#Crime Wave Press

[ruvviks]

"Colton and Akiyama have a long and rich history, having worked together for Arasaka since their early twenties— Colton as director of the SERPENT projects and Head of Special Programs, and Akiyama as recruiter and quality control manager across all of the corporation's Night City facilities. The two disliked each other from the start and from an outsider's perspective only rarely saw eye to eye; but if anything their rivalry was a challenge, a way to keep each other sharp, and one of the only ways they could have some fun in the megacorporation's grasp. Years later, the two reunite at Club Bodytalk following the incident in spaceship Elysium and the fall of Cobra Cybernetics. Surrounded by the victims of the projects they once ran, their heads are forcibly turned into the direction of their past mistakes— their guilt connects them and it forges a bond of understanding they can't get with anyone else, and while they cannot erase their past they can ensure that no one else ever has to go through any of that again." ↳ andy belongs to @mojaves, template here [x]

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf

[townpostin]

Crime Wave Rocks Jharkhand as Opposition Slams Government

BJP alleges breakdown of law and order under current JMM-Congress-RJD coalition Recent violent incidents have sparked concerns about deteriorating security in Jharkhand. RANCHI – The Leader of Opposition Amar Kumar Bauri criticized the state government for failing to maintain law and order during a press conference at BJP headquarters. Rising Crime Rate Alarms Opposition Bauri highlighted a…

[kaggsy59]

Fighting back against middle-class toxicity... @renardpress #onewomancrimewave

As you’ll probably guess if you read the Ramblings regularly, I tend to be quite selective when it comes to reading modern fiction. A lot of it is not for me, and I lean more towards the classics, modern classics, non-fiction and translated writing. However, when Will at Renard approaches me with something more current, I pay attention; he publishes intriguing, sometimes quirky and always…

[darkbluekies]

Intruder 2024 ver

Yandere!mafia OC x reader

Summary: finding a mystical USB in your bag leads to more danger you ever could have anticipated. It leads you straight into the arms of a well respected mob boss.

Warnings: gore, kidnapping, breaking in, chains, crime, yandere

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I thought it could be fun to remake my first one-shot almost 2 years later to see how I have improved! I hope you like the new version♡

Your hands tear through the bag, impatiently looking for the lip balm that is somewhere in the mess of papers, water bottles, wallets and receipts. Your head is pounding, your back is sore and your fucking lips are dry and you can’t think of anything else. You grab the backpack and turn it upside down, shaking it violently until every little thing has fallen out. Receipts dingle down like snowflakes. The lip balm falls out on the wooden floor and when you bend down to take it, you notice that it’s lying beside something that you can swear that you have never seen before. A white USB. Confused, you turn it around, looking for some kind of indication to remind you of what it contains. No tape, no pen, nothing. You sigh and stand up. Before walking over to your computer to figure out what contains on the USB, you smother your lips in lip balm. It gets in your mouth, tasting buttery and putting a greasy layer on your front teeth.

You sit down in front of your computer, boot it up and press the USB into the right port. If you see what is on it, maybe you’ll remember what you have used it for. It takes a few moments before a file pops up at the bottom of your screen. You press on it and are met by multiple folders, all having cryptic titles.

When have I ever done this?

Is this a Friday night drunk act? It would be an answer to why you don’t remember anything about it. You decide to press on one of the folders. Pictures and videos. Hundreds of them. You click on the first picture. What meets your eyes puzzle you. For a few seconds you can’t even process what you are looking at. A mushy red sponge-looking … something. When it hits you that what you are looking at is a dead, mangled body you gasp and shoot your chair away from your desk. A wave of mixed fear, disgust and disbelief washes over you as millions of questions bash into your head. Panicked worries about where the USB came from, who was in the picture, how many more there are like this, why you have the USB and if you would get in trouble and. If you give the USB to the police, would they find you suspicious? Would they think that you had anything to do with this? And will the ones who owns this USB kill you for it?

You find yourself pacing back and forth in your room as your heart beats in your ears. What are you going to do? You have to get rid of it. Quickly.

You turn back to the computer and pull the USB out as quickly as if it was on fire. The grotesque picture disappears. You drop the white stick into your pocket, as if it was really in flames. Just holding it made you feel dirty. You wipe your hands on your shirt, expecting it to smear blood. Nauseous, you run to the bathroom. Despite washing your hands in water and soap until your heads become gnarly and sore, you feel as if you have murdered that poor girl yourself and nothing will clear you of what you have witnessed.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom, how long you’ve tried to wash yourself of sin and guilt. Suddenly, the front door’s lock seems to click. You freeze, listen closely. Perhaps it isn’t your door? You quickly find that it is, indeed, your front door creaking open. Quickly, you get into the bathtub and hide behind the curtain. Your entire body trembled.

“Little thing”, a deep voice sing-songs in what can only be interpreted as amusement. “I see that you have something that belongs to me.”

The voice is unfamiliar, which is only for the best. You’re able to locate him in your bedroom.

The click of a gun snapping in place makes you flinch against the ceramic tub. If he finds you, you will die.

“Don’t try to hide from me.” You can hear the evident smile in his voice. “I know that you are here somewhere. I saw you on that low resonate web cam of yours just ten minutes ago! I don’t have time to play hide and seek with you. The longer I have to look for you, the less fun it’ll be for you when I find you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that all of this is a horrible nightmare. Your chest is burning with fear. All you want is to scream and cry, plead and beg for your pitiful little life.

“Little thing, I know that you saw some gruesome stuff on that USB”, he says, his voice now drenched in false pity. “Don’t you want to get rid of that horrible filth, hm? I can take it off your hands. Just come out and give it to me and I will spare your life. What do you say?”

A silence follows. An excruciating silence that makes you want to claw out of your own skin. You prepare yourself to see him ripping the curtain away and putting a bullet through your skull.

“Oh, would you look at that?” His voice appears again, back to the amusement. “A call from your mother? Let’s answer, shall we?”

Panic goes through your entire body as you realize that he has your phone — and, indirectly, your mother, in his hands. You can’t let your family be involved in this! The more people who know, the more people will be in danger and the harder it will be to get out of this mess.

You hurry out of the bathtub, out of the bathroom. You make your way down the corridor and storm into your bedroom. The man is tall with hair as dark as night and when he looks over his shoulder you can tell that his eyes, as well, are as dark as his ruthless soul. He’s standing in front of the same computer you watched the picture on — the same computer he claims he saw you through. He smiles at you, a triumphed ‘i told you so’ smile.

“Please don’t”, you beg. “Don’t answer the call. Please.”

He clicks away the phone call before throwing the phone on the bed. He turns to you. He’s wearing a black suit.

“There you are”, he smirks and tilts his head. “You look much better in person.”

With trembling fingers you fish the USB out of your pocket and throw it at his feet. He looks at it for a few seconds, appearing clueless.

“Take it!” you shriek. “Take it and leave me alone!”

The man scoffs out a surprised laugh and lifts his eyebrows before slowly bending down and picking it up. He looks at it for a few seconds and then at you, meeting your eyes. They’re surprisingly calm.

“Please, just take it and go.” Your voice is barely audible.

The man stays silent for a few seconds before opening his mouth again. “I don’t think I can.”

“W-What? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know how it ended up in my bag, I didn’t steal it. I don’t even know when or how I got it.”

The man seems amused by your rambling. As if he’s hearing a little kid try to reassure their innocence in a sandbox fight.

“I know that you haven’t done anything”, the man calmly answers. “My man’s incompetence of carrying an USB is not your fault. But you have seen what’s on it. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“No”, you lie and shake your head.

He scoffs. “I saw you on your webcam. I know that you understood what was on it. Do you think I can just let you off the hook and walk straight to the police? Now that you’ve seen me too?”

You are going to die. Holy shit.

“I-I won’t tell anyone!” you stutter and start to back away from him. “I will pretend that I have never seen anything. No one will know. Please.”

Before you have time to run, he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him. You scream and try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. He slams his hand over your mouth, forces your back against his chest. You sob and shake your head, your pleas getting muffled by his hand.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing”, he says. “It doesn't suit you.”

With that said, he pulls you out of the apartment. You can feel the gun in his pocket poking your back. You have never been this scared before, and have no idea what your body will do when it is this panicked. To your surprise, it decides to black out.

For a few seconds you're sure that you have dreamt the worst nightmare in your life, until you open your eyes and find that you aren't in your bed. You aren't even in your apartment. Quick eyes search around. A bunker or a basement. Those are your best guesses. Blood, both dried and fresh, covers the cement walls. You hurry to look around your body to make sure that none of the blood belongs to you. For the moment you seem to be unharmed. But for how long? You have chains around your wrists, ankles and throat to keep you in place. Like a dog. You repeat your name, your background and family in your head, just to not go completely insane. Will you ever see them again?

You damn that little piece of plastic and metal, wish that it would self-destruct and ruin that man's life. Such a little thing got you in such big trouble.

A door creaks open above you and your man starts to walk down the stairs to the basement. He's wearing a black buttoned shirt. He has something in his hands.

“Awake now?” he says.

You don't answer. He strolls over to where you're sitting and crouches down. He reaches out for you, removing some hair from your forehead. You will bite his fingers off if he doesn't keep them to himself.

You glare at him. You wish that your eyes could penetrate his skin and pierce his ice cold heart.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?” you ask carefully.

“It might be so that you'll have to stay here with me for a while. Telling me your name will make it easier for me to talk to you.”

“What's your name, then?” you ask.

He smiles, and the smile is almost soft. He seems amused by your counter question.

“Silas”, he says. “Achilleos.”

The name rings a bell in your brain. You've heard his name before. On the news. He's a mob boss. Your eyes widen. You really have screwed yourself beyond belief.

“My name won't hurt you”, he smiles.

“It's not the name I'm scared of”, you mutter.

“And your name?”

You hesitate. You know better than to give your name to a literal mob boss, but you also know better than to lie to one.

“Y/N”, you whisper, hoping that he won't hear and that you won't have to repeat yourself.

Silas makes himself more comfortable on the cold, hard floor. He leans on his arm.

“I have to say that I am genuinely sorry for this”, he says. “I don't like pulling innocent people into something they don't have anything to do with. Especially this kind of shit. I have more important things to do. My man stupidly dropped the USB into your bag and now that you have seen what's on it and know who I am, I can't let you go.”

Maybe you shouldn't have asked for his name.

“Normally, I would have killed you”, he says. “But I think that I'm going to keep you for a little while. You interest me.”

You lift your heavy, chained hands and cover your face. Sobbing. Silas removes your hands and lifts your chin up with his index finger.

“Let's make a deal, shall we?” he asks. “I will not hurt you … if you do as I say.”

“So I can't go home again?”

“No, because the second you put that USB in your computer, and I got the notification that someone had opened it, you’ve belonged to me.”

Beyond screwed isn't even enough to describe what you are.

“So?” Silas says. “Do we have a deal?”

What choice do you even have? You nod shortly.

“Good”, Silas says.

He reveals what he had in his hands when walking down the stairs. A small yogurt packet and a spoon. The text on the packet isn't in English.

“I used to eat this when I was a kid”, he says and opens the lid, giving it to you. “I guess that you're hungry.”

You shovel it into your mouth. It tastes like strawberry and is smooth in texture. It's first after eating it all that you remember who gave it to you and perhaps that you shouldn't have eaten it.

“No, I haven't poisoned it”, Silas scoffs. “Didn't I just tell you that I have planned to keep you alive?”

“You could have lied”, you whisper.

He scoffs again as he starts to remove the chains. The weight drops off of you like angel light. Silas pulls you up on your feet, buy your knees buckle the second you try to put pressure on them. Silas catches you and lifts you up in his arms. He carries you up the stairs, to a hall, and then up another flight of stairs. Your body aches.

Silas walks into a bedroom, dressed in modern interior design. You're placed down on a king sized bed, tucked in under heavy blankets. The crinkle of chains makes you flinch. Silas lifts an identical cuff to the ones you wore five minutes ago.

“This is just to keep you here”, he explains and places it around your wrist. “Sleep now.”

With that said, he walks out and leaves you alone. The door closes. You tug at the chain, but it's obvious that you'll stay there. Too tired to cry, you sink down on the mattress. Too alert to fall asleep you stare up at the ceiling. A thought crosses your mind, quick and easy, buy loud enough for your heart to ache. You have to get out of here before it's too late.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[targaryen-dynasty]

A SUCCESSFUL HUNT.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; fingering, p in v, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, possessiveness

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: What can I say? I just love this man. Thank you @sylasthegrim This can be read as part 3 of Set Me Alight Again!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The crackling of the fireplace is calming and comforting in your otherwise quiet marital chambers, its bright flames casting shadows to dance across the room. A chaise that has been specifically requested by you not long after your wedding to Cregan stands in front of it, and it was hard work for you to pull it from its place beneath the window to where it stands right now.

