#Johnny does not look amused in the slightest
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Cod Threesomes
Requested: No
Warnings/Additional Tags: GN!Reader, Smut, Threesomes, Anal, Oral (M receiving), light choking, Implied polyam relationships, Fingering, Voyeurism, Biting
A/N: I need to be sedated, I spaced out for 2 seconds then suddenly I had a thousand words.
Gaz & Price
“Tha’s it, Love. Taking it so well.” Gaz pants, head buried in the crook of your neck, hands gripping at your hips so tight that it hurt a little bit. “Just….Just a little more.” He tells you, carefully sliding his cock in the slightest inch more, sending your eyes rolling back into your skull.
“Can’t.” You say, digging your nails into his biceps, clinging to him for dear life, teary eyes darting behind him to look into the deep ocean blue of Price’s gaze. “T-Too much.”
“Nonsense.” The older man grunts, and you could feel the way he humped harder into Kyle, your boyfriend choking on a gasp, twitching above you so hard you were almost worried, a string of drool slipping off his lips and splattering onto your chest, making you jump. “You’ve taken it before, you’ll take it again.”
“M-might help if you go just a little slower.” Kyle says, yelping when his words earned him a heavy handed smack to the ass, Price’s big hand squeezing the now tender skin to prolong the initial sting, thumb pulling aside the cheek so his superior could look down and see where his cock was disappearing into Gaz’s hole.
“I know what’s best, for both of you.” Price grunts, his free hand going to wrap loosely around your throat, both you and Gaz’s eyes going glassy when he does, blunt nails scraping against your skin. “We do things my way, or no way.”
A resounding “yes, sir.” was all you both could say in return.
Ghost & Soap
“So pretty, Love.” Soap cooed in your ear, warm hands rubbing at your hips, his knees spreading your legs open wide, your back to his chest and his dripping cock rubbing against your ass as Ghost’s lubed up fingers work you open, scissoring the thick digits inside your warm opening. “Taking his fingers so well, can’t wait to see you take his cock.”
You whimper at his words, feeling them burn through you like a heat flash, settling thick and sticky in your lower belly. Your pathetic sounds combined with your little squirms seemed to amuse Simon, if the smirk on what little of his face you could see was any indication.
“If they’ll be able to take my cock.” He snorts, a hint of amusement in his voice, curving his fingers inside you to stroke at a particularly sensitive area inside of you. “Having a hard time even taking just these two fingers, and my cock is so much bigger.” He teases, free hand going down to wrap around his cock, stroking it slowly before squeezing it at the base, your eyes glued to the scene with hunger.
“Ach, now you’re just underestimating them.” Johnny says, letting you feel the smile on his face as he presses his lips to your neck, darting his tongue out to lick the sweat dripping down your jugular. “Sweet thing like this, they’ll take it just fine. Just need a little extra work to open em up.” He says, trailing a hand over your belly and down between your legs, slipping in one of his fingers right between Simon’s, gripping your hip tighter when you try to arch them up, your head dropping back to rest on his shoulder. “I know, Love. It’s a lot to take, but you’ll take it. You’ll take all of us and beg for more. I promise.”
Horangi & König
“Shit, you’re tight.” König huffed above you, teeth bared in a snake that would be terrifying in any other situation, just like the hand he had clasped around your neck, feeling his co-worker’s cock plow into your gullet, a wet “shlick”ing sound echoing from not just between your legs but from your mouth as well, he’d love to see the tears he know are escaping your eyes, but frustratingly was unable to with how far back your head was tilted. You were probably getting light headed, he hoped you wouldn’t pass out again. “How’s their mouth feel?”
“Like Heaven.” Horangi grunted, eyes hazy with lust, leaned forward with his forehead resting against König’s shoulder, sharp teeth nipping at his flesh, narrowly avoiding drawing blood. “Wet, tight, h-heaven.” He stutters, grabbing at König’s hip, digging blunt nails into him to try and avoid cumming just from the way your throat pulsed around him.
“Yeah?” König cooed, rubbing his thumb over the vague outline of Horangi’s cock, searching for the sensitive head while he used his other hand to play with your pebbled nipples, occasionally pinching and pulling at them harshly just to make you squeal, the sounds vibrating up Horangi’s cock and making his eyes roll back, his hips jerking harder and faster, chasing his fast approaching orgasm.
“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it. So good.” Hong-Jin groaned, tilting his head back when König started to mouth at his pale neck in return, sucking and biting til a dark bruise was sure to be left, settling his hands on your sides, drifting them down to your thighs and kneading at your flesh. “Make ‘em cum, prince. Want to feel how tight they’ll squeeze me when they’re overridden with pleasure.”
Alejandro & Rudy
“Slower.” Alejandro purred beside you, swirling a glass of mezcal before tipping it back to take a gulp, his eyes burning through you the whole time as you struggled to keep an even pace on Rudy’s lap, thighs slick with sweat and shaking from exertion. The new pace somehow even more torturous than before, even with your lover’s hands firmly on your hips and his lips trailing along your jaw.
“Good. Doing so good, Tesoro.” Rudy mumbled against your skin, his breathing heavy before his tongue darts out to lick a thick line across your throat, thumbs digging into your hips lines. “I know it’s hard but you’re doing great, just keep listening to Alejandro.”
You nod more out of instinct than actual understanding, lust inebriating you more than any alcohol, leaving you sticky and pliant between the two of them, a little puppet with your strings wrapped around their fingers.
“Bite them.” Was Alejandro’s next order, less than half a second before Rudy dug his teeth into your shoulder, making you let out a long whine that you tried to muffle by burying your mouth into Rudy’s hair, only to be met by a loud ‘tch’ and Alejandro’s stern voice snapping at you. “No no no, stop that.” He said, clicking his fingers to get your attention. “You don’t get to muffle those pretty noises of yours. I want to hear them loud and clear, Angel. Try to do that again and I’ll have to find another way to preoccupy that mouth of yours.”
#cod#call of duty#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#John price#john price x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x reader#Kim Horangi hong-jin#Kim Horangi hong-jin x reader#König#könig x reader#Alejandro Vargas#alejandro vargas x reader#rudy parra#rudy parra x reader
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Johnny cage hcs with a fem reader whos a princess or god?
Johnny with a princess? hell yes tw: afab pronouns used
Johnny met her during his trip to Outworld and he was quite smitten with her
Her status did not intimidate the overzealous actor in the slightest. In fact he would jest that he was practically royalty where he came from
She would find this amusing along with nearly everything else about this eccentric Earthrealmer
Though this interest is not appreciated by her parents or the royal court and they are quite displeased with Johnny's behaviors
It matters little though as the princess always seems to be in conversation with the actor; he often sought her out
He makes her laugh, bubbly and joyous with his flirting and jokes that she cannot understand
She often asks him about his movies and all the weird references he brings up
Johnny will explain them and she mostly stares at him confused and dazed but she does in fact enjoy these talks
Very sly and slick Johnny acts the princess on a date with a wink and smirk. He looks positively suave and ridiculous. She of course agrees
Her family do not, however, and they are keen on keeping this rowdy Earthrealmer away from their precious princess
It hardly works out. Even though, Johnny is dragged out of the palace and thrown to the street that doesn't stop him
He scales the wall to get to her bedroom, panting and out of breath as he strains to pull himself up through the window
Johnny places it off well, hands on his hips and pretending that he isn't completely winded
The pair sneak away into the night, exploring its life and wonders. Johnny is enthusiastic in partying and making sure this usually tamed princess as a great time too
He and the princess end up sharing a kiss and Johnny graciously guides her though it
Their night ends and Johnny sneaks her back to the palace where he acts cool and steady or at least he tries to give that off
Soon he is melting when the princess gives him a rather chaste kiss on the cheek before leaving
He grins like a boy again, hand rubbing where her lips had been before dreamily sauntering away
It is not all paradise, however, soon the princess is assigned someone to marry and their romance is threatened with destruction
Worst yet, Johnny has no way of getting to the princess he has come to care for because her guards have thrown him into cells
She knows nothing of this and thinks Johnny has merely left her and their relationship behind. That is what her family is telling her anyway
But Johnny isn't the type to just accept his fate and tries to form a plan of escape
A plan he has but nothing ever really goes expected and it's a bit of wild chase until he bursts into the wedding, glasses broken and shirt torn
He would say something cheeky about objecting to this marriage before punching the fiancé away from her, leaving the princess stunned
Johnny ends up making a daring escape with his princess and by daring, it is the two of them running like hell out of there
She is disgraced from her family and Outworld but there is no need to fret. Johnny takes her back to Earthrealm with him
It is definitely a culture shock but she is amazed by this new place and is quick to crave its knowledge
While Johnny makes movies about the combat between the realms, she is right there with him and when she isn't she is watching all of Johnny's movies and laughing at how zany they are
It is a simple existence but Johnny and her are very happy that they can finally be together and together they will stay
#mortal kombat#mk1 2023#mortal kombat fanworks#mortal kombat headcanons#mk1#mortal kombat x reader#johnny cage#johnny cage x reader
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anticipation | back to m.list
つ johnny's been counting down the days, how longs it been now since you've last touched him?
cws: handjob, he finishes in ur mouth
ever since participating in the steel ball run and finding out about the corpse parts, johnny's constantly been tailed by assassins
unfortunately for him, this also meant moments of privacy were hard to come by. not that privacy means anything to him once he gets desperate enough though
johnny's easily carried away like that, especially when he's eager to get his dick wet.
still you'd repeatedly save him from dealing with the embarrassment of getting caught by gyro, meaning you're left constantly testing his patience and holding off. making it so the next time you'd finally put your hands on him, he'd already been itching for it for too long
it's nothing short of helpless—and god is he impatient, hastily wrapping one of his hands around your arm thats touching him, egging you on.
eyes fluttering shut n brows slightly furrowing just from the pressure that you're applying to his fully clothed cock. “ hey, eyes on me,” you coo and without a second thought he blinks them open again, looking as needy as ever. your heart sinks to your stomach,
so pretty.
you hadn't even started yet and he's acting as if he's a virgin again, getting worked up over nothing. usually you'd get cocky and tease him for it, but can you really blame him? it's been such a long time after all.
“…shit, please,” he hurriedly complains “ touch it,” deciding you were taking way too long to play with his flushed dick. it's near impossible not to indulge him when he gets like this, so the next moment your hands r swiftly traveling down his boxers, ready to please.
when your fingers brush the tip you find yourself biting back a chuckle, it's so damn wet, leaking like a faucet. you don't make it noticable to him though, how amusing you find it that he's this excited, it'd bruise his ego just the slightest bit.
throughout it all he's so whiny and cute. shaky sighs, small desperate whimpers along with cries of “ 's so good” and a few calls of your name, johnny's never shy of letting you know how well you're doing for him.
he's getting closer, you can tell and your grasp around him gets a little tighter, your strokes a lil’ faster.
his head tilts back a bit “you're gonna make me fuckin' cum,” he mutters and it's your favourite part, he's always so messy getting off.
steadily continuing your fast strokes you lean your head all the way down and start kissing at the plush of his thigh, which he can't feel entirely well (sorry lmao), yet the sight of your head between his thighs alone is almost entirely enough to make him shoot his load all over your pretty face.
deciding to take things a bit further, you take him into your mouth and johnny's mean habit of pushing your head down while he cums kicks in. then finally, white pools on your tongue & there’s this huge sense of achievement that rushes over u, just like it does each time you get him to finish.
while struggling to down his load, you feel his hand stroking your hair as if he's trying to appease you. Like it's an apology for making you choke on it.
his eyes are tightly shut and he's barely making a sound anymore except for his soft irregular breathing. You don't have the heart to interrupt him, keeping him in your mouth 'til whenever he sees fit.
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tiffany: woman who was abandoned as a lil kid and would now do ANYTHING to be seen as valuable and lovable by ANYONE, including putting herself in the line of danger. will annoy people into giving her attention, adores anyone who gives her any neutral/positive attention. rough and tumble tomboy sort, but can be SO loving if someone is loving towards her. very henchgirl coded, love language of acts of crimes i mean service. (plop her into any verse btw, no need to keep it pacrim. ;3 )
So this is.... More than 100 words. I hope you enjoy!
-
Energy thrums through her veins as she makes her way downstairs, settling at the worn old table. She’d like to think she’s hiding it well, but judging by the suspicious glances John, Henry, and her mom shoot her, she’s really not. Henry’s eyes linger on her the longest, sharp and assessing, and just a bit fearful. Which is ridiculous, really; she’s only pranked him like once (okay, maybe twice, but the second time it was really more payback, so). In any case, he has nothing to worry about this morning. Unlike some people.
She smiles back brightly. “Hiya! Did you sleep okay?”
“Should I not have?”
“No, I just-”
The sound that slips from her mom’s lips can only be called a snort. It’s quick, soft, a moment there and gone in a heartbeat, but it’s enough to let Tiffany know that someone else has come down to breakfast.
“Nikola, what a-delightfully bold look!” There’s only the slightest wobble to her mom’s voice, just a hint of amusement. “I could never pull it off myself, of course, but I think on you it’s quite-” She pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Memorable.”
Henry finally dares look away from Tiffany to see what’s going on, and Tiffany takes that as her cue to look at her masterpiece: every hair on Nikola Tesla’s head, now electric blue. (In her defense, who uses blue shampoo? It’s like he was asking for someone to slip color into it. And, hey, he likes electricity, right? Electric blue should be perfect for him.) His lips are pressed tightly together, irritation written across his face.
Silence falls across the room for five long seconds. Then, John breaks, laughing loud and full. The others follow suit, and Tiffany inhales, letting their joy wash over her. Man, she’s never going to let Tesla forget about this.
The man in question scowls, turning to John. “Johnny, can you please control your daughter?” He snaps, and the humor drains from Tiffany in a heartbeat, replaced with ice cold dread.
Because John’s-John’s great, and he married her mom, and he makes her mom happy. He’s good to them, to all of them, and he treats them like absolute royalty. But she knows-she knows better than to think that he-
He-
He had a daughter, once. Had. Lost. Never even got to bury. He may love Tiffany, may protect her and spend time with her and give her what she needs, but that doesn’t mean she has the right to call him dad. Only one girl ever had that right, and Tiffany knows she’ll never be able to compare. John’s going to get mad at Tesla, they’re going to fight, and then Dr. Magnus will be mad at all of them, and it’ll all be Tiffany’s fault.
“Sweetheart?” John says suddenly, and Tiffany pauses, gathering herself. He always does that: tosses out pet names for them, with ease but not with flippancy, like-like he means them.
She swallows. “Yeah?”
“Dark green for next time, hm?” He smiles at her, warm and fond, and she shoves a bite of food in her mouth to hide the sob that works its way up her chest and into her throat. He isn’t angry; he’s amused and happy, and he loves her, and he didn’t argue when Tesla called her his daughter, and maybe, just maybe, this is real.
He trades a glance with her mom that’s all sappy and loving, and Tiffany pretends to roll her eyes, but she doubts she’s convincing anyone.
(There is another glance she does not-will not-see: A half smile, there and gone in an instant, from a man born of lightning and loneliness, who has always been too much and not enough all at once. He knows what it is to scream in sarcasm and mischief because it is the only love language you’ve ever learned, to annoy because it is easier than to beg for love. He knows exactly what gift he’s given her, and some blue hair is a small price to pay for it.)
#answered#thanks for the ask!#lattes of love#latte's ocs#my fics#my writing#mine#sanctuary#tiffany#cleo#not pictured: me scrambling to get this posted as my laptop rapidly dies
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hi, would you be willing to write something about peanut and lola? romantically, platonically, negatively, what you might enjoy writing the most, i just really want to see the two of them interact in some fanwork ;v;
bb I got you. Originally this was going to be them kinda bonding over their love for Johnny (let's face it, Peanut has an obsession) but I ended up deciding against it and they instead just have a nice little chat about books... or rather Lola does
He’s sitting in the tenements, trying desperately to concentrate on the open book before him. There’s a textbook laying open beside it, his notebook sitting under that and his pen… somewhere on the mattress. He knew he should’ve held onto it.
The book doesn’t hold his attention in the slightest and he finds himself easily getting distracted, looking at his phone and responding to any and all text messages. He had heard Mr. Galloway say how this was one of his favorite books and Peanut couldn’t understand why. It was bland, confusing, and just overall didn’t click with him.
He hears a knock, easily catching his attention. Lola stands in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with her knuckles gently rapping at the old wood, a smile on those cherry-red lips.
“The other boys out?” she asks him. Peanut closes the book and stretches.
“Probably. Haven’t heard ‘em in a while,” He brings up his phone, the screen illuminating with a few new messages. “but they keep blowing up the group chat.”
“Why ain’t you out with them?” She crosses the threshold, walking over to the mattress and taking a seat.
“Ah, you know. Johnny wanted me to finish this.” He gestures to the books scattered around him. “Why ain’t you with Johnny? Thought he said you two had a date tonight?”
She rolls her eyes. “He was saying he's gonna go teach those preppies a lesson,” she explains. “He gets so angry sometimes.”
“Sure sounds like him.” He shouldn’t be surprised. He had been there when Johnny was ranting and raving about Gord, saying how the runt deserved whatever would come to him. “So, what’re you doin’ here?”
“Thought I would find the others here so we could all hang out, but looks like it’s just you and me,” she tells him, her voice playful as she sends him a smile. He lets out an amused huff. “’Sides, I know you also hate the book we’re reading.”
“Trying to read,” he corrects, glancing back at the cover. “I dunno what Mr. Galloway sees in this.”
“Not exactly my style, either.” But then again, Lola wasn’t known for reading the more traditional books. She loved romance novels, even carrying a couple around in her bag. Peanut remembered the time Mr. Galloway had been so happy to see her reading during class, only to become confused when he noticed it wasn’t the right book. It makes him smile.
