol in your system was already working its magic. you took your last sip of the night, leaned your back against his chest, and rolled your hips to the music. he reacted instantly, wrapping one hand around your hip and leaning down into the crook of your neck.
one thing was clear: he was bold, and you loved it.
“i like the way you move,” he murmured softly in your ear with a velvety voice that made you feel like you’d go crazy. the way he smelled didn't help either.
you didn't say a word as you felt his lips press against the back of your neck while you kept moving. you loved the way a single kiss from him made you feel.
sophie quietly left the two of you alone under the guise of going to the restroom. you had tuned out your surroundings long ago, this man was driving you insane, or maybe it was just the alcohol.
turning around, you took the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the table. you ran your hands through his hair, leaned up on tiptoes, and pulled him into a kiss. his reaction was instant, he kissed you back, pulling your body flush against his in a way that drove you wild.
when you pulled apart to catch your breath, he asked, “wanna go somewhere else?”
you nodded. “yeah.”
the moment the word left your lips, he laced his fingers through yours, and you grabbed your small handbag to head out.
he led you to his car. if you were sober, you never would have gotten into a stranger’s car, especially knowing he had been drinking!
you could barely walk straight, smiling at nothing in particular, just letting things happen. he opened the passenger door of a black audi and buckled you in. you watched him walk around the front toward the driver's side. he was wearing a burgundy shirt with several buttons undone, he’d probably opened them inside the club to beat the heat.
he drove quickly, and the next thing you knew, you were in an elevator riding up to the 20th something floor of a massive hotel.
“do you live here?” you asked mid-kiss, completely lightheaded.
he chuckled and shook his head, pulling you into another deep, steamy kiss.
the elevator doors chimed open, and he guided you to his room. a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the city lights below.
as soon as he shut the door behind you, he pinned you against the wall and kissed you deeply, his large hand gripping your ass under your dress. you smiled, and he grinned back.
“cm’ere,” he said, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
you followed him over and straddled his lap, a leg on either side of him. your dress had hitched up, revealing your legs and the black lace underneath.
“fuck, do you feel that?” he asked. truthfully, you couldn't miss how hard he was beneath you, and it was turning you on fast.
“mhm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. in one smooth motion, he discarded it, showing off a toned torso covered in tattoos and abs.
“fuck,” you breathed out.
he grinned. “like what you see?” he laughed and lifted you effortlessly to your feet. he found the side zipper of your black dress and slowly slid it down, helping you step out of it. he took you in like a piece of art, biting his lip. stripping off the rest of his clothing, he pulled you back onto the bed with him lying on his back, leaving you on top with your chest exposed to him. “you’re so hot,” he murmured, making your mind spin.
you smiled and decided to take charge, kissing him hungrily while your hands explored his body. you could feel his hard length twitching between your folds. you grinded down against him, back and forth, your natural slickness making every slide hot and effortless.
“yeah, come on, grind on me,” he encouraged, guiding your hips with his hands.
he leaned his head back with his mouth slightly open and eyes closed, taking in every single movement. then, grabbing hold of you, he flipped you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress. he trailed kisses down from your neck to your torso, licking your nipples until you squirmed beneath him. sliding lower down your stomach, he finally reached where you were aching for him most.
you bent your knees, and he settled between your thighs. he took hold of your legs, giving you a wicked glance with his dark eyes before leaning in to suck on your clit.
“oh, fuck yeah,” you gasped, gripping his hair to guide his movement.
“you like that?” he asked, sliding his tongue inside you with long, deliberate strokes.
“y-yes, so much,” you managed to choke out.
he shifted his weight onto one arm, using his free hand to stroke your body before sliding his fingers down to join his tongue, circling your clit. how was he this good at it? it was driving you completely wild.
“fuck yes,” you whimpered, lost in the sensation.
opening your eyes briefly, you saw him smirking down at you. he worked his fingers so well that your whole body was writhing on the bed beneath him, his strength and presence were driving you crazy. he circled his fingers faster, making you shiver and cry out.
“so beautiful,” he breathed out.
when you opened your eyes again, you saw him reaching toward the nightstand for a condom. you rolled onto all fours for him, just how you liked it. hard and fast from behind.
“damn baby, already on all fours?” he chuckled, giving your rear a firm slap.
he took you right there, pounding into you until the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, driving you out of your mind. he pulled your wrists behind your back, forcing your head down sideways onto the pillow, leaving you completely open to him.
“f-faster... hmmm,” you moaned loudly, certain the rest of the hotel guests were going to complain.
jungkook didn't hesitate. he tightened his grip on your wrists behind your back, driving into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that made your knees tremble against the mattress. every thrust sent shockwaves through your entire body, the friction and heat mounting until you were completely breathless, clinging to the edge of the bed as the intense coil in your core finally snapped.
you let out a broken, breathless cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner muscles clamping down tight around him. hearing you break, jungkook growled low in his throat, his hips accelerating into a few final, deep, desperate thrusts before he came undone into the condom, buried deep inside you.
he held you tight for a moment, both of your bodies slick with sweat as your breathing slowed. pulling out, he sat on the edge of the bed to get rid of the condom before lying back down next to you and rolling onto his stomach. keeping a comfortable distance between you, you both drifted off to sleep.
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morning light was already streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows when your eyes fluttered open. for a second, you were completely disoriented, the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the bright brazilian skyline reminding you that you weren't in your hotel room.
a quiet shift next to you brought it all rushing back.
you turned your head slowly to find him sleeping on his stomach. both of his arms were stretched up on either side of his head, his face buried deep into the plush pillow. the soft morning glare hit his back, highlighting the sharp dip of his spine, the defined muscle tone across his shoulders, and the dark ink of his tattoos sprawling over his skin. he looked impossibly relaxed, completely different from the intense, confident guy who had pinned you to the bed hours earlier.
careful not to make a sound, you slid your legs out from under the sheets. you wince smiled at the faint, dull ache between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of last night, and tip toed across the cool floor toward the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.
after using the toilet, you turned on the faucet, letting the cool water wash away the lingering fog of sleep and makeup. you splashed your face, grabbed a hand towel, and began patting your skin dry.
when you looked up into the bathroom mirror, you caught his reflection standing in the doorway.
he was leaning against the frame, sleepy eyed, dark hair delightfully messy, his gray sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips.
“morning,” his voice came out deep and raspy with sleep, a small smirk playing on his lips as his dark eyes met yours in the glass.
you turned around, resting the back of your hands against the edge of the sink. “morning. sorry! did i wake you?”
“nah, but i noticed the bed was empty,” he chuckled softly, taking a slow, barefoot step into the bathroom.
you smiled, heat creeping up your neck as memories of the night before flooded back. watching him step closer, you realized something ridiculous. through all the loud music, caipirinhas, and wild heat in the club, one tiny detail had been completely skipped.
“you know...” you started, leaning back against the marble counter, “we never actually introduced ourselves. what’s your name, by the way?”
he paused, an amused glint flickering in his eyes as he closed the remaining distance between you.
“jungkook,” he said softly. he reached out, his hands naturally finding your waist, his thumbs rubbing small, warm circles against your skin. “and you?”
“y/n,” you replied, feeling an immediate spark reignite the moment his skin touched yours.
“y/n,” jungkook repeated, letting your name roll off his tongue with a low, slow cadence that made your chest tighten.
he glanced over your shoulder toward the large glass shower enclosure, then looked back down at you.
“well, y/n... i was just about to turn the shower on,” his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you an inch closer until your stomach brushed against his. “care to join me?” he said, smirking as he stepped away from you, showing off his toned, tattooed back as he turned on the shower. “i don't bite, baby,” he added, catching you running a hand over your neck as you debated his tempting offer.
fuck it, you thought. for once in your life, you were feeling free, feeling good about yourself. you felt wanted again. none of this was something you could have lived with your ex, he was trash those last few months, making you feel like you were nothing, when you were so much more. this trip was part of your journey toward loving yourself again.
you walked over to him, sliding both hands up to caress that beautiful back you were already obsessed with. leaning in, you gently rested your forehead against the warm skin between his shoulder blades. the contrast was crazy, here you were, completely bare and raw, clinging to a man whose last name you didn't even know, yet finding this weird sense of safety in his warmth. he went completely still under your touch, the steady stream of the shower filling the quiet space between you for a few seconds before he slowly turned around to face you.
“all good?” he asked softly, a bit of genuine concern in his eyes. he clearly hadn't expected something so quiet and intimate from a late-night hookup.
“yeah, yeah, it’s just...” you started, trailing off as your eyes dropped to the floor.
he reached out, his thumb gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “i think you’ve got some heavy stuff going through your head right now, am i right?”
the way he said it hit you right in the chest. he was reading you like an open book, seeing right through the brave face you’d been putting on all night. how could a complete stranger be this perceptive? it felt surreal how easily he seemed to get you without you having to explain a thing.
“i can make those thoughts go away,” he murmured, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his, searching your face for a reaction, a smile, anything.
you looked up, taking him in up close for the first time. his sleepy, hungover face was out of this world, his lips slightly parted, showing a glimpse of his teeth in a tender smile. you noticed the small moles on his skin and even his long eyelashes. you felt the warm tips of his fingers finding the hem of the oversized t-shirt he must have thrown on you last night.
you closed your eyes and slowly lifted your arms as he gently pulled the shirt over your head, the fabric smelling like him. your bare skin met the cool air of the bathroom until he closed the distance between you. you opened your eyes to find him staring down at you with an intensity that made your pulse race.
“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, placing a hand behind your lower back to pull you flush against him.
he was being so gentle, so gentle it almost brought tears to your eyes. the way his lips traced your neck, your collarbones, and the shell of your ear made you fall for this feeling of being cared for, of being wanted. he brought his lips back to yours for a slow, unhurried kiss. there was no rush, just two strangers taking their time to feel everything.
taking a step back, he took off his grey sweatpants, revealing he had nothing on underneath. as he stepped into the shower, he held out a hand. you took it without hesitation, stepping into the warm stream as the room around you blurred, the heavy glass mirror fogging over completely.
he trapped you between his arms, your back pressed against the cool blue tiles as he kissed you again and again, the heat of the water mixing with the heat of your bodies. he slowly squatted down, trailing wet, hot kisses down your ribs and over your stomach, his lips brushing right against where you needed him most. all the thoughts in your head melted away, replaced by a desperate need. you wanted to fuck. you wanted him to fuck you.