You’re nursing a goblet of wine, enjoying the peace and quiet while your husband is out on a hunt with his men. Nothing more than a relatively thin, white nightgown covers your curves with no smallclothes beneath, thanks to the warmth brought by the natural hot springs and the fire lit in front of you.

Cregan’s absence drags on with the hours passing, and you slowly but surely find yourself growing restless and a little lonely. He is a fine swordsman, you know that, but whenever his ventures take longer than anticipated, you can’t help but start to worry for his well being.

When the door suddenly swings open with your husband striding into the room, you jolt out of your reverie, making you look up at your husband, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re back,” you observe, taking in his disheveled appearance with his hair windswept and his clothes slightly rumpled from the hours spent in the cold forest.

Your husband grins at your words, the expression a little crooked and more than a little wolfish. “Oh, did you miss me, my love?” he teases, his voice rough with the exertion of the hunt.

At his teasing, your smile widens, eyes roaming over his disheveled appearance. He usually isn’t one to walk around with a neatly trimmed beard and well-combed hair, you have learned as much already, but this look of him coming straight from the forest, hair and clothes appearing as though he’s a savage, a true wildling, certainly sends a wave of something distinctly primal through your veins.

Rising from your chair, you place the goblet aside. “I might have missed the warmth of your body beside me, husband,” you reply, a hint of playful coyness in your voice as you outstretch your hand to beckon him closer.

Cregan lets out a small huff of laughter as he steps closer, taking your hand in his. His gray eyes trail over your figure, taking in every contour of it beneath your nightgown. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire. “And I here thought you needed some peace and quiet without me keeping you up all night…”

“Oh, I do require peace and quiet,” you agree, bringing your hand up slowly to run your fingers along the lapel of his furs. “But I did not say I wanted you away from me, did I?”

“You’re a vixen, aren’t you, my love?” he murmurs, his voice a raw, gravely rumble. “Were you waiting for me, all alone, wearing that?” He pinches the thin fabric of your nightgown between his fingers, tugging gently on it.

Your hands wander idly over the solid planes of his chest, and you look up at him through your lashes, your expression coy and playful. “Maybe I was,” you purr, voice soft and teasing. “Perhaps I was hoping for my lord husband to return home and ravish me after a successful hunt.” Your words are bold, but Cregan is nothing but a man that enjoys a certain straightforwardness.

A deep rumble vibrates in his throat at your words, and he leans in to nuzzle against the sensitive skin of your neck. “My dear wife,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your neck that makes you crane it to grant him even more access. “You know exactly how to drive me mad, don’t you?”

“Is it a crime to want my husband’s touch after being alone all day?” you whisper, your voice breathless with desire. “Surely you must be starving, my wolf, and I just happen to have something for you to feast on.” A soft moan escapes your lips as his teeth dig into your skin, arching against his sturdy frame.

His restraint is starting to fray at your soft moans and the feeling of your body pressed against his. “You have no shame, my love,” he growls, “but I am starving, indeed. And I plan on feasting until I’ve had my fill.”

His mouth finds yours, and there’s no gentleness in this kiss, only passion and desperate need, all teeth and tongue. As you pull away, your lips are swollen, and heavy breaths slip past them. “Then you best hurry,” you whisper, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck once before you slowly sink down with your eyes never leaving his, making yourself comfortable on the chaise again. “I would not want my handsome wolf to starve to death.” There’s a hint of sultriness in your voice, and if he doesn’t get the silent invitation for him to feast on you, he certainly does the moment you spread your legs for him, the flimsy hem of your nightgown riding up your thighs.

It’s more than obvious, and Cregan does not hesitate to rid himself of his thick furs and place Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, aside.

A gasp escapes your lips as you watch him sink down to his knees in front of you with half lidded eyes, his large hands trailing over your thighs with a possessive grip. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your skin heats with desire.

His breath comes out ragged as he pushes the hem of your nightdress higher, baring even more of your skin to his hungry gaze. But you don’t feel ashamed, and certainly not vulnerable – not in the presence of your husband, your protector, your love. “Let me taste you, wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Grabbing one of your thighs, his lips find the thin skin on the inside, pressing a kiss to it, before he proceeds to drape it over his shoulder. But when he repeats the motion, letting his lips linger on the inside of your other side a little longer, that’s the moment you all but want to squeeze your thighs together, soothing the aching that settles at their apex. The moan you release at the sight is pathetic, resembling more of a whimper than any sound of pleasure, and it makes your husband chuckle.

Both his hands cup your arse to bring your hips closer towards him, your breath catching in your throat the moment his hot breath fans over your soaked folds. “Gods, husband…” you whisper, voice barely more than a breath. You tangle your hand into his dark curls, urging him closer. “Please… I can not take much more of this teasing, I– oh!” The words cut off the moment your husband’s lips make contact with your cunt, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path up towards your sensitive pearl.

With one hand in his hair, the other tightly fists the skirts of your nightdress. The stubble of his beard scratches against your inner thighs as they squeeze around his face, igniting wave after wave of desire to course through your veins.

His name tumbles softly from your lips, a plea and prayer all at once, growing more and more desperate with his tongue lapping hungrily at your cunt. He moves his hand, one broad palm spreading your thighs open wider, granting him better access, his mouth never relenting as he devours you.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, tugging harshly at his hair. “I need you, husband… now.”

He chuckles against your folds, the sound low and wicked. Tilting his head, the coarse hairs on his chin graze your pearl, making you jolt. “I shall never get used to hearing a princess of the realm beg and plead,” he remarks, and for the first time you spot something akin to smugness on his features. “But I’m not sure I’ve had enough just yet, my love. I want to hear you scream my name before I give you what you really want.”

Your chest heaves with ragged breath as his lips tease your swollen cunt once more, a shiver running down your spine. “Gods… I need more, just give me–” The tip of his nose spreads open your folds, not only granting his tongue better access to your entrance, but also allowing him to ease two of his thick digits into you. Your body arches towards him, and your thighs enclose around his head again.

His nose rubs against your sensitive pearl, and with his fingers and tongue working in tandem, he has you right where he wants you in a matter of seconds – on the edge of your peak with your body taut like a bowstring and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Voice ragged with desire, you have a hard time forming coherent sentences. “I… please… I can’t take much… much more of this torment.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, desperate to keep his lips on your hot flesh, yet he still manages to tilt his head, interrupting his ministrations and forcing the wave of pleasure to subside at once. His digits still are buried inside of you, but not even squirming or shifting of your hips gets him to resume his movements.

“Patience,” he rasps, his lips curved into a wolfish grin you want to smack right off his face. “Good things come to those who wait.”

You release a frustrated moan at the loss of stimulation, your body desperately craving him. “You’re cruel,” you pout, writhing against the chaise. “And it truly is maddening.” Your complaints, however, are half-hearted, because at the same time, you love the way he winds you up like this; the delicious torment only heightens your arousal.

“And you love every second of it, don’t you?” he teases, leaning in to ghost his lips over the inside of your thigh, a hint of teeth grazing against it. It makes you impatiently shift your hips toward him, silently begging for more. He chuckles. “You have not suddenly become a quitter, wife, hm? I know you can take a little more.”

“I swear, if you make me wait any longer I’ll–” you break off as his tongue drags through your folds again, lapping at them like a man starved. With your eyes squeezed shut and the skirts of your nightdress tightly clutched in one hand, you allow yourself to revel in the pleasure again. “Gods… I need you, husband,” you whimper, tilting your head back. “Inside me… please.”

Cregan can barely hold back the groan that rumbles in his throat at your whiny voice, vibrating through your core as he groans against your cunt. But it seems your desperate pleas bear fruit with him rising to his feet, a pleased rumble in his chest. “There you are, begging so nicely for me,” he drawls as he leans forwards, both his hands resting on the back rest of the chaise, caging you in. “I do so love it when you use your manners, princess. You think you deserve a reward?”

Your eyes glint as you look up at him, coy smile on your lips. “I have been a good wife,” you retort. “I’ve waited all day for you to return, I was ready the moment you walked in. Is that not deserving of a reward? I ache for you, husband.” Your fingers trace idle patterns over his lips, touch light but insistent.

A growl rumbles in his chest. “These pretty eyes and that sweet cunt of yours are going to be the death of me.”

He captures your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before his other hand grabs your hips and adjusts you so you lie back on the chaise.

“You have the manners of a wolf, husband,” you remarked with a grin at his way of talking.

You’re ready to welcome him between your parted legs, but Cregan, however, deems it most fitting to shed off any piece of clothing left on his body, baring himself wholly to you. It’s the sight of his hard cock, straining and standing to full attention that has you licking your lips, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze again.

Chuckling lowly, he grabs your leg close to him and lifts it to make it easier to get between them, draping it over his shoulder like he’s done plenty of times before. The action makes you gasp, and you can feel your teeth dig into your bottom lip.

“But whose fault is that, hm?” you tease, raking your nails across his bare chest, scratching the dark, coarse hairs that spread all over it. “I recall you being the one who was rather insistent upon taking me as your wife,” you continue. “So, you best die a happy man.”

Both your hands are captured by his large paw, pinned to your belly. “You’re a cheeky wench, and too quick with your tongue,” he murmurs, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. It immediately coaxes you to arch against him, full breasts pressing against his chest. “I best find a way to keep it occupied…”

Your laugh is swallowed with a rough kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you with an almost primal possessiveness. It’s passionate enough to suck the air from your lungs, making you completely unaware of his hand sliding down your curves to line his cock up with your entrance.

It’s the swift push inside that makes you gasp against his lips, his body covering yours completely, pinning you down in a wall of heat and muscles. His lips tear away from yours, only to immediately trail a path of hot kisses from your jawline down to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. His hand grips your hip, hard enough to surely leave a bruise as he fully sheathes himself inside of you.

“This…” he mutters against your skin, voice strained and laced with desire. “You… mine. All of you is all mine.”

Feeling him fill you completely, your eyes fall shut, a whimper escaping your lips. You should be used to his size by now, yet you’re not certain if you could ever; not when each time he enters you – regardless of how often you’ve bedded each other already – it’s still accompanied by a slight stinging that washes away with the first rut of his hips.

“Yours,” you moan, your fingers finding purchase in his hair. “All ours… only yours.” There once was a time you whispered the same things to your uncle Aemond, entangled in the silky sheets of his bed, but they never bore a meaning similar to the one they have now – the ghost of an arranged marriage ordered to make up for the errors of your younger brother always lingering within them.

You writhe beneath him, trying to take him even deeper than what’s possible. There are no words needed to encourage him to move, but when he starts to grind his hips against yours, you aren’t quite sure if you’ve anticipated him to take things slower. His pace is merciless, toe-curling intense, and while your grip on his hair tightens, his shoulder is soon to be littered by crescent shaped marks of your nails digging into it as you clutch at it.

There’s barely one coherent thought forming in your head, mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations he’s stirring inside of you. All that leaves your lips as you clench so tightly around his cock are soft, broken gasps and moans, each of them desperate as the last, his name falling past your lips like a prayer.

Your body’s reaction is what drives him to go faster. And while the stinging of your nails makes him hiss, it also urges him to mark you himself, digging his teeth into your flesh – burgeoning bruises forming that are certainly meant to be discovered by your maids.

“That’s right,” he growls with a ragged voice. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

You unravel beneath him, arching your back and tipping your head back against the chaise, the sight not making it easier for him to stay composed enough to not peak on spot.

And that’s when he moves to press his chest flush against yours, holding your cheek with one hand, whilst the other grabs the side of the chaise, his biceps bulging from how tightly he holds onto it. His lips find the side of your face, kissing along your jaw, earlobe and temple. You have your head tilted to the side, granting him even more access as the weight of his body stops you from squirming beneath him, just allowing you to roll your hips against his.

“Oh, by the seven…” you whimper, turning your look at him. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

His frenzied, almost animalistic pace falters slightly at your words, clearly driving him wild. But he has a goal in mind, and won’t stop until you’re a mindless, trembling mess for him.

“Gods, you drive me wild with your…” he trails off, drunk on your cunt. “Such a wicked wife. I… I intend to make sure you will not be able to walk straight on the morrow.”

You cross your arms behind his neck, one hand tugging on the short, dark curls at the nape of his neck. Every time you try to arch against him, your hard nipples press against his sturdy chest, teasing his skin, and each time that happens, you’re certain you can feel him throbbing inside of you.