“You ever finish that one book you were readin’?” he asks her. “What was it? Love Eternal or somethin?”
“You remembered?” She looks surprised, brows raised with her lips parted. Finally, she gives him a genuine smile; one of the rare ones where she’s actually happy and her entire being just lights up. “Well, it’s actually called Lover Eternal, but oh, it was just wonderful!”
And so here Peanut now sits, listening to Lola gush about the book. She had gotten it just before the school year started up, saying how she had used some of the money Chad had given her in order to buy it. “Hardcover is so worth it, too!” she squealed.
From what he gathers, it’s some fantasy romance book, and he only got that because she had mentioned “vampires”. And while it wasn’t something he was interested in, he loved hearing her talk like this; excited and animated, with a certain glint in her eye. He knows the glint, just like he knows that smile. He’s seen it before when she’s given little gifts; things mentioned in passing that people would normally forget. It happened when Johnny had replaced the ribbon neckerchief after her original one had gotten oil on it; when Peanut had gotten his hands on a sold-out drink by driving into the next town; when Hal had stayed up all night baking her a birthday cake, saying that store-bought was a crime for her special day. Seeing her like this, well, it makes him smile, too.
“Maybe you’ll let me try and read it sometime.” The words tumble out of his mouth without a second thought, and they both share a look of surprise.
“You’d wanna read it?” she asks. Well, he already said it.
“Sure. You make it sound interesting.” And another round of squealing comes from her, presumably because now she’ll have something to talk to about it. She starts going on about how he’ll love it and how it’s written, and he’s just nodding along to please her. She tells him she’ll pick it up whenever she returns home, saying how she wanted to stop by Johnny’s house as a surprise later on tonight. He knew her mother wouldn’t care. She never did.
As their conversation wraps up and Peanut is forced to, again, open the damned book, Lola gets up and starts for the door. She stops just before leaving, however, looking back at him.
“You know,” That genuine smile is still on her face as she looks down at him, her hand curled around the old wooden door frame. “I see why Johnny made you his second-in-command now. You’re a great listener. And… a great friend.”
His mouth hangs open as he stammers, before finally responding, “T-thanks. And I do see why Johnny’s datin’ you, too. You’re real passionate.”
With one last goodbye, she finally slips out of sight and he listens as her footsteps fade off. His heart is pounding and there’s no doubt that his face is redder than her neckerchief. He opens the book he was originally reading, trying his damnedest to focus on the words. But her sweet voice jumps around in his mind.
He loved Johnny; truly, he did, and he would never betray his friend like that. But he couldn’t deny the fact that he knew why so many of the boys around Bullworth liked her too.
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NY Post article: Elementary vs. Sherlock
[The following article is from the New York Post's website a couple days ago. You can read the original here: http://nypost.com/2014/01/16/elementary-vs-sherlock-whos-the-better-holmes/.]
Jonny Lee Miller (Elementary) & Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock)
Michael Starr makes the case for ‘Elementary’:
I was initially skeptical (so what else is new?) prior to watching “Elementary” on CBS. A show in which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s iconic British detective, Sherlock Holmes — the one we all know and love — never existed?
Please.
Oh, and we’re supposed to believe the Sherlock Holmes who exists in “Elementary” (Jonny Lee Miller) is, like Conan Doyle’s creation, a British-born recovering drug addict — only here he’s been transplanted to New York, where his brilliant deductive reasoning (and OCD) makes him an invaluable asset as a consultant to the NYPD?
Well . . . yes. I quickly bought into the premise lock, stock and barrel — and the series is terrific.
What makes “Elementary” so good — at least in the context of its suspending-belief TV universe — are the performances of its stars, both Miller and Lucy Liu, who plays Holmes’ sidekick, Dr. Joan Watson. She’s an ex-surgeon who abandoned medicine after an unfortunate incident and has morphed from Sherlock’s “sober companion” to his salaried crime-solving partner.
Their on-screen chemistry (no romantic overtones — yet) is palpable. Miller somehow imbues Holmes — arrogant and condescending — with just the slightest bit of vulnerability, making us like and admire him in spite of ourselves while Miller fires off his elaborate, florid dialogue effortlessly (or seemingly so).
Watson herself is no shrinking violet, softening Sherlock’s verbal blows with an “are you kidding me?” stance while, in her own sly way, getting all up into her partner’s grill — while respecting his ethereal brilliance.
The show is fun and fast-paced, in spite of its over-the-top plots, and features a winning supporting cast (Aidan Quinn as world weary NYPD Capt. Tommy Gregson and Jon Michael Hill as top-notch, slightly cynical Det. Marcus Bell).
Kudos to series creator Robert Doherty for adding a new wrinkle to a familiar pop-culture mainstay.
Sara Stewart makes the case for ‘Sherlock’:
I cringe at the term “Cumberbitch,” but I’m not going to lie — the impending arrival of the third season of “Sherlock” on Sunday does make me a bit teenage-girl-shrieky inside. As the BBC’s version of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s quirky detective, Benedict Cumberbatch is so right for the part it’s almost painful to watch anyone else try (apologies to RDJ and Johnny Lee Miller).
It’s not (just) his aristocratic, weirdly reptilian good looks or the Alan Rickman-lite voice — Cumberbatch just exudes effortless, amused intelligence. He’s the embodiment of the high I.Q. of the show, whose banter is so quick a non-Brit would be well advised to watch with closed captioning on (I’m still not sure I got every word from the last two seasons).
In a world oversaturated with reboots, sequels and updates, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss’ creation is the rare worthwhile revisit: a contemporary rendition of the world’s greatest detective, meshing the utility of modern technology (texting often figures prominently) with a deliciously Victorian sense of leisure (Sherlock spends off hours at 221B Baker St. not on the Internet but playing the violin, doing questionable science experiments or just staring off into space).
And the rest of the cast is equally impeccable. Has there ever been a part more well-suited to the twitchy, double-takey Martin Freeman? (Well, other than “The Office”?) Marvel as his John Watson discovers Sherlock’s back from the dead; the scene is a thing of comic beauty. Then there’s his brother Mycroft, played to simpering perfection by Gatiss himself, who very nearly walks off with Sunday’s episode.
Plus, you have to respect a show that so clearly adores its obsessive audience right back: Sherlock’s return features not one but two fan-fictiony kisses between characters — which I’m not going to spoil for you, don’t worry. The episode’s title, “The Empty Hearse,” is the name of a group of Sherlock admirers (in the show) piecing together their hypotheses about how he pulled off his fake suicide, just like we’ve all been doing here in the real world.
This show is for full-on nerds, my friends. And as Sherlock siren Irene Adler put it last season, “Brainy is the new sexy.”
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Johnny: “C’mon V we need to go blow up Arasaka--”
V: “JOHNNY LOOK THESE ARE BREATHTAKING”
#cyberpunk 2077#johnny silverhand#male v#breathtaking#cp2077#default male v#screenshots#my screenshots#Johnny does not look amused in the slightest
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[ 𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 ]
⚠︎ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Smut (18+), Dilf! Aged Up! Husband! Jaehyun, Trophy Wife! Reader, Spanking, Fingering, Degradation, Dacryphilia, Squirting, Face Fucking, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, Slapping, Breeding Kink
"Jaehyun's smiling like a complete idiot, isn't he?" Mark sighed into the phone. "Well of course he is" Donghyuck whisper yelled back, "It's his wedding day"
Mark couldn't attend Jaehyun's wedding and, if he thought about it long enough, he was thankful he didn't—he was far too afraid to accidentally look over only to see his friend groping you.
"Well Hyuck I've gotta—"
"Mhm, yes go Mark. Buh-bye, she's throwing the bouquet"
Now if Jaehyun was going to be completely honest, everything happened very quickly in his head. Divorce then marriage seemed like a revolving topic that swirled around in his head—until the swirling stopped and turned into nothing but pure happiness. After all, he always said having a trophy wife was like winning the lottery.
He simply left the house of his friend, Johnny, to quickly have a lovely argument with his wife then to divorce her and marry you. How complicated.
So there was Mr. Jung, pulling up in the driveway of his house, butterflies in his tummy as he was expecting you to greet him with the same smile on your face like always. Checking himself in the mirror, he noticed the section of hair that was now turning grey. He didn't think much of it, honestly. You liked guys like him.
Upon entering his house, he hadn't had the slightest idea as to where you were. The kitchen? The bedroom? He didn't bother to look, you'd pop up somewhere—and there you were. Out of the shower with a clean shirt and shorts on. It looked like you'd been out of the shower for sometime before Mr. Jung had seen you.
Looking up at you with a completely amused expression on his face, Mr. Jung signaled you with his finger to come closer to him. He set down his newspaper beside him, making room for you to sit oh-so comfortably on his lap—right where he always wants you.
You plopped yourself down on his lap, the cold buckle of his belt hitting your thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck before running a hand through his ever so slowly graying hair. You looked at him curiously, "Shouldn't you be taking a shower, old man?"
Mr. Jung laughed a little at the nickname "And who are you to boss me around little lady?". You mirrored the expression of bliss on his face. "Hm, well I'm your wife, gorgeous, and I say you go shower. You're starting to smell like your office." You teased before giggling.
Sighing in content, Mr. Jung gently pushed you off his lap to shower before kissing you on the forehead, "Whatever you say, wifey"
He knew that nickname was so cliche.
Before starting the shower, he placed his pair of sweatpants on the bathroom counter and took a few strands of his grey hair in between his fingers. He focused on the hair—should he dye it?
"No I don't think you should"
Had you been watching him the entire time?
And had he been talking to himself?
"I like your grey hair, it adds a touch of..." You trailed off trying to find the right word. "...Oldness to me?" Mr. Jung completed, but you disagreed.
"No, I don't think it does—" He cut you off, "Yes, you do think it does. Don't lie to me, baby. You know I hate liars"
You furrowed your eyebrows, pouting. "Well I think you still look as handsome as ever" you said, now on your tippy-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
"Well of course you think that, you like old men." Mr. Jung teased before you walked off and suddenly you could feel a little wetness pool in your panties. Seeing the fluster in your eyes could only make him chuckle.
Now whatever Jaehyun thought about in the shower might certainly have been an issue. Walking out of the bathroom with freshly blow dried hair, his eyes immediately landed on you. He took one good look at you on his way down stairs and his mind ran at such a fast speed that he honestly wasn't sure what he was thinking about. Thinking rather impulsively, he grabbed your arm causing you to only look up at him in confusion.
"What?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. The only response you got was him smashing his lips onto yours. His arms slowly found their way to your waist as he deepened the kiss, biting down on your bottom lip. Mr. Jung pulled away after collecting his thoughts. Holding your pretty face in his hands, he smiled "You wouldn't mind helping your old man out, would you, baby?". You shook your head, your mind in a daze upon the most recent events. "No, I wouldn't mind at all."
"C'mon, baby" Mr. Jung cooed, grabbing a fistful of your butt as if it would bring you comfort, "You can do it". Your helpless whines only brought music to Mr. Jung's ears as he quickened the pace of his fingers inside you. Using the hand that was once on your ass, he spanked you harshly making you tear up a little. He tsked, "Look at you, my little fuckin' baby. So small, sprawled out all over me just to get my cock at the end, huh."
He laughed when tears began falling down your face, "Awe, cry s'more, baby. You know Daddy likes it when you cry because of him." Mr. Jung couldn't hide his smile when your walls began quivering around his fingers, letting him know how much his words affected you—not to mention it lets him know how so very close you were to cumming all over his fingers.
Mr. Jung quickened the movement of his fingers, making you get closer, and closer, and closer, and—shit. Letting out a broken moan, your body shook in his lap and the next thing you heard was the sound of amusement from Mr. Jung's lips. "You've made quite the mess, little lady" he chuckled breathily in your ear before showing you his cum coated fingers "Squirted all over me like some bitch in heat" You moaned at the nickname until he forced your face up to look at him, "My baby's gonna let her Daddy fuck her mouth like the good little girl she is, isn't she?" he said with a little pout before licking his fingers clean of your cum.
You swallowed your spit back before answering him, "S-she is". Mr. Jung grinned, wiping the rest of the cum on his fingers on your ass "That's what I thought, baby. C'mon, get on your knees."
You got off his lap and on your knees on the floor, looking back up at Mr. Jung (who was now standing in all of his six foot glory), you realized he was still completely clothed—and you weren't. The more you thought about it the more wetness dripped onto your thighs. Mr. Jung quickly snapped you out of your daze, "Don't make me wait forever, now."
Quietly apologizing, you pulled down his sweatapants and boxers letting his dick spring up and hit his abdomen. Mr. Jung silently cursed when a little bit of his precum got on his shirt, he lifted the shirt above his head with a sigh.
Taking the base of his cock in his hands, he tapped your lips with the tip. "Open" he said oh-so casually. Sliding his dick in, you gagged around him suddenly.
He laid his right hand on the back of your head, beginning to pick up his pace inside your mouth. Mr. Jung was grinning at the choked sounds you made when his phone began ringing. As expected, he rolled his eyes then picked up.
"Shit," he quickly cursed and hit the answer button. "Talk to me" he demanded hoarsely—the way his hips never faltered amazed you.
"Jaehyun?"—it was Mark—"You alright?"
Mr. Jung's eyebrows furrowed, "M'perfect, w-why?"
"Oh, well we're all at Johnny's house and he was wondering if you could come over" Mark said, chuckling a little.
Jaehyun chuckled a little too. "Can't, m'baking brownies with my wife. Isn't that right Y/N?" he responded, cooing before pulling out his entire dick from your mouth and looking at you—expecting an answer. You cleared your throat, "Mhm, I- um- w-we'll give you some the next time we see you!"
The panic in your eyes made Mr. Jung smile.
"Oh wow, thanks" Mark said, seemingly genuinely excited for the next time he was to see you "Well I wouldn't want to bother you guys anymore, see ya"
Thank god he hung up the phone.
Mr. Jung threw his phone back on the bedside table and easily picked you up, placing you on the bed to lay on your back as he spread your legs. "I'd be such a shame if this pussy didn't get a good fuck, wouldn't it?" Mr. Jung snickered before lining up the tip of his cock with your throbbing core.
The instant he pushed himself inside you, he laughed—easily feeding off your lusty little cries. He had your legs all the way up to your chest—for better access of course, he was never satisfied unless he hit your g-spot every. single. time.
Nothing but hot tears fell from your face as Mr. Jung held your thighs hard enough to the point of where you could feel his wedding ring, that stayed prettily on his left hand ring finger, hurt you. You mewled the instant his thrusts got faster, feeling his balls against your ass you swore you could've cum right then and there.
Your moans grew louder as you clenched harder and harder around Mr. Jung's dick making him curse. "You're gonna cum, huh?" he said looking directly in your eyes. You immediately looked away growing shy from the eye contact, but he was having none of your "shy" business.
A slap to the face was the cure to that in his very humble opinion, so that's exactly what he did. Slap you in the face.
When his hand came in contact with your skin so harshly, more tears pooled in your eyes. "Fucking look at me when I ask you a question"
You sniffed, nodding. Mr. Jung gave you a slight grin, "Tell me, baby. Are you gonna cum?"
"Y-yes, Daddy" you exhaled shakily, not being able to speak clearly due to your body moving back and forth on the bed via Mr. Jung's thrusts.
He hummed, satisfied with your response. "Go ahead, make a mess over my cock" he said endearingly. "Messy little thing"
Mr. Jung forced his dick in your pussy once, twice, three more times before you came oh-so messily on him. The way your walls fluttered around his cock, combined with the way you sobbed out strings of Daddy (and you can't forget the way he thought your back arched so prettily yet so painfully), only drove him closer to his own high.
Grabbing you by your waist, he rammed his dick farther inside you while you whined about being too sensitive. He could only grit his teeth, "Baby, Daddy needs you to shut up and take me like a good girl or else I'll just get you knocked up and full of my kids"
The idea didn't sound that bad in his head.
And it seemed you liked it too, there was that fluster in your eyes that Jaehyun always loved seeing. "Awe, you like that? Daddy'll knock you up real good then" he cooed.
Soon enough, warm liquid was coating the walls of your cunt. Some of it was leaking out onto the bed sheets. Mr. Jung was groaning out a string of profanities as a pool of drool was falling from your mouth.
Jaehyun lazily chuckled, pulling out of you. He pulled his pants and underwear back up and reached over the bed to retrieve his shirt to hand give to you.
He sat back against the headboard before spreading your legs back open to push his cum right back inside you. Taking your face in his hands he reached for another tissue to wipe away your tears and then pulled you to his lap. "Y'know, you look so pretty when you cry, baby"
Blinking a few times at him, you finally leaned back against his chest. "Whatever you say, old boy" you yawned, laughing after the words left your mouth as Mr. Jung laughed too.
Falling into his thoughts, Jaehyun lifted your left hand to observe the wedding ring on your finger, you didn't question it of course. You were one breath away from falling asleep when he put your hand down. He sighed, completely satisfied with himself.
Having a trophy wife was like winning the lottery.
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Daddy Issues | S. Jn
Pairing | Seo Johnny x Fem!Reader
Genre | Smut, fluff
Wc;type | oneshot: 3.93k [not proof read]
Warning(s) | Pwp, dilf!johnny, y/n's a pillow princess, daddy kink, overstimulation, teasing, edging, dacryphilia, slight voyeurism, degradation kink, heavy use of the words 'doll, princess, slut, pretty, angel', typical lyra smut, i made haechan johnny's son (i was about to write changbin as johnny's son but decided against it) age gap, unprotected sex ( the Reader's on pills. Remember this is a fiction, don't play the wrong card irl) filth.
a/n- i found this request buried in my asks and was tempted to write it. Sure, the warning looks intimidating, but i know you wanna read it, y'all whores (ily) shoutout to @bakugou-is-my-bae @cvntzennie and @jenopollo for helping me decide what to post first! @suhpersonic
Minors try not to interact! <3
Age is just a number, so surely, there's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of, right?