“eat me out,” you demanded, your hands tangling in his wet hair as his grip on your ass tightened.
without wasting a single second, he parted your thighs, taking your clit into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. your body quivered against the tile. he slid two fingers inside you under the warm water, working you so sweet and deep that your knees buckled.
he stood back up, his chest heaving against yours as water slicked over his tattooed shoulders.
“turn around,” he rasped, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “let me fuck you real good.”
you obeyed, turning to rest your hands against the wide tiled ledge inside the shower, the built-in bench coming in ridiculously handy. bending your knees, you arched your back and lifted your hips for him, completely surrendered.
“ah fuck, let me grab a condom,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your hip as he prepared to step out, but you caught his forearm.
“don’t,” you said softly, a sudden flush of bashfulness hitting you because the only reason you were still on the pill was your ex. “i’m on the pill...”
he paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the steam. “you sure?”
you nodded.
he stepped back into the hot stream, positioning himself right behind you. you loved being taken from behind, feeling the raw strength of a man, of this man, working you so damn well. both of his hands gripped your hips as he aligned the head of his throbbing cock with your entrance. he slid all the way in with zero resistance, a dark smirk spreading across his face at how easily you took him.
“fuck, y/n, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pulling back slowly before driving back in. “hmm, yeah, so tight...” he spoke those magic words that hit your brain like a drug.
“hmm, god, i love it,” you gasped, taking the lead to roll your hips back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.
the wet slap of skin against skin camouflaged under the sound of the shower was driving you wild. you just wanted to soak in every single second, it was exactly what you needed. it was so dirty, so intoxicating that you swore you could feel yourself falling. and you were, your legs were literally giving up. sensing your knees weaken, he lifted you slightly, shifting you back onto that tiled bench. he gripped your shoulders, pounding you from behind.
“ah yeah,” he muffled, his hot breath hitting your neck as his chest pressed flush against your back. “you’re taking me so good, baby. go on,” he whispered, his hand reaching up to gather your wet hair into a messy makeshift ponytail. the pull tilted your head back, leaving your neck completely exposed as your soft whimpers echoed through the bathroom.
“hmm, harder,” you urged, and jungkook lost it. his movements became frantic, almost impossibly fast. his free hand found the front of your neck, resting there with just enough pressure to send a shockwave down your spine. “i’m close, i’m close, i’m—”
before you could finish, a wave hit you that you’d never felt in your entire life. your body buckled as you squirted, your inner muscles clamping around him in violent waves.
jungkook helped you sink fully onto the bench, letting you catch your breath as he gave himself a few quick, desperate strokes, coming with a low growl. he wiped the steam from his eyes and looked down at you, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
“that was... fucking hot y/n,” he breathed out, still trying to catch his own breath.
you felt dizzy sitting there. everything was spinning in the best way possible, that sensation was entirely new to you, so intense it barely felt real. you looked up at him and smiled, completely speechless.
“come here, let’s shower,” he said softly, washing his hands before popping open a bottle of shampoo.
you smiled, standing on shaky legs to join him under the water.
the whole thing felt crazy intimate. this was a total stranger you’d picked up at a club in a foreign country, yet here you were, sharing this quiet morning. you ended up laughing together when a bit of shampoo got into your eye, making you panic to rinse it out. jungkook laughed along, patiently helping you wash off under the stream, rubbing soap over your back and leaving a few tender kisses on your wet shoulders.
afterward, he managed to prepare you a quick breakfast. he’d picked up some fresh oranges during his stay in brazil, along with a loaf of bread from a local market. as you finished slipping into the oversized clothes he’d lent you again, you hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter and unlocked your phone for the first time since last night.
3:00 PM.
you had literally slept the entire day away. fucked in the shower, and now you were having breakfast, at 3:00 PM.
the second you dragged down your notification bar, your heart did a flip.
“oh no,” you gasped out loud.
jungkook turned around from the stove, a plate of warm toast with jam in his hands, looking at you with pure curiosity. “what?”
“15 missed calls...” you said nervously, rubbing your forehead as you quickly pulled up the group chat and typed out:
i'm alive!!!
i'm actually at a hotel
with a guy
jungkook grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter right next to you and taking a big sip from his glass of orange juice.
“i think you should probably call them, no?” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.
“yeah, i definitely sho-,” you muttered.
the phone didn't even ring twice before the screen glitched and two panicked faces popped up at the exact same time.
“Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” sophie practically screamed into her microphone, her hair a wild mess as she held her phone way too close to her face.
“GIRL, WE WERE ABOUT TO CALL THE POLICE!” andrea chimed in right behind her, shoving sophie out of the frame so she could stare into the camera. “we came back to the table last night and you were completely gone! we thought you got kidnapped!”
you winced, pulling the phone an inch away from your face while jungkook muffled a laugh into his glass of juice, enjoying every single second.
“i'm fine! i'm so sorry, guys, i swear i'm okay,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice down. “i... uh... left… with someone.”
dead silence hit the call. sophie and andrea exchanged a look on their side of the screen before both of them yelled in unison.
“AHHH, YOU LEFT WITH SOMEONE?!” sophie shrieked. “the asian guy with the piercings? the absurdly hot one?!”
“uhm, yeah,” you stammered, feeling heat rush all the way up to your ears. “we went back to his hotel.”
andrea’s jaw literally dropped. “wait... it’s 3:00 PM. y/n... did you just wake up?! did you spend the whole night and the whole day with him?!”
out of the corner of your eye, you saw jungkook leaning over, curiously trying to take a sneak peek at your screen. the second you noticed him hovering, you completely blocked him, pulling the phone flush against your chest and glaring at him. he just let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head with a playful smirk on his face.
“andrea, shh! oh my god,” you hissed into the microphone, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“is he there right now? IS HE LISTENING?!” sophie whispered loudly into her mic, her eyes wide as she tried to inspect your background “HEEELLOOOO?!?!”
seeing his chance, jungkook suddenly leaned in close behind your shoulder, sneaking just half of his sleepy, messy haired face into the top corner of the frame.
“heeeey gir—”
you didn't even let him finish the sentence. instantly panicking, your thumb smashed the red button, cutting the audio off mid-word before he could even get the greeting out.
you dropped your phone onto the counter and buried your face in your hands, groaning out loud. jungkook burst into a full, hearty laugh, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your flustered body against his side.
“you didn't even let me say hi,” he teased laughing while you sat there dying of embarrassment.
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that summer in brazil became a blurry, beautiful paradise. what started as a wild one-night stand melted into the best week of your entire life. you, sophie, and andrea ended up merging groups with jungkook and his friends who were also staying in rio.
you can still vividly picture that last sunset in copacabana. the sky was painted in deep pinks and gold as sophie splashed around in the warm ocean, screaming for everyone to get in. you remember jungkook grabbing your wrist with a toothy grin, his long fingers interlaced with yours as he dragged you laughing down the shoreline, both of you crashing into the waves. under the water, with the sun dipping below the horizon and nobody watching, he had pulled you flush against his chest to steal a few ocean-tasted kisses that made your heart ache before it was time to say goodbye.
one year later.
los angeles.
a lot had changed since rio. you were back in LA, grinding through your final year of law school, constantly buried under legal briefs and cases. jungkook had moved to the city too, pursuing his music career, his days spent in dark recording studios, his nights spent running around town.
and somehow, through the chaos, you two had stayed in each other's orbits.
you had his number saved in your phone, and what started as occasional text check-ins turned into routine hangouts. dinner, late night food runs, and eventual hookups. you weren't officially together, no labels, no promises… just two people who couldn't seem to untangle themselves from one another.
it was 11:00 pm on a friday night. the empty pizza box sat closed on the kitchen counter, and both of you had already washed up for bed. your 5th-floor apartment felt like a cozy sanctuary, high above the LA traffic. low, sultry rnb melted into smooth jazz from the bluetooth speaker on the shelf, filling the room with a warm, steady rhythm. mood lamps decored the living space in a soft gradient of warm purple and golden orange light, casting shadows against the walls.
jungkook was sitting back on your couch in his grey sweatpants and an oversized tee, his long legs spread casually as he waited for you.
“you’re staring,” you murmured, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with a hairbrush still held loosely in your hand. you were dressed for sleep in a matching baby pink velvet set, a soft cropped tank top and tiny velvet shorts that hugged your hips.
jungkook let out a low, raspy chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair as his eyes slowly dragged over your outfit. “can’t help it. you look ridiculously good in pink.”
setting your brush down, you walked across the warm floorboards, stepping right between his open knees to straddle his lap. jungkook’s large, warm hands immediately slid under the hem of your velvet shorts, resting flush against your bare thighs to pull you close.
“hmm...” you breathed, resting your hands against his chest.
“i missed you,” he whispered, leaning up so his lips brushed the shell of your ear over the gentle saxophone playing in the background. “spent all day in the studio thinking about you,”
the restraint snapped right there. you reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, and pulled him into a heavy, bruising kiss. he groaned into your mouth, his tongue sliding past yours as his hands tightened on your waist. the kiss was raw, hungry, and entirely unhurried, perfectly timed to the slow music filling the room.
he slid your pink tank top over your head, tossing it onto the coffee table, before his mouth trailed down your jawline to your bare chest. he cupped your breast, taking one sensitive nipple into his mouth to suck on it gently, sending an electric shock straight down to your core. you gasped, arching your back into his mouth as his thumb hooked into your velvet shorts, pulling them off with practiced speed.
he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his dark eyes blown wide with desire as he shoved his sweatpants down his hips.
“ride me, baby,” he rasped, his voice heavy with command.
you didn't need to be told twice. gripping his broad shoulders for balance, you lifted yourself up, aligning your wet core over his hard length, and slowly sank all the way down onto him in one full, breathtaking movement.