The dark, coarse hairs splayed around the base of his cock and over his pubic bone drag over your sensitive pearl with the reckless snaps of his hips, sending a shiver up your spine each time. His thrusts are harsh and determined, reaching deep and expertly brushing your sweet spot as he fucks sweet, little mewls and moans out of your throat, filling your chambers.

His relentless pace brings you towards your peak quicker than anticipated, and your husband can tell by the needy look in your eyes and the way you all but cling to him. His swollen lips find yours, a heated, sloppy kiss exchanged that swallows down every whimper and moan that threatens to make you pull aways from him.

“Let me feel you falling apart for me, wife,” he grunts. “Peak for me.”

Your husband all but shows that he knows your body better than you know yourself, his words and the desperate plea behind them sending you careening over the edge. Your body tightens around him, choking him with the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. Your lips part with a gasp. You convulse all over him, your hips grinding against his as the hot pleasure courses through your veins. But this time his thrusts don’t stutter, keeping the passionate intensity to the point you’re losing your mind.

“That’s it,” he husks. His hot breath fans across your heated features as he leans in to rest his forehead against the side of your face. “What a pretty face you make when you’re drenching my cock.” You’re not sure whether it’s his pubic bone still dragging over your pearl, his cock still sliding in and out of you, or if his praise alone is enough to prolong your peak, but you feel yourself keening at his words.

It takes him a couple more thrusts that slowly bring you to the point of uncomfortable overstimulation, until his own peak washes over him. His cock is twitching and throbbing as your walls squeeze him for every drop of his seed, spilling his release deep inside of your quivering walls.

For a moment, everything goes blissfully blank for the both of you, your minds blissfully empty of everything but each other. The sounds of your heavy breaths fill your chambers as he collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Releasing a soft sigh, your hand slowly starts to massage his scalp, dragging through his dampened curls. “Was the hunt successful, husband?” you inquire softly, despite your still slightly ragged breath.

He hums contentedly against your neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin of it. “Quite successful,” he murmurs. “But I would not say it was the highlight of the day.” With these words, he pushes himself up so he’s able to press his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You, on the other hand, definitely take the top spot.”

You let out a soft laugh at his words. “I assume you caught something worth bringing home, then,” you say, your voice teasing. “Unless you spent the entire day just wandering around in the woods.”

There’s a roguish glint in his eyes as he speaks. “Oh, love, you know me better than that,” he teases. “I’d never hunt without catching something worth bringing home. Suffice to say, this particular catch is something I think you will like very much.”

Arching a brow, it’s clear your curiosity is piqued. “And what makes you assume I will like this mysterious find, husband?” you ask. “For all I know, it’s a boar’s head or some deer’s antlers. Not exactly the romantic gestures that make a woman swoon.”

If Cregan has learned something about you, it’s that once you’ve set your mind on something, there’s no stopping or distracting you – not that he wants to do that anyways. Pushing himself up off the chaise, he slips into his discarded clothes, and you do the same, putting on a soft gown that covers your body with the exception of the obvious marks his mouth left on your skin.

The dark, possessive glint in his eyes at the sight makes your body heat up, a renewed wave arousal pooling between your thighs. But no, there’s something else waiting for you right now.

The fur coat he’s worn before is now draped over your shoulders as you make your way through the dark halls of Winterfell, your steps quick and purposeful. You arrive at the stables rather quickly, walking through the aisles.

“What are we doing here, Cregan?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Patience, my love.”

And as you reach a small pen at the far back of the stable, you feel as if you’re about to faint. Holding onto your husband’s arm, you stare into the pen with wide eyes, watching the small litter of puppies sleeping in a pile. Their gray and brown coats shimmer slightly in the dim light, and if it wasn’t for you not wanting to wake them up, you’d all but squeal. Having seen plenty of dragon hatchlings before, you’re certain their cuteness was defeated by the small pile in front of you.

Stepping closer to the pen to get a better look, you can’t avert your eyes from them. “You found puppies in the forest?” you breathe, voice almost a whisper. “Where’s their mother?”

Cregan comes up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Not just any puppies, my love. They’re dire wolves. The whole pack was slaughtered by poachers, apart from these little ones. As we found the pack, we heard them whining and yapping not too far away.”

“Poor things,” you remark with a pout, leaning against the edge of the pen. “What are you going to do with them now?”

It seems as though he’s contemplating his answer for a moment, looking at the small creatures whining and wincing in their sleep. “I was thinking of keeping them for my… ourselves. They could make some good hunting companions and serve as protection for the castle… for you. Dire wolves are fiercely loyal creatures, and they’d make ideal guards for Winterfell and you,” he states, his hand running up and down your waist.

A shiver runs through you as his hand moves to rest on your belly, rubbing it softly since his seed has not yet bore any fruits. “And they’d make formidable companions for any of our children. I have heard that dragons do not enjoy the cold as much.”

Placing your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his fingers, you squeeze it softly. “They’d make splendid companions,” you remark. “And having them as protection for the castle would mean you could leave it a little calmer and reassured.”

“Exactly,” he rasps, nuzzling your hair with his nose as his lips brush against your ear. “Plus, they could keep you company. It would be nice to have a part of myself guarding you when I am away. Like the ultimate protection.”

Finally looking up at him, you have a soft smile on your lips. “I like that idea,” you say, pressing yourself against him.

And while your life in Winterfell is now seldomly graced by loneliness anymore with most of your time occupied by these small balls of fur, you have come to learn quickly that there’s been your own pup slowly growing inside of you, your husband’s seed finally bearing fruit and expanding your family.

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @gemini_mama

[gyuswhore]

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl. 

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against. 

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you. 

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel. 

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today. 

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight. 

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?” 

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day. 

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job? 

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu. 

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow. 

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse. 

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers. 

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands. 

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion. 

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?” 

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet. 

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now. 

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher. 

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment. 

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare. 

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion. 

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either. 

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention. 

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise. 

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on. 

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you. 

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him. 

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine. 

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send. 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer. 

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators. 

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same. 

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait. 

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow. 

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day. 

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire. 

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave. 

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him. 

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning. 

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?” 

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were. 

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance. 

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open. 

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day. 

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting. 

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love. 

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels. 

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command. 

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.  

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint. 

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again. 

“What are you—” 

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.” 

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with. 

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse. 

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless. 

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss. 

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more. 

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly. 

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt. 

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe. 

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in. 

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions. 

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly. 

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips. 

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again. 

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing. 

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth. 

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before. 

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself. 

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.” 

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words. 

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants. 

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds. 

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt. 

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now. 

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you. 

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen. 

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead. 

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close. 

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you. 

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks. 

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog. 

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs. 

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago. 

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway. 

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you. 

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.” 

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.” 

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio. 

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him. 

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic. 

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back. 

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.” 

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes. 

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

 It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works. 

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

 “I love you,” he yells. 

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.” 

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling. 

“Mingyu!” 

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him. 

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you. 

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week. 

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐡𝐬𝐫/𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𓍼 𐙚 𓍢ִ໋🀦

art cred: gnillhem (x), howdong_ (x), mimmirii_ (insta)

❀ synopsis: how various men would love their chubby gfs <3

❀ genre: smut

❀ a/n: as a chonky gal myself this was so fun to write, also this was an ankn req from my old blog!

❀ tags: nsfw, mirror sex, praise, explicit, vulgar, cunnalingus, riding, fluff(?)

❀ Gallagher- You can’t tell me this man isn’t obsessed with curvy women. Absolutely enthralled by all your dips and mounds; feasting his eyes all over your figure and making sure no one in the bar ogles over you too hard. Just a little is fine though. Only a little.

He’s definitely possessive over you, but not controlling in the slightest.

In public, he’ll hug you from behind and squeeze you lovingly. And when you nap he’ll lay his head down on your stomach with his body inbetween your legs, loving when you graze your hand through his hair.

His hands though, love to hold every part of your body when you’re on top of him; especially your hips.

“Oh, god, right there,” you moaned, as his hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements up and down his cock. You could feel the heat radiating off his body as your skin pressed together, each movement sending a wave of pleasure through your clit. He relished in the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips, his hands roaming up her back, down your sides, never wanting to let go.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. He looked at you like you were the only woman in the world.

❀ Wrio- Doesn’t necessarily care about body types, but is obsessed with thighs. Doesn’t matter where, if he’s seated next to you his hand will be placed on your knee like a brace. He rubs them with his thumb, even if he’s driving they’ll be all over you. He’s always touching you, feeling your skin against his.

Oh yeah, by the way, he’s obsessed with your thighs. So much so that he’d do anything to be buried in them.

“Stay still…” He’d plead, muffled monotone coming from between your legs as is face is stuffed in the middle. His tongue traces up and down your exposed slit, hands gripping onto the fat of your thighs as his face is completely engulfed from side to side, marked up with marks of his teeth and colors of deep purple from his tender kisses.

“Wrio-“ You moan out- tempting to open your legs as the pleasure arose, earning a loud and stinging slap on your ass from your lover.

“Still.” He affirms, continuing to wring all the cum out of you, lapping it up while massaging your thighs with his palms.

❀ Diluc- Incredibly flaunting of you, you’re his beautiful prized possession. Not that your a trophy wife, but it would be a crime against teyvat to keep the world from seeing you.

Diluc especially loves to see you in the finest silks and chiffon.

The only thing he loves to see you in other than the most expensive fibers, is just nothing at all.

Every time he undresses you, his breath hitches at the sight of your benevolence. He loves the way you feels under his touch.

His favorite way to undress you, is right infront of the mirror. Standing behind you, he unties the buttons that trail down your back. It’s his favorite dress on you, but it’s subjected to the cold marble floors like every other peice of clothing he’s torn off you.

Slowly he drops the sleeves down, moving your hair out the way so he can plant kisses to your neck, one hand snaked around from behind you to hold your neck. The other groping and squeezing your breasts, before trailing down to feel your wet folds inside your panties.

“Pull these off.” He says, and you eagerly comply, sliding your panties to the side as he watches you infront of him in the reflection.

He takes in the sight before him, his eyes roaming over your exposed body, making you feel vulnerable yet completely safe in his embrace. 'You're perfect,' he whispers, before he turns his lips to descend on yours, igniting a fire within you that can only be extinguished by him.

It’s not long before he has you sitting on the dresser opposite of the mirror so he can force you to watch him fuck you. So that you can see how hungry he is for you, with your own two eyes.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[jyoongim]

Can I request and Alastor x reader where she was his wife when they were alive but she ends up in heaven while in her early 20’s due to being murdered on her way home from his radio station one night. She never knew about Alastor’s crimes but she finds out about the extermination at the meeting Charlie has with heaven and sneaks down during the next extermination not knowing if Alastor is still alive or not? Maybe some magic like reader singing No Good Deed from Wicked trying to prevent Alastor from being harmed or killed? Once they find each other I can’t imagine Alastor ever letting her leave again, not even to heaven. Can I request a bit of fluff and maybe NSFW to make up for the time spent apart? Thank you!

Title: Ruined Redemption 

Warnings: 18+! NSFW, angel!wife Reader, fem!reader, reader & Alastor married, mention of past life, mention of death, demon!alastor, fluff, creampie, rough sex, French, Heaven & Hell, am i missing something????

”You sure you dont want me to walk you home cher? I can wrap up right now” Alastor said as you pressed your soft lips to his cheek. You reassured him you would be fine. That you were perfectly capable of getting home without him escorting you.  “No no ill be fine promise. Just dont stay too late hmm? I would love to have my husband in our bed for once when the sun ain’t risin’” you said, glaring at him playfully. 

He chuckled, nodding ”Be careful on your way home cher, it ain’t safe for a doll like yourself to be roamin’ the streets at this time of night” Alastor said as you waved goodbye.

“I love you”

The stars twinkled in the sky as you stared up at them.

You blinked, raising a weak hand up to them.

 Blood.

You were bleeding. 

You had took a shortcut to get home and a man had grabbed you into a dark alleyway.

He tried to take advantage of you but you resisted, angry that you wouldn’t be a easy target he slit your throat so you wouldn’t cry out, leaving you to bleed out onto the cold concrete.

Your wedding ring shined at you. You let out a gurgle,

Alastor…

You use to think that people were lyin’ when they said your life flashed when times of death, but tears welled in your eyes as every memory of you and Alastor came to your mind.

The night you met Alastor was the last one you saw as you heaved your last breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Did you forget Hell is forever?”

You sat at the council meeting as the princess of Hell tried to reason with Sera. You were saddened that the Angels went down and executed the soul of the damned.