There's no reason for you to not fall for the friendly neighborhood bachelor, well not so bachelor bachelor, since he does go around asking people who knows of his marriage to pretend it never took place.
Johnny's hot, super hot. Has the build of a supermodel. Has the face that one can only imagine belongs to a greek god, as you'd jokingly tell him how he seemed to be god's favorite and how you loathe Aphrodite for showing favoritism (which would always end up with you getting a very sultry, teasing look from the lad)
Johnny has the type of personality that women can only wish the entirety of the male species would possess. He's an absolute sweetheart, life of the party, definitely the center of attention wherever he goes. And oh god, does he have an immaculate fashion sense.
But Johnny's also the father of Donghyuck. Your best friend.
More than being ashamed about the fact that you actually fell in love with a man who has a child of your age, it was the fact that you had to fall for Donghyuck's father of all people.
Donghyuck is a sweetheart, definitely got his personality from his father but he's also got that glare that could creep the Lord's of the darkness from his father. He's got so much from his father that the resemblance is uncanny.
You'd not want to get onto hyuck's bad side since you've gotten first hand experience at stopping him from almost committing homicide to someone who spoke shit about his friends, more specifically, you.
But Hyuck's not in town. So a little fun with Mr. Suh wouldn't hurt anyone, correct? After all, you're still only a human with desires and the want to take risks.
You'd always not so subtly drop hints at Johnny and he'd always give you that look that would have slick collecting itself between your thighs. A warning look.
A look that said, "cross the line and you'll get it"
But that's the thing, you want to get it and will do anything to get it.
"Y/n."
You'd ask yourself less than a million times if you want to do this or not.
Sure, you weren't this hesitant when you decided to sext your best friend's father knowingly when he was in business mode to irk him up but that's one thing.
And having to confront the same father who left a message smaller than a sentence that completely disregarded all the obscene text and images to show that he's not the slightest bothered or suprised by your behavior for that matter was another thing.
"Tomorrow at mine."
It's almost as though he deals with hormonal teenagers one as such as yourself on a daily basis and that thought kind of backfired at you considering the whole 'Let's piss Johnny off so that he'd finally give me what i want' agenda.
Ironic, huh?
"Mr. Suh." you start hesitantly, unsure of what to call him, scared of what his reaction would be after your inappropriate shenanigans last night.
Your stiff demeanor broke down a little with just a hint of shiver passing down your spine as you watch his features contort into a subtle but cocky smirk, "So now you're being all formal,"
"Well, what else would you like me to address you as?" you inquire, feigning oblivion to his tone and what he's implying at. "You tell me, doll. You seemed to have a lot of names to call me last night," he takes a step forward, prompting you to walk a step backwards, further into the corridors of his apartment and away from the actual location.
"I do not know what you're talking about.. " you let your voice shrivel towards the end, eyes wandering around the complex, finding interest in every small detail as you avoid Johnny's teasing gaze.
"You don't?" Johnny takes another step forward, latching his hands onto your forearms to prevent you from stepping further away, "You must have had a heavy sleep to forget all that you did last night," his voice drops dangerously low as he begins to walk backwards and back into the safety of his apartment, all the while keeping his gaze fixated on you.
"That won't do, would it? How about we take a walk down the memory lane? And see if that rings any bell?" He brushes your hair away from its static position on your shoulder, allowing him to appreciate all those fine details of your shoulders and neck that are exposed from your selection of clothing, an off shoulder.
"How about we don't...?" You ask with skepticism, jolting slightly when you hear the door shut behind you and at the new intrusion of personal space by the lad.
"Why are you acting all shy now, Y/n? Weren't you the one so eager to get into her best friend's fathers pants? Just be the whore you are, darling. Your facade's fooling no one." okay you definitely didn't see that coming.
Johnny's expressions morph into that of mischief as he watches your eyes grow wide and mouth fall ajar, "Am i not correct? Are you not a whore?" he asks with an eyebrow quirked up in a questioning manner.
You don't reply, almost as though the question was meant to linger in the open and that it was a rhetorical one. What you didn't expect, however, was for Johnny's hands to find pursuit around your neck, not necessarily applying pressure, but there as a warning.
"Answer me."
"I'm not.." you answer with a feeble voice, internally cringing at how squeaky you sound which only added to Johnny's amusement.
"Really? Because I don't think good girls go around drooling at a divorced man, her friend's father for that matter and definitely do not send lewd images and voice out their fantasies to a guy twice their age, still want to pretend you're innocent? Or you admit it and we cut down the chase?"
"Yes, I am." you breathe out when his fingers tighten around your neck, a triumphant smile making its way onto his lips. Yet, Johnny felt the need to keep pushing,
"you're what?"
"I am what you said I am," you speak, trying to avoid looking at the scrutinizing look on his face which seemed futile as he had his arms wrapped around your neck, keeping your head in place.
"I want to hear you say it, doll. I need to hear you say it." At this point Johnny's intent was to get you into a flustered puddle in his hold and it sure as hell was going in that direction, seeing how you can't even hold his gaze for more than a few seconds in a shot.
"I am.. I am a who-"
The sound of a phone ringing loud cut you off midway through your sentence, to which you were absolutely relieved. Johnny only seemed to grow annoyed the more he heard the phone ring. With a loud huff, he lets you go, not before giving you a stern look, "Go to my room." he instructed, making his way to the study.
You let out a breath you've been holding in unknowingly the moment he steps away from you. You watch his figure retreat from you with awe, only now realizing how messy you felt between your legs and how your knees keep buckling.
"Oh Hyuck!" you hear Johnny exclaim into the phone the minute you step forward to follow his command.
Your best friend is on call with the guy you're about to fuck.
Your blood runs cold as you shakily make your way into the apartment and towards the bedroom, shrugging off your sling bag, hanging it behind the door as you place your phone on the bedside table to wipe your hands dry from all the sweat that had accumulated at the palm of your hands.
"Yeah, I'm fine, about to eat to my dinner actually" you hear the moment to make yourself comfortable at the edge of the bed, looking over to the door where Johnny stood with his arms across his chest, the other holding up the phone as he leans his weight onto one shoulder, leaning into the doorframe.
You take the time to really appreciate his appearance. He adorned nothing more than a simple grey sweat and tight black tee but he seemed ready to walk down a runway at any given moment now. His long hair, slightly disheveled looking almost intentionally messed up, compliments his features. And oh his features.
The everlasting smirk stayed still on his lips, moving as he exchanged words with his son.
You only come back to your senses when Johnny snapped his free hand in front of you, gaining your attention. He points at his own shirt, then points at you, mouthing 'off' while he listens to Donghyuck speak about whatever he's speaking.
"Really? Jeno said that? Tell him I'm more than willing to welcome him as my gym partner, the lad seems strong" Johnny makes a quick move to remove the gadget from his ear, before holding it in front of him after placing the call on speaker mode
Your eyes widen the moment you hear the disturbance in the background and Donghyuck's voice resonate through the room. "no?? Why would you want to work out with him? He'll only make you feel old, you know?"
"Says the one who still can't beat me at arm wrestling. If anything, i think Jeno would make the perfect gym buddy for me," Johnny raises an eyebrow at your defiance, cocking his head towards the side, staring down at you with a predatory look, "Hyuck, you know, Y/n-" you scramble to take your shirt off at the mention of your name on the call, "-stopped by earlier" he lets out a silent laugh of disbelief.
"Oh? Oh yeah! I'd told her I'd give her book back before I left but I forgot, did you perhaps give it back to her?" Donghyuck questions.
"I figured you must've forgotten so, yeah i did." Johnny replies, pushing himself off of the doorframe, now walking towards you.
"Man, I miss her! I might facetime her after I end the call with you," Johnny sets down the phone beside you on the bed, leaning down, placing both his hands on either side of your lap, finding comfort at the crook of your neck,
"I remember her mentioning something about her cousin coming over? Maybe wait for an hour or so before calling her" his lips graze against your neck each time he spoke, you let out a tiny whimper at the so longed feeling, only to earn yourself a small bite at the earlobe, immediately accompanied by a hand over your mouth, "you need to be quiet, doll. Or my son would find out how much of a slut his best friend is," he whispers in your ear.
"Yeah? Did she mention which one?"
"No, not really, she kinda just stormed out after getting what she wanted" Johnny creates a trail of kisses all the way from your neck to your shoulders, down the collarbone while one of his hand worked to unhook your bra, "Yeah, she's weird like that," you hear Donghyuck let out a chuckle as you whine into Johnny's palm, your figure slightly trembling from the fear of getting caught all the while being excited about the risky situation he's put the two of you in.
"Anyways, I'll call you tomorrow? The boys are coming over now so I got to go! Night, dad!" Donghyuck speaks up again, "Night, Hyuck."
You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Johnny let's his hand drop from your mouth and makes its way towards your hair, brushing through the strands before pulling at it with a firm grip, "I had my son on call and here you are making all these sweet noises, you wanted to get busted, doll?"
"It's not my fault! You-"
"ah-ah! Don't talk back, angel. You're already in deep trouble, don't want to add onto that now, do we?" He makes a swift move to have you lying on your back, your torso completely exposed to him while he remains clothed.
"But Johnny-" you whine, jolting when you feel his hands caressing the soft flesh of your inner thighs, "How do you think Hyuck would feel about this?" his hands travel further north, cupping your heat from underneath your skirt. "fuck, you're drenched"
"Now tell me, pretty girl, what are you supposed to be calling me, now?"
"Johnny-, tha-that was a joke! I don't have daddy kin-" you try clenching your thighs close from the sudden attention your core was receiving. Johnny wholeheartedly lets out a laugh at your attempt to hide your true feelings, making a quick act of disregarding your soaked panties somewhere behind him.
"Darling, the more you deny it, the longer we keep going at it-" his thumbs at your clit, applying pressure but making no move to quench your needs. You let out a sigh of bliss at the feeling, your back arching off of the sheets at the sensation.
In any other situation, you'd be embarrassed at how sensitive you'd gotten just from all the dirty talking and looks Johnny passed you. But that's the catch, he's Johnny, the only one who can get you this sensitive while doing the bare minimum.
"Say it, Y/n."
"No, Johnny! It's-it's embarrassing.." you plead with your eyes, grinding your hips against his fingers, earning a satisfied, dirty look from the lad.
"Very well.. I'll just draw it out of you"
Without warning, Johnny with little to no resistance, slides two slender digits into your wetness, setting a pace fast enough to draw loud chains of cries from your mouth.
"You hear that, doll? You hear how fucking wet you are? Hm?" he growls animalistically, the thumb that remained on your clit now moving in circles with a motive to get you undone in seconds.
"Johnn-..!" you whine out, feeling your orgasm growing so close that you could almost taste it, "Still going at that, angel?" he questions, not really expecting an answer as he soaks up the pleasured look on your face. "Johnny- I'm close.. -" you fail to notice the mischievous grin growing on his face as he speeds up the movement of his fingers.
"Of course you are, doll" He feels you clench around his fingers, back coming off of the mattress as you ready yourself for your release, waiting until the last minute to draw his finger out.
"Why would you-? Johnn-I was so close!" you cry out as you sense your core clench around nothing, whining about the incomplete orgasm. "Why would I give you what you want when you wouldn't comply, baby? That's not how this works." He shrugs, licking his fingers clean of your essence, moving up from the bed to remove the shirt that seemed to be suffocating now.
"Johnny, please!" you whine louder, rubbing your thighs together to create some sort of friction, all unsatisfactory as it did not meet the same intensity as that of his fingers.
"Please what, doll?" He smirks, knowing the ball is in his court and that you'd had to give in any moment now. Johnny leans down once again, drawing lazy circles at your clit, using his other hand to hold himself up above and close to you, his minty breath which had a hint of coffee fanning your face as you whimper, finally feeling your high building itself up again. "Spit it out, princess, you know you want to." he speaks in a soft voice.
"Please..please" you beg for nothing in particular, getting all worked up again, "The begging's lovely, doll. But you're starting to anger me here, will you say it? Or should I leave you hanging again?"
You mutter prayers under your breath, hoping he wouldn't actually leave you hanging again, "Fine-" he moves again to remove his fingers from you to deprive you of pleasure all over again when you finally latch onto his wrist, keeping his hands in place blurting out, "Daddy! I'm so-sorry.. There, daddy, please make me come" you give in, the name, the feeling and look of pure victory on his face as he grins like a cheshire cat only intensifies the heat growing at a rapid pace at the pit of your stomach.
"Final fucking ly, princess. Daddy will make you feel good" He reinserts his fingers in, drilling it with desperation to see you come undone as he draws rapid circles on your now sensitive clit with the other hand, watching you squirm under him.
"Joh-Daddy i'm coming..!" you cry out weakly as you feel your orgasm hit you with much force, easily driving you into over sensitivity. Johnny's patient in helping you ride out your orgasm, not stopping until you let out a throaty sob and plead him to stop to allow yourself some room to breathe.
Johnny, however, makes no move to stop, only speeding up his fingers, his gaze fixed on where his fingers disappeared inside of you while his other hand held you down with a vise grip, "Give me one more, doll. I know you've got one more in you. " he pants, the feeling of his girth in confinement only throwing himself to sensory deprivation as he feels himself twitch inside his sweats painfully.
You shake your head, tears now flowing elegantly down your cheek, your lips puckered into a slight pout, your eyebrows drawn together as you let yourself melt into the pleasure Johnny was providing you with. "Daddy.."
You whine, feeling your second high reaching you ridiculously quick as you see Johnny's face contort in concentration,
"I need to get you nice and wet for me, princess, you're doing so well. Give daddy another one" you coaxes you with his sultry tone, words and actions, inevitably having you come undone under him for the second time that night.
You let out a choked moan, finally having enough as you curl upon yourself the minute Johnny removes his fingers from you, full fledged crying at the overbearing feeling of sensitivity.
Johnny groans at the sight, leaning down to press a soft peck on your sweaty forehead before getting off of the bed to remove his pants alongside his boxer at a slow speed, granting you some time to recover.
"Condom?" he asks, readying himself to reach into the drawing when he notices you shake your head a no as a reply, "I'm on pills.." you mutter weakly.
You hear him curse out at the thought of doing you raw, flexing his muscles before climbing on top of you again. He takes his time to gently turn you back onto your back, pressing his tender lips against your irritated one for the first time that night, his hand ever so slightly moving to play with your clit once again, making you jerk, "Daddy!"
"Sorry, doll. Daddy just needs to make sure that princess is ready to take his cock"
Your whining intensifies at his words, wiggling your hips to move closer to his own, "But I am ready! Look, daddy! I'm so wet and ready for you!" you whimper, earning a chuckle from the lad.
Just like all the other times that night, he aligns his cock at your entrance without a warning, the tip ever so slightly pushing through your walls, "Alright, big girl. Show daddy how much of a slut you can be for him."
Suddenly, Johnny detaches himself from you, moving further away as he leans by the edge of the door, smirking at you whining at the loss of contact, "Patience, angel"
He grabs hold of your hips, manhandling your body into all fours as he enters you completely with no trouble once he's got you where he wants you to be.
Something about having to take Johnny from behind was so sexy that you could almost immediately feel your orgasm grow, "Fuck baby, keep clenching around me like that and i won't last long," he grunts, moving in you with a steady pace,
"I never expected my son to befriend such filthy sluts like you, Y/n. Look at the mess you're making on my sheets" He grabs a fistful of your ass in a tight squeeze, the sudden shift in his demeanor only serving as a whiplash as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to the sweet orgasm.
"Jesus, doll, you're so fucking tight i can barely move" Johnny growls, talking to keep himself from coming too fast.
"Daddy.. I'm close. M-I'm so so close" you cry as your arms give out and you fall face first onto the mattress, the new stretch in your back only encouraging his cock to hit you deeper, finding the sweet cushion that serves as extra pleasure for you.
"Me too, princess, me too.. '' You hear him let out a whine, his thrusts growing sloppier as he does you slower but deeper.
He reaches around your body to find pursuit at your clit for the nth time that night, rubbing rapid, messy circles to go with his deep thrusts, "Daddy!" you reach your high with a high pitched cry of his name.
Johnny comes not too long after you as he couldn't resist the constant tight clenching of your walls around his cock. He thrust slowly to ride out his high as you twitch helplessly, face scrunched up in too much pleasure.
You feel your body being manoeuvred onto your side as he whispers sweet nothings which pass right through your ears as you feel him softened inside you, the feeling ridiculously soothing for your used up walls,
"You did amazing, darling." he kisses your temple, not making any move to remove himself from within you, which you silently thanked him for.
You both lay in silence as you turned your body towards him, earning a hiss and a playful smack from him as it added pressure onto his sensitive member. You wrap your arms around his torso, about to nuzzle into his chest and just drift away to dreamland when you hear the familiar ring of your phone from the table beside the bed.
You feel Johnny's body shift to reach out to get your phone, looking at the caller ID before handing it to you with a smirk that you knew meant that he was up to no good. "Oh! It's hyuck" you exclaim in shock, quickly accepting the call and placing it near your ear, moving to get away from him.
But Johnny seemed to have other ideas, as he latched an arm around your torso to keep you from moving, "Hey-" you begin, immediately feeling Johnny experimentally thrust into you again, making you whine, "Y/n! I miss you~-oh hey, are you okay?" you hear Donghyuck's voice from the other side,
You look at Johnny with a pleading and warning gaze to which you earn yourself a toothy grin from the lad,
"Of co-course! Just a little.. peachy,'' You turn around to place a hand on his chest to halt his movement, "You don't sound just peachy.. I've heard you like this before!" you hear Donghyuck make those noises he makes when he's thinking as Johnny keeps thrusting lazily the more you look at him, you see him open his mouth to speak, "Oh fuck! You're getting laid, aren't you???"