“ah—fuck, jungkook—” the air completely left your lungs in a loud, shattered moan.
riding him was your absolute weakness, the absolute control, the deep friction, and the view of jungkook looking up at you with pleading eyes, through the purple and orange glow of the room drove you insane. you set a torturous pace, rolling your hips and grinding down against him before lifting yourself up to take him all the way in again.
“fuck, y/n,” he grunted, his tattoos flexing as his hands gripped your hips tightly, helping you set the rhythm. “you feel so fucking good... god, look at you...”
“mnh, harder, kook, d-deeper…” you whimpered, your head tilting back as you picked up the pace, the soft cushions of the couch taking every heavy impact as the music swirled around you.
he lifted his hips to meet yours, thrusting up into you with ruthless precision. “like that, baby? hmm? tell me how bad you need it.”
“yes fuck, right there,” you sobbed out, your voice echoing off the walls as your inner walls began to clamp desperately around him.
the sensation was completely overpowering. you threw your head back, riding him frantically until the intense pressure shattered into a full body orgasm. you cried out his name, your thighs trembling violently as the waves tore through you.
hearing you break was his absolute limit. with a guttural growl, jungkook gripped your waist, pulled himself out of you at the absolute last second, and came undone right across your stomach and thighs, his entire body shuddering beneath you as he held you tight against him.
for a long time, neither of you moved. you collapsed forward, resting your forehead against his chest as your breathing slowly synchronized with the low jazz fading out on the speaker. jungkook wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back, his chin resting gently on top of your head.
as you lay there in the warm, ambient light of your apartment, the entire year flashed through your mind. you thought back to that chaotic, spontaneous night in Rio, how broken and lost you’d felt after your ex, and how this incredible man had casually walked into your life and helped you heal without even trying. from the Copacabana beaches to quiet Friday nights on your couch in LA, he’d made you feel so safe, so desired, and so deeply loved every single step of the way.
you were so overwhelmed with emotion that the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.
“i love you,” you whispered softly against his skin.
the room went completely still for a split second. you froze, your heart hammering against your ribs as you realized what you’d just confessed out loud.
but jungkook didn't pull away. instead, a soft, breathless laugh escaped him. he tightened his hold around your waist and tilted your chin up with his thumb, forcing you to look at him. his dark eyes were shining with so much warmth it almost brought tears to your eyes.
“i love you even more,” he murmured softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, a timid, slightly nervous smile softening his face.
“i know this might sound like a stupid question, considering...” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you with a quiet chuckle, before his gaze locked back onto yours. “...but do you wanna make it official? i want to call you my girlfriend everywhere i go.”
you couldn't help the huge grin that spread across your face. leaning down, you kissed him again, sweet, slow, and full of absolute certainty.
“yes,” you whispered against his lips. “i’d love that.”
⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰
HEY YALL, i had so much fun writing this, i just had to give them a plot, i’d love to write a pt2
Bruce Wayne is now fully focused on his role as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. With Gotham finally in safer hands, he has been able to step back from the life that once consumed him and devote himself to the company he was always meant to lead. However, persistent rumors about a divorce have made the board question whether he is stable enough to remain in his position, forcing him to ask his ex-wife for a very public favor.
RATING: 18+
WORD COUNT: 6,9k
GENERAL TAGS: divorced couple, ex-spouses to lovers, fake/pretend marriage trope, pining, mutual pining, needy!Bruce, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (DON'T), cunnilingus, fingering,cowgirl, marking/biting, dirty talk, swearing, aftercare, alcohol and food consumption, emotional insecurity and discussion of past marriage neglect, mentions of Batman, happy ending assured, no use of y/n
fic recs.
Every time you walked through the doors of your office building on Miagani Island, you felt the eyes following you. You caught the occasional whisper, but after nearly ten years of this routine, you’d grown used to it. Eleven years ago, when you agreed to go to dinner with Bruce Wayne, you knew exactly what you were getting into. Everyone wanted to know the low-profile lawyer who had snagged Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. But over time, especially after the wedding, Gotham's public gradually lost interest in dissecting your life.
So, you went back to living discreetly. It didn't mean you never had to deal with curious glances or intrusive paparazzi, but it was manageable. Lately, though, things had been feeling just as intense as they were back when Vicki Vale leaked to all of Gotham that you and Bruce were dating.
You figured Bruce might be seeing someone. The thought was bitter, unfortunately, but it would explain why the Gotham media was suddenly tracking your steps again.
"What a way to start the day," you muttered, staring at your reflection in the elevator mirror.
It was going to be a long day. You had anxious clients breathing down your neck, and starting the morning thinking about your ex-husband moving on was definitely not the motivation you needed. You tried not to think about him, but you always failed. Every time you saw a headline about Batman on the news, your mind immediately drifted. Was he okay?
But those thoughts usually hit at more convenient times—especially during those sleepless nights when seeing the damn Bat-Signal lighting up the Gotham sky was enough to keep you awake. Now, your entire day was going to be haunted by the possibility of Bruce moving on. The mere thought made your stomach turn.
"Good morning!" your intern’s voice chirped loudly before the elevator doors could even finish sliding open.
She had a bright, energetic look that, in your opinion, did not belong on the average Gotham City resident. There had to be a very good reason for her to be this excited so early. If you were lucky, some major case had resolved itself while you were out. Unlikely, but a girl could dream.
"Good morning," you replied, heading toward your office with the overly enthusiastic girl trailing close behind. "Any particular reason for all this energy?"
As you neared your door, a familiar, sweet floral scent hit you. It had been a while since you’d received flowers. Bruce had always been an attentive boyfriend and an incredibly romantic husband; his habit of sending massive vases of flowers to your office was common knowledge among your coworkers. But, for obvious reasons, your receptionist hadn't seen a delivery boy in months. You were still surprised that no one outside of family and close friends knew about the divorce.
When you pushed the door open, there they were. An obscenely large bouquet of stargazing lilies. Your favorite.
Bruce always sent flowers, and you loved every kind. But out of all the arrangements he used to buy, lilies were strictly reserved for special occasions.
"They were delivered first thing this morning. It’s been a minute since the florist visited us," your intern said, smiling, clearly impressed by the grand romantic gesture. You approached your desk, searching for a card as if you didn't already know exactly who sent them. "Looks like he’s trying hard... I was actually starting to believe those rumors going around."
Strange.
"What rumors?" you asked.
"People are saying your marriage is on the rocks."
Little does she know, you thought.
If people were starting to notice your absence by Bruce's side at public events, it explained the sudden increase in lingering stares on the street.
Honestly, you were surprised it had taken people this long to suspect anything. You had been separated for nearly a year. The divorce had been finalized nine months ago, and you had asked only one thing of Bruce: to keep it entirely private. It wasn't the most logical decision, sure, but at the time, you were emotionally wrecked. Asking for a divorce was the hardest thing you’d ever done, and you couldn't handle the tabloids turning your life into a living hell again.
"You can't believe everything you read," you lied smoothly, just as you had for the past several months. It was almost comical how Bruce was still your perfect excuse to avoid social commitments.
“I have dinner with my husband.”
Meanwhile, your wedding ring was tucked away in your underwear drawer, and you hadn't seen your husband's face in months.
Ugh.
Bruce and husband in the same thought.
Your dismissive response sent your intern out of the room with a smile. You knew she was a gossip, so the flower story would circulate through the building and hit a tabloid column by afternoon. If people were already suspicious, a little harmless gossip wouldn't hurt. It was times like this that made you realize people would have to find out eventually, especially if you wanted to move on and leave the Wayne name in the past.
Maybe Bruce wanted to start dating again. He was a single man; nothing was stopping him. But what woman would even try to get close? To the rest of the world, Bruce Wayne was still very much married.
Right now, the lilies on your desk felt like they were mocking you.
You leaned in, inhaling their sweet, rich scent.
Tucked between the blooms was a simple white card. You recognized Bruce’s elegant, cursive handwriting immediately:
“Please call me. We need to talk.
– B. Wayne”
On the back, in the same neat script, was his number. As if you didn't have it memorized. As if you could ever forget the moments you shared, no matter how desperately you tried.
When you first read the card two hours ago, you were positive you wouldn't dial his number. But now, your mind was starting to betray you. The flowers staring at you from the corner of the room weren't helping.
What if something had actually happened?
But if it were something serious with Dick or Alfred, he would have called you directly. And if he were physically hurt, Alfred had promised he would let you know.
He was leaving the ball in your court.
The uncertainty was driving you crazy, making it impossible to focus on your work. You had two major hearings for high-profile clients coming up, and yet the only thing occupying your brain was whether or not to call your goddamn ex. For now, you had to push it aside. You had a million things to do.
You spent the entire day completely spaced out. By the time you unlocked the door to your empty apartment, void of any husband with a giant bouquets of lilies, your only real option was to open a bottle of wine.
One thing led to another, and after three glasses, your thoughts were delightfully hazy. You found yourself on your couch with your laptop open, scrolling through the Gotham Gazette's society page.
GOTHAM GAZETTE | SOCIETY & GOSSIP
Where Is Mrs. Wayne? Gotham Begins to Question the City's Most Private Marriage
Screw it.
You grabbed your phone and dialed Bruce’s number. He picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" His voice sounded heavily out of breath. If you were interrupting something, you were going to throw yourself off a bridge.
"Can you hear me?" he asked when you didn't say anything right away.
"Yes, um... yes, I can." You swallowed hard. Why did he have to answer so fast? You barely had time to chicken out. "I got your flowers this morning... Look, I don't want to interrupt. If you can't talk right now, I can—I'll just hang—"
"No! Please don't hang up," Bruce cut in quickly, a brief silence hanging over the line. "I was just training with Dick. I just... I didn't expect you to call." Honestly, Bruce hadn't expected you to call at all.
"I can call back later."