You thought the idea of rehabilitating souls was a good idea. 

You had waited years to see Alastor, but you quickly became concerned when each year he didn’t pass through those pearly gates.

Alastor was in Hell. At least you had hoped. 

You heard that the next extermination was soon and you plotted to descend to Hell to find your lost lover.

Alastor please be okay 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell wasn’t as bad as you thought. 

You quickly found the hotel the princess hosted and knocked on the door.

”Oh why hello- wait you’re-” Charlie stuttered.

You gave her a smile. You must have looked ridiculous, an Angel at her door and with the extermination approaching.

”D-Do you know Alastor?” You asked, almost pleading that you hoped your lover was at her hotel.

She blinked and nodded, letting you inside.

”I thought your idea was bees knees by the way”you said as she ushered you to sit on a couch.

”W-Why thank you! But…how do you know Alastor?” She asked.

You fiddled with your ring. “Well you see I’m his-”

”Darlin’? ” a voice interrupted you.

You almost broke your neck turning around. You let out a gasp “A-Alastor?”

A tall red demon stood in the archway.

He was dressed in all red, save for the few black accents.

His face dawned shocked, though his smile never faltered. But you saw it was tense.

You stood up and approached him.

Theres no way this was your Alastor…

You subconsciously reached a hand to his face “A-Alastor…is it really you?”

He leaned into your touch, grasping your wrist softly

”Mon cher…”

Your eyes welled with tears and you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him as you buried your face in his chest.

Still in shock, Alastor wrapped his lanky arms around you.

Whiskey and sandalwood. That was the scent that flooded your nose, same scent that always clung to him.

”I t-thought i would never see you again” you cried.

”what are you doing here?” You asked

He smiled “I should be askin you the same thing. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be down here”

You didn’t even realize that an audience had gathered.

”what’s white wings doing down here?”

You eased your grip on him, actually taking him in.

He looked nothing like your Alastor, but you knew it was him.

”Oh baby what could you have done to land yourself in hell?” You asked.

The tall spider gave a laugh “Freaky face there is one of hell’s most powerful Overlords toots”

Alastor glared at him before looking down at you “Its a rather unpleasant story my dear, but I guess I should tell you now”

And tell you he did.

You wouldn’t have thought that your Alastor was the one who had once terrorized your city.

Your husband was…You had married a killer.

”regret marrying me doll?”he asked at your shocked face.

You shook your head “Never” you gave him a smile “But you’re at a hotel that promotes soul redemption?”

He laughed “Just a little investment of mine to pass the time. I have no notion to redeem my soul”

This caused you to panic “B-but the extermination!”

He caressed your cheek “Don’t worry about that, I wont let anything happen”

You huffed, deciding to trust him “Well aren’t you gonna introduce me?” You asked turning to give your full attention to the bunch.

”Why of course! Everyone this pretty doll is my darling wife” he beamed

”WIFE!?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor took you on a tour of the hotel. You walked, arms interlocked as he showed you around.

You laughed when he brought you to his radio tower “Just couldn’t let it go huh?” You had said, earning a laugh.

He led you to his bedroom. You marveled at how it suited him. There was a swamp that split up the room.

A true southern man you sighed.

You sat on his bed, taking it all in.

Alastor couldn’t believe that you were here.

He thought that he would never see you again.

He had figured that you were in Heaven after a few decades.

You were his sweet little wife. You were the only good thing in his life.

He absolutely lost his mind when he was told you were killed on your way home.

He should have walked you home.

Your death weighed on him for decades. Even in death.

But here you were.

You hadn’t changed a day. Well the wings and halo were new.

”Mon cher…” He approached you, voice dropping the static and kneeled before you. 

You were real and you were here.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he laid his head on your lap.

Your hands found his hair, massaging his scalp. You tickled at his ears and giggled when they twitched.

”je suis désolé mon amour. je suis tellement désolé que tu aies connu un sort aussi cruel. si j'étais juste rentré à la maison avec toi... je suis vraiment désolé” his heart was pounding as he nuzzled into your stomach.

You smiled at his words. You cupped his cheeks, lifting his face to yours “it wasn’t your fault Al. Things happen. All that matters is that we are together again. ‘Ill defy death itself to be with you," were our vows remember?”

Alastor moved quickly. He gently pushed you onto your back as he climbed over you.

”tell me…tell me our vows again”

He tugged at his bow tie and stripped off his jacket, you retracted your wings as you watched him

”A-Al?” You whispered, suddenly breathless.

”please…tell me our wedding vows”

”From the moment our paths crossed, it was always you.

It was the moment we met that I saw everything. 

Our future.” 

He unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“You were everything i ever dreamed of and became so much more. 

I love you.”

He leaned down to kiss you

“Heaven and Earth cannot compare to how much I love you. 

Through the good and bad, Ill always love you.

 I give my heart and soul to you to cherish for an eternity ”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he peppered wet kisses along your neck

”Ill reap the Earth to and tear the Heavens apart to remain bound to you”

You gasped as he nipped your shoulder

”This love I give can never die. For Ill defy death itself to forever be with you.”

he buttoned your shirt, brushing a thumb over your nipples. A shiver ran through you.

”For death itself could never part us. 

I am yours forever and always and ill raise Hell if death tried to part us ”

You moaned softly as he took a nipple into his mouth.

“Alastor…”

The rest of your clothing was quickly removed.

You almost wanted to cover yourself.

When was the last time you were intimate with Alastor?

You felt like you were on your wedding night all over again.

”You’re as beautiful as when you were alive my dear”. He whispered, spreading your thighs.

You jumped feeling his hand skim your exposed clit.

You were embarrassed with how wet you were.

he still had that effect on you, even in the afterlife.

Your breath hitched as he dipped a finger inside you

Alastor groaned, you felt just as you did before.

You pulled him to your face, your face flushed and eyes lidded. Your soft lips met his as he worked your cunt.

”Alastor please” you whined against his lips.

You were always such an impatient thing.

But he would never deny you.

He growled ”If I fuck you Ill never let you go. You’ll never see those pearly gates again if you let me have you. So tell me you don’t want this, you don’t want me and Ill stop” he shimmied out of his pant, freeing his cock.

Alastor was lying. Even if you told him to stop and you didn’t want this he would never let you go back to Heaven.

Not when he just got you back.

Your lips met his again, the kiss was filled with longing and passion.

”I never want to be without you again”

He slammed his lips on yours again as he slid his cock into you, swallowing your squeal as you took him.

Fuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkk

He gave a few soft thrusts to make sure you adjusted well to him.

You panted into the crook of his neck. Nails clawing into his back as he rocked into you.

A cry ripped from your throat as he gained momentum.

”Aahh!”

This was different. So different from when you were alive.

Alastor was always passionate in bed with you, but this…this was so…you couldn’t even describe it.

a word popped into your head.

Divine

The way he fucked you told of how much he had missed you. 

Decades of being apart melting away as he pounded into you.

You locked your ankles behind his waist.

”You always take me so good cher. So so so good” He moaned into your ear.

The sound of skin hitting skin and your soft moans filled the air.

His cock hit that soft sweet spot inside you making you wetter.

”Ill ruin you. Fuck you til you’re drenched in me. Until your very scent is covered in me.” a harsh thrust brought him to be buried to the hilt.

Alastor smirked as your cunt fluttered

”You want that doll? To be ruined? To never see Heaven again? Hmmm you’ll throw away your salivation to be fucked by a demon like me?”

The telltale squelch of your cunt was his answer.

He would be damned if he ever let you out of his sight again.

His pace turned rough, he could feel himself changing.

”Alastor?” You felt him get bigger. His body morphed and when you looked at him, he expected fear.

But you looked in awe as he turned into his demon form.

Antlers big as willow branches, eyes black and glowing red like dials. He was disheveled.

He looked like a wild beast.

And he was fucking you like one.

All you could do was hang onto him. Letting him take you like you would disappear.

”ooh fuck aaahh please please” you cried as he fucked you, rutting into you with so much force you swear the bed was knocking against the wall.

You  felt your thighs tremble from taking his brute thrusts. That familiar tingle forming in your stomach.

were you gonna cum? Could you cum?

guess you’ll find out

Your demon husband was fucking you and you were gonna cum.

on his demon cock…oh heavens…

”Tu vas jouir, chérie ? Tu vas laisser un démon t'arracher ta libération ? Vous voulez que? hmmm? Tu veux jouir sur la bite de ton démon ? laisse-moi l'avoir chérie”

He purred, fucking into you so hard that a slight bulge was present.

He was going to break you. Ruin you.

He unhooked your legs, pushing one to your chest to get a better angle. Hitting those spots that had you seeing stars.

”A-Al! Oooh fu-fuuuck! I-I’m cumming oh my g-”

A large claw hand covered your lips

He snarled “There’s no God here sweetheart. Now. Cum”

Your body seized, feeling like a fire had set off as your organ ripped through you.

Alastor slapped his mouth over yours to eat your cries.

He thrusted into feverishly, seeking to paint your heavenly walls white with his cum as he fucked you through your orgasm.

”that’s a good girl, milking me dry”

He gently cradled your limp head, nipping at your swollen lips “where you want me cher? Cause i got half a mind to soak you in my cum”

You whined “i-inside…please cum inside me Alastor…baby please!”

He grinned “As you wish”

His pace quickened and with a low growl he emptied his cum into your cunt, sighing as he filled you til it spilled around him.

You let out a soft whine as he pulled out, wincing at the emptiness that he left behind, feeling his cum drip down your ass.

Alastor purred like an engine as he took you into his arms, basking in the afterglow as you cuddled into his side.

This is where you belonged.

By his side.

He’ll tear Heaven apart if they tried to take you back.

You were the Radio Demon’s.

Forever and always

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[babeyun]

falling alone ✩ l.hs [teaser]

✩ series m.list

✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s.

✩ genre: established relationship au | hurt-comfort

✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader

✩ word count: 2k | [full fic: tbd]

✩ rating: 18+. minors dni.

✩ warnings: mentions of disappearances. some slightly suggestive themes between husband!hee & wife!reader (nothing explicit), uhhh that's it for now i think!

friday, 9:23pm.

"late night?"

your voice has always been a comfort to him.

the way you cooked dinner every night, the way you washed his hair for him, the way you laid in bed with him – it was all comforting. your soft eyes, eyes that had never seen an inch of a crime scene. your gentle hands, hands that would never cock a gun and aim to kill.

you were home to him, and he hated that he couldn't leave his work at the precinct. he always brought it with him, anywhere he went...anywhere you were.

"not really. caught a session with dr. bahng. i'm sorry about dinner." he loosens his tie, trying to ignore the way your eyes follow his fingers. he takes his wedding ring off for work – insisting it snags on the gloves when gathering evidence, that he never wanted to sully it with such grime. "how was your night?"

your sigh may be inward, but his eyes catch everything. every frustrated twitch of your brows, the way your nose crinkles at the half-assed apology. your eyes linger on the linoleum floor, and he fights the urge to pull you into his arms. he fights the urge to show any weakness to your feelings, because he can't let go of work. he has to be strong, he has to be coarse, he has to be cold.

"it was...fine." you wave him off, moving to take the full plates off the table. only then does heeseung notice that you're still in your jeans, your white top neatly tucked into them. your feet are clad in fresh socks, almost as if you were about to go out when he arrived. his eyes scan you as you move around, pulling his tie completely off and bunching it into his pocket. "are you going out with your friends?"

you don't reply as you scrape the cold food into the trash can, and he focuses on the sound of your bracelet lightly clinking with the handle of the fork. your shoulders sag, soft curls of your hair sweeping over your face as you move to place the dishes in the sink. he sighs, before his legs move him behind you. "why are you upset, honey?" "i'm not, i'm not upset." you scoff, turning the tap to hot when you feel heeseung's hands ghost over your waist. you knew better than to attempt to hide anything from him, especially with the way his brain was literally trained to analyze your every movement. his lips press softly to your cheek as his fingers untuck your top, "i know you better than that."

you're silent as his fingertips trace the soft skin of your stomach, his chin resting on your shoulder. he's going to wait until you decide you want to talk, despite knowing it will be the same argument you have every single week.

the same argument that always ends up unresolved as you kiss in your bed, sheets tangled between your bodies. it's enough to hold off on actually talking about it, it's enough to semi-satisfy the lack of attention you got from him during the week. it wasn't enough to feed his unvoiced, almost insatiable hunger for you, and how he wished he could just douse you in his love and affection until the sun rose. it wasn't nearly enough, because he'd still have to pry himself from the comfort of your warm embrace to step foot in the precinct and inhale the stench of evil in the world.

he felt awful, really. that he could never truly show you how much he loved you, how emotionally constipated his job made him...how his sessions with dr. bahng were no longer of much help. "leave work at work, lieutenant. you have the love of your life waiting for you at home." he had it memorized at this point.