"Tell Hyuck daddy says hi"
#nct smut#nct ff#nct au#wayv#nct#johnny smut#johnny ff#nct 127 smut#nct dream smut#donghyuck ff#donghyuck smut#haechan smut#suh johnny ff#nct johnny smut#nct preferences#nct preference#nct u smut#nct 127#nct u#nct dream#nct fanfic#nct fanfiction#nct oneshot#nct johnny ff#seo johnny ff#seo johnny
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hmm im quite new to tumblr and honestly am dissapointed with the lack of GOOD doyoung fics on here. can I request a scenario or a drabble (whichever u see fit) of doyoung taking me along when 127 were touring and the moments we had (backstage/fights and making up/ comforting when he felt unsatisfied with his perfomance/moments with some other members too) I just miss 127 touring a lot !! and ofc if this is too complicated u can refuse lol
hey lovely, this ended up way longer than it should have been but it’s really just a bunch of drabbles strung together that have somewhat coherence to another. i liked the way it turned out though and i hope that you do too <3
𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 — idol!doyoung x (gender neutral) reader ✧ genres : established relationship, fluff, angst ✧ word count : 4.7k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, food
synopsis — snapshots of what it's like to travel with your boyfriend. oh an his nine other teammates.
“how much space do you have left there?”
doyoung peers over you, chin propped atop your shoulder, and even though he sees for himself quite plainly, you supply him with an answer anyways, “not much, just the front pocket now.” his chin digs and you shift your head the slightest in his direction, to appease him with your attention maybe. he doesn’t budge nor speak so you take it upon yourself. “what?”
“quick kiss?”
plucking the garment from the assortment of items he'd passed along, you inspect it with curious eyes, "you gonna wear this?"
"huh? oh, that." he sits back on his knees, then onto his bottom, then crossing his legs, "i thought i'd give sleeveless a try." you don't mean for it to come out offensively, rather teasingly in actuality, "you?"
unbothered, he simply muses on, "yeah, me. why?" with eyes rushed and flitting across his surroundings for a sight of his phone. now you're even less in the intent of offending him, more so just pushing his buttons in the face of humor, a humor that's evident in the way you glance up from the tee, eyes locking with his own and shadowing with mischief, "with what muscles?"
doyoung clicks his tongue, sticks it into the side of his cheek, and now back on his knees, treads over to where you're sat, countenance teeming with amusement. his demeanor himself traces in the slight of a smile that's yet to appear, only held back as he defends his biceps, "hey, i've been working out, you know." you watch him situate himself once again, legs crossing just opposite of your own. placing both your hands on both his knees, you lean in, lips puckered and nose scrunched either in emphasis or hilarity, he isn't quite sure though he thinks it's cute. that is, until you speak again, "you want your kiss? how bout now?" and he mirrors with an, "i'll pass," standing to retreat back into the hunt for his missing phone, head shaking all the while at your devious antics.
minutes later and upon finding it within the folds of his sheets, doyoung reverts his attention back to you who, by the looks of it, has just finished packing for the night with both sides of your suitcase clamped shut but yet to be zipped. his feet are planted firm on the ground when you move to stand in between them. they're off the ground a moment later when you push him back into the bed with an 'umph' and a hug that pulls both your bodies flush against each other's.
you'd go on about it for days but to you, doyoung has always been a silent lover. a kind of lover that people would mistake as just 'a friend of yours' or sometimes even a brother, cousin, relative of the sorts. by no means is he vocal with his love for you, and though times are abundant when you find yourself at dead ends with the thoughts of how he seemingly flits between, in and out of love, the one thing that never fails to reassure you is how he holds you tight.
forehead on his chest and arms laced around his back, you do your best to hold him as closely as he does you but it's impossible, you think, and not because of his so-called 'muscles.' the intimacy you share with him is bred from comfort, apprehension, normality. it's apparent when he next speaks, voice lower and reserved for when you are close and the tingling feeling in his heart softens his regard a tenfold, "excited?"
you lift your head to peer up at him. the same softness is returned in your one-word response, "elated," as you thud your temple back upon his chest. the chuckles he give reverberate beneath you, "sarcasm or no?" a shake of your head is given but doyoung craves more. hands on your waist, he manhandles you, in the gentlest possible way, so that your head lies in the dip of his neck, arms around his shoulder, and legs on either side of him. he knows that at this point, your energy is already teetering the lines of consciousness. he makes the most of what little you have left.
"kiss me?"
a sloppy peck is left at the foot of his neck and your lips stay there for the rest of the night.
the wind slaps at the skin of your face. you swipe away a hair or two that it'd blown into your mouth, open as you exclaim into the wide air before you. the city air is noticeably laden with light pollution and carbon emissions alike but it's refreshing to you who has spent the greater part of the day limited to a cramped airplane seat. the shuffle of feet, a sound that's barely discernible in the mix of whizzing cars and honks, calls for your attention from behind. heeding to it, you find doyoung, swaddled in a sizeable down coat, with his eyes squinted in the wind. "coming in soon? you've been out here yelling for almost twenty minutes."
you give him a look that makes it seem as if the situation were of a scolding mom and a naughty child. it's like you're adhering to the script because apprehensiveness does indeed rest in your wary response, "i just wanted to try it, like how they do in the dramas, you know?"
his tone chides, "yeah, yeah i know," while dragging you back inside the warmth of the hotel room, sitting you atop the bed, crouching before you. "doyoung, what are you-" though bizarre, the prospect of a ring emerging from behind his back does cross your mind. instead, he draws forth a bottle of wine.
you comment on it a little later, four hours, with jaehyun sprawled upon the bed to your left, snores loud and resounding in between the sentences of your hushed (and very much drunken) conversation. "you know, earlier when you brought out the wine, i thought you were actually going to propose to me." under the lamplight from the bedside table, your boyfriend's cheeks are tinged a soft pink, flusteredness maybe, inebriation surely. his head slops forwards onto your stomach, off and out of the hold of his palm, and lolls there for awhile before his dwindling bouts of energy jolt him upright. the sudden movement of his elbows digging into your abdomen have you groaning until a light smack is landed on his forehead. doyoung gives you a sleazy smile.
"maybe."
suddenly you're very much sobered up. "what'd you say?" though doyoung is still very much intoxicated as his head tumbles down upon your stomach once more, mumbling against your skin, "i did bring a ring to surprise you. i don't know if now's the time though, what do you think?" you don't think, in fact, you are completely and utterly void of thoughts. his, "hm?" pulsates from beneath you but even then, you're at a loss of words.
"i think—" i think yes. "i think you ought to go to sleep."
when you will your eyes upon his figure, perhaps a minute later, you find that per your instruction, he's already fast asleep.
the flight from jakarta to london is 15 hours (too) long and you'd planned to spend a good chunk of it doing what you were doing now, seat reclined the furthest possible and knees brought up to your chest to prop up your switch. you'd come to the conclusion that packing your earbuds in your suitcase that went into cargo was perhaps your first big mistake; your second, forgetting to ask doyoung for his before he fell asleep. with the volume turned to mute for the past four hours and counting, you scrunch your nose as your animal crossing character silently stumbles across another wasp-laden tree, third in a row, but before you're able to net it, your boyfriend stirs from beside you, his fingers tapping incessantly on your wrist to call for your attention. you glance over at him, "what?" and when you glance back to the screen, you're displeased, to say the least, to see that your character now has a swollen eye, courtesy of the wasp and its programmed sting.
the look on your face when you drop your feet to the ground, the device dropping to your lap, is enough to get doyoung to cut straight to the point. "i need to brush my teeth, wanna come with me?" puzzlement clouds your expression and he furthers in explanation, "you know, to save time?" still not quite getting his point, you nod along anyways, thinking a little walk and stretch to the bathroom wouldn't hurt. "okay."
taking his outstretched hand, the journey to the bathroom turns out to to be the most stressful. the whole row of three very tall men (jungwoo, jaehyun, and johnny in that order) with their very long legs making the situation a lot more complicated than need be. you end up tripping once over jungwoo's left foot, twice over jaehyun's right shoe, and thrice over johnny's right knee, a lot higher than where any normal knee should mark when planted straight on the ground.
the lock on the lavatory clicks shut behind you right when you realize just how small the compartment is. doyoung closes the toilet lid and props a knee upon it, leaving you with enough space to place your legs shoulder-length wide at most. you look over at him, or rather, you tilt your head slightly to the right and chuckle into the fabric of his hoodie, his chest pressed into your face. you manage between your chuckles, "go on, brush your teeth."
his arms bustle their way around and about you to grab at one of the packaged toothbrushes at the left of the sink and a paper cup at the right. there really is no way around it though a moment later, he relents by taking both legs upon the toilet seat to accommodate you. his kneeling stance stunts his height so that you're at about eye level with him. "here," you pass along the toothpaste and he flicks a dot of it on the brush. instead of stretching over to the sink, he simply passes along the toothbrush for you to run under water, passes the cup for you to do the same, and accepts them back with grateful hands. "you know, this would've been a lot more efficient if you'd just gone by yoursel—"
"i know," he says it as if unimpressed, though it sounds more like 'iiroe' (or some other incoherent keyboard spam) as he continues to brush his teeth. you prop your hands upon your hips, both elbows hitting opposing walls and a teasing lilt is added to your voice, "are you mad you brought me along?" you're not sure if he's smiling or if he's simply following through with his teeth-washing regimen. doyoung shakes his head, "no." you smile at that.
you know for a fact that he's smiling when the two of you switch spots, quite the haphazard move for your head clunks onto an overhanging cabinet while his back is then subjected to half your falling weight. a hand of yours is quick to clamp over his mouth right when you gather your bearings because his laughs come out loud in between panting breaths. you're terrified at the thought of being caught by a passing stewardess who'd suspected two people and some funny business upon breaking in, only to find two people, yes, but one brushing teeth on the closed toilet lid and the other laughing hysterically with a hand clutching his sore back.
doyoung backs out of the bathroom at first alone, head snapping left and right in a spy-in-a-secret-agent-movie-esque way, before tugging you behind him, the folding door clapping shut. he waits as you prod careful steps over the three soundly sleeping men and he grins when his turn comes and he epically fails in his attempt to cross over in one, sweeping step. he apologizes sheepishly at the three, now awake though still very tall, men and he turns back to you, only then letting the suppressed sniggers out.
if not your lover, doyoung is your best friend. there's something reassuring about having someone that always has your back. whether it just be laughing with you, crying with you, sitting with you in silence as you both scroll through your phones, or even now, as he peers over your shoulder to watch your little character fish the same sea bass over and over again. you like the comfort that you share with him, the comfort you were so lucky to have happened upon.
the armrest in between is pushed up as you slip your switch back into the front pocket of his backpack. doyoung holds an arm out and you slip into the warmth of his side, head bobbing to the turbulence and onto the heights of his shoulder. he glances down at you, briefly, and when your eyes meet his, they curve into the sleepiest of smiles. the two of you sleep with the pace of your breaths in tandem with each other's, the two of you wake under the announcements of a landing, and your fingers hook onto the sides of his backpack as he leads the way off the plane, in a single file line all the way.
doyoung drapes a jacket over your shoulders the second you break the open air of london and he hooks the same jacket above your head where the awning of the airport stops and the thundering skies continue their downpour where it left off. his hand provides cover as you duck into the car, so as to prevent you from hitting the frame of the door, and when he slides in, right next to you as always, you grab his hand in your own, eyeing each other with the indications of a smile.
it's then, as you point to the little droplets that whizz across the window of the car, that doyoung finds himself face to face with the same conclusion that he comes to time and time again. he loves you, a lot.
the palm of his hands slide down the satin fabric of his slacks, repeatedly. the look you throw his way has him gulping. "you sure you're not nervous?" his hands stop midway, too obvious it seems. "not at all." a quirk of your lips is given in response as you take the seat next to him in the waiting room. you watch as he tucks his bottom lip under teeth and you watch as his hands shift in their continuation down his thighs but retract and interlink as if they'd remembered not to do so. a stage manager knocks once before bursting in, sweat trickling down the sides of her face and a side of her headphones pulled backwards of an ear. she pants though the show has yet to begun. "five minutes and he has to get backstage," is what she directs at you and you pair your nod with a kind smile, signaling her exit.
the interaction only seems to ignite increasing bouts of anxiety from your already antsy boyfriend so you take his hands in yours, situating your body a smidgen to the right, and do your best to absorb his attention in something, anything else that could sidetrack his nerves for just those five minutes.
"excited for tomorrow?" doyoung's hands squirm in yours and his facial expression morphs into a flicker of confusion before righting itself and following through with a reply, albeit half-hearted, "yeah, i guess."
"it's your first day off in awhile," you give his hand a squeeze, "and we get to explore the city, all by ourselves." he only nods along and though you're sure your attempt is futile, you hope that it falls through, "and new york's up next huh, i bet the snow will be real prett-"
"what are you getting at?"
it takes a second for you to process what he'd just did, what he'd just said, "what?" though looking at him, he's nonchalant as ever; the tone in which he rejoins makes it seem as if he's ticked off somehow, "why are you telling me this?"
doyoung's brows draw to a point and it throws you off. he is ticked off. and it's plausibly that realization that gets you taking a stand for yourself as well, voice now clipped, "i just thought that i could preoccupy your thoughts for a bit, you seem so ne-"
"y/n." stopped in your tracks, you blink back at him benumbed. "i've already got enough on my plate as it is, why can't you just let me deal with my own shit?"
there's something brooding beneath the face you put on for him. he sees it surfacing and he has enough sense to pay mind to it. that is, until you retort, "your own shit? then why the fuck am i-"
"yes, my own shit. last i checked, i'm the one going up on that stage tonight so stop talking as if it's our job." and his defenses are held back up, sky-high, untouchable. doyoung's scowling at you as if you've never been more wrong in your life when in fact, you're almost positive that he's never been more at fault. the clench in his jaw, his hardened eyes, edged stance, everything about him in the moment jars you and you want nothing more than to punch him square in the nose (you do have quite the mad uppercut) but you restrain yourself under the pretense that he's minutes, maybe even seconds, away from being called to the stage, to perform.
sighing, the only thought that comes to your mind as you gather your bearings along with your belongings is the feeling that creeps between the synapses that once had held tight in your belief of his support, of his leniency, of his affections when it came to you. you swallow thickly, bag in hand and other hand reaching out for your coat, because you're sure you've never felt as unwanted as you do now, in front of him, glowering in your presence. at least the glint in his eyes soften when you come to a stop in front of him.
doyoung peers up at you then, dubiously, and the first urge he receives is to duck his head back down. he feels small, and not because he's sitting and you're standing. he feels small, infinitesimal, with the knowledge that somewhere in those five minutes, things had gone awfully awry with little hope in rectifying in the little time left. the air that hangs heavy between the two of you remains silent, save for the unspoken passing of words that neither of you acknowledge. you're the first, and last, to break it.
"are you mad you brought me along?"
doyoung wishes he'd been quicker in denying. maybe that would've been enough to keep you from excusing yourself the second the stage manager had made her reappearance. maybe that would've been enough to get you to stay, to watch him, to cheer him on, to support him. maybe that would've calmed his nerves, finally, at last. he doesn't know, he's having a hard time deciphering his thoughts, chunking through his regrets, wallowing in his worries.
doyoung gets into position. the only thing he knows is that he's in the right spot, the glow-in-the-dark tape tells him so. he'll have to sing soon, and maybe his scratchy voice will add to his pile of regrets. he'll have to dance too, to remember formations, stage directions, but the idea seems so far away, foreign, when all he can think of is the look on your face as the seconds dragged on, waiting for him to say 'no,' to say 'of course not,' to say 'i'm sorry, i love you.'
he's having a hard time because even now, long after you've left, the words stay lodged in his throat. and as the screams from just beyond grow louder and louder, as the lights overhead grow brighter and brighter, doyoung finds himself face to face with the same conclusion that he comes to time and time again. he needs you, he needs you more than ever.
it's dark and cold when doyoung first enters. to the right, he flicks the light on mindlessly to be met with an empty room. he supposes that it's warranted. setting his backpack upon the bed, sheets still pulled crisp and unfurled, he almost succumbs to the taunts of sleep that entice him but a single thought of you rectifies him, hand fishing out his phone from a back pocket of his jeans.
it's then that he notices, with a startle that rivals a starring victim in a horror movie, the door to the balcony propped open a finger's length. he takes a glance back at the entrance to see your discarded shoes that had went unnoticed just seconds before, he figures. the curtains that skirt the adjacent windows billow in the wind that veers past the crack allotted, the gusts that becomes stronger and more fervid with each step doyoung takes in the direction. there's no creak that accompanies the swinging of the door, though he wishes there were so he wouldn't have to break his presence to you so suddenly. the second thing he notices, just behind the fact that you are indeed out here, is that the air is a biting cold, explaining the initial temperature he was met with upon entering.
you're wearing the same, thin sweatshirt that you had donned for your backstage viewing of the concert, regrettably the coat had been neglected in your state. from the far edge of the balcony, you know there's a whole world splayed out before you, buildings lower, taller, equally as tall as the high-rise of your hotel, winding streets that never seemed to end, traffic that never seemed to move. you know, but it's impossible to see for yourself with the tears in your eyes that come as fast as they go.
time is stagnant, has been for hours upon hours, for you. for you also, crying is foreign territory, really, you'd like to consider yourself headstrong in the face of conflict and composed in the face of inner turmoil. it feels silly to find yourself hundreds of feet in the air and hundreds of miles away from home, sobbing in the light of an ineffectual fight with your boyfriend of three years. and it isn't as if the fight proved detrimental to the relationship, it was trivial in all the ways that pointed to the single course of action being to simply make up with him and move on. but somehow, your hesitance holds in resilience.
you don't want to admit how unnerving it was to see an argument stem from such a small trifle, such a small amount of time, such a lack of care. why is it that situations that seem so small in their doing hold the most significance in their passing?
doyoung clears his throat and now you're the starring victim in a horror movie. a, "holy fuck!" accompanies the startle and the knuckle-white grip that both of your hands impose upon the rail. he steps fully out of the hotel room, into the frigid air of a london night, a london midnight in the middle of winter. "sorry, i- i'm back." rather lame but there's little headspace for you (or him for the matter) to process that.
with a hand still on the nob, doyoung stands stiff across from you who is slowly but surely withering in the realization of how pitiful you must look, hair mussed in the wind, tear tracks evident, and the remnant pants that your hiccups had left in the wake of your breakdown. if not pitiful, then straight up pathetic.