"Absolutely not. Just give me a second." His voice was soft despite his heavy breathing. You heard the faint rustle of his phone being set down, followed by the soft fabric movement of a shirt being pulled on. Your ex-husband was probably sweaty and shirtless. Great things to picture when you're three glasses of wine deep.
"Thank you for calling, darling," the pet name slipped out, sounding so familiar yet so painfully foreign. It had been months since he, or anyone else, had called you that. "Did you like the flowers?"
"Yes, they're beautiful," you said, looking over at them. You’d put them in a proper vase the second you got home, safely out of reach of your curious cat.
"I'm glad. I... honestly, I don't even know how to talk to you right now." You didn't know either. You two used to be so good at this.
Before replying, you took a breath to make sure your voice didn't sound slurred from the wine. "Yeah, it's been a while since we talked. Is everything okay? Did something happen to you or Dick?"
"No, we're fine. Are you okay?"
"Yes," you lied. The line went quiet again, and you immediately regretted making the call.
On the other end, Bruce was starting to feel incredibly anxious and guilty for sending the flowers in the first place. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. He would never do anything to hurt you. He desperately needed your help, but he was a coward. Even though Dick and Alfred had urged him to talk to you in person, he hadn't wanted to ambush you at your office, especially not with how fast rumors spread in Gotham. The last time you’d seen each other was on a gloomy afternoon when you came to collect the last of your things from the manor.
So, he sent flowers and left the choice to you. If you called, he’d explain. If you didn't, he wouldn't dare drag you into his mess and would find another way to handle it.
"I need to talk to you. In person, if you're comfortable with it. I don't think it's right to ask this over the phone."
Your mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. Bruce was seeing someone else and wanted to take the divorce public. Great. Definitely not the kind of conversation you have over the phone.
Once again, the thought of Bruce with another woman made you feel sick. And with three glasses of wine in your system and a fourth currently being poured, that sickness was quickly morphing into…
Jealousy?
During your marriage, you had never been the jealous type. Despite what the media claimed, Bruce was never a womanizer, and he’d never given you a single reason to doubt him. It was deeply ironic that you were starting to feel possessive of him only after you’d divorced.
Well, you certainly didn't envy whatever hypothetical woman it was. Imagine being interested in a man whom everyone still believed belonged to someone else.
To you.
It was selfish, but the thought managed to quiet the green-eyed monster clawing at your chest.
"Can I pick you up for lunch tomorrow?" he asked.
You hesitated for a full minute, weighing the pros and cons. But you couldn't deny how much you missed him. A simple lunch wouldn't hurt.
"Okay," you finally whispered. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
The next morning dragged on at a snail's pace. Your firm was swamped with cases, and the interns and clients had endless questions. The slight headache from last night's wine combined with your usual work stress was still lingering by lunchtime. You made a mental note to avoid drinking a bottle of wine mid-week in the future. That would be an easy promise to keep if you didn't have to hear about your ex-husband every five minutes, which, in Gotham, was practically impossible.
Speaking of your ex, he was currently leaning against the hood of his incredibly conspicuous sports car, parked illegally in a tow zone right in front of your office building.
Some things never changed. He always waited for you like this. Whenever you had lunch together, he always insisted on driving himself, even though calling his chauffeur would have been much more practical. Lunch had always been your time.
Another thing that hadn't changed was his looks. His jawline was still sharp and perfectly defined, his eyes held that same intense, brooding gaze, and his dark hair was impeccably styled without a single strand out of place. Gotham's gloomy, grey backdrop always did a spectacular job of highlighting his beauty; even just standing there, leaning against his car, he was unfairly handsome. He wore a dark, three-piece suit that hugged his broad shoulders and chest perfectly.
As you approached, Bruce straightened up, a soft, almost shy smile touching his lips. The moment you got close enough, his scent hit you like a wave,that rich, woody cologne. You couldn't even pretend you hadn't smelled it in months, considering you had kept about five of his old shirts to sleep in during your first few months apart. In fact, you’d slept in one last night. But nothing compared to the real thing, emanating from his warm body right in front of you.
There was no way you were getting through this lunch unscathed.
The warm weight of his hand settled on your lower back, guiding you toward the passenger side as he opened the door for you, just like he always did. He walked around the front of the Aston Martin and slipped into the driver's seat. The air inside the car was thick with tension, but Bruce broke the silence gently.
"Can we go to our usual spot?"
"Yes," you replied, your voice a little shaky, already thrown off by how familiar and comfortable this felt.
Bruce started the engine, and you tried your best not to stare at him. But what else were you supposed to look at? Your eyes scanned the dashboard before settling on his hands gripping the steering wheel. That was when you noticed the gold band still resting on his left ring finger.
It threw you completely.
Your own ring was buried deep in your drawer, far out of sight. It had taken you months to finally slide it off. The fact that he was still wearing his did something to you. The jealousy quieted down instantly; if he was still wearing his wedding ring, he probably wasn't seeing anyone. Or maybe he just wore it to avoid questions. Either way, you were still jealous of your own ex-husband.
"Are you okay?" he asked when the silence stretched too long.
You didn't know what to say. Yes, I'm fine. Aside from missing you terribly and realizing I probably wanted to hide our divorce because, deep down, I was still holding onto some selfish hope that we’d fix this. But other than that, great.
You forced a smile. "Yes, I'm fine. I got a cat now."
The traffic light turned green just as Bruce let out a quiet, amused huff. He wasn't much of a cat person, but his soft laugh made your heart flutter. "That's very unlike you."
"I'm trying to change."
"Me too."
Getting better for his next girlfriend.
The restaurant wasn't far from your office, so the drive didn't last much longer. The moment Bruce parked, a valet appeared to take the keys. Once again, his hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you inside. The hostess, who recognized you immediately, led you to the exact same table where you and Bruce had shared years of laughter, romance, and good memories.
"Do you want the usual, sweetheart?" Bruce’s question was so soft it caught you off guard.
"Yes, honey." The old pet name slipped out before you could stop it.
Bruce's eyes flared, and his lips curved into that smug, arrogant grin that could light up an entire room. Bastard.
"Honey, huh?" Bruce teased, leaning in slightly after the waitress took your orders. "I was expecting a bit more resistance."
"Bruce, get to the point."
He rested his elbows on the table, bringing himself closer. Up close, you could see every detail of his face. He hadn't changed, but there was something different in his expression. He still had those faint tired lines around his eyes that suited him so well, but it was a different kind of exhaustion. It wasn't the heavy, dark toll that Batman took on him. He actually looked... lighter.
Gotham’s best detective was watching you with undivided attention, too. Your hair looked a little lighter, and the cut was different. You looked breathtakingly beautiful, and it had been distracting him since the moment you stepped out of your office building.
Keeping his eyes on you, trying to commit every detail of your face to memory, Bruce began to speak in a quiet, low voice. "A few months ago, I asked the board to let me step back in as CEO so Lucius could focus on other projects." You knew exactly what kind of "projects" he meant.
"So I'm back in the office, going to meetings, attending the galas I always should have been attending." How did he even have time for this? Gotham was safer than it had been in years, but how was he balancing this with Batman? No major rogues had caused trouble in months, which usually meant Batman was working overtime.
"But some of the board members think I'm too unstable for the position. They're talking about voting me out if they don't see some stability in my personal life. Especially now, with the construction of the new charity hospital."
"Why do they think you're unstable?"
"Because of you, darling," he said simply. "I will always respect your decision to keep our divorce private until you tell me otherwise. But we haven't been seen together in a long time, and people are starting to suspect a crisis. I really hate to ask you this, but—"
Before he could finish, you cut him off. "Do you want to go public with the divorce?"
"No, that's not what I want," Bruce said quickly, reaching across the table to gently brush his fingers against yours. "I hate asking this of you. You must be so tired of being associated with my name, and I have absolutely no right to ask you for anything. But... would you be willing to pretend to be my wife a little longer?"
You let out a sudden, genuine laugh.
"I know it's ridiculous. Please don't laugh at me." Even though you were mocking him, the sound of your laugh was too good to ignore. A soft, relieved smile broke across his face. "I know it might be time to make it public if that's what you want. I'll make the announcement tomorrow if you say the word." He swallowed hard.
"I don't want to, Bruce," you replied, calming down.
You knew you were being selfish. You had asked for the divorce because you were miserable, but that didn't mean you had stopped loving him. Quite the opposite. You just couldn't stand watching the man you loved slowly kill himself for a city that didn't care. It was destroying you, and Bruce loved you too much to keep you trapped in a life that made you suffer.
Playing along with this little fantasy for a few hours wouldn't cure the heartbreak, but it would be enough to ease the ache of missing him.
"I'll help you."
"Thank you, darling."
You shared a soft, lingering smile.
As the food arrived, Bruce began telling you about the charity gala he was hosting in two weeks to raise funds for the Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital. The project wasn't new, but Bruce had never had the time to truly dedicate himself to it before. He explained the details with an excitement you hadn't seen in him in years.
He told you the gala would be held at a luxury estate hotel just outside the city, and that a custom dress would be sent to your apartment.
In a few days, you would be playing the role of Mrs. Bruce Wayne again.
Those two weeks flew by. You and Bruce spoke on the phone a few times, supposedly to go over the details of the event, but the conversations quickly drifted to other things. During one of those late-night calls, Bruce casually mentioned that he hadn't put on the cowl in months. Dick, Jason, and Barbara were handling the streets now. Bruce was only helping with investigations, tech upgrades, and training.
You didn't know how to process that information. It was bittersweet. It was amazing news because it meant Bruce was finally safe, but at the same time, a painful question lingered: Why couldn't he have made this choice when you were still there?
Bruce was asking himself the same thing. Why did he have to lose the love of his life to finally wake up? He felt like an absolute idiot.
But his months of isolation had actually done him some good. He was taking care of himself, keeping a normal routine, and fully committing to his role as CEO. In his free time, he boxed with Dick, played golf with business partners, and spent actual quality time with Alfred. The only thing missing was you.
He was trying to build a life without Batman. He didn't want to get his hopes up about getting you back, but if he could just have you in his life, even as a friend, he would be content.