"it's always the same thing, don't worry about it." you turn the tap off, feeling the guilt about wasting water seeping into your stomach. you weren't going to wash the dishes, you knew you weren't. you just wanted to lay down in bed with your husband, basking in the few minutes of attention he'd be able to give you before falling asleep. "baby."

you wince at the pet name, one so foreign on his lips. one you so rarely heard, long lost in your college memories. you grimace as you turn in his hold, his hands now resting on your hips. "don't baby me, heeseung."

"don't heeseung me, y/n. i know something is bothering you, and whether it's tonight, tomorrow, or next week – i'm not letting you go to bed like this." he looks at you through tousled locks, his eyes speaking for him. just talk to me.

you shake your head in subtle disbelief, attempting to push past him when he pins you against the counter gently. "let me go, heeseung."

"not until you tell me what's going on." his voice is harsh, one he also rarely uses with you. heeseung was always gentle, soft-spoken. "i've been at work all day, dealing with shit i can barely stomach. i just want to come home and spend time with you. what's wrong?" he's starting to whine, and it does nothing but make your heart ache and your eyes sting with tears.

"i just want to spend time with you, without having to beg for it." you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid his gaze. "you remember everything, hee. i know you had to remember that tonight is date night." sighing, you peel your eyes open to a guilty husband watching you with his own tired ones.

"i'm sorry, honey. it really did slip my mind. let me...let me take a shower and we can go have a night on the town, okay?" he starts to walk away, fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt when you clear your throat. "it's fine, heeseung. let's just go to bed." "no, let me fix this. we haven't had dinner, and we haven't spent time together in weeks." he slips his dress shirt off as he leaves your line of vision, and you just slump against the counter. he was right, and you hated that you knew he was. heeseung was always this way, though, shouldn't you be used to it by now?

yes, he was gentle and soft-spoken, with a touch of dirty humor and thoughtfulness that always made your heart race a little faster. your relationship was built on a lot of comfort and deep talks, ones that usually involved you unraveling yourself entirely just to get a taste of his own secrets. the two of you had met in college, about three days after the disappearance of his childhood best friend, cha soyoung.

heeseung was even more cold and stoic then, and wasn't interested in so much as even befriending you. he didn't really speak, which according to hs friends, was unnatural. they wound up being close friends of yours as well, thanks to park sunghoon. the seven of them also ended up working at the same precinct.

"heeseung talks...a lot. not as much as jay, but he's just going through a hard time right now." sunghoon had said as he sipped his drink, carefully chewing the tapioca pearls as the two of you walked. "it's not everyday your best friend of twenty years goes missing, you know?" you had shrugged, not really understanding what it was like. your parents had moved you around a lot as a kid, and it was hard to make friends until they finally settled when you got into your last year of high school. you had met sunghoon there, but only met the rest of your friends through him that following summer – except heeseung. he'd gone home with soyoung for the summer, returning to seoul for the fall semester at decelis university with her and your other friends. you still never spoke, until now.

you and sunghoon were swinging by his dorm to help pass out flyers.

"hey, hoon. y/n." heeseung spoke quietly as he opened the door, his eyes nearly swollen shut from crying for the past three days. your jaw dropped as you looked at his face, not at all recognizing the boy in front of you. sure, you'd only ever seen picures of heeseung but you knew enough to know that this...wasn't him. neither you nor sunghoon spoke as heeseung moved for the two of you to follow him, shutting the door behind you.

"how are you feeling?" sunghoon asked as he trashed his drink, your own now sweating on a coaster on heeseung's coffee table as the man gathered things around his dorm. you stood awkwardly as you swung your backpack onto the couch, opening it for heeseung to slide the flyers in when you saw him shake his head. "i don't feel much, actually."

sunghoon glanced at you, but your legs moved before you could think. you rounded the table to heeseung, who looked at your extended arms and empathetic eyes with cold ones. he'd set down the papers in his hands, fingers splayed across them momentarily before turning back ot you, awkwardly entering your embrace. your fingers easily found the nape of his neck, and his rigid form quickly softened as he breathed shakily into your shoulder.

"m'sorry." he mumbled as you felt a few tears soak through your shirt, and you just shook your head.

sunghoon also wound up wrapping his arms around the two of you. something about the way that heeseung's fingers clawed at your sides, and the way that he sobbed into your shoulder made you wonder how long he'd needed someone. someone to ease the knot in his stomach, someone to help him see that this was something that would be solved and everything would be okay again. someone to help him hop along until soyoung was found, and someone to leave when she inevitably took her place again.

that was six years ago.

you and heeseung began dating a year after that happened, a couple of months after the anniversary of soyoung's disappearance. the police stopped looking, ruling her case as a runaway. you and heeseung never stopped searching – you frequently asked cafe owners if you could pin missing posters on their corkboards, and even went door to door every few evenings asking if anyone had seen soyoung.

heeseung had made it to the side of the law, and often reviewed the case to see if he had missed anything. he never had – you had all hit a dead end. everyone's hope began to dwindle, but heeseung never let that sway him. he even asked the forensics department to make age-progression posters, and they did. you'd pinned those up, too.

he was strong willed, he was diligent, he was determined. you love heeseung, you love the person he is...

...but you hate that he can't leave his work at work. you hate that you get a crumb of his affection every few nights, whether it's his lips pressed against your cheek after dinner or his teeth nipping at your clavicle while hovering above you in bed. you hate that you find yourself longing for him even more than you did in college, despite now having him in the deepest way – as your husband, the person who loves you.

the man who shed a singular tear as he watched you walk down the aisle, the man who supported you when your career wasn't what you expected. the man who endlessly told you he loved you in ways that weren't so evident to the naked eye – like leaving the warm water for you and showering in the ice cold, leaving the last slice of cake for you. rubbing your feet while watching law and order with you on days he didn't work (read: on days you pried him out of the home office.)

heeseung loves you, you know that. you just can't shake the feeling that it won't be for much longer.

BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

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[hoshifighting]

"S" on My Chest, 'Cause I'm Ready to Save Him

— Synopsis: Amidst the chaos of your world, you found Seungcheol, a man with gummy smile who melted the icy walls around your heart. But just when things were heating up between you two… You find out he's from a rival mafia, all thanks to a tattoo on his back. And you have to protect him. — WARNINGS: Smut, angst, mafia, oral (f. receiving), pussy slapping, unprotected sex, begging, manhandling, penetrative sex, dirty talk, lies, crying, threat of suicide, violence, organized crime, betrayal and etc. — WC: 7.1k — Reader! Mafia X Seungcheol! Enemy Mafia

You, the underboss of a powerful mafia syndicate. Born into a legacy of organized crime, you inherited the reins of power from your father, stepping into a world where loyalty was currency, and trust was a rare gem amidst the sea of deceit.

For years, you navigated the treacherous waters of the underworld with precision and cunning, your focus solely on the tasks at hand, your heart shielded behind walls of steel. Love was a concept long forgotten, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation. You had grown so selective, so cautious, that even the notion of such an emotion seemed foreign, a distant memory fading into the abyss of your past.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Enter Seungcheol - a beacon of light in the darkness, his presence like a breath of fresh air in the smoky haze of your existence. With his dark locks and a gummy smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts, he sauntered into your life like a whirlwind, disrupting the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself.

At first, he was just a familiar face at your favorite bar, a friendly ear amidst the chaos of your world. He listened to your frustrations with genuine interest, his empathy a balm to your weary soul. Slowly but surely, he wormed his way into your life, becoming not just a friend, but a confidant, a pillar of support in a world where trust was a rare commodity.

Before you knew it, Seungcheol had captured your heart a year ago, his unwavering devotion breaking down the barriers you had so meticulously erected. He showered you with affection, his gestures grand and heartfelt - bouquets of flowers that filled your home with their sweet fragrance, extravagant dinners where laughter flowed freely, and nights filled with excitement and passion.

[...]

As Seungcheol's hips moved with effortless rhythm, igniting waves of pleasure that coursed through your body, you clung to him desperately, as if afraid he might slip away into the night. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling him closer, your heart pounding in sync with his as your chests pressed together in a passionate embrace.

Locked in each other's gaze, your eyes spoke volumes, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. And as the pleasure surged through you like a tidal wave, you couldn't help but moan his name over and over again, each syllable a fervent prayer on your lips.

In the midst of ecstasy, Seungcheol's voice, husky and filled with desire, intertwined with yours in a seductive dance of words.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he trailed kisses along your neck. "You love it when I make you feel this good."

His words sent shivers down your spine, your body responding eagerly to his touch as he continued to tease and tantalize you with his dirty talk.

"Tell me how much you want it," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me how badly you want to cum."

Your breath hitched in your throat, your words tumbling out in a fevered rush as you surrendered to the pleasure he offered.

"I need you" you gasped, your voice raw with desire. "I need you to make me yours, to make me cum until I can't think of anything else but you."

As Seungcheol continued his relentless assault on your senses, driving you to the brink of oblivion, your body responded with fervor, your walls clenching around him in a powerful crescendo of pleasure. Lost in your orgasm, you could feel the sheets beneath you grow damp with the evidence of your cum.

His hips stuttered against yours, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he sought solace in your embrace. In that moment of pure bliss, there were no words, no thoughts, only the raw, primal connection between you and him, binding you together in an unbreakable bond of desire and need.

As you slipped out of bed to freshen up in the bathroom, leaving Seungcheol to bask in the warmth of the sheets, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. Despite the chaos of your life outside these walls, here, in this moment, everything felt right.

As you returned to the room, your heart fluttered with anticipation, eager to reunite with Seungcheol after your brief absence. But as your eyes fell upon his form, lying face down on the bed, a smile playing on his lips, your breath caught in your throat.

Something was different.

With hesitant steps, you approached him, the smile on your face faltering as you noticed the new addition to his soft skin - a tattoo etched into his flesh, unmistakably belonging to your rival mafia. Your blood ran cold, a shiver coursing through your entire being as the implications of his inked allegiance sank in.

Tentatively, you reached out to touch his back, your fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo with a mixture of disbelief and dread. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to flee from the danger that now lay before you, but you were rooted to the spot, unable to tear your eyes away from the damning mark.

Seungcheol's smile faded as he caught sight of your expression, confusion flickering in his eyes before realization dawned. He rose from the bed, his movements slow and cautious, as if afraid to startle a wild animal.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he reached out to you, his hand outstretched in a gesture of comfort.

But you flinched away, your entire body trembling with fear and uncertainty. How could you have been so blind, so naive to trust someone who bore the mark of your enemy?

"I... I didn't mean for you to find out like this," he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "But please, you have to believe me. I'm not who you think I am. I love you, and I would never betray you."

"You knew... you knew who I was all this time..." you breathed out, your voice trembling with a mixture of shock and betrayal. Stepping back, you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed in a way that Seungcheol had never made you feel before.

As he took a step closer, his expression fraught with concern, you couldn't help but recoil, the weight of his deception heavy upon your shoulders.

But Seungcheol shook his head vigorously, his eyes filled with sorrow as he attempted to calm the storm brewing within you. "No, Y/N, I didn't know at first" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I swear, I only found out after we were already together."

Your mind raced, trying to reconcile his words with the truth that now lay bare before you. Could you believe him? Your job was no longer to play with dolls in beautiful pink dresses, in which they found her dream prince. Now, any relationship you get involved in would have its consequences.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, you hugged yourself tighter, your gaze locked with his as you searched for any hint of deceit. But all you found was genuine remorse and a desperate sincerity that tugged at your heartstrings.

Tears welled up in your eyes, finally breaking free in a choked sob as you hastily reached for your clothes, your hands trembling. Seungcheol felt the desperation pulsing through his veins, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain.

He reached out to touch your arm, a gesture of comfort born out of instinct, but you flinched away, your voice trembling as you pleaded with him to refrain. "Please... don't touch me." you whispered, your words a knife to his heart as you recoiled from his touch.

Seungcheol's hand fell limply to his side, the weight of your rejection crushing him with its intensity. You had always craved his touch, sought out his warmth and affection with a hunger that matched his own, and now to see you pull away from him like this was more than he could bear.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as tears began to trail down his cheeks, mirroring the pain in your eyes. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you."

You continued to dress yourself in silence.

With a heavy heart, he watched as you prepared to leave, the realization dawning on him that he may never see you again. The thought was like a dagger to his soul, piercing him with a pain that cut deeper than any blade.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to you one last time, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Please... don't go."