"are you okay?"
you blink at him. there's not much else you can say except, "yeah, i'm okay."
doyoung takes a step closer, a hand off the nob and the door clicks shut behind him. two more steps and he's a two foot distance from where you're stood on the far right of the terrace, gaze intent on his every action. he doesn't say anything at all, and what vexes you the most, he simply opens his arms wide, a forlorn sort of smile settling across his features. his apology.
there's not much else you can do except to give in to his embrace, reminiscent of all the love you've ever come to know, all the love you will ever know. you cry again, once in his arms; something about the smell of him, the warmth he gives off on a cold winter night, that gets you sniffling into his chest, finger fisting his own sweatshirt at the small of his back. a hand of his rounds your figure and holds you upright, the other is lain on the back of your head, soft strokes to tell you that he does care, he's here for you. really, the one thing that never fails to reassure you is how he holds you tight.
hundreds of miles from home, scratch that, because right there in his arms, there is nothing more convincing than the fact that doyoung is your home, you are home.
mark sips on his smoothie until the straw begins to make those whistle-y, echo-y sounds that tell of how he's finished the drink. a passing waitress takes the emptied glass from him and he gives a nod to her muttered, "refill?"
glancing back, he's met with a plate of food that's been cleared for a good while now and a table of mostly drunk boys that can't seem to get a hold of themselves. taeil, quite the horrific drunk, is slopped over haechan's side. neither of them seem to notice. and then there's yuta, taeyong, and jungwoo, all seated in a row and all with their heads fallen straight on the table, backs hunched over. sicheng and johnny are nowhere to be seen but mark supposes it wouldn't be all that odd to find one of them lain out flat on the floor, or underneath the table, or even suspended from the ceiling at this point.
mark glances across the table, locks eyes with jaehyun who had also decided to remain sober for the night. jaehyun gives a nudge of his head over to his right, to where mark looks to his left to see you and doyoung at the end of the table engrossed in conversation, so much so that it seems as if you're leaning into each other, elbows propped on the table and all. he could chalk it up to the speakers, the music was turned pretty loud, so naturally you'd lean in to hear the other better. or maybe, mark thinks, maybe the two of you are just naturally drawn to each other, a thing that happens to couples as he'd heard, subconscious actions like these are plausible as well. or maybe, mark thinks, but his train of thought is interrupted when the waitress returns with his strawberry smoothie, straw exchanged and drink refilled. he takes it from her, a gracious, "thank you," supplied and when she turns to leave he takes a sip, turning back himself.
whatever made it into his mouth is spat right back out when he sees the scene unfolding before him. here is mark's inner narration on what's happening:
doyoung-hyung's not in his seat, huh. oh there, he's standing, no wait—now he's kneeling, oh, he's kneeling. what's he getting from his pocket? a box, it's a teeny box. he's opening teeny box, oh fuck, oh jesus, oh he's proposing. he's asking you to marry him. oh my god, what if you don't say ye-
"yes."
copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.
✧ end note — hey anon, i hope that you thought it was a GOOD fic. if not, ahem, i apologize for taking up your time. but really, this fic holds together so many mini ideas that i had but were never substantial enough to turn into writing so thank you for giving me a base to build off of, i enjoyed writing it very much <3
#neowritingsnet#neothestars#doyoung fic#doyoung fluff#doyoung angst#neo-constellations#neoculturecafe#nct doyoung#doyoung x reader#doyoung scenarios#nct scenarios#nct fics#rouiyan fics#rouiyan writes#requested
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Good luck charm #2
Part one here
Pairing: Johnny Depp x reader
It’s taken me a few weeks to write and be happy with this part to post. I hope that you all enjoy it and that it was worth the wait.
A few days later, I swear I can still smell the musky scent of Sauvage, and the taste of cigarettes on my lips. It’s hard to comprehend any of the last seventy-two hours being real, and going by Alex’s (who I’m sitting opposite having coffee with) reaction and raised eyebrows at me retelling the whole story, she’s having a hard time with it too. And in all honesty, I don’t blame her, it’s a lot to process.
“So, he invited you to the concert after party?”
I nod my head and take a sip of my coffee.
“Yep.”
“And he took you back to his hotel room? Where you-”
My lips curve into a smirk.
“He sure did.”
“And you’re aware of the fact this all sounds like a badly written fanfiction?”
I have to burst out laughing. There’s no denying it because it really, really does. I couldn’t have made it up if I tried.
“Did I tell you about the part where he had to get his security to smuggle me out of the building unnoticed the next morning?”
For me, that had been the most amusing part of the story. Having breakfast with him as if it was the most normal thing in the world. After a few more spent kisses and I’d decided that it was time for us to part ways, he’d sent in his security in to make sure I got out of the building safely.
“But the real question is… Has he called or texted you?”
He hadn’t yet. The band had played a show last night, and would be travelling again for their next tomorrow. I wasn’t hanging on and waiting for him to reach out to me either. It would be pretty easy for me to pick up the phone and call him too, but I refused to be that desperate.
I shake my head in reply to Alex’s question.
“No, but he gave me his number.”
“So, he’s waiting for you to call him then?”
Realistically, the chances were that it was a one night thing. I wouldn’t hear from him again and we’d go our separate ways. I’d rather be hit with the reality of the situation than holding out on hope for a phone call and being disappointed when it didn’t happen.
“I’m not going to. I don’t want him to think that I’m pining over him and completely desperate!”
“You’re insane… You know, if he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested then he wouldn’t have given you his number to begin with.”
That was a true enough point to make, but I’m still not deluded enough to give into the fantasy. I’m ready to give her a reply when my phone, that’s been sitting on the table in front of me, starts to frantically vibrate.
“Oh my god!”
Alex spots the name on the screen before I’m able to take a glance.
“He’s calling you! This really is a badly written fanfiction!”
I shrug my shoulders and continue to let the phone ring out. If it’s important, he’ll leave a voicemail.
“If you don’t answer that, I will!”
I scowl at her and shake my head, it’s hard to believe that I’m the one that’s being responsible about handling all of this. Before she’s able to reach for the phone, I’m swiping it off the table and standing up. “I’m at least taking it outside.” I grumble under my breath.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hi-” The voice on the other end is raspy and familiar. I can just about see him fidgeting around like he does in interviews when he’s nervous. “It’s Johnny.”
Silence.
I’m confused. Does he want me to make the next move?
“Right… Your name rings a bell. There was this Johnny, that the other night I went to go and see his band and ended up spending the night in his hotel room-”
I don’t even mean for the words to sound as aggressive as they do .
“I feel like I owe you a little of an explanation -- I don’t usually do this. I, uh, I don’t usually invite girls - especially fans - back to my hotel room, and not call for three days.”
So it’s one of those phone calls, where he’s expecting to let me down gently and feels the need to explain everything that I already know to be the case.
“There’s no need to make a fool of yourself… I get it.”
“I don’t think that you do.”
What isn’t there to get?
“I get it. I mean this is probably the part where you offer me an obscene amount of money to not go to the press about it. You don’t need to worry--”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I freeze dead in my tracks, the thoughts of my overactive imagination and the words that I’m about to hit him with come to a close. Am I hearing things? Did he really just say…
“What?”
“It’s probably a really bad line. I don’t know if you heard me, I said….”
God, he’s insufferable.
“No, I heard you… I just don’t get it.”
He has his choice of any girl in the world. Models, actresses, and here he is calling me.
“The other night was special for me-”
It’s a cliché, and just about the worst thing that he could come out with, but I’ll let him continue.
“Listen, this probably sounds insane… but I want you here for the show tomorrow-”
He can’t be serious or that disconnected with reality. But then I remember the industry that he’s been working with the past thirty years, where he doesn’t have a nine to five job to cling onto, with a snap of his fingers he can pack his bags and travel somewhere else.
“I can fly you out, get you into the concert.”
That’s it. I can’t hold in my laughter, and I can just about see him pondering on the other end what’s so funny about his offer.
“I have a job-”
“So, call in sick?”
“It doesn’t work like that or that I don’t want to. It’s just, if I let you pay for the tickets and fly me out then that’s cheap, and I don’t want to be that person.”
There’s a long, drawn out sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Let me call you back.” I tell him, “I’ll see what I can come up with.”
---
A family emergency had been the most inventive thing that I’d been able to come up with, but it at least stopped any questions and pestering from work and friends about skipping town all of a sudden. The process of getting there had been planned to perfection, he was going to have one of the band’s security head on out to the airport and take me back to the concert venue - even if I had told him ten times how ridiculous it was and that I could get a cab, he had been insistent.
The journey from the airport to the venue has me pondering the insanity of it all. Both in him actually wanting me here, and me going as far as to make it happen.
The car pulls into the loading bay of the venue, where the tour buses and trucks with the band’s gear are on it. It’s when I get out of the car, that I notice him, like he’s just stepped off a photoshoot, puffing on a cigarette. I make the conscious decision to take him by surprise and sneak up on him.
“You know, those things are going to kill you one day-”
He startles, just about jumping out of his skin and choking on his cigarette in the process.
“Too bad we’re all going to die anyway, so we might as well indulge in the bad things while we’re alive and kicking.”
“That’s a little of a morbid stance to have.”
He laughs and shrugs his shoulders, unphased, “Calling me out on my smoking and then calling me morbid might be the best ‘hello’ I’ve ever gotten.”
He flicks the cigarette to the floor before stubbing it out with his shoe. He stands there with outstretched arms, ready to welcome me, but in blind panic I go for a handshake rather than a hug.
“Hi.”
His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I can almost see his thought process of just how he’s going to redeem himself and move on from the award pause.
“Hi,” There’s a long pause. “Was your flight okay? You got here safe?”
Thankfully, the flight had only been a couple of hours long - but that was more than enough time for me to spend on a plane. There was something about being in a constricted space, thousands of feet up in the air that made me nervous. Plus, without fail, I always felt disgusting afterwards.
“Guy beside me was snoring and drooling the whole time, I felt incriminated.”
“Should’ve taken my offer to fly you out first class.” I snort and roll my eyes at him. We’d already been over this, I’d made myself clear, I wasn’t going to be his groupie.
“Actually, without being rude, is there a place I can go and shower first? Being frisked at security and sitting on a plane kind of makes me feel gross.”
His eyebrow raises in amusement, I can almost see the cheeky comment that he’s threatening to make on the tip of his tongue, but something stops him. “Tour bus is free at the moment. I can give you the exclusive tour, too.”
Showering on a tour bus. Great. Exactly what I had in mind.
“Ladies first,” He gestures with his hand for me to move in front of him. It doesn’t take a scientist to work out that the giant black RV with the band logo across it is where we’re headed..
Much to my surprise, going inside, it’s more like a luxury hotel room on wheels. It feels a better standard than my apartment back home.
“This part is the kitchen…. We don’t use it much, aside from the mini bar.”
It doesn’t even qualify to be called a kitchen. It’s a tiny little counter space with a microwave, a coffee machine, and a mini fridge.
“And this is where we sit and relax, talk, play guitar...” He points towards the plush leather sofas adjacent to each other. “The cool part here is that the wall slides back if you need more space.”
“Impressive.”
“These are the bunks where we bring back the groupies.”
I’m unsure whether they look claustrophobic, like I’ve heard many complaints about, or if they look quite cozy.
“There’s a proper bedroom through there too, but Alice and Joe usually fight it out for it. I don’t mind sleeping it rougher.” He explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “Bathroom is through the back. Take as much time as you need. I’ll stand guard for you.”
“Thank you.” I look up at him with a smile before brushing past to open the door on the back wall that extends out into the bathroom. Much to my surprise, the room isn’t all that smaller than the bathroom in my apartment back home. The shower, that I assumed was going to be a small, cramped space, is quite spacious. The only strange thing is stripping down and knowing who is standing guard by the door.
He’s in every way true to his word, too. As I turn the water off and grab a towel to wrap myself in, I can hear a disagreement going on outside between Johnny and Tommy about the bathroom being otherwise engaged.
“I’m telling you, dude, you’re just going to need to find somewhere else to go and pee… Bathroom is off limits!”
“But I can’t hold it in, man! I’m dying! You think I can use the kitchen sink?”
Johnny starts to laugh at him, “You can’t be serious!”
There’s a little more toilet talk back and forth and laughing still going on by the time I’m dressed and nudging the door open carefully.
“Um, hi, Tommy.” I greet nervously and fold my arms over my chest.
“Oh! Now I get it… You have a girl here!”
I can feel a blush rise to my cheeks just thinking about what is no doubt going through his mind. Thankfully, Johnny comes to the rescue.
“It’s not -- it isn’t that, Tommy.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He gives a wink at the two of us. “I’ll leave you to it, J-man!” And just like that, Tommy is off the bus.
“I’m sorry about him.” Johnny sighs, “He says what he thinks, there’s no stopping him.”
“It’s fine,” I brush off, acting as if I’m unbothered. But in reality, that one comment has gotten to me. I can’t help but have the niggling thought in the back of my mind, if that’s the way that Tommy is going to react, then what is the rest of the band going to be like?
---
The concert was amazing, even better than what it had been a few nights ago. I’d watched the show from the side of the stage, and could safely say that this time, Johnny had been looking and smiling at me.
I hadn’t wanted to face the confrontations of the band after the show, so after the encore, I had decided to hide away in Johnny’s dressing room to look at my phone for a moment of peace and quiet. If I was to exclude the fact that it was Johnny Depp’s dressing room that I was sitting in, it would have felt like the first normal moment of an otherwise bizarre day.
The door flying open makes me look up from the screen, to see Johnny standing there, still hot and sweaty from being under the lights.
“Everything okay?” He asks with a concerned expression, “You weren’t there when I came off stage. I was a little worried that I’d scared you off.”
I’m hardly going to tell him that I’m scared of running into the band when he’s the one that’s brought me out here to be with him. “I just didn’t want to get in the way, I thought you guys would be in a race to hit the showers.” I lie coolly. It seems to be good enough, since he goes to change the subject.
“What did you think?” He asks, a grin firmly in place on his lips. “Could you see and hear alright? The speakers weren’t too loud?”
I grin and nod my head eagerly. “You sounded amazing! Heroes was phenomenal...” I probably sound like I’m trying to impress him, but it’s my favourite song that the band do.
“Ah, you see,” He pauses to take a drink from his water bottle. “I think I had a little bit of extra good luck, with being cheered on the side front.”
I can feel that warm feeling of heat going up to my cheeks, and certainly not for the first time today. It makes me feel so powerless and awkward to just stand and say nothing.
“Um,” He scratches the back of his head, “You must be hungry?”
Starving, actually. I hadn’t had anything to eat since getting here and been too shy to pluck up the courage to ask about food since getting here. I’d accepted my fate and growling stomach a good few hours ago. But regardless, I downplay it, “A little, I guess…”
“Do you want to go and grab something to eat? I need to get showered and changed first…
I’m not certain what prospect makes me more nervous. Dinner with him. Or dinner uncomfortably sitting around all of the Hollywood Vampires eating. Both make my stomach flip. Especially since he isn’t going to specify.
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a night's escape
; in which you find home in a stranger
; dysfunctional families, angst, comfort, strangers, mention of donghyuck and johnny.
; jaemin x gender neutral reader
; 3.4k wc
The shouting is the loudest you’ve ever heard it, the sound of your father’s resentful voice pushing against the thin walls of your old home to pound in the chambers of your heart, later drowned out by your mother’s shrill screams and the crash of her favourite flower vase being thrown to the ground. You can see the blue porcelain shattered on the floor, water puddling around the shards to help the pink carnations survive only a little longer, a mirror image of the last time she had done just the same.
You stare at the smashed open earphones that lay by your feet, a product of your mother’s previous rage from when she had had enough of you ignoring her yells, now unable to block your ears from the noise just outside your room. Not even blasting the loudest songs could distract from the way you flinch as they raise their voices, battling to be the loudest, most controlling.
You curl up and throw your hands to your ears, staring into the pitch black of your room and mumbling assurances to yourself, desperate to tune out your parent’s screams. It’s a second later that your mother lets out her true frustrations, making the guilt build up in your chest like bile after overeating.
“It's your fault I'm stuck here. I didn't want a family. You made me unhappy.”
A choked sob leaves your lips and your ears ring, more piercing than the words of regret you overheard just a moment ago. Your father responds just as passionately, just as fired up, roaring back about how it was not his idea nor his wish to start a family. You aren’t his fault.
You need to get out.