You were finally nearing the hotel where the gala was being held. Bruce had insisted on sending his driver to pick you up, even though you’d argued that you could easily drive the hour-long trip yourself. It was so easy to fall back into the routine of being his wife. Even from a distance, he always made sure you were taken care of.
The Bentley pulled up to the magnificent hotel entrance. You walked into the stunning lobby, heading straight to the front desk to retrieve your key.
"Good afternoon, I have a reservation under my name." You smiled at the receptionist.
The girl offered a warm, professional smile the moment she saw the name. "Of course, Mrs. Wayne. We've been expecting you." She handed you a gold keycard.
You thanked her and headed to the elevator. A few moments later, you were walking down a quiet, elegantly decorated hallway. When you unlocked the door to the suite, you had to stop and take a breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a gorgeous skyline view. There was a massive living room, a private bar, and a spacious bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed.
Wow.
The bathroom featured a massive soaking tub. The temptation of a hot bath with the complimentary bath oils was too good to pass up, so you immediately started running the water. You didn't bother fully exploring the rest of the suite; you just stripped off your clothes and slid into the warm water.
The bath was so relaxing that you didn't hear the main suite door open or the quiet footsteps moving around the bedroom. Assuming you were completely alone, you eventually stood up, wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, and opened the door, only to gasp in shock as you ran directly into Bruce, who was wearing nothing but his underwear, clearly preparing to take a shower himself.
"Oh my God!" you gasped, stepping back. "How did you get in here?"
"This is my room too, sweetheart." Right. Of course his team wouldn't book separate rooms for a married couple.
That was when the reality of your mutual lack of clothing set in. A flush immediately rushed to your cheeks. Your eyes involuntarily drifted down his muscular chest, mapping the familiar, heavy lines of his body before you forced yourself to look away. He was watching you with a look of pure, unadulterated longing.
You quickly pulled the lapels of your robe tighter, tying the belt into a secure knot. Bruce let out a low, amused chuckle. It was probably a good idea you tied it tight before he lost his mind and did it for you.
"Um... I was just taking a bath," you stammered, completely flustered.
"Yes, I can see that, darling." He had that smug, teasing look on his face. "I was planning on doing the same."
He took a step toward the bathroom, but you both tried to dodge in the same direction, resulting in you bumping right into his chest. His large hands immediately shot out to catch your waist, steadying you.
You were entirely too close. Bruce’s gaze dropped slowly from your eyes to your lips. You bit your bottom lip, trying to catch your breath. His gaze was intense, heavy, and completely hypnotizing. After months of empty space, his lips were only inches away from yours.
Despite the hot bath, a shiver ran down your spine. Your heart was beating so hard you were certain he could feel it pressing against his chest.
With a monumental effort of self-control, Bruce managed to break the spell. If he stayed this close for another second, he was going to ruin everything and kiss you. He cleared his throat, but his fingers lingered on your waist for a fraction of a second, squeezing gently before letting go.
"Your dress is in the closet. You should find everything you need to get ready in there."
"Thank you, Bruce."
He slipped into the bathroom, and the sound of the shower soon filled the room.
The black dress hanging in the closet was breathtaking. You slipped it on, and it hugged your curves perfectly, the built-in corset cinching your waist. You stared at your reflection, admiring how the fabric draped over your hips before eventually taking it off so you could blow-dry your hair and do your makeup.
Just as you were finishing, the bathroom door clicked open, releasing a thick cloud of warm steam. Bruce stepped out, damp and gorgeous. His dark hair was pushed back, water droplets still tracing the ridges of his chest. The white towel slung low on his hips did absolutely nothing to hide the heavy, impressive ridge of his erection.
Your eyes slowly traveled up to meet his. He held your gaze for a second, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his lips, before he quietly disappeared into the closet.
It was going to be a very long night.
The grand ballroom was glowing under the light of massive crystal chandeliers. Gotham's elite mingled with glasses of champagne, and Bruce didn't leave your side for a single second. Together, you greeted the board members. You laughed at their jokes, accepted their compliments, and played the part of the doting wife flawlessly. Years of being Mrs. Wayne had trained you well.
To the rest of the world, you were still the perfect, enviable couple.
Bruce's hand remained firmly anchored on your waist, occasionally squeezing your hip just to remind you he was there. During a quiet moment when he thought you might be overwhelmed by all the prying questions, he leaned in and murmured a soft thank-you. To everyone watching, he was the picture of a devoted, hopelessly in love husband.
The champagne was doing its job, and you were feeling delightfully relaxed. Bruce, who had matched you glass for glass, seemed calmer too.
"Would you do me the honor of this dance?"
The sheer formality of his question made you smile. You arched an eyebrow. "You don't have to ask, Bruce. We probably *should* be dancing. They think we're married, remember?"
"I know," he murmured. His eyes searched yours, that familiar little crease appearing between his brows—the one that only showed up when he was genuinely nervous. "But I'm not asking for the board, or for the cameras. I want to dance with you."
The noise of the ballroom seemed to fade into static. In that moment, all you could see was Bruce. This was the man you had fallen in love with, not the vigilante, not the billionaire. Just Bruce. The gentle, romantic man who had spent the entire night trying not to show how nervous he was just to be near you.
"I'd love to," you whispered.
A beautiful smile broke across his face. He took your left hand, raising it to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. Your heart skipped a beat.
He led you to the dance floor, his hand sliding smoothly to your waist while yours rested on his broad shoulder. Having your fingers laced with his felt so incredibly right.
"Still remember how?" you teased, looking up at him.
Bruce let out a soft laugh. "Of course I do."
Years ago, when you were first dating, you discovered Bruce couldn't dance to save his life. But before the wedding, he had secretly taken private lessons just to surprise you on your big day. Despite the divorce, that memory remained one of the sweetest moments of your life.
"Even with the lessons, you stepped on my feet so many times during our first dance I thought you were doing it on purpose."
"Never on purpose."
"Mm, tell me more."
He held your gaze, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper near your ear. "I think I just wanted an excuse to hold you close for a little longer."
You were supposed to be here to convince the board that Bruce was stable and to keep the press at bay. But it felt like you were slipping right back into a relationship that had ended long before the actual divorce. And you were enjoying it far more than you should.
"Careful, Bruce," you murmured, keeping a playful smile on your face. "People might think you're flirting."
"I thought that was the whole point of tonight," he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel the warm, champagne-scented breath against your cheek. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling your bodies together until there wasn't an inch of space between you.
"To show everyone how completely, hopelessly in love with you I still am," he finished.
You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head to hide how wildly your heart was racing. "You are definitely flirting."
"And you are stunning."
A faint blush crept up your cheeks, and you looked away, pretending to watch the other couples. "You don't look too bad yourself, Wayne."
He smirked, pleased with your answer, his thumb caressing your hip. "Mm, who's flirting now?"
"That wasn't a flirt, Bruce. It was a simple compliment."
"Oh? Please, enlighten me on the difference."
"A flirt has an intention behind it."
"Ah. Well, I definitely have an intention."
"Then you need to be more direct, sweetheart. Lay your cards on the table."
You were definitely flirting now.
"More direct, you say?"
You let out a quiet, teased hum, nodding in agreement. You knew exactly what he wanted, but he was going to have to beg for it.
He chuckled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I was wondering if we could take this happy couple act back to our room, darling. I know you remember how good it is. I want to make sure the board really believes our performance."
"Is the board going to be in our room?"
"No," he murmured, his voice sending a delicious shiver straight down to your thighs. "But I'm positive I can make you scream loud enough for them to hear you from here."
Your breath hitched, your panties instantly growing damp at his words.
"That's me being direct, sweetheart."
"I think we should go upstairs, Bruce."
That single sentence shattered whatever was left of Bruce's self-control. He grabbed your wrist, guiding you out of the ballroom with hurried steps toward the lobby and the elevators.
Bruce pressed the elevator button with an almost childish impatience, as if the repetitive motion would force the elevator to descend faster.
The moment the steel doors opened to the empty cabin, he pulled you inside. Before the doors even clicked shut, he was all over you. The kiss was hot, desperate, and filled with a agonizing slowness, the heavy weight of months of built-up longing.
Your hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer. Bruce let out a needy, ruined groan against your lips, pressing you back against the wall.
"God, I missed you so much," he panted, pulling back just enough to breathe, his dark eyes searching yours.
With a heavy, deliberate movement, he ground his hips against yours. A needy sigh escaped your lips as you felt the thick, rock-hard length of his erection pressing against you through his suit. He wanted you to know exactly what you did to him.
The elevator stopped. The hallway was completely deserted. You pushed him back against your room door, your hands sliding over his damp chest, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Your lips traced his jaw down to the sensitive spot on his neck. Bruce let out a shaky sigh, completely surrendering to your touch.
Your hand slid down his waist, tracing his firm thigh before cupping him through his trousers. Bruce gasped, his entire body locking up under your touch.
"Do you want me to beg for it out here, sweetheart? Do you want me to beg to bury myself inside your wet little cunt, hm?" he whimpered, his voice incredibly thick, his forehead resting against yours as his eyes practically pleaded. "Because I swear to God, I'm already on my knees."
With a quick swipe of the keycard, the door clicked open.
Bruce guided you back until the edge of the mattress hit the back of your knees. You sat down, and he immediately dropped to his knees before you.
There was no rush. He took off your heels, pressing devoued kisses along your calves as he slowly bunched up the fabric of your dress. When your panties were discarded, leaving you bare under the moonlight, Bruce looked up. He didn't move; he just waited, his eyes shining with a quiet, desperate need, begging for your permission. You swallowed hard and nodded.
His first lick was agonizingly slow, tracing up your seam before centering directly on your clit. Bruce touched you like you were holy. You arched off the bed, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling his head closer.
"Do you like this? Do you like having me down here like this?" he mumbled against your wet skin.
"Fuck, Bruce... it's so good," you gasped, your head tossing back.
He alternated between heavy, sucking wet kisses on your clit and sliding two fingers deep inside you. The sensation was overwhelming. Your hips rolled against his face, completely out of your control. Bruce rubbed his hard length against the sheets to ease the ache of his untouched erection, completely dedicated to your pleasure.