But as you turned away, the tears in your eyes reflecting the agony in his own, Seungcheol knew that it was too late. The damage had been done.

Breathless and heartbroken, you dashed through the empty streets, the sound of your own footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. Each stride felt like a dagger to your soul, the weight of betrayal heavy on your shoulders as you raced towards your home.

Arriving at last, you wasted no time in summoning your most trusted hacking team, their expertise your only hope in unraveling the truth of Seungcheol's identity. With trembling hands, you guided them through the labyrinth of digital defenses, your heart pounding in your chest as you awaited the results.

And then, there it was - displayed on the screen in stark black and white, irrefutable evidence of Seungcheol's treachery. Not only did he belong to your rival mafia, but he was the very owner, the puppet master pulling the strings behind the scenes.

As the days passed, you heard a distant conversation between your dad and his henchmen. About this gang, the name matching the tattoo of the person you loved the most. The plan would be to meet the leader in an empty warehouse near one of the least busy streets in the metropolis. And that was enough for you to not even want to hear the rest. 

You were going against your own laws, days passed after the incident. But his death was the last thing you wanted. And you knew what your dad was capable of.

Seungcheol's attempts to reach out to you came in waves, a relentless barrage of emails, messages, and calls that served as a constant reminder of the love you craved every day. Despite your best efforts to block him out, he persisted, his promises of redemption and declarations of undying love echoing in your ears like a haunting melody.

Despite the pain that still lingered within you, you knew that you had to push forward, to be the strong, capable woman that your role in the mafia required you to be.

With each calculated move, each careful step, you reaffirmed your commitment to your role within the organization, knowing that nothing could repair the wounds that had been inflicted upon your heart. But even as you buried yourself in your work, the memory of Seungcheol being in danger lingered in the recesses of your mind.

[...]

As you walked with a heavy heart, a gun gripped tightly in your trembling hand, you knew that you were treading dangerous ground. Your father had warned you countless times to steer clear of this mission, but the nagging feeling in your gut told you that you couldn't ignore it - not when the safety of someone so dear to you hung in the balance.

The air was thick with tension as you prowled through the dimly lit alleyways, your senses on high alert as you navigated the maze of crumbling buildings and shadowed corners. The mission weighed heavily on your mind, the stakes higher than ever as you ventured deeper into enemy territory.

And yet, despite the pain, you remained focused on the task at hand, determined to see it through to the end.

Entering in a big empty shed, suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the empty place, alerting you to the presence of another. Instinctively, you reached for the gun tucked at your waist, your muscles tensing as you prepared for a confrontation.

And then, he stepped into view - Seungcheol, his eyes widening in surprise as he locked gazes with you, the shock evident on his face. "Y/N, this is dangerous shit. What are you doing here?" 

"What is it? Didn't you already know this was my job?" Your damn pride now decided to speak louder.

"Y/N, please... you have to listen to me" he pleaded, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Tell me why I should trust you," you demanded, your voice laced with anger and hurt. "After you've hidden everything, why should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?"

"I knew... I knew about your identity," he admitted, his voice strained with regret as he looked at you with eyes filled with pain. "But I didn't know from the beginning. I swear, Y/N, I didn't."

His words hung heavy in the air between you, a silent admission of guilt and regret that echoed in the depths of your soul. And as he continued to speak, his voice raw with emotion, you couldn't help but listen, despite the chaos that raged around you.

"I was alone," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Commanding this and that, but always alone. And you... you were my comfort, my solace. You were the embrace at the end of the day that I craved more than anything."

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy blanket, the realization dawning on you that perhaps there was more to his deception than met the eye. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth reflected back at you - the fear, the loneliness, the desperate longing for connection that had driven him to keep his secrets buried deep within.

His eyes seemed redder than normal, his dark circles were deep, and you noticed his hands shaking in his pockets. How much you were missed in his life, showing physically in him too. And you don't think it's very different from you.

"I was afraid" he confessed, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "Afraid to tell you, because I knew that sooner or later, this would be your reaction. And I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, of losing the one person who meant everything to me."

And then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room as people entered, forming a circle around you. Among them was your father's team, your dad's trusted compatriots who now stood before you with a mixture of concern and determination etched on their faces.

One of them, your father's longtime partner, stepped forward, his voice grave as he addressed you. "Y/N, you need to leave," he said, his words ringing in your ears like a death knell. "Or else you'll be at risk."

But before you could protest, Seungcheol stepped forward, his expression desperate as he pleaded with you to listen. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice cracking with emotion. "You have to leave. You can't do this."

You turned to him, your heart aching with the weight of the decision before you.

And then, without hesitation, you raised your gun, pointing it at your own team, who looked at you with shock and disbelief.

Seungcheol's eyes widened in horror as he realized what you were about to do. "No, Y/N, stop!" he cried out, his voice filled with desperation.

But you were beyond reason, consumed by a fierce determination to protect the man you loved at any cost. And as you stood there, gun in hand, facing down your own team, you knew that the line between loyalty and betrayal had blurred beyond recognition.

As your father appeared amidst the confusion, his eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding before him. The sight of you, tears streaming down your face, with a gun pointed at your own team, was a stark contrast to the composed, capable operative he had always known you to be.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air as your father took in the gravity of the situation. It had been years since he had seen you cry like this, It was probably while you were still a child, years since you had allowed yourself to show such vulnerability in front of him. And the sight of his child in such distress made his heart ache with a pain he couldn't bear. "What the hell are you doing, Y/N?" he demanded, his eyes searching yours for answers. "Put the gun down, now."

You hesitated, torn between the love you felt for Seungcheol and the loyalty you owed to your father and the team. But before you could respond, Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence a reassuring weight against your back.

But before you could respond, Seungcheol spoke up, his voice filled with urgency. "Y/N, please," he pleaded, his grip on you tightening. "You have to let me go. I can't bear to see you put yourself in danger like this."

He was afraid that you wouldn't be able to bear the weight of the consequences, that the burden of his actions would crush you beneath its weight.

But you refused to let him go, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. For in that moment, Seungcheol was more than just a lover – he was your anchor amidst the storm, the one person who had stood by you through thick and thin. The only person who didn't disappear when he discovered his true identity.

"Dad, please," you pleaded, your voice shaking with emotion. "You don't understand."

But your father's expression remained resolute, his eyes flickering with concern as he took in the scene before him. "I don't care what your reasons are," he replied firmly. "Violence is not the answer."

"Dad, I know violence isn't the answer," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears still streaking down your cheeks. "But you have to understand, if I leave now, they're going to kill him. Don't act like you don't know what they're capable of, because I've seen it firsthand."

Your father's expression softened slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his features as he took in your words. He may not have agreed with your methods, but he couldn't deny the truth of what you were saying.

As the tension reached its breaking point, you felt the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. With the sound of your father's henchmen cocking their guns ringing in your ears, you knew that you were running out of time.

"I would do everything for him, Dad," you said, your voice unwavering despite the fear pulsing through your veins. "And when I say everything, I mean everything."

With trembling hands, you raised your gun and pressed it against your own temple, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked around at the worried faces of those around you. "If anyone moves," you declared, your voice steady, "I will kill myself."

The room fell into a shocked silence, the air heavy with the weight of your words. Even Seungcheol, who stood frozen in disbelief, felt his heart plummet at the sight of you in such a precarious position. Holding your jacket with the intention of making you give up.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as everyone processed the gravity of the situation. Your father's henchmen hesitated, their guns wavering as they exchanged uncertain glances. And amidst the chaos and confusion, you remained resolute, your finger poised on the trigger, ready to follow through on your desperate threat.

Your team knew that your death would spell the end of everything, that your father would never forgive them for letting it come to this.

"Dad," you began, your voice quivering, "you know I've never asked anything for myself. It's never mattered to me how much money we had or what position we held. But this... this is the only thing I'm asking you for."

Your father's expression softened, his features reflecting the turmoil of emotions swirling within him. Now he knew the depth of your love for Seungcheol, and he understood the lengths you were willing to go to protect him. After all, your dad had never seen you in love before. He observed the way Seungcheol, the mafia leader who needed to be cold enough to bear with leadership, held you tight, afraid to lose you, his own eyes reddened from the tears that hadn't stopped since.

For a moment, the room fell into a heavy silence, the tension palpable as everyone waited for your father's response. And then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and understanding.

"I'll do what I can," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to promise me one thing, Y/N. Promise me that you'll put the gun down."

His words hung in the air, a solemn reminder of the gravity of the situation. And as you looked into your father's eyes, you knew that this was your only chance to save Seungcheol.

With a trembling hand, you lowered the gun, the weight of it slipping from your grasp as you stepped back, the tears still flowing freely down your cheeks. As the tension in the room began to dissipate, your father's authoritative voice cut through the stillness, commanding everyone to lower their guns. With a collective sigh of relief, the henchmen complied, their weapons lowering to their sides as the standoff came to an end.

With the immediate threat diffused, you turned around, your heart heavy with emotion as you sought solace in Seungcheol's comforting embrace. Tears continued to stream down your cheeks as you buried your face in his shoulder, allowing yourself to release the pent-up emotions that had been building within you.

Seungcheol held you tightly, his arms a reassuring anchor amidst the storm of emotions that raged within you. In that moment, the walls you had erected around your heart crumbled, allowing your vulnerability to flood forth like a rushing river.

And as you cried like a baby in his arms, Seungcheol held you close, his own tears mingling with yours as he too allowed himself to be vulnerable in your presence. Together, you shared a moment of raw emotion, a testament to the depth of your love and the strength of your bond.

Meanwhile, your father stood nearby, his expression a mixture of relief and contemplation as he observed the scene before him. Wiping his forehead with his hand, he took in the gravity of the situation, the weight of his daughter's love for Seungcheol weighing heavily on his heart.

In that moment, amidst the chaos and the turmoil, your father realized that he couldn't ignore the truth any longer. The love you and Seungcheol were sharing behind his back, was undeniable, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect it, even if it meant going against everything he had ever believed in.

As the tension eased and the henchmen filed out of the room under your father's silent command, a heavy silence settled over the empty space, leaving only you, Seungcheol, and your father standing amidst the remnants of the standoff.

The sound of footsteps echoing against the cold, concrete walls served as a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation that had just unfolded. Your father's expression remained inscrutable as he turned to face the two of you, his gaze lingering on the intertwined figures of you and Seungcheol.

Once they were gone, your father turned his attention to Seungcheol, his expression unreadable as he addressed the mafia leader. "Where are your henchmen?" he asked, his tone measured but tinged with curiosity.

Seungcheol met your father's gaze squarely, his own eyes unwavering as he replied, "I came alone, sir."

Your father's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, a mixture of confusion and concern crossing his features. "Why would you do that?" he questioned, his voice laced with genuine curiosity. "Putting yourself in danger like this."

Seungcheol's expression softened slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because I knew Y/N's father was here," he explained, his voice steady. "And I didn't want to risk any violence, not when her family is involved."

Your father's gaze softened, a hint of admiration shining through as he regarded Seungcheol. "I see," he said, his tone reflecting a newfound respect for the man standing before him. "That's quite a risk you took, Seungcheol. But I appreciate your efforts to avoid unnecessary bloodshed."

Seungcheol nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he received your father's approval. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice humble. "I just want what's best for Y/N, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe."

Your father's gaze softened as he took in the sight of your swollen eyes and trembling form, the toll of the intense standoff evident in every quiver of your body. With a gentle hand, he placed it on your head, a silent gesture of comfort and reassurance.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice filled with paternal concern, "you need to rest. It's been a long night, and you've been through a lot."

You nodded weakly, the exhaustion washing over you like a tidal wave. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, the weight of the events that had unfolded left you feeling drained and emotionally spent.

Turning to Seungcheol, your father's expression softened even further. "Take care of her," he instructed, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude. "She's been through enough tonight."

Seungcheol nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting a sense of determination as he took your hand in his. "I will," he promised, his voice steady. "I'll make sure she gets some rest."

[...]

As you stepped through the door, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the tension of the night slowly beginning to ebb away.

Without a word, Seungcheol guided you to the couch, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders as he led you to sit down. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of comfort through you, easing the ache that lingered in your bones.

As you settled onto the couch, Seungcheol disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a blanket and a steaming mug of tea. He draped the blanket over your shoulders, his touch gentle and reassuring, before handing you the mug with a soft smile.

"Drink this," he said softly, his voice laced with concern. "It'll help you relax."

As Seungcheol sat beside you, his gaze filled with concern, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the tension that lingered between you. With a hesitant voice, he broached the subject that had been weighing on his mind since the events of the night unfolded.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness

"I'm not mad, Seungcheol," you began, your voice soft but steady. "I'm just... confused."