Throwing a coat over your shoulders, not bothering to change out of your two-day-old pyjamas, you put a hand on your bedroom door knob and hesitate, listening to their curses and shouts, before forcing your room door open. The volume increases the moment you pull on the door, your heart constricting painfully tight as you will your way into the main area of your home. You can feel the headache coming on and you rush to leave as soon as you can, scurrying to the front door where your parents are too busy trying to prove each other wrong to notice their child throwing on a pair of old sneakers. A small spark lights itself up in your heart as your father glances your way. He does nothing to acknowledge or assure you but the small motion is enough.
So, you decide to make the effort.
Your lips tug up into a timid smile, hand raising up into a half-hearted wave, and you keep in the fear when your mother shoots you an angry look. “I’m going to go out for a bit.”
You inwardly scowl at the shakiness in your voice but it seems it doesn’t matter, neither of them spare you another second of their time. Your mother waves you off with a flick of her wrist and you can’t help the disappointment that overcomes you with the dismissive reaction. You hate yourself for even caring - for taking notice of how they don’t think twice about letting you out so late at night or worry about exposing you to their broken relationship - for wanting to be nurtured when even they’re at their lowest.
Ignorance seems bliss right about now.
The evening is apparent, the air still and freezing cold. The yellow street lamps are the only things providing a sense of life in the empty suburban street. The front door doesn’t fully muffle their yells and you wince at the thought of neighbours unwillingly witnessing your weak home.
Glancing to the left, you see Donghyuck’s house just a few blocks down and contemplate seeking his comfort. Not even two steps later, you backtrack immediately and begin to walk in the exact opposite direction, imagining his mother’s offer of dinner and his older brother Johnny’s invitation to join them for a game of Monopoly, it has your lungs tightening up in embarrassment. On the way to whatever’s on this side of the street, you continually argue with yourself, bouncing between feeling like a burden and knowing that Donghyuck would be nothing but happier to give you a sense of home. Though, none of your best friend’s comfort could help to drown away the shame that comes with running away, the envy of not being part of his loving family or the guilt of throwing all your problems onto someone who deserves nothing but good. Your arrival would only shatter the stable home.
You end up at a park, away from Donghyuck’s warm hugs and blissful smiles.
You’ve seen this playset in passing the few times your mother wants to invite you shopping. There are no children being pushed on the swing set so late at night, the slides and seesaw unoccupied and wet. Strange, you hadn’t noticed that it rained today. Despite the droplets that threaten to soak through your sleep pants, you step forward and make to sit in the small cubby house by the monkey bars, cramped because the space wasn't made for anyone over the age of ten in mind.
Apparently that was the wrong move. The crunch of playground bark under your foot alerts someone already here and in turn, their movement startles you. A hooded person, tall and nimble that you hadn't noticed before, stands up and calls out, glancing around before landing on your frozen figure.
“Hello?” His voice is deep and firm, not shaky like you know your own would be. You stare as he slowly comes closer and you feel your fingers loosen from the fists they were tightened into, fear lessening when you notice he isn’t much older than you, maybe the same age or slightly younger. Yet that air in your throat doesn't loosen up in the slightest and you force out your next words.
“I promise,” you hiccup, sniffling, “I’m not trouble, just wanted to- uh- hang out.”
He glares.
"Alone," you reaffirm, "I wanted to be alone."
He loses the tension in his shoulders when he hears the tremble of your words and steps forward. You move back protectively and feel your breath catch in your throat, regretting your decision to come here rather than Donghyuck’s house. The embarrassment seems so much nicer than this threat.
“Are you… okay?” he asks.
Somehow, you feel safe instantly, his voice just as deep but holding a softness in it that you hadn’t heard anyone use when speaking in so long. Maybe it’s the desperation or the loneliness but you feel all your worries melt away immediately, wanting nothing more than to let in the stranger. It's pathetic and you think back to all those safety videos and those ugly statistics that come up on the news often. Yet you can't help but let yourself trust.
You swallow harshly. “I’m not.”
He nods and gives a little snicker, amused at your honesty, and comes closer. With the street lamps now able to reach him, you can finally put a face to the voice. “Are you crying?”
You nod.
He chuckles again but this time, you can see the small smirk that forms on his mouth and the sliver of straight, white teeth that shines through the slight part of his lips. Your heart pinches but you find yourself enjoying the feeling this time. He runs his fingers through his hair, knocking off the protective hood of his jumper and revealing the washed-out blue colour of his locks. Without the shade of his hoodie, his eyes are considerably more visible. They’re dark brown, almost black, but have a glimmer that’s able to shine through the hair that falls past his brows and into the empty night. His nose is tall and slim, lips thin and chapped.
You gulp and fail to hear what he said, distracted with only the movement on his lips to show he was speaking at all. You mumble an apology and ask if he can repeat himself, unknowingly wandering closer to the attractive stranger.
He sighs impatiently but looks at you with just as much kindness as before, looking to have dropped any fear as well. “If you’re here to hang out, want to hang out with me?”
It’s weird and very suspicious of an invitation but the slight purse of his lips and expectant raise of his brows are terribly convincing. You give in to the offer and nod again, not feeling the need to speak and watching him drop on the ground right there.
“Well?” he murmurs, looking up at you from where he sits criss-cross applesauce, “are you going to join me?”
“Right,” you cough, rubbing your eyes red and shaking off the strange feeling of security that comes with settling by his side.
“I’m Jaemin,” he introduces, raspy and slow.
“I’m Y/n,” you give back.
“Y/n,” he lilts your name, dragging out the last letter with an ending hum, “pretty.”
“Thanks.” You hope it’s dark enough to hide the shy smile that works itself on to your lips.
His hands, veiny and strong, pick up a piece of bark and toss it away, toward the footpath behind you. Not looking away from where he picks for another piece worthy enough to be thrown, Jaemin regards you in a hushed, thoughtful tone, “what are you wandering into a park late at night for?”
You stare down at the empty patch he’s created and offer a tight laugh, “I could ask you the same.”
“Yes,” he nods slowly, calm, and looks up at you with a teasing smile, not breaking his strong gaze even when you turn away, “but I asked you first. Shoot.”
“Oddly demanding of you.”
Jaemin flings another bit of damp wood over your shoulder, dangerously close to scratching your cheek, and falls back on his hands, scoffing. The bark is sure to be digging into his palms painfully. “It’s good to get it out.”
You glare, challenging, before scowling at his know it all attitude and dropping your head to face the ground. “How do you even know it’s something I’d need to vent?”
He laughs with a humoured shake of his head, loud and genuine. “You were crying just a second ago.”
“True.” It isn’t like you know Jaemin properly, you won’t see him every day after this and be able to feel shame or regret – like a diary page you’ll chuck out the next day, tangible evidence gone.
You tuck your knees into your chest, circling your arms around your legs to lace your fingers together at the front, holding your own hands tight. You bite your bottom lip harshly, not worried about your skin potentially splitting under your teeth, and feel your eyes dart from his own patient gaze to the swing set to the empty road.
“Whenever you want,” he whispers, knowing you’ve given up on arguing.
Dropping your forehead on the steadiness of your knees, effectively balling up, you try not to worry about whether or not Jaemin’s judging you and begin speaking. “Parents don’t want to be with each other. They regret having me- forced to stay together for a child they didn’t want. They love screaming about it every chance they get.”
“Yikes,” he hisses, unsure how to respond, “sorry you have to go through that.”
You dismiss him with a shrug, so used to being nonchalant about the topic with Donghyuck or worried friends who catch sight of your parents arguing in the car. Jaemin's response is nothing different from the default that you've always been met with, a fake pinch of pity in their eyebrows. “It’s whatever.”
He pouts, clearly not agreeing, but doesn’t bother to scold you on your act of apathy. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, stopping all motion of his hand to show a careful grin, “I like having you around.”
“Thanks,” you smile playfully, not taking the comment to heart but enjoying the good hearted change of pace, rocking back and forth as he laughs along. “Just sucks to know I’m here out of necessity rather than love. Doesn't really feel like my existence has worth.”
“Right,” he agrees, breathless. You don’t think he really understands but the way he goes along with it, listening without argument or a rush to correct your dejected feelings, it’s nice. It's more polite than anything else you've ever been told and you can't find yourself appreciating it more. “Some people just aren’t ready to be parents and don’t know it until it’s too late.”
“Correct,” you applaud quietly, “but that’s not what I mean.”
Jaemin tilts his head in confusion and goes to apologise but you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad for not understanding, “it’s more so that being parents- my parents- is what’s keeping them from happiness. I'm holding them back or whatever.”
His head bobs up and down slowly, fully processing your words before settling into an understanding frown. “That sucks,” he mumbles, looking at you with sorrowful eyes. You refrain from balling yourself up anymore, his gaze reminding you of Donghyuck’s pitying smile and hesitant looks. Though, you feel yourself lighten up a little with his next words, “I’m proud of you… for enduring that every day and still having a sense of worth- no matter how much it may have weakened. You’ll be able to get out of that situation one day, the future is your oyster.”
It sounds genuine and your brain racks at the sentiment of being listened to properly.
You smile, small and flattered, in place of verbal gratitude and turn away, tired of his twinkling eyes. “I don’t think that’s the saying."
“It works, doesn’t it?” Jaemin grumbles, kicking at your foot.
“I suppose so.” You click your tongue and kick at the little heart he’s drawn into the now exposed soil. He glowers and slaps at your shoe, mumbling about how ungrateful and mean you are before sighing, giving up on drawing any more. “Now,” you begin, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your knee, “why are you here?”
Jaemin huffs, upset it was already his turn to share his sob story. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m just here for some fresh air?”
“Not a chance,” you grumble, giving a half smile before sighing yourself, “I know a miserable loser when I see one. You're one of me.”
“Miserable loser?” he repeats with wide eyes, offended and disbelieving.
“Alright,” you loosen up, apologising with a simper, “that was an exaggeration.”
“I’m…” he stutters, hesitating a little. He meets your eyes and you offer a wide grin, cheesy and light hearted, and laughs. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”
"Tomato pasta?” you cut him off, joking. Hopeful that it'll ease the tension in his shoulders.
It seems to work, his brows furrowed in confusion and lips parting in slight amusement, pupils darting around to study your face for some kind of explanation. “What?”
"That’s why they fought,” you giggle, finding it stupid now that you’re finally out of the situation itself, “dad asked for fried rice today but mum said she’s been craving pasta.”
“That…” he spaces off yet again, completely lost. The thoughtful pout of his lips is adorable and you find yourself inwardly cooing, feeling light. “That’s a weird thing to have a such a big fight about.”
"I agree,” you nod, toes dancing in a fiddle, “crazy how angry you can get when you hate someone.” You decide against explaining the escalation of the argument, letting Jaemin create his own story in his own head. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Right,” he clears his throat, “here for the same reason as you. Can’t stand my parents.” There’s slight hesitation to his words, the way he rubs at the back of his neck and the guilt that shows in the way he smiles but won’t look you in the eye. He glances in your direction once before darting away the moment he meets your analysing eyes, wondering. It's wimpish when he mutters, “hate how in love they are.”
The words leave his lips and you freeze, frowning ever so slightly and allowing your eyes to drift away from his apologetic stare, self conscious. “Way to rub it in,” you mumble. You feel your body lean away from his, suddenly insecure and regretful about what you’d just shared.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips with a harsh breath, pushing out an open hand to rest on yours before pulling back when you flinch, reminded you had only just met. “It’s more than that, I swear.”
“What?” you scoff, hurt, “you can hear them having sex at night?” You let out a laugh but Jaemin finds it isn’t at all pleasurable to listen to this time.
“No,” he sighs, head falling in his hands. He looks up and sees you observing the empty road, unable to look at him but too tense to get up and leave. He gives up and gets it out, hoping you’ll understand if he gives you the context all at once, even if you've already decided you hate his privilege. “My stepdad. I hate him.”
A second father. Your eyes drift down to your feet and you ask him a question, it’s only to reassure yourself but he doesn’t mind, understands the curiosity. “Is he a jerk?”
“No,” Jaemin chuckles painfully, watching your frown reappear, distasteful, “he’s an alright guy if I let him be.”
“Then why-” you choke, punching at the ground and feeling the bark dig into your knuckles, the pain distracting you from your outburst for a small moment.
He doesn’t let you finish, desperate to clear the air and have you see the full picture. Wanting your approval and not for his sob story to be pitied but for you to be on the same page, he values your perspective of him already. “My stepdad’s a homewrecker,” Jaemin blurts, holding his breath and watching as you let your guard down, angry scowl fading into a look of realisation. You dart your head up, wide-eyed and rushing to apologise, but he sighs in relief, waving you off with an understanding smile.
You don’t look any less regretful as he continues to explain himself but Jaemin finds it sweet, not at all offended by your previous attitude. “I don’t like seeing my parents happy together. My mum doesn’t deserve it,” he hisses at the blunt words and laughs at himself, digging a hand in his hair, “I wouldn’t mind her moving on and finding love but she found him when she was still with my dad- pursued that relationship behind our backs.”
“Jaemin," you struggle to find the words, "that sounds like such a hard situation." He nods in confirmation and you purse your lips at the pained smile that comes with it.
He stares down at the ground, unsure why he can’t look you in the eye but loving the feeling of a weight being lifted off of his shoulders, his feelings finally being let out into the open. “I don’t know whether or not to hate my mum for breaking up our family. I think she already hates herself for it- she's never talked to me about it… I don’t even know if she knows I know- but she has to settle or else she’s alone.”
“Whatever you feel,” you say slowly, carefully, “is complicated but valid. It’s understandable.” It's a shit response, sounds like a script but it's the best you can do with how unprepared you are. Jaemin a lot better at this than you seem to be.
“Thanks,” he whispers back, finally looking up at you.
You meet eyes, lips parted and breathing steady, neither of you making a sound but giving the other words of thanks with your steady gazes. Both of you are grateful. The way he stares, silent and caring, makes you wonder if you’d prefer to see him more after this, if having him in your tomorrow would be good for you, if he’s thinking the same. But for now you just sigh, delighted you can look at him in this moment and feel some sense of normalcy, feel understood, lost.
“You’ll be out of there soon,” you chuckle, blinking slowly. With a hushed tone, you reach for Jaemin’s hand and remind him, “the future is your oyster.”
#jaemin x reader#jaemin#na jaemin#nct#nct x reader#nct dream#nct angst#jaemin angst#nct fluff#jaemin fluff#jaemin fanfic#nct fanfic#jaemin smut#nct smut#jaemin imagines#jaemin scenarios#nct imagines#nct scenarios
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Can I get a Riot with plus sized WOC with a whole BAWSE ass attitude running her own shit. Rio hears about her from Mick and he goes to meet her and is hella surprised by her but loves it?
Hey, babe! So I didn’t incorporate part of this request because I don’t usually describe how the reader looks in any of my drabbles! (unless the story’s main focal point revolves around looks or if it’s an oc). It’s always up for interpretation and this way it’s never tailored to anyone specifically and anyone can fit into the reader! Does that make sense? Either way, I had so much fun with this and I lowkey want to include more parts and make it a mini series but… we’ll see. I hope you like it still! (gif not mine)
Rio hated to say that he was single and most definitely ready to get back into the game. And he hated to say that luck was not on his side. He went on a few dates but nothing ever stuck. Most of them seemed like they were only going out with him to spite their over protective dads. He was also having a hard time trying to sort out who would accept him and everything he does. That was obviously hard because there wasn’t a full proof plan for that. All the girls he gave a chance to seemed like they’d walk away as soon as they got a whiff of what he did. It was frustrating. He needed someone who understood him, someone who wouldn’t bat an eye at who he was. Which was what he expressed to Mick one night while they were playing pool. He usually wasn’t so straight forward with his feelings but he was growing tired of the failed attempts of finding someone right for him.
“You’re looking in all the wrong places.” Mick had told him as he took his turn.
“The hell you mean?”
“All these girls you’ve asked out are just like those suburban bitches. They’re too clean. You need someone who knows what it’s like to be dirty.” Mick explained as he kept taking turns after knocking balls in the sockets left and right.
“And where the hell do I find someone like that?” Rio asked, finally taking a turn on the table.
“I think I know someone you might like.” Mick suggested.
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.” He shrugged and Mick agreed to make a call tomorrow.
You were busy today, well you were busy everyday it seemed like. You knew it came with the territory of building your empire. You had appearances to keep up, money to collect, and people to put down if they messed with any of it. It was hard, most days you were glad to get home and curl into bed. But lately you felt like there was a piece missing, someone missing. You were craving intimacy and love, something real. You had tried your hand at some blind dates that your friends set up but they were all busts. Guys who were threatened by a powerful woman such as yourself. Guys who clearly wanted to own you in some way or another. You needed someone who could match you. Someone who was fine letting you take control sometimes, someone who was your equal. Someone who wouldn’t be threatened by your power, only enthralled by it.
You felt like fate was hitting you over the head the day your old friend, Mick, called you. He had explained that he wanted to set his friend up and figured you two would get along really well. You had thought you were done with other people controlling who you went out with but Mick was different. You grew up with him and he knew what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew what you did as well, so you figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot.
Fate was not with you the day your date was supposed to be though. Your right hand had explained to you that two men who had owed you money were trying to skip town. You had eyes on them at all times for this very reason but you never thought they’d be stupid enough to do it. So you had to call Mick to cancel, he seemed to be relieved as he was about to call you to cancel as well, explaining that something came up. You were fine with it. You could reschedule, after all. So you and your right hand, Gabby, went to pay the idiots a visit. When you got to the run down warehouse they were supposedly staying at, they were more than surprised to see you.
“Trying to run out on me?” You asked the men as you stepped into view. They had been laying low here. The sun would be setting soon but it was in full force right now as it shone through the windows, illuminating the space.
“Back the hell up.” One of them said, pulling a gun out and aiming it at you. Gabby straightened up and pulled her gun out, aiming it at him. You huffed out a laugh.