Feeling your body tense, he picked up the pace, his tongue working over you while his fingers stretched you out. You hit your climax hard, crying out as you came directly against his mouth, your body shivering.
Bruce pulled back slowly, his face wet with your slick, a dazed, incredibly satisfied smile on his lips.
"I missed eating you out so much, baby," he breathed.
He kept his fingers inside you, feeling the tight, desperate pulses of your aftershocks, enjoying the wet, needy sounds your body was making. His erection looked like it was going to tear through his trousers.
You pulled yourself up to kneel on the bed, bringing yourself to his height. Your fingers began undoing his shirt buttons, one by one, kissing every inch of exposed skin. His broad chest, his sensitive nipples... every touch drew ragged, needy whimpers from his chest. When you finally unzipped his pants and freed his length, Bruce let out a long, broken sigh of relief.
A few seconds later, the rest of your clothes were discarded on the floor. You were both completely bare, vulnerable, and absolutely desperate.
You pushed him down, straddling his thick thighs. Bruce held his breath, his large hands anchoring on your waist, his eyes dark and blown-wide as he stared up at your body. He tilted his head back, giving you total control.
When you slowly slid down his length, burying him inside you, Bruce arched his hips with a long, drawn-out groan.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his hands holding your thighs firmly but gently. "Take it all, sweetheart. I'm yours... I'm all yours."
You started to move slowly, setting the pace. Seeing Bruce Wayne completely undone beneath you, whimpering with eyes wet with pleasure, was the most intoxicating thing you had ever experienced.
"Please, faster... don't stop," he pleaded, his chest heaving.
"What do you want, Bruce?" you teased, slowing your pace on purpose.
"You can use me, darling," he gasped, his eyes rolling back slightly. "Please, fuck, I'm yours."
The surrender in his voice lit a fire in you. You slammed down on him, riding him hard, your nails digging into his broad shoulders. Bruce groaned loudly, completely lost to the feeling. His hand came up to squeeze your breast while the other held your hip, helping you drive the pace.
The wet, slapping sound of your bodies and his loud groans filled the quiet room. He met every downward stroke, creating a perfect, heavy friction. Bruce buried his face in your neck, biting and leaving dark, bruising marks on your skin.
"I'm gonna come..." he whimpered against your ear, his voice completely wrecked.
Your climax hit you first, your tight walls clamping down on his length, and Bruce let out a low, primal roar as he came deep inside you, filling you with thick, hot waves. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he lay there, still trembling beneath you, his hands clutching your hips as if you were his lifeline.
"Fuck...", he muttered under his breath, looking down at where your bodies were still joined.
"Oh my God," you panted, slowly sliding off him. The hot slick immediately began to drip down your inner thighs.
Still shaking, Bruce immediately got out of bed and went to the bathroom, returning a few seconds later with a warm, damp cloth. He knelt between your legs, gently and meticulously wiping you clean with an almost shy tenderness.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with soft concern.
You let out a weak laugh, still trying to catch your breath. "I just had sex with my ex-husband. What do you think, Wayne?"
"I hope that means yes." Bruce smiled warmly, climbing onto the bed beside you. You immediately rested your head against his bare chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart.
"Since you left... I promised myself I wouldn't ask you to come back. Because that's what you asked of me."
"Bruce..."
"But I'm doing everything I can to be a better man. I was a terrible partner to you in the end. You didn't deserve that. I let Batman consume my entire life, and I only realized how much it was destroying you when you actually walked away. I don't know if I deserve your forgiveness, and I know I have no right to ask you to be mine again. But I miss you so much it physically hurts. I feel like a piece of my chest was ripped out. I'm trying to fill my life with other things, but it's completely empty without you."
Bruce’s voice was low, slightly rushed, his heart hammering against your ear. But his eyes looked lighter, relieved to finally confess the heavy truth.
And you felt the exact same way. You had felt that emptiness long before you actually left, back when Batman had swallowed your husband whole.
"I know how you feel, Bruce," you whispered.
Bruce pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His hand slid to your chin, gently tilting your face up until your eyes met. He leaned down, and your lips finally found his in a soft, familiar kiss.
"And I still love you so much. I don't think I'll ever stop. But... our last year of marriage really hurt me. And I think I needed space to figure things out too."
"I know it's not right to ask you to be my wife again right now. But I need you in my life. I love you so much it hurts."
"It shouldn't hurt, Bruce."
"I know, but I need you." His voice sounded thick, almost tearful. "I'm so sorry for making you suffer. I never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart."
"It's okay, Bruce. It's in the past. I think... we can start seeing each other again. Slowly."
For a long moment, he just lay there, silently stroking your hair, letting your words sink in. Then, a small, genuine smile broke across his face.
"Slowly?"
You nodded. "No rush. No impossible promises. Just... one step at a time."
"Okay," Bruce whispered, pulling you closer against his chest. "I'll wait as long as it takes."
a/n: omg over 800 followers??? thank you sm for your support!!! <3 literally can't believe it. This part is almost like a filler part because i wanted some drama before we continued. So next part we will finally get some relationship development if yk what i mean ;)
For the thousandth time that day, you thought about him again.
You shouldn't have. You should have been focusing on your lecture or what your friends were saying. You should have been studying for the quiz you had tomorrow, which you were probably going to fail now.
You definitely shouldn't have been thinking about Frat! Sukuna, or his lidded eyes, that crooked smile that showed off a canine and a dimple.
You were upset that he ghosted you for a week, but now you wish it had been for longer, then maybe you could focus better.
You also barely knew the guy. Sure, the "date" you both had two nights ago resulted in deep conversations, more than just "what's your favorite color", but it still wasn't enough. Not for you, someone who preferred to know the contents of someone's soul before moving further. The thing was, since that day, you and Sukuna had stayed in contact much more.
In fact, the next time you saw him wasn't after a week. And before you saw him, you and him had been texting all day and night. The day would start with a good morning text and end with a goodnight one. You found yourself updating him throughout the day about the most mundane things: "I'm trying a new coffee order today," or "omg just saw this guy trip lol".
It was unnerving to you, how you found yourself wanting, even enjoying, talking to him. Even though his responses wouldn't be anything more than, "nice," you knew in his word the only text a girl would usually get was, "come over." It felt odd knowing he wanted to get to know you outside of just sex.
It was Tuesday now, a day your classes went until 6 PM, so when you finally stepped out the lecture hall, you were exhausted. Despite being so spent, you still needed to study tonight, so you say goodbye to your friends and head to the conscience store to get an energy drink.
And lo and behold, standing in the large cafeteria adjacent to where you were heading, was Ryomen. He was with...fuck, were those girls? And three of them? Why was Ryomen with three girls, and why were they all giggling and batting their lashes at them like he just saved ten puppies from drowning.
Some weird emotion passed through you, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and jealousy. God, you should have known. You should have known that no matter how nervous and sweet he acted around you, he'd still be getting his game on somewhere else. You not wanting a hookup just meant he'd get it from somewhere else.
Every text you'd sent him since Friday echoed back to you. You felt embarrassed and disgusted. You were sleeping late just to text him, you would stop paying attention in class because he'd be texting you about what stupid stunt his frat brothers pulled that day.
And now you felt foolish. Of course there were other girls, there always is.
As you practically stomp to get your drink and get the fuck out, you make eye contact with him, the last thing you wanted. And what confuses you the most is the absolute, genuine horror that passes through his face. He almost jolts back from the girls, especially the one who was rubbing, rubbing, on his bicep.
You quicken your pace until you're outside his line of sight, and quickly buy what you need. You're about to leave when you see Ryomen making his way towards you.
Not on your watch.
You keep walking, it was a good distance to your dorm but you had no intention of stopping until you could smack the door in his face and never speak to him again.
"Y/N, wait! It's not what it looked like!"
It's not what it looked like, yeah, said every stupid guy ever.
You push past the crowd of people, hoping to lose Ryomen, but every turn you make, he follows. And even though you normally loved his tall figure, now it was a huge disadvantage because he caught up to you in just a few more strides. You felt a large hand grab your bicep, soft but enough to stop you in your tracks.
You turn around with maybe too much aggression, because Ryomen actually flinches.
"What? Don't you have an orgy to get back to?"
To your horror, he lets out a laugh, and he must have realized how fucked up that is given the situation, and snaps his mouth shut.
"What could possibly be funny right now?"
"Sorry, I just-," he stops, as if figuring out what to say next, "I swear it's not what it looked like."
"No, Ryomen, it's exactly what it looked like. You think you can have every other girl you want and me?"
And again, this fucker smirks.
"So I have you then?"
You splutter in anger, "That's what you're focused on right now!? Not the fact that I saw three girls around you? One of them was caressing you!?"
"C'mon, let's go sit somewhere so I can explain," he tries to direct you somewhere quieter, but you don't let him, slapping his hand away.
"No, I'm heading to my dorm."
"Y/N, I don't even know their names."
"Oh yeah, that makes it better," you say as you continue walking, him right behind you. And then you stop suddenly, and he trips as you whip around.
"You know, I knew I shouldn't have given you a chance, you're just like every other frat guy."
"Do you wanna know where I was headed?"
"What?"
He stares at you softly, which is completely opposite to the absolute fire in your eyes. It's like your personalities switched. You were normally calm, and he was the fiery one.
"I was coming to pick you up from your class, but they stopped me and asked if I was coming to some stupid sorority event this weekend," he explains calmly.
"So what? You just stood there and let them stick their hands in your pants?"
"No one's hand was anywhere near my pants."
"Ok Ryomen, I don't care, just let me go home."
"Not until you say you believe me."
"You know, technically I don't have to believe you because we're not anything," you stop to gesture between you two, "there isn't anything here, and I was stupid to assume just because you fed me one time it meant something."
He looks visibly upset at that and opens and closes his mouth a few times. You take that as your answer and continue walking.
You're right outside your building now, Ryomen is still hot on your trail. Even when you plan to smack the doors in his face or try to shut the elevator before he can get in, he follows you all the way to your dorm room.