Seungcheol nodded, his expression filled with empathy as he listened intently. "I understand," he replied, his voice gentle. "I know I've kept things from you, and I'm sorry for that."

You sighed, the frustration and uncertainty of the situation bubbling to the surface. "I just don't understand why you didn't tell me sooner," you admitted.

Seungcheol's expression softened at your words, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes. "I understand," he replied, his voice gentle. "But I want you to know that I never meant to keep anything from you. I just... I didn't know how to tell you."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "I know," you said quietly. "And I forgive you. But moving forward, I don't want there to be any more secrets between us." 

Seungcheol nodded solemnly, his eyes locking with yours in a silent promise. "I agree," he said, his voice firm. "No more secrets. I'll tell you everything, I promise."

The sincerity in his words washed over you like a wave, easing the tension that had settled between you. And as you talked, the conversation flowed freely, the walls between you crumbling away as you laid bare your fears and insecurities.

"It's just... I miss you, Seungcheol," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I miss us. The way things used to be."

Seungcheol's expression softened at your words, his heart aching at the pain he had caused you. "I miss it too," he confessed, his voice filled with longing. "I miss being able to be completely open with you, to share everything without reservation."

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of love and frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. "I love and hate how you bring out this side of me," you admitted, chuckling. "The side that's open-hearted and vulnerable, that shows my feelings like a teenager in love."

Without another word, you reached out, pulling him close by his neck and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Seungcheol leaned into the kiss, his own desire evident in the way he responded, but before things could escalate further, he pulled back, his expression conflicted.

"Y/N, we... we should take things slow," he said gently, his voice tinged with regret. "You've been through a lot tonight, and you need to rest."

But you shook your head, your eyes darkening with desire as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his in a silent plea for more. "I'm not tired, Seungcheol," you whispered, your breath mingling with his. "Not when I'm with you."

As Seungcheol pulled you onto his lap, a surge of desire coursed through your veins, igniting a fiery passion that consumed you both. His hand tangled in your hair, sending shivers down your spine as he pressed you down onto his throbbing cock.

Desperation fueled your movements as you eagerly tugged at the hem of his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the fabric in your haste to rid him of the barrier between you. With a husky laugh, Seungcheol obliged, lifting his arms to allow you to peel the shirt from his toned torso. 

The sight of his bare chest sent a rush of heat to your core, the muscles rippling beneath his skin a tantalizing invitation that you couldn't resist. Your hands roamed greedily over his chest, tracing every contour and dip as you reveled in the feel of him beneath your fingertips. "You're so eager, aren't you?" he teased, his voice husky with desire. "But don't worry, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

Seungcheol's laughter echoed in the room, a sound that only served to fuel your desire further. With a hungry growl, you leaned in to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongues dancing in a passionate tango as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

As you continued to grind your clothed core against Seungcheol's throbbing cock confined within his jeans, the intensity of your arousal reached new heights. The sensation was so intense that you had to break the kiss, letting out a low, guttural moan that reverberated against Seungcheol's lips.

His own desire was evident, his chin quivering as he fought to hold back his own moans of pleasure. But unable to resist any longer, Seungcheol swiftly freed you from your shirt, his hands deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside.

With a sense of urgency, Seungcheol lowered his head, capturing one of your exposed nipples in his mouth. A jolt of pleasure shot through you as his warm tongue flicked against the sensitive bud, his lips closing around it in a deliciously tantalizing embrace.

Seungcheol lavished attention on one nipple, his hand eagerly reachingj for the other, his fingers expertly pinching and rolling the hardened peak between his fingertips. 

As you opened your eyes, the world around you seemed to blur for a moment before coming into focus. And in that instant, you realized that you were no longer on the couch, but instead lying naked on Seungcheol's bed.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips as you took in the sight before you, the realization sinking in that Seungcheol had effortlessly whisked you away to his bedroom with incredible speed. It was yet another testament to his quick reflexes and agility, qualities that you found incredibly alluring.

Seungcheol's lips left a trail of wet, fiery kisses down your skin, each one igniting a new wave of desire within you. Your eyes followed his every movement, locking onto his gaze as he looked up at you with a hunger that mirrored your own.

With a slow, deliberate motion, his tongue traced a tantalizing path along your slick folds, eliciting a moan of pleasure from deep within your throat. The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body, your slick wetting his tongue as he continued to explore every inch of your pussy.

But as his tongue teased and tantalized your clit, driving you to the brink of madness with each flick and swirl, you couldn't help but tremble with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice thick with desire. "Stop teasing me, Seungcheol. I need you."

Seungcheol's lips curved into a mischievous smile as he looked up at you, his eyebrows furrowing with amusement. "Oh, baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with lust. "But teasing you is half the fun. And besides, I love seeing you squirm and moan for me."

As Seungcheol's tongue lapped at your clit with an intensity that bordered on exquisite torture, you felt a fire ignite within you, consuming you with a burning desire that threatened to consume you whole. Your back arched involuntarily, a promise of the orgasm that loomed tantalizingly close on the horizon.

But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, Seungcheol abruptly pulled away, leaving you panting and trembling with need. Your legs quivered with embarrassment as he rose from between your thighs, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

Desperate for release, you begged him once more, your voice thick with desire and longing. But instead of granting your request, Seungcheol pouted playfully, delivering little slaps to your swollen pussy that sent shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

Each slap elicited a gasp of pleasure from deep within your throat, your hips instinctively bucking against his hand in search of more. And when Seungcheol least expected it, you surprised him by cumming just from the sensation of his hand against your sensitive flesh.

With a cry of ecstasy, you grabbed hold of his wrist, pressing his hand firmly against your throbbing cunt as you rode out the waves of pleasure that crashed over you. 

"Well, well, well," he teased, his voice dripping with a hint of mockery. "Looks like someone's a little too eager, hmm? Cumming just from a few little slaps on that pretty little pussy of yours."

With a coy tilt of your head, you met his gaze squarely, your voice steady despite the lingering traces of embarrassment. "Well then," you said, your tone playful yet assertive. "Are you going to fuck this pussy or what?"

Seungcheol's sudden assertiveness took you by surprise, his red ears and the way his pants and underwear fell to the ground signaling his overwhelming desire. Before you could react, he had manhandled you around the room, pressing your back against the wall with a force that left you breathless.

"Since you want to feel this cock," he murmured huskily, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you're going to feel it entirely."

With that, he thrust his cock deep inside of your pussy, your walls clenching around him as he filled you completely. His grip tightened behind your legs, holding you securely against him as you clung to his neck, your nails digging into his skin with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.

As the position allowed him to hit your g'spot with each powerful thrust, pleasure surged through you in waves, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole. Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, your body arching against his as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that washed over you.

Seungcheol's voice was a low, guttural moan as he continued to drive into you, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Feeling me deep inside you, hitting all the right spots."

"Oh God! Seungcheol-ah!"

Seungcheol's eyes darkened with desire as he heard you moan his name, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "That's it, baby," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Moan my name again. I want to hear you scream it."

His words sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment. With a sense of urgency, you complied, your voice a breathless whisper as you cried out his name once more.

"Seungcheol," you moaned, the sound echoing through the room as pleasure washed over you in a relentless wave. "Oh god, Seungcheol, yes!"

With a hand tangled in Seungcheol's hair, you felt the tension building within you, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. "I'm cumming, baby, I'm cumming," you warned, your voice trembling with anticipation as you felt the climax approaching.

Seungcheol responded with slow, sharp, and hard thrusts, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was almost too much to bear, but you welcomed it eagerly, relishing in the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you.

"I got you, baby, I got you," Seungcheol murmured, his voice filled with reassurance and desire. "Oh my god, cum for me."

His words were all it took to push you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure as you creamed all over his cock. The sound of your release mixed with the slickness of your arousal filled the room, a symphony of wetness that echoed off the walls.

In that moment, any doubts you had about Seungcheol's strength faded away, replaced by the certainty of his embrace. His arms held you so tight that you couldn't help but feel safe, trusting him completely to carry you through the intensity of your orgasm.

As Seungcheol gazed into your eyes, he couldn't help but be captivated by the lazy smile that played on your lips, your gaze still clouded with the aftermath of pleasure. He gently lay you back on the bed, his fingers trailing along your skin as he asked if you could handle another round.

"Ready for round two, baby?" Seungcheol murmured, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself between your legs. "I want to make you cum again, even harder this time."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, excitement coursing through you as you eagerly awaited his touch. "Oh god, yes," you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper. "Please, Seungcheol, fuck me hard."

You nodded eagerly, a playful glint dancing in your eyes as you spread your legs for him, inviting him to take you once more. 

With a growl of approval, Seungcheol buried his cock deep inside of your sopping cunt, the sensation of him filling you once again sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. With each powerful thrust, he drove deeper into you, feeling your pussy getting tighter every second. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," Seungcheol groaned, his voice thick with lust as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies moving together. "I could fuck you like this all night long."

"Yes, Seungcheol," you moaned, your voice hoarse already "Fuck me harder, baby. Make me cum all over your cock."

Seungcheol whimpered at your words, you could feel the intensity of his desire growing, his cock twitching inside of you with each thrust. Determined to drive him over the edge, you watched with anticipation as he licked his thumb and began to massage your clit with incredible speed.

As your pussy clenched around him, Seungcheol felt a surge of pleasure shoot through his body, his own orgasm crashing over him with an intensity that left him trembling. He watched you in awe, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you screamed in pleasure, your body writhing beneath him as you rode out the waves of your climax.

With almost closed eyes, Seungcheol's gaze remained fixed on you, his own pleasure mirrored in the way his body convulsed with each pulse of release. His hands trembled around your hips as his cum spilled into you, filling you up with each pulsating throb.

Despite his best efforts to keep up the dirty talk, Seungcheol found himself overcome by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure, his words reduced to incoherent moans and stuttered phrases. "Oh god," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good."

As Seungcheol crawled to you and laid his head on your chest, hugging you tightly, you felt a sense of warmth and comfort enveloping you. But when you felt the hot tears against your skin, your heart clenched with worry.

"What's wrong, Seungcheol?" you asked softly, your voice filled with tenderness and concern. "Why are you crying?"

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he met your gaze, his expression a mixture of sadness and regret. "I just... I can't believe how brave you were today," he murmured. "You risked everything to protect me, even after everything that happened. And I... I just wish I could have protected you better."

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his love and concern for you shining through despite his tears. Wrapping your arms around him, you held him close, offering him comfort and reassurance in the face of his distress.

"You don't need to protect me, Seungcheol," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "We protect each other. That's what love is all about."

Seungcheol's tears continued to fall, but you could sense a glimmer of relief in his eyes as he leaned into your embrace, finding solace in your words.

"I missed you so much, Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice filled with love and longing. "More than you'll ever know."

His eyes softened at your words, a small smile playing on his lips as he reached out to cup your cheek tenderly. "I love you," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

[babygorewhore]

I’m in control

Cooper Adams x fem reader

Working at an arena definitely had its benefits. Getting free concert tickets and discounts for family members. Your employers prepare you for the arrival of the famous serial killer the Butcher but you have no idea how close he actually is.

Warnings! Light thigh riding! Fingering! Finger sucking! Age gap! Reader is mid twenties and he’s in his mid forties! Requested by anon! W.C 1.3k

Yall I saw this movie and I’m obsessed with him. Sorry not sorry. Be gentle this is my first fic with him and I think maybe the first one with this character.

“Don’t forget I won’t be able to take you home until everyone is gone and everything is cleaned up!” You call after your younger sister. Her recent graduation of high school rewarded her a up close and personal experience at this concert. She waves off your reminder as you roll your eyes and stand around the VIP area.

You didn’t mention to her that today was supposed to be the arrest of the serial killer The Butcher. It gave you shivers to hear about his crimes during your staff meetings. Preparation for any sort of confrontation brought tension to your shoulders all day as you worked. This job supported you in nursing school and gave you access to concerts. It was a win win.

You sighed and watched people walk by. Every male was to be stopped and questioned by the police. It was dull if you were being honest. It was going to be a while before you were able to leave so you decided to kill some time in a private room.

You blinked in surprise when you opened the door to see a man already in there. He was tall, really tall and muscular. Wearing a sweater, yellow jacket and jeans. You had seen him briefly earlier with a teenage girl, assuming it was his daughter. He was roughly in his forties you guessed. Handsome. Very handsome. Enough to give you awkward pause before you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, sir. This is for employees only. Can I help you with something?” You tried to keep your voice steady as he loosened a huff of laughter.