“Drop the gun, don’t make this worse for yourself.” You didn’t bother mentioning that they had already fucked up.
“Her first!” He flicked the gun in Gabby’s direction. You rolled your eyes but gave no orders to her.
“You’re a lot stupider than you look. First you try to cheat me and then you point a gun at me. Some would say you have a fucking death wish.” You said, not worried in the slightest about the situation. You had the situation handled. You just liked to play with your toys one last time before you tossed them.
“Look, I don’t have the money, okay? If you would give me time I could get it for you. You’re not the only one I owe money to!” He was frustrated and scared. The man next to him, Todd, looked ready to run as he watched the scene unfold.
“Oh, Johnny, are you in bed with someone else?” You asked, feigning offense as you put your hand over your heart.
“Who?” Gabby asked him.
“Me.” It was your turn to draw your gun and point as you whipped to the side to see two men. You lowered it slightly when you saw Mick. The other man you hadn’t seen before. He was fucking hot though. The tattoos, the laid back demeanor. Now what not the time.
“Mick?” You said his name, waiting for him to explain what the fuck was going on.
Gabby kept her gun on Johnny, making sure he didn’t try to run.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” You asked Mick.
“This is Rio.” Is all he said, motioning toward his friend. You heard about Rio in passing, but nothing that ever concerned you. You kept to your side of the city and he kept to his.
“We’re here because these pieces of shit owe me money and we caught word that they were trying to leave town.” Rio said as he glared in their direction before looking at you again. You didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed you up and down.
“Well, he owes me money too. Get in line.” You sassed. You didn’t want to be doing this right now. You tucked your gun back in your jeans knowing they weren't going to hurt you.
“Mmm, I think I should be getting paid first.” Rio said, making your blood boil. Who the fuck did he think he was?
“Well I was here first so wait your damn turn.” You crossed your arms.
He stepped closer to you, a small smirk forming on his lips.
“Why don’t we ask them who they’re going to pay first?” He suggested and you both turned to look at the two men. You were pretty sure they were about to piss themselves at the attention now on them from both of you.
“Seems like we’re not getting paid.” You confessed. You already knew it wasn’t going to happen on your way over here. If they were planning on skipping town and laying low in this shitty place, they barely had a few hundred to their names each. Nothing that could touch the thousands they owed you, and who knows how much they owed Rio.
“Well, if that’s the case, I can take these two off your hands.” He said and you scoffed.
“I can do it just fine, thank you.” You bit back. It was always the same shit, people thinking you couldn’t handle your own because you were a woman. Like you couldn’t get dirty.
“Maybe you can share then, mama.” He offered. You bit your lip. You looked to Mick who seemed amused but he nodded his head at you, silently vouching for Rio. You then turned to see the men practically shaking now.
“There are two of them…” You trailed off and Rio smirked.
“Fuck you!” Johnny yelled.
“Rock, paper, scissors? Whoever wins gets Johnny.” You suggested. Rio shook his head and laughed.
“You’re savage, I like that. But I’ll let you take him.” You were surprised at Rio’s words but you smiled.
“I’ll shoot you before you even get a chance!” Johnny yelled. You kept your eyes locked on Rio’s, now having a little more respect for him. And finding him suddenly more attractive.
“Your magazine is empty.” You said, not bothering to break your stare from Rio. He looked pleasantly surprised at your words.
“Wha-what? No it’s not.” He stumbled over his words. You had it on good authority that Johnny and his buddy got into an altercation a few days ago, resulting in a shootout. Of course you were just betting, but, you figured if he already used all his bullets, there was no way he’d spend what little money he had left to buy more. Besides, the gun was threatening enough. At least enough to get out of town without any problems. But he forgot to factor you in. He was counting you out and people usually regretted it.
“Really? Then shoot me.” You finally turned to him raising your arms from your sides. He swallowed hard at your words.
“Go on, do it. Sure, Gabby here would put a bullet in your head as soon as you pulled the trigger, but at least I’d be gone, right?” You taunted him as you stepped closer to him. His hand was shaking. You knew it was a bit reckless to put all your eggs in one basket, stupid to go off a hunch that he was out of bullets. But that's just how you operated. And besides, the way he was acting, well it was a dead giveaway in itself that you were right.
“It’s okay, Johnny. You tried.” Is all you said before you were close enough to snatch the gun out of his hands before he even knew what was happening.
“Run and I’ll shoot you in the legs.” Gabby said as the two men started to back up. They stopped at her words.
You released the magazine and showed it to Rio just for fun. Empty. You even made a show of checking the chamber but nothing. You smirked. You loved being right. Rio nodded his head in approval.
“Shall we get this over with?” You asked him.
Thirty minutes later, you and Rio were walking out of the building. Gabby and Mick taking care of the bodies for you both. Weirdly enough, they seemed to be getting along quite well.
“Have to say, you were kind of a badass back there.” He said as you two stopped walking once you got outside.
“Kind of?” He laughed.
“Okay, okay. You were a badass in there.” You smiled at his correction.
“And you were alright, I did get here faster than you.” You pointed out.
“Was getting ready for a date before I showed up here.” His words were the last puzzle piece. You had already sorted out that Rio was most definitely the man Mick was trying to set you up with.
“Yeah, a date with me.” You said.
“Wait, you were who Mick was talking about?” He asked confused but he was still smiling.
“It would seem so.”
“But how did you know?”
“Because you’re exactly my type.” You refrained from saying you never really had a type but you most certainly did now. He smirked at you.
“Well, how about a late dinner?” He asked. You were pleased he still wanted to go out with you after everything that just happened.
“You read my mind.”
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title — a clouded fate (excerpt)
pairing — badboy!mark lee x female reader
featuring — lucas wong/wong yukhei, johnny seo, lee donghyuck (mentioned)
overall warnings — extreme drug use, drug dealing, alcohol use, language, slight religion talk, addiction
teaser — here
projected release — late september / early october
send an ask to be added to the tag list!
“Mark?” You ask, still looking up at him.
He hums in response, turning to look at you.
Your voice is soft as you ask, “Do you believe in destiny?”
Your boyfriend blinks at the sudden question. “Define destiny.”
“That like, we all have a predetermined fate. That everything happens for a reason, and every challenge is just a small piece in a bigger puzzle. That we all have soulmates we’re destined to be with.” Mark’s lips purse, pouting just the slightest in thought, a habit of his.
Does he?
It’s a question, because he used to. He used to be a good old Christian boy, of course he believed that God had a plan for everyone. Every tribulation was just something that would make him stronger in the end. Unfortunately, the last time Mark can remember being at church, he fucked one of the choir girls in the Bible study room.
He can’t really pinpoint when he stopped believing in fate. God? Yeah, sure he still believes in him, though the big guy upstairs will probably send him south for his irrefutable sins. But fate? Not really. If fate was real then it was really messed up to make him such a failure.
But, he realizes, gazing at the strands of hair matted to your forehead as a result of the hot summer weather, and the pure adulation in your eyes as you gaze up to him, that perhaps because of you, his destiny isn’t too bad. Sure, he’s a fuck up with addictions and demons, but he does pretty well by keeping you happy. Because you make him happy. A smooth, suave smile spreads across his lips like butter. “I didn’t before, but I do now.”
Your eyebrow perks up. “Now you do? Why’s that?”
His arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders allows him to pull your face close. With the same smile, he presses a number of kisses to your cheek (much to your sweet protest, complaining about his sweat and smoke). As though he attempts to mask his words against your skin, he mumbles, “Because I found you.”
Mark has never told you that he loves you; it’s a bit too intimate for him, who’s never been vulnerable in that way, and you, whose every first is him.
But he doesn’t have to say it, because you know it.
Your lips break out into a flustered smile, though you try to hide it from him. His quiet, unsaid confession fills you with glee and more importantly, confidence.
“Babe,” you tell him. This grabs his attention, because you rarely use such sweet nicknames. He attempts to respond, but you’re already sitting up and swinging yourself over to straddle his lap. Your movement brings about confusion on his features, and you take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position with him, but the first time you’ve made the initiative to do it yourself. Mark was always leading you. So you lean forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, and you kiss him.
You can probably taste the smoke on your tongue, but you’ve grown accustomed to that. Mark kisses back and grips your waist with his free hand, both shocked and amused by your sudden courage. Everything feels right, it’s like it’s destiny. He’s about to slip his tongue into your mouth but you break the connection, choosing instead to linger your lips over his. Your breath is hot on his as you finally speak.
“I want a puff.”
“Are you sure?” He looks up at you, nearly breathless at the sight of you atop him. Hair matted and messy, lip gloss smeared from your heated kiss, you look delectable. Your wide eyes, once depicting innocence, are now focused and curious. He knows you don’t necessarily approve of his habits, but here you are, sitting on top of him looking irresistible and asking for a taste.
“Yes,” you confirm, as though reassuring yourself. Mark had always liked you, been attracted to you because of the notion that you were innocent, pure, bright. Everything he was not. He had never wanted to taint you, yet his confession still hangs in the air.
But as he lifts his cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag before blowing the diluted smoke into your waiting cavern, he starts to worry that this would be the beginning of a long downward spiral which would place no blame anywhere but on him.
#neowritingsnet#dreamwritersnet#NCT-WRITERS#mark angst#mark lee angst#mark lee fanfic#mark fanfic#mark lee fluff#mark smut#nct fanfic#nct angst#nct fluff#nct dream angst#nct dream mark#nct dream
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"Next time I'll hit you like I mean it" for Jane pleaseee? 🥺✨
Thank you sweetie!! Have some Jane canon!!! I just want to make it clear that I am not at all responsible for the damage she causes. She is who she is.
It was fucking annoying. But if I was being honest, there wasn’t much that wasn’t nowadays. Even as I sat there with my feet propped up on one of our supply boxes, I couldn’t help but dig my knife into the wooden table next to me as they carried on. Even as Randy stood off in the distance, too preoccupied playing fetch with his new pitbull John had gifted him. Blue was about a year now, and she was so full of energy and getting so big. I couldn’t wait to see her once she was older, even though I would never admit it.
I watched in distaste as the others carried in supplies for John, stacking things neatly in his hanger. It annoying, watching over shit like this when there were more important matters at hand, like the Reaping that had just started. I had insisted we take back Fall’s End, that we could easily do it. And eyeing my sniper rifle leaning against a crate, I felt that familiar urge again. This time I would drag Fairgrave out myself, kicking and screaming if I had to. But John had decided not to, insisting that the new Sinner—the new heretic—wasn’t one we needed to concern ourselves with. Just a rookie deputy that was still green around the edges, someone that didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. It was amusing to me slightly, that the so-called Resistance trusted someone so inexperienced to spearhead this. Perhaps it would be easier to take them out now, all things considering. Either way, I was ready to test those boundaries, to see what made her so damn perfect to be a leader. I was ready to knock her ass down a peg.
“Viking Princess looks displeased, does she demand a sacrifice to appease her?” Randy teased as he approached, using the rope to play tug a war with the puppy.
“Shut up, Randy.”
“Pissed off, indeed.” He smirked. “What do yah got up your ass this time?”
I glared at him then, the mischief dancing in his light blue green eyes as I wondered how fast I could cut his face to pieces. It wasn’t as if we haven’t fought before, enough to know that I was at a disadvantage…for now. His size and experience in fighting outweighed mine, but I knew I would better him. I would take him the fuck down and see who the fuck was smiling then, with this face bloody in the ground. “Fuck off.”
Raising his brow, he pulled a chair out and straddled it, his eyes shifting to the few members that were doing most of the work. It was one of his fancy days, dressed in a button up and waistcoat. The Chosen always got special treatment, and when you were John’s, you were really special. Being John’s righthand had given us privileges…like not dressing like a fucking homeless person. I preferred a tank top and jeans, it was easier to move in, it was more practical and made more fucking sense to me.
“Y’know…you could just work that shit out, mate. Go punch a tree or something.” My grip on my knife tightened as I stabbed the table again, this time with more force than before. “Ain’t no reason for scarin’ everybody.”
“They can fuck off.” I muttered. It was infuriating. And maybe the problem was that I was stuck here, overlooking low-leveled members when I could have been out there, fighting and bringing people in like I was trained to do. What was the point of being one of the best marksmen in the fucking county when I couldn’t even use it? Or perhaps part of it was because I was itching to fight her. It was only a matter of time before our paths would cross again, and I knew exactly where she would be holed up. After her father died, that’s all she ever fucking did. Visit her father’s memorial at that fucking church.
I couldn’t wait until John gave the order to destroy them.
“They’re taking to fucking long. It’s annoying. And why the fuck are we here when we can be out there?” I spat bitterly, throwing a glare at one a younger guy, his eyes immediately cast down as he hurried past and out of my line of sight. “What’s the fucking point of this bullshit?”
“Supplies are important.” Randy answered as he lightly tossed the rope, Blue quickly running after it. “And we’re Chosen. Not a Priestess, not a hunter—”
“Who would wanna work with Jacob anyway?” I scoffed, my foot pushing against the crate and tilting my chair on the back legs. “Have you fucking been up there? Couldn’t handle the training he gave, can’t imagine workin’ for his ass. I’d scar that face up more than it already is.”
“Easy there, Scarface. You almost became one of his.” He threw me a smirk and I knew he was messing with me, doing what he could to poke and get me riled up. It wouldn’t fucking work though, not this fucking time.
“Almost became one of hers too, but could you fucking imagine? Rainbows and sunshine. Iced teas and fucking brownies. Fuck that shit. I don’t need that fucking overly sweet southern belle trying to make me smile all the damn time. She fucking hugged me last time.”
“Hmm. The Mother’s not so bad.”
“Pretty sure she poisoned Brady and almost got Miss Mable.”
“That a bad thing?” he laughed. “Mable is someone I can live without. You meet Brady? Asshat.”
I rolled my eyes at him and made a face. “She makes my teeth fucking rot. And she’s touchy. I don’t fucking like touchy.”
“But you’ll let Faith braid flowers in your hair.”
Grabbing the nearest glass, I chucked it at his head and watched in frustration as he skillfully dodged it. I didn’t know what I was expecting, it was so fucking him. Perfect fucking Randy, with his beard and muscular frame. His eyes found mine again, his small smile not widening even the slightest before he pulled the rope away from Blue and threw it again. “Fuck. You.”
My hand twitched on the knife that was still protruding from the table, wishing nothing more than to fucking fight someone, to go after Grace or that fucking deputy. Anything but to sit here, watching as everything fucking went on without us. When was the last time we got into a good fight? When was the last time I saw Randy beat someone until his fists ran red? I was tired of being on the sidelines while our people were constantly being attacked, constantly at war. It was bullshit that I was just used to babysit when I could do so much fucking more, I was better than this shit.
My mood only seemed to worsen when the next person came in, her honey blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, her head held high as if she owned the fucking place. I sneered as Holly looked around, her arrogance dripping off of her. Once upon a time we had gotten along a bit, which I suppose for me it just meant I hadn’t threatened to fucking kill her. Randy had defended her, people said, in a bar from her abusive husband. This was when John had been talking to her, slowly convincing her to join us. Which only led to him bailing Randy out that fateful night…and a few years later, we were here. Giving me plenty of time to know that I was tempted to rip her extensions out from time to time.
“She’s sleeping with Johnny again.” Randy sighed as Blue ran back, her front paws on his leg to hold herself up as he pets her, cooing praises.
“Shocker.” I muttered as I dug the knife out roughly. “Probably because poor Holly couldn’t snag her a place next to the Father. She wants a fucking position and thinks being the Baptist’s wife is gonna fall in her lap because she blows him. Fucking Holly.” After giving a quick look around, her eyes fell on us and an overly sweet smile spread across her face. I suddenly longed for the presence of the Mother in comparison.
“Hey, y’all! How yah doin’?”
Fucking Christ.
“Holly.” Randy gave a polite smile in return, a slight nod as he gave attention to the excited puppy tugging on the rope. Satisfied with the attention from him, she looked at me expectantly, her smile becoming tight. My chin tilts, holding my head high as I stared her down, daring her and showing her that I wasn’t playing her fucking game. I wasn’t her friend, I wasn’t gonna cater to her. She wasn’t my fucking Herald, no matter how badly she wanted to be.
“Well hey there, Jane.” She called, finally breaking the silence between us. I moved my feet, allowing my chair to fall back onto the floor on all fours again. Eyeing her up and down, I gently slid my knife back in place. John wouldn’t be too happy if I impulsively stabbed her, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I would behave…for now.
“Surprised to see you out here considering I never see you do any heavy lifting.” I replied, enjoying the way her face turned a bit pink. Pride swelled as I smirked at her.
Finally recovering, she scoffed. “Well, it seems that all your heavy lifting is going just fine.” She offered a pointed look at Randy as she put her hands on her hips as her words dripped with condescension. “You really are Sloth, aren’t you? Just sitting there when you can put those muscles of yours to actual use.”
It happened too fast for her, but I was in her face the next second, making her stumble back in shock as I glared at her. Randy watched quietly and I knew he was trying to tell me to ease up, to not let me be ruled by the pride that felt wounded on his behalf. But I wasn’t going to allow this, not when she owed him. Not when she needed to know her motherfucking place. So, I followed her stumble, taking a menacing step forward as the others stopped to watch.
She was trembling underneath her façade, her eyes wide as she tried to stand strong. It looked pathetic on her, it didn’t fit right on her. Not the way it was with the Heralds, not with Whitney, let alone on of the Chosen. Holly didn’t deserve the entitlement she reeked of. She earned nothing. I sneered in her face, our noses coming close to touching. The creak of his chair tells me he’s tensing, Randy’s own way of reminding me where we are, reminding me that I need to keep it together. I just wanted to claw her fucking eyes out. Just a little bit. Just enough to draw blood, to make her blind, to make understand that I wasn’t someone to fuck with.