"I'm not letting you in, so you're better off just leaving," you fumed, sliding the key into its lock.
You realized he hasn't spoken for the past five minutes, ever since you said the two of you "had nothing".
"Y/N, please listen," his voice was softer, there was almost a plead in it.
When you turned around you saw his eyebrows were slightly knit together, and he couldn't decide whether to keep his hands in his pockets or not.
"Ryomen, if you're just gonna make up a bullshit lie, I really don't want to hear it because I genuinely don't have time to waste."
"I'm not lying, I swear," he runs a hand through his hair, "I really was coming to your class, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get food, but they just stopped me out of nowhere."
He looked like he actually wanted you to believe him. The way he was almost frantic in his speech, while his eyes flickered all over your face for any possible reaction. It made the anger in your chest die down.
"Okay, let's say you're telling the truth. Is this really what I just have to put up with then? You said you wanted to get to know me, and we talk all the time like this might actually be going somewhere! But if I'm going to always have to worry about other girls, I don't think this can continue."
Just a week ago, you didn't think you'd be upset over seeing him with a few girls. And now you were talking about some "actually going somewhere". When did things get so deep?
"I don't get it." He announces.
"Get what?"
"You say we're nothing but then say something different later. You said there isn't anything between us but you're clearly upset I was talking to other girls. Which one is it?"
Oh.
He got you there.
You're at a loss for words, and instead your mechanism clicks into place to defend yourself.
"T-that's not what this is about!"
"That's exactly what this is about, Y/N." His voice is more stern now. He takes a deep breath in like he's preparing to give a speech, "I'm not gonna say I'm the best guy you could be giving your attention to. Hell, I'm probably at the bottom of the list. But what I know is no woman has ever made me wanna change. Fuck, the word alone makes me shiver."
You're now awkwardly standing in front of your room, part of you wanting to go in and smack the door in his face. The other half wanted to hear him out.
"I'm trying here, okay. And I know I'll fuck up probably a thousand times before you earn my full trust; it's just who I am. But I promise, I'm trying. Even if it's just friends, I don't care. I just-," he looks visibly horrified by his own words, like each one requires great strength to get out, "I like talking to you, and hanging around you. So just hear me out."
You would have to be the stupidest girl on planet earth — and for all other planets for that matter — to turn around on him now. You knew you had him wrapped around your finger when he showed up at your dorm on a Friday night with food and a confession of getting nervous around you. But now he was practically spilling his heart's contents, and from what you knew about the man, it was very out of character.
Ryomen Sukuna was known for casual hookups, not calling girls back, and just overall being a stereotypical fuckboy. So him saying "I like hanging around you" means you've definitely got into his head somehow.
"Fine," is all you say.
"Fine? That's it?" He looks almost offended.
"I'll give it a try, Ryomen, since you practically begged me," a smirk forms on your lips.
He splutters, "I did not beg?!"
You laugh at the slight pink coating the tops of his cheeks.
"I'm kidding. How about you take me out this weekend, you know, make it up to me for causing all this distress?"
"Y'know, usually women don't ask to get asked out," he folds his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing under his shirt.
"Someone has to be the man here." You lean against your doorframe, trying not to salivate at his muscles.
At this, he laughs, a deep rumble that unfortunately shoots straight down, your face heating up.
"Okay, I'll be here Saturday at 5, look pretty."
"I always look pretty."
He smiles, "Can't argue with that."
And with that, you once again somehow give him a chance. You knew you were stepping into dangerous waters, but something about the thrill excited you.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
a/n: finally after weeks of being insanely busy I've managed to get a part out! i already started working on the next part so keep an eye out! Also pls don't comment for a tag in the next part, the tag list is closed! But feel free to follow to stay updated. And tysm everyone for your support I'm glad people are liking the series!
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this is my original work, no ai used. please do not claim as your own. - @maroonskiesfrvr 2026
Bucky being weirded out by his pregnant wife’s (reader) pregnancy cravings and tries it and he ends up kinda liking it
Bucky had seen a lot of horrifying things in his lifetime.
Hydra experiments. Alien invasions. Gas station sushi at three in the morning.
Even with all those, there is not a thing in the world that could have prepared him for walking into the kitchen at midnight to find his pregnant wife dipping dill pickles into a bowl of melted chocolate ice cream.
He stopped dead in the doorway.
“You’re joking.”
You looked up from your spot perched on the counter, oversized sweatshirt stretched over your rounded stomach. “I’m not.”
Bucky stared at the combination in your hands like it had personally offended him. “Baby, that is a crime.”
“It’s delicious.”
“It’s disgusting.”
You took a loud, deliberate crunch before dragging the pickle through another swirl of chocolate. “You’re just closed-minded.”
“I’m not closed-minded,” he argued. “I’m sane.”
The look you gave him was deeply unimpressed.
Pregnancy cravings had become a regular occurrence over the last few months, but this one might’ve been the worst yet. Earlier that week, you’d cried because the diner down the street stopped serving curly fries after ten. Two nights ago, you’d demanded peanut butter toast with hot sauce at one in the morning. Bucky had made it without complaint because he adored you, but even then he’d looked mildly traumatized.
This though?
This was villain behavior.
“You want some?” you asked sweetly.
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did think about it,” he said. “I thought absolutely not.”
You shrugged, entirely unbothered, and continued eating while Bucky made himself tea. He kept glancing over his shoulder at you with increasing suspicion.
The worst part was the sound.
Crunch.
Then the soft scrape of pickle against ice cream.
Crunch.
It shouldn’t have smelled good together, but somehow the salty tang mixed with the sweetness in a way that kept making his nose twitch.
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“I literally offered you some.”
“You’re trying to trick me.”
“James Buchanan Barnes,” you gasped dramatically. “I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
You grinned around another bite.
God, you looked cute.
That was the problem. You could be sitting there eating drywall and he’d still think you were adorable.
Pregnancy looked painfully good on you too, which Bucky tried not to think about too hard unless he wanted to combust on the spot. The softness in your cheeks, the glow in your skin, the way your stomach curved beneath his shirts—it made him emotional in ways he couldn’t explain.
He crossed the kitchen and settled between your spread knees automatically, large hands resting on your hips.
“How’s our girl tonight?” he asked, rubbing your belly gently.
Right on cue, the baby kicked.
Bucky’s entire face softened instantly.
“There she is,” he murmured.
You smiled down at him, carding your fingers through his hair. “She’s been moving all night.”
“Probably trying to escape because of what you’re feeding her.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious,” he said solemnly. “She’s fighting for her life in there.”
You laughed so hard you nearly snorted, and Bucky felt his chest tighten with affection. He loved making you laugh lately. Loved seeing you happy when pregnancy had been exhausting on your body.
Then you held the pickle toward him again.
“One bite.”
“No.”
“One.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You made me try sardines.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“You weren’t pregnant and emotionally unstable.”
Your mouth dropped open in betrayal.
Bucky grinned.
“You’re evil,” you informed him.
“Maybe.”
But you kept staring at him with those big hopeful eyes, and unfortunately for him, Bucky Barnes had never been capable of denying you much of anything.
Especially now.
Especially when you were carrying his child.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward.
“One bite,” he warned.
Your face lit up triumphantly.
“Oh my god, yes.”
“This better not ruin my life.”
“It’ll change your life.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
You guided the pickle toward his mouth like you were feeding a wild animal. Bucky took the smallest possible bite, already grimacing before he’d even tasted it.
Sweet chocolate.
Cold vanilla.
Sharp vinegar.
Salty pickle.
His eyebrows furrowed immediately.
You watched him expectantly. “Well?”
Bucky chewed slowly.
Then paused.
Then frowned harder.
Because the horrifying part was—
“…it’s not terrible.”
You gasped like he’d just confessed his love all over again.
“I knew it!”
“No, hold on—”
“I knew it,” you repeated louder.
“It’s weird.”
“But good.”
He hesitated.
“…a little.”
Your victory screech echoed through the apartment.
Before Bucky could defend himself, you shoved another bite toward him and he actually accepted it this time, which was probably his first mistake.
His second mistake was taking a bigger bite.
Because somehow it worked.
The crunch with the creaminess. The salty and sweet together.
Bucky looked deeply disturbed by his own reaction.
“I hate this.”
“You love it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He pointed accusingly at you. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone about this.”
“Too late. I’m telling Sam immediately.”
“Baby.”
“I’m putting it in the baby book.”
Bucky groaned, resting his forehead against your stomach while you laughed. He could feel the vibrations of it beneath his cheek, warm and alive and so overwhelmingly you.
After a moment, your laughter softened.
“You really don’t think I’m gross?” you asked quietly.
Bucky looked up immediately.
“What?”
“The cravings. The crying. Me waking you up at weird hours.” You gave a tiny shrug. “I know pregnancy’s kinda… weird.”
His expression melted so fast it made your chest ache.
“Doll,” he said gently, sliding his hands over your thighs. “You’re growing our baby. You could ask me to grill a watermelon at four in the morning and I’d do it.”
You snorted.
“Actually,” he added thoughtfully, “that might be better than the pickle thing.”
You laughed again, and Bucky leaned forward to kiss you softly.
Sweet chocolate still lingered on your lips.
“…Okay,” he muttered against your mouth. “Maybe give me another pickle.”
Your eyes widened in delight.
“Oh, you are SO obsessed with this now.”
“I’m literally not.”
“Sure, honey.”
Bucky sighed dramatically as you handed him another chocolate-covered pickle.
Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.
Word count - 2.7k
⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.
Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.
It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.
You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.
It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.
Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.
Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.
That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.
He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts.
Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.
You just wished she would settle with both parents.
It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.
“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.
Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.
“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.
You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.
“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”
You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”
Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”
He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.
You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.
Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.
He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.
He wanted to help.
The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.
You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.
“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”
“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself.
You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.
“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.
It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.
You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.
“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”
You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.
He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly.
You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.
“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.
Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence.
This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.
“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”
Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”
You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.”
“Eat.”
The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”
He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.
Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.
Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.
“Knows what?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.
His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”
“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”
The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”
You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.
You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”
His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.
You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.
“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”
“Unsafe?”
His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.
You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.
“Eat.”
Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.
You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.
Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.
After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”
You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.
Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?
“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”
The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.
Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.
“Don’t cry—”
“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”
He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.
The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.
He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”
“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”
He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.
“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.
Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.
“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.
And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.
Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.
“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”
He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.
Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.
A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️
MINOR DO NOT INTERACT.
Pairing: idolbf!Song Mingi x gf!reader
Word count: 1.8k
Genre: Smut, Pheromone/Scent Kink, Overstimulation, Praise/Service.
Content and Warnings: This story explores intense sensory and chemical overstimulation. It features Primal/Pheromone-driven reactions leading to a total loss of physical and mental composure. Key elements include Vocal Distress (whimpering, sobbing, and crying from pleasure), Overstimulation/Premature Release (coming in his pants from the scent alone), and a Power-Flip where Mingi baby becomes too “fucked in the brain” to lead, resulting in the reader taking control through Cowgirl/Riding. Notable details include heavy Oral/Nipple Fixation (lapping/huffing the scent from the reader’s chest), Praise (“Princess”), and a “drunk” state of delirium. The narrative contains explicit language, messy sexual mechanics, and high-intensity emotional vulnerability.
Please note: For mature audiences only due to explicit sexual overstimulation and “sensory drunk” behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
A/N: Another one and the extended Mingi version of Invisible Leash or the pheromone perfume before the 2025 ends. Sorry but I really do have a thing for sub Mingi. He can’t be dom in my fantasy world. Hongjoong will be next and I’m off for another fic though Woo (manager reader) will be postponed still for some reason. Feel free to send me messages and thoughts! ❤️
Mingi had been rambling for ten minutes about a new choreography sequence, his hands moving animatedly as he paced the living room. You were sitting on the sofa, leaning back just enough to expose the skin of your chest where you had applied the pheromone perfume. You knew his habits; you knew that when he finally sat down, he’d seek out your warmth.
The shift happened mid-sentence. He stopped pacing, his nose twitching as the scent finally reached him. He went quiet, his tall frame swaying slightly as he inhaled. The air in the room suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter. He didn’t sit next to you. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the floor right between your legs. He looked up at you, his eyes already beginning to glaze over, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the iris.
“Princess…” He breathed, the word barely a whisper.
He didn’t wait for permission. He leaned forward, burying his face directly between your breasts, his nose pressing into the skin you’d prepared for him. The effect was instantaneous. Mingi let out a long, shaky whimper—a sound of pure, unadulterated need that seemed to vibrate through his entire body. He began to lap at your skin, his tongue tracing the lines where the perfume was strongest. He was breathless, his chest heaving against your knees. As the scent flooded his senses, he became completely overwhelmed. You felt something wet hit your skin and realized he was actually tearing up—he was so overstimulated by the pheromones and his own skyrocketing desire that his eyes were overflowing.
“It’s too much,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “You smell... You smell like everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t breathe.”
He was whimpering like a mess now, his large, calloused hands gripping your thighs so tightly that he was practically anchoring himself to you. He looked like he was in pain, but the kind of pain he never wanted to end. He kept his face buried against you, hidden from the world, as he let out broken, sobbing breaths of pure want. He looked up at you once more, his face flushed and tear-streaked, his expression one of total surrender.
“Please,” he whispered, his hands sliding up to your waist, “don’t make me wait. I’m going to lose it. I’m already losing it.”
He didn’t care about the movie on the TV or the conversation he’d been having. He was a man drowning, and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. He pulled you down toward him, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was desperate, salty with his tears, and heavy with the scent of your trap.
Mingi was completely far gone, his large frame trembling as he stayed on his knees between your legs. The air in the room was thick, saturated with the scent of the pheromones and the heavy, humid heat of his breath. He couldn’t stop the whimpering; it was a primal sound, one that came from deep in his chest every time he inhaled.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy as he looked up at you. He looked devastated, his lips swollen and wet as he tried to catch his breath.
“What did you do to me?” He whispered, his voice cracking. “I feel like I’m dying and coming back to life at the same time.”
His hands, usually so confident, were shaking as he reached up to cup your face. He didn’t wait for an answer before he went back to your chest, his forehead resting against your collarbone. He was lapping at the skin of your breast again, his tongue tracing the curve where the scent was most concentrated. He was so overwhelmed with the emotions and the physical pull that he let out a frustrated, needy sob, his fingers digging into the cushions of the sofa on either side of your hips.
“I love it,” he choked out, the words muffled against your skin. “I hate how much I love it. I can’t move. I just want to stay right here and breathe you in until I pass out.”
He shifted his weight, pressing the heavy, pulsing length of himself against your leg, a fresh wave of tears escaping his eyes at the sheer friction. He was a mess—a beautiful, desperate, crying mess. He began to trail his mouth up to your neck, his kisses frantic and uncoordinated, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he felt your heart racing just as fast as his.
“Princess, please,” he begged, his voice dropping into that deep, chest-vibrating register that always made your stomach flip.
“I need... I need more. I can’t stay on the floor anymore. I need to be inside you or I’m going to break.”
He didn’t wait. He surged upward, his large arms hooking under your thighs to drag you to the edge of the sofa. He didn’t care about being gentle or smooth; he was acting on pure, pheromone-driven instinct. He buried his face back into your chest one last time, taking a massive, lung-filling breath of the scent before he captured your lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and desperation.
Mingi didn’t even give you a chance to steady yourself. He stood up, his tall frame looming over you, and in one swift, desperate motion, he hauled you off the sofa. You wrapped your legs instinctively around his waist, and he let out a jagged breath, his face immediately finding that sweet spot on your chest again. He carried you toward the bedroom, but he didn’t make it all the way to the bed. He stumbled, his knees hitting the carpeted floor halfway there, but he didn’t care. He was too weak, too overwhelmed to stand any longer. He laid you back, hovering over you with his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to find his rhythm.
“You smell so good, it hurts,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he looked down at you. His face was still flushed, his damp eyelashes sticking together. “It’s everywhere. I can’t get away from it.”
His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers fumbling with the fabric because they were shaking so badly. When he finally cleared the material away, he let out a sound that was half-sob, half-groan. He didn’t just kiss you; he pressed his entire face into your skin, inhaling so deeply it felt like he was trying to pull the pheromones directly into his bloodstream. He began to trail his mouth lower, his teeth grazing your ribs, his hands wandering restlessly over your hips. Every time his skin brushed against a part of you where the perfume lingered, he’d let out another one of those high, needy whimpers. He was a man possessed, his usual swagger replaced by a raw, naked vulnerability.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice a wrecked shadow of itself as he moved back up to your lips. “Whatever you’re doing to me, Princess... Don’t you dare stop.”
He kissed you with everything he had—all the bottled-up desire, the chemical intoxication, and the overwhelming love he felt for you. The room was silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft, repetitive whimpers that escaped him every time he caught a fresh wave of your scent. By the time he finally pulled you closer, merging his body with yours, he was a shaking, sweaty, beautiful mess. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his tears long dried but his eyes still glazed with that intense, pheromone-driven haze, whispering your name over and over like a prayer until the sun started to peek through the curtains.
Mingi was far past the point of no return. As he hovered over you on the bedroom floor, the friction of his movements and the sheer, overwhelming pull of the pheromones had pushed his body to its absolute limit before he even touched your skin. When he shifted to pull his clothes away, you saw it—the dark, heavy dampness staining the front of his pants. He had literally lost control, coming right there in his clothes from the pure, overstimulating agony of wanting you so badly. He looked down at himself, a thick, frustrated sob escaping his throat.
“Look at me,” he choked out, his voice a wrecked, watery mess. “I’m such a mess, Princess. I couldn’t even—I couldn’t even wait. You smell so good I’m losing my fucking mind.”
He didn’t care about the mess. He was “fucked in the brain,” his eyes unfocused and glazed with a level of lust that bordered on insanity. He moved over you, his movements clumsy and heavy, fucking you with a sloppy, desperate urgency. He wasn’t the smooth, cool rapper everyone else saw; he was just a man drowning in the scent of your skin. His breath was coming in ragged hitches, his forehead pressed against yours as he moved, his sweat dripping onto your cheeks.
“Talk to me,” he gasped, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “Tell me I’m yours. Tell me you did this to me on purpose.”
You noticed right then that he was too far gone to lead. He was drifting, his head lolling back as he inhaled the scent from your neck, his body moving on pure, frantic instinct. You reached up, grabbing his broad shoulders and flipping him over until his back hit the carpet. He let out a startled, needy groan, his hands immediately reaching for your waist to pull you down onto him.
“Please,” he whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut. “Please, don’t stop. I need you to take over. I can’t... I can’t think anymore.”
You straddled him, and as you sank down, Mingi’s head thrashed back against the floor. You started to ride him, setting a slow, agonizing pace that made him cry out your name like a prayer. He reached up, his large hands trembling as they cupped your breasts, pulling you down so he could bury his face in them once more. He began lapping at your wet skin again, his tongue frantic as it tasted the mix of your sweat and the pheromone perfume. He was making those high, broken whimpering sounds, his tears wetting your chest as he spiraled deeper into the haze.
“You’re so cruel,” he whispered against your skin, his voice muffled and thick with emotion. “You knew what this would do. You knew I’d break for you.”
“Do you like it, Mingi?” You asked, leaning down to whisper in his ear, your hair falling around him like a curtain.
“I hate it,” he sobbed, even as he arched his hips up to meet yours, his hands squeezing your thighs until his knuckles were white. “I hate how much I need it. Don’t ever stop. Just keep going... keep making me crazy. I want to die like this.”
The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. He was completely undone, a weeping, desperate mess beneath you, his eyes rolled back as he surrendered every bit of his will to the scent and the feeling of you taking charge. He didn’t want the night to end; he wanted to stay trapped in this pheromone-induced fever dream forever, with you riding him into total oblivion.