“Most of your work is done behind closed doors, Holly. I would say watch your fucking mouth, but I think we’re both well fucking aware of what comes in and out of it.” Her mouth hangs open as she gaps at me like a fucking fish, taken aback by the crude and direct words that I’ve spoken. It makes me want to laugh at her. “Remember who’s in charge here. Last time I checked, we’re the Chosen. Fucking John doesn’t give you power here, don’t even fucking try.”
I wanted her to swing. I wanted her to give me a fucking reason to drop her, I was practically shaking for it. Violence vibrated in my veins, making me run hot. Another creak from his chair as he shifts, a subtle clearing of his throat, and I know I need to walk it off. Perimeter check was probably due, Randy could easily watch over this to make sure everything was in order. Maybe I could work of the frustration. Maybe I would see someone and be able to use my fucking rifle for once.
With one last glance over her, looking down at her, I turn away with the intention of grabbing my gun. I could make Randy pay me back later, giving me his best whiskey at his cabin while we sat around the fire. He fucking owed me for this. Biting my tongue until I was sure I could taste the iron of my own blood. The temptation to spit it in her face is one I have to shove down hard. Her scoff stops me though, makes me listen careful as her nasally voice echoes through the hangar as everyone hold their breath.
“Bitch, you fucking wish you could. You’re just jealous that nobody fucking wants you. Grace didn’t want you, your own husband didn’t fucking want you. Best you can do is this washed-up lumberjack—"
Years of ballet. That’s what it is, and I wouldn’t ever fucking admit that shit to anyone. But that’s how I’m able to turn on my toes so quickly. It’s how I’m able to throw my elbow in her face as swiftly as I do. I didn’t care what anyone fucking said, dancing gave you a fighting advantage. Cardio, flexibility, speed, balance…it was useful in moments like this. She jerked back, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to process, but I wasn’t giving her the time to. Finishing my turn, I reach out and grab the back of her head with my other hand, quickly slamming her face against the table. I smiled when I hear the satisfying crunch, that’s when I let her go and watch as she slips to the floor on her back. There’s blood from her broken nose and busted mouth, running down her face. Finally.
Her hands cup her nose, covering her face as her scream pierces the air, and even though it’s muffled by her hands, it was enough to carry through the hangar and I’m sure it could have been heard outside. I just hoped that John had decided to keep his damn office windows closed. Randy sighed as he calmed Blue, and I just glared down at her, towering over her with clenched fists. “Let this be a fucking warning to you, Pepper. I do not care to be fucked with, and I fucking dare you to pull that shit again. Because next time?” A humorless laugh escapes my lips as I sneer. "Next time I'll hit you like I mean it." Giving her one more onceover, I turn back and see the others gapping at me, completely shocked and a bit terrified. Good. “What the fuck are you doing? Brother John needs this shit done, get it done!” I snapped, making them scramble and collect themselves as they continued moving supplies in.
Randy follows me instead of staying behind, Blue nipping at the edges of my trenchcoat as we walk, the incident completely forgotten. He gave me a side glance as he crossed his arms. “Johnny boy ain’t gonna like that.”
“John’s judgement is obviously clouded, Randy.” I scoffed. “Someone needs to fix that for him.”
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Marvel Preference - How You Meet
F/N - First name
L/N - Last name
F/A - Favorite animal (or any animal)
E/C - Eye color
X
Bucky Barnes (MCU)
(Time frame: Post Winter Soldier, Pre Civil War/reuniting with Steve)
“Wait a minute!”
The pounding on your door had shook you from your sleep, worry welling up the moment you glanced at the clock on your bedside table. It was far too late for a visitor to mean anything good. In your hurry to get to the door, you’d tripped, catching your arm on the corner of a table as you had.
Finally, after battling your way through the dark of your home, you threw open the front door, one hand clutching an open cut and looking the very definition of a mess.
Still, even in your state, you couldn’t resist being surprised at the appearance on the man on your doorstep.
“I thought I was having a hard night.”
A rough laugh came from the stranger, “Sorry to prove you wrong.”
You stepped to the side and motioned him in, though you noticed the way he hid his right arm. He wasn’t as smooth as he seemed to think he was.
“So, what exactly is the Winter Soldier doing standing outside my door?” Immediately, he tensed, panic clear on his face, “You can relax, I don’t have any desire to have government agents crawling around. I only just got myself out of SHIELD.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“I blame the hair. Try a man bun, no one would expect you to be running around with one of those.”
“Noted.”
You laughed as you pointed in the direction of your sofa, “I’m going to get this cut cleaned up. Do you drink tea? If not, I can start a pot a coffee.”
“Either’s fine.”
“Got it. My name’s [F/N] by the way.”
“You can call me Bucky.”
“You’ve got it, Buck.”
He couldn’t help but smile as you gave him a playful wink.
Clint Barton (MCU)
(Time frame: Pre-SHIELD collapse, post Avengers)
Being a SHIELD agent wasn’t always trouble after trouble, just as—you assumed—being an Avenger allotted some time away from the front line in favor of some much deserved rest. Your job, like any, though it allowed for much more action than most, still had times where paperwork and meetings made for a day that dragged on and on.
And this was one of those days.
You shared a short lunch break with a few fellow agents, none of which ever spoke to you, spending even their breaks with faces shoved into documents. You often wandered if the paperwork became more interesting the higher your clearance level was, they certainly couldn’t be so focused on paying for yet another building leveled by yet another Avenger incident.
After another uneventful lunch, you began the trek back to your office. There was much to be grateful of in your job—your own office included—but every job seemed to suck the life out of you after awhile.
As you meandered your way back to your office and the paperwork residing there, you happened to run into someone.
Both parties stumbled back a few steps, apologies spilling as you each took in the other.
It took only a second for you to realize who you’d bumped into.
“Hawkeye! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was- I-I’m a big fan! Of you! Not just the Avengers, even though I am a fan of the-” You breathed out a sigh, covering your face as you attempted to regain any of the professionalism that you had once thought you had, “I’m sorry, let me start over. I’m [F/N] [L/N]. And I am an agent, despite acting like a rabid fan.”
Hawkeye, who had maintained an amused grin throughout your tangent, offered a hand, still smiling as you shook it, “Don’t worry about it. And you can call me Clint.”
“Clint, right. Pleasure to meet you.”
Johnny Storm (Fantastic 4)
(Based on the original F4 movies)
When a flaming anything comes crashing through your bedroom wall, you scream. It’s the natural response. When you realize it’s a man you momentarily question your sanity. And, finally, when said man ends up passed out on your bedroom floor surrounded by destruction, you’d normally call an ambulance—or would you? How often does a flaming man crash through someone’s wall? Unfortunately, whether you wanted to call an ambulance or not, your only phone had been pulverized when he flew through the wall.
Who had a landline anymore? It wasn’t your fault.
You dragged the man—who was easy to identify as the Human Torch—onto your bed and began to search his body for injuries. The injury that had knocked him out was quite easy to find, a large laceration on the back of his head, clearly from when he’d flown through the wall. You had expected more, considering the man had flown through a wall, after all.
You cleaned up his wound with all the skill of a random citizen having a superhero falling into her care.
It wasn’t more than an hour or so after that he shot straight up in the bed. His eyes immediately landed on your form, your feet perched on the back of a chair and your head on the footrest. An open book was in your hands, but it was forgotten the moment he awoke.
“About time you woke up, I was beginning to get worried.” You gave him a smile. “I’m [F/N] [L/N], the woman you owe a wall.”
“I’m Johnny Storm.”
“I’m well aware, Mr. Human Torch.” You motioned to the part of your floor he’d landed on, burn marks standing out against the hardwood. “You owe me floorboards too.”
Logan Howlett (X-Men)
(Time frame: Pretty much any. Post Origins and the first X-Men)
Your story wasn’t unique in the world of Mutant and human conflict.
Your parents had kicked you out the moment they discovered you were a mutant—class A parenting, if they asked you—and that led you to pick-pocketing and stealing to stay alive from day to day.
You didn’t like it and realized that you had no more of an excuse than anyone else on the street, but you had to get money somehow and people weren’t exactly fond of your kind. Mutants were given the short end of the stick at every turn and you doubted that would ever change.
More often than not people were more than willing to offer you money, at least, after you showed them your fangs.
You didn’t think twice about who you were stealing from a majority of the time, you got them alone, bared your fangs, and then were on your way. That was that. You also didn’t think twice about your reputation spreading around, but it was, more than you could imagine.
You were at a bar one night, as usual, waiting for one of the drunkards to go wandering out on his own, the prime opportunity to snatch a wallet with nearly no repercussions. When you were confronted by a man, you hardly flinched. “Are you [F/N]?”
You looked up at the man without the slightest concern on your face. He was larger than you, but you’d robbed far bigger men than him. “That depends. You a cop?”
“If I was, don’t you think you’d be in handcuffs by now?”
“I suppose.” You hummed, before offering a Ganges grin, “Alright, alright, yeah I’m [F/N]. [F/N] [L/N]. And you would be?”
“Logan Howlett.”
“Logan? I think I just might remember that.”
Loki Friggason (MCU)
(Time frame: Fight with Hela in Ragnarok)
It wasn’t the first time you’d fought alongside Thor. You were an Avenger after all—well, honorary Avenger according to Tony, not that you ever paid much mind to his taunting.
You’d been with Bruce when he’d vanished, that much you knew, but you weren’t sure how much time you had lost in between that and regaining your sense of self.
You understood Bruce’s struggle better than the others ever could.
While you weren’t a “rage monster”, the moment your subconscious perceived a threat, your form was overtaken by that of a giant [F/A]. You and Bruce had bonded over this fact, leading to a duo of giants always ready to have the other’s back.
You’d never had the opportunity to meet Thor’s brother, something that your team often forgot, considering your own sibling-esque relationship with the Asguardian.
You hadn’t expected your first introduction to the supposed villain brother to be him announcing himself as the Asguardian people’s savior.
“You’re Loki?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“[F/N]. I’ve got to say, you’re not what I was expecting from the man who tried to enslave Earth.” He didn’t have time for a response, not that you cared to wait for one yourself.
Amidst your own fighting, you found yourself aside Thor again, “That brother of yours is a real charmer. Your savior is here! Is he serious?”
With a loud laugh, he tossed a comeback, “He can be very theatrical.”
“I think that’s a bit of an understatement.”
Peter Parker (MCU)
(Time frame: After Ned finds out about Peter being Spiderman)
Changing schools in the middle of the year always brought with it more turmoil than was necessary. You knew that better than most, after all, this was far from the first time you’d faced a mid-year transfer.
Still, it grew easier with each transfer and, you’d begun to realize, the older you got the more other students just began to ignore your presence. It was a lonely existence, but one you had resigned yourself to.
Besides, this would be your last move.
Finally, after years of being tossed from one school to another, you were sent to stay with your [relative].
Still, the first day was like many before it, lonely and awkward as students would offer you fleeting glances before returning to their own groups. With any luck, you wouldn’t paint a target on your head to attract those of the students that would just as well bully you as let you alone.
“Um, hey,” you toyed with the straps on your bag as you approached the least occupied table in the lunch room, uncertainty in your voice, “would you mind if I sat here?”
“Oh, yeah, sure!” You smiled as the two boys scrambled to clear off the spot in front of them.
“Thanks, I’m [F/N].”
“I’m Peter, this is Ned.”
Hardly a moment after, Ned interjected, “Have you heard about Spiderman?”
Peter elbowed him, earning a laugh from you.
“Yeah, the guy from those youtube videos, right? I figure it’s all in the suit. Unless he’s some alien or something. Why do you ask?” You cocked your head.
“No reason!”
“Uh, yeah, just curious.”
“Whatever you say.”
Pietro Maximoff (MCU)
(Time frame: Post-AOU au, Civil War; Pietro sides with Cap.)
(E/C) eyes observed the male intruder traipsing about the warehouse you had adopted as your own.
It hadn’t taken much to stake a claim on the property. It had been abandoned for years, nestled in the midst of a tangle of trees, too tightly woven to bring in the vehicles needed for destruction without taking out the trees too. Your particular abilities made it all too easy to convince those who did wander along, that the warehouse was home to a nasty number of woodland creatures.
It wasn’t as if there was any concerning individuals out searching for you either. The only people aware of your existence were the Avengers and you were sure that they wouldn’t divulge your location to anyone.
Though the recent divergence from friend to foe did make you wander. With all that had happened, any of the team might divulge your secret.
Said secret being your existence.
Curiosity filled your eyes as the stranger walked further into the darkness of your abode.
The warehouse wasn’t exactly welcoming. Maybe his friends had dared him? He did look young. Maybe your age.
You followed him via the old pipes running across the ceiling of the building.
“[F/N]!” Your name coming from the mouth of another being surprised you, “Captain America sent me!” You perked up at the title as he yelled into the darkness. Steve had always been more welcoming of your presence than Tony.
Knowing Steve sent this stranger also gave you hope that you hadn’t been ratted out by Tony and his Accord.
You silently dropped down behind him, “And why is Mister America hunting me down?”
You couldn’t help but be somewhat disappointed by his lack of surprise.
“He’s gathering a team”
“Well, I have always wanted to experience the superhero shtick. Name’s [F/N].”
“Pietro.”
Sam Wilson (MCU)
(Time frame: Beginning of Winter Soldier)
“C'mon, Cap, you’ve got nothing on me. I’m known for being fast.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get sleep at night.”
“Oh, I’m going to get you!” With a playful growl, you launched yourself onto Steve’s back. He didn’t miss a step, continuing his run while you placed yourself atop his shoulders.
Your partnership with Steve arose from your interest in him and those he had fought alongside. What was a one time interview for your blog became a strong friendship, one that resulted in even the reveal of your abilities.
“On your left.”
You perked up as Steve spoke to a fellow runner, giving the stranger a grin as he fell away. You must have been a strange sight, perched atop Steve’s shoulders.
When you next heard Steve’s comment, you were typing away a text, but quickly turned to the stranger again. This time, you offered a wave and gave Steve a tap so he would stop.
After hopping down, you fell in step beside the man, “Sorry about Steve. The whole superhero thing makes him hard to beat.”
“I figured that out,” he stopped, offer in you a hand, “Sam Wilson.”
You took his hand, “[F\N] [L/N].”
An easy conversation arose, him mostly questioning your relationship with Steve and, by extension, the other Avengers.
It wasn’t until Steve once again lapped him that he seemed to remember that he had been running.
“Don’t say it!”
“On your left.”
“Come on!”
You rolled your eyes as you joined Sam in chasing after Steve, “Boys.”
Steve Rogers (MCU)
(Time frame: Post SHIELD collapse, pre AOU, references the AOU scene with Thor’s hammer)
Working for SHIELD hadn’t been among your aspirations upon leaving home.
Yet, here you were.
Or, more accurately, there you had been.
Your work as an assassin had long kept you separate from the golden heroes of the world, but the collapse brought that to an end. With what information had been kept on you being stored the old fashioned way, you’d made an escape, free to abandon all the drama that SHIELD had supplied.
So, you found yourself questioning why you now sat aside the heroes that you’d always thought yourself too tainted to friend. But here you were, the part of a bona-fide Tony Stark party, with all of the Avengers in attendance.
As the newest member—not that you were an Avenger, far from it—you received the spotlight as the group tossed questions at you from every side.
The conversation trailed away from you, for which you were grateful, and turned to Thor’s hammer. The men immediately jumped at the opportunity to prove themselves ‘worthy’ and you couldn’t help but make a snide remark toward their testosterone-fueled pride.
You also couldn’t help being impressed when the hummer moved for Steve—and beyond amused at the surprise on Thor’s face, but you’d leave that for later.
“I don’t think I properly introduced myself, Captain.” You gave him a grin, one everyone in the room could tell was flirtatious, “I’m [F/N] [L/N].” You held out your hand and he took it a grin matching your own on his face.
“Steve Rogers.”
You opened your mouth to speak but Tony quickly cut in, “Do you have to flirt in front of us?”
“Tony!”
Thor Odinson (MCU)
(Time Frame: Ragnarok)
Meeting the heir to the Asguardian throne was the last thing you had expected from your imprisonment on Sakaar, but he was there, imprisoned the same as you.
Your time as a contender had brought you more than your fair share of pain, but the look on Thor’s face served to convince you he’d suffered plenty before even being introduced the the Grandmaster’s game.
Still, you knew Thor was the greatest chance you had to escape and you wanted your chance, even if it meant weaseling your way into his favor with all the womanly charm you had left after the months of fighting you’d done for the Grandmaster’s enjoyment.
“Hello there,” you gave Thor your best attempts at a sexy smile.
“Oh, yeah, this is [F/N].” Korg introduced you and you gave him a nod.
“I’ll answer any questions he has, pal, you can go hang out with Miek, yeah?”
He hesitated and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had the same plan or if he simply wanted to chat with the newcomer. Either way, he relented without protest.
“He’s a good guy, great for some laughs too,” you shrugged, “I would have let you be, but I had to chat with you. Never expected to find an Avenger trapped in here with me.”
“You’re from Midgard?” you gave him an affirmative nod, “How did you end up here?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. All I remember is Earth and then,” you motioned a poof with your hands, “here I am.”
“I’ll get us both out of here, you have my word.”
Any response you had died in your throat. He hadn’t even gave you a chance to flirt your way into his good graces before offering his help.
You decided then, Thor was your favorite Avenger.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#clint barton#clint barton x reader#johnny storm#johnny storm x reader#logan howlett#logan howlet x reader#peter parker#peter parker x reader#pietro maximoff#pietro maximoff x reader#sam wilson#sam wilson x reader#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#thor odinson#thor odison x reader#x reader
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