“Ah, I’m sorry I know I’m not allowed to be back here. But I have to be honest. The police are making me nervous. My daughter she was really looking forward to this concert and I’m just worried for her safety.”

His tone seemed genuine but there was a darkness in his brown eyes that made you feel alert. You nodded slowly as he took a step forward with a gentle smile. “So…have they caught him yet?”

Your pulse quickens and you part your lips to answer but the stranger chuckles again.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on, sugar. I know they’ve given every employee the rundown of the big scary Butcher. And I can tell you’re just…aching to tell someone what you know.” When he said the word, “aching.” He glanced down at your legs.

“Sir, I-i really don’t-“ He clicked his tongue, resting both hands on either side of your head, you could smell his cologne from his close proximity as he pressed you against the door.

“No need for formalities, sweetheart. I just want you to answer one question.”

You were afraid and…aroused as he leaned down and whispered in your ear. “How can I avoid the police?”

Your body trembled when he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. What the fuck was happening? You gasped as the stranger’s large hand moved down and cupped your waist.

“I-I don’t know-you can’t avoid them-“ You stutter as he shakes his head, nudging his thick thigh in between your legs. His size was massive as he was holding you up.

“I don’t think that’s true. The tension in your body tells me you’re lying. I’m good at spotting liars, baby.” You whimper as he encourages you to rub your covered cunt on his knee.

“Really, sir I don’t know. I’m not a manager or anything. I’m just a normal worker and we were told to just be careful and use the code word.” You pleaded as he sets both hands on your hips, guiding them to move harder and higher on his thigh. “No, no, there’s nothing normal about you. You know something. You’re smart and you’re going to tell me.” His voice indicated no room for argument and you were too distracted by the coiling in your stomach to argue.

“You’d have to be with the singer. She has to-“You moaned as he finally slipped his hand inside your pants, pushing aside your underwear with a nod. His fingers grazed your clit and you whined as he gave your pussy a smack.

“She has to what? Use your words, baby doll. I know you can do it.”

All common sense left your brain as he worked in two fingers inside you, curling them deep as you panted and leaned your head back. You had no idea what was happening, who this guy was or why he wanted to know. But you lost yourself and whined.

“She has to tell them you’re with her. She has her own security so-you’ll be clear-oh god.” You squealed as he gripped your chin, continuing to fuck you with his fingers as he forced you to look him in the eye.

“Very good. I’ve had…a long day. And I just can’t waste any more time with the fucking police.” He whispered, hovering over your mouth.

Your climax was nearing as he shoved his fingers impossibly deeper, almost painfully but he balanced it by massaging your clit with his thumb. Your eyes watered as he wrapped the hand holding your chin around your throat.

That sent you over the edge as you came all over his fingers. Your entire body heated as you moaned and dug into his shoulders as he fingered you through it.

Slowly, you came down from your high and breathed heavily as he slowly pulled out his hand. The stranger brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, shoving them in as he forced you to suck them clean. Your eyes were wide and teary as you stared at his dark smile.

“Thank you so much for your help. It’s nice to see employees taking their job seriously.” He smoothed his hair back as you shook. He removed his fingers and gently side stepped you.

He opened the door and you inhaled while blinking away any left over shock. “Wait! You didn’t even tell me your name!”

The man stopped and turned around. Horror chilled your blood as he gave you a wink and started walking away. You knew in that moment exactly who you just helped.

The Butcher.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @redhead1180 @nemesyaaa @oceandriveab @gothcsz @sararuno @horrorpiggy @lovalova444

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just Jason being the human version of a house cat.

Someone on here said that Jason is just a massive lap cat and I can’t help but agree because just imagine it; an absolute beast of a man finding solace in resting specifically on your plush lap, his strong, warm arms caging your waist as his face is burrowed pleasantly into your stomach in content, groans in displeasure whenever he feels you move even the slightest of inches.

How dare you move when Jason was just getting comfortable, apologise now for your transgressions.

Jason’s warmth would be advantageous to you during the colder months but an absolute nightmare during the summer, more so if you’re the type to get warm really easily and it ends up irritating you. But this is neither here nor there.

‘Jaybirdie?’ You ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp now and then.

Jason groans, showing that he was listening.

‘I’ve got to get going soon or else they’ll call and ask why I’m late.’ You tell him as you felt his arms tighten and you smile. ‘And I can’t exactly say that my 6’2 boyfriend is sprawled across my lap like a stubborn house cat that is refusing me to leave. Now can I?’ You finished, moving your hand away from his hair and focusing on rubbing his upper back, wishing you could see his muscles beneath the black t-shirt. You could only being to imagine the way his beautiful muscles would contract and relax from your touch as though they were like the waves you’d see at the beach, webbing and flowing; it was borderline enticing.

‘Then don’t go then. Simple as.’ His muffled voice said against your stomach.

‘I can’t, I promise to help out at work because someone called in sick…again.’ You muttered out the last part. You didn’t know why your co-worker wasn’t sacked for having so much time off but you knew you weren’t the only one that didn’t like them, and from what you’ve been told by older co-workers, this wasn’t the first time they’ve done this and even then you were surprised that they still even had a job to come back to. So because of them, you and your fellow co-workers were being worked to the bone to cover their hours on top of your own.

‘Again?’ Jason asked, lifting his head up from your lap, having been kept up to date on the goings on in your workplace. ‘How haven’t they gotten pulled in for that shit?’

You shrugged your shoulders, genuinely as baffled as he was about the whole thing. ‘Honestly have got the slightest clue Jay, but It’s all the more reason for me to go.’

Jason groans as he reluctantly lets you go but now you were the one upset at the sudden loss of his warmth and that must’ve been apparent on your face as Jason smirked mischievously as he reassumed his position on your lap, his strong arms went back to holding your waist tightly and his face burrows back into your stomach as he sighs in content once more.

‘See, now you don’t wanna go now because your Jaybirdie won’t be there to keep you warm.’ He teased as you tugged at his hair, causing him to groan.

‘That’s not-‘

‘Oh don’t play the coy card with me sweetheart, we’ve already been through that stage in our relationship.’ Jason cuts you off. ‘because if you wanted to leave that badly you wouldn’t be rubbing my back or running your hand through my hair like you are right now.’ Jason then looks up at you with a raised brow as if challenging you in daring to say otherwise when you both knew the truth.

‘It’s just- we don’t typically get enough time together.’ You began. ‘Crime in Gotham has been on an increase as of late, which is taking much of your time, and work has been asking everyone to pitch in and help cover until our co-worker decided to comes back at their own accord.’ You paused to stroke Jason’s cheek, internally melting when you felt him press his face further into your hand, gingerly kissing your palm. ‘It just doesn’t give us enough time for moments like these, the moments we crave most.’

‘The moments where we’re just together.’ Jason finishes for you and you muttered a small ‘yeah.’

A silence befalls you both as you tried to engrain this moment into your memory because neither of you knew when the next time you got to peacefully exist in tandem, whether that be doing your own thing or doing something together, just as long as you were with each other for longer then a fleeting five minutes.

‘So do you still want to go to work?’ Jason asked. ‘Or do you want to be selfish for once?’

You gave it some thought and soon after began to reach for your phone and punch in the work number as Jason squeezed a thigh in his large hand. ‘Selfish it is.’ He murmured with a smile as he gotten himself comfortable before feeling you run your fingers through his hair once more.

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Astonishment widens your gaze when you find your mother sitting on your bed when you go back upstairs. Her hands are twitching in her lap and she makes a beeline to you when she sees you.

“So, how did it go?” she asks, urgency laced in her tone. 

Your brows knit. “It went fine. Why do you even care, mother?”

“Coriolanus will be a good friend to have in the future,” she says, her hands seizing yours for emphasis. 

“A good friend?”

Your mother rolls her eyes. She then tugs you by the hand and takes you to your bed so you can both sit on it. The mattress dips with both your weights.

“Don’t you know, sweetie? How well his tribute did in the last Hunger Games? That Lucy Gray girl-”

“You know I don’t like to watch it,” you underscore, your frown accentuating. You don’t know why anyone would willingly tune in to this butchery and call it entertainment. 

Her hold on your hand grows tighter. “You need to grow up. You’re not a child anymore.”

You tamp down your hurt at her criticism.

She licks her lips and continues, “And it’s not just that. He’s on the fast track to becoming top student at the University, he’s Volumnia Gaul’s apprentice and he’s even got sway with-”

“What does any of it have to do with me, mother?” you interrupt, your well of patience running dry as she keeps singing the young man’s praises. It’s not like you’re not aware of Coriolanus’ accomplishments. He’s ambitious and clever. It was always obvious he’d get far in life. But clearly your mother’s trying to make a point and you’d like for her to stop beating around the bush and just spill it.

“He likes you.”

“I like him too,” you reply with a shrug.

She tilts her head, her interest seeming piqued. “Do you really?”

“Yes, I’m glad we can be friends again.”

“Friends is a good start. Your father and I started as friends…”

You draw your hands back, standing up in shock at her implication. Outrage blooms inside you. This is just like Demetria Plinth. While you’re aware your mother doesn’t approve of your current match, you never thought she’d be so devious.

“I’m engaged, mother.”

She sighs as she stands up too. Disappointment paints her features.

“I know, I know. And William’s a sweet boy but-”

“But what?”

She tilts your chin up. “What kind of future do you think you’ll have with him, hm?”

“One full of happiness and love,” you defend hotly.

She bursts out a chuckle. “Love and happiness do not provide food or shelter. But a match to a promising young man from a great house would-”

You cut her off again, peeved at her repeated ignorance of your wishes, “Like I said, we’re friends, mother, nothing else. I’m getting married in three weeks, whether you and Dad like it or not.”

Her lips clamp shut as she steps back from you. 

“And you have made that exceedingly clear, how little you cared for our opinion…”

“It’s not that, I just wished-”

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s no matter. Just promise me one thing?”²

“What thing?” you ask, suspicion clear in your voice.

“Keep him close,” she says, her eyes softening. “Can you at least do that for us, sweetheart?”

“I’ll try.”

“I’m being serious,” she emphasizes. “After your brother…” Her voice breaks at the mention of her son. Tears start to press behind your eyes at the sight of her grief-stricken expression. “We can’t afford any misstep. Do you understand?”

You don’t have it in you to fight her anymore, not when she’s like this. So you wrap your arms around her, giving her a tight hug. “I understand,” you reply, rubbing her back as she weeps in silence.

Naturally, your own tears follow suit. Whenever your mother cries, it's never too long before you start crying as well.

You may not go as far in your relationship with Coriolanus as your mother wants you to, but you can at least keep him in your life. And based on your encounter this afternoon, it will not be hard. You want him in your life. You missed him. 

You just hope your mother learns to accept that you and Coriolanus will never be more than friends.

God, you despise these events. You peer at your lavish surroundings once again. They certainly didn’t spare any expense, and this includes your father. Every inch of the palatial room screams wealth, from the champagne tower, to the elaborate sculptures and gold accents from floor to ceiling. 

Internally, you wince. This is the kind of futile displays of privilege the Capitol likes to indulge in. A waste of resources when people in the Districts are starving.

You bet if Sejanus were here, he’d feel the same.

Sipping lightly from your glass of posca, you nod along at the man who speaks to you. It’s been almost an hour and he hasn’t realized you haven’t uttered a single word. You wonder if he even cares. Gauis Creed, Festus Creed’s father, is the kind of man who basks in the sound of his own voice more than anyone else’s.

Eventually, you excuse yourself, pretending you’re tired and need to sit.

William follows you as you go find your father’s table. 

You unleash a sigh as you plop down on one of the velvet chairs around the table. An Avox approaches you, plate of appetizers in hand, and offers you one. You refuse with a smile, your heart twisting as you meet their gaze.

William’s hand folds over yours.

“You’re okay, baby?” he asks, concern swimming in his green eyes.

“I’m fine. These things are just so exhausting.”

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles as he smiles at you. “We just need to stay long enough to be polite.”

“I know.”

William suddenly straightens his spine, his attention traveling above your head. You pivot in your seat to see what caught his eye.

Your breath hitches at the sight of Coriolanus. He smoothly walks into the room, locking arms with his cousin Tigris. His stylish crimson fit, a two piece suit with a white rose pinned to his breast pocket, highlights his good looks. His blonde locks are slicked back in that formal way you’ve seen him sport since he came back. He wears it well. It makes him look older, wiser.

He radiates confidence and you don’t miss the looks that trail him as he enters. The young heir of House Snow is making quite an impression.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” William inquires, smoothing the wrinkles in his suit and rearranging his lapels. 

“Yeah, that’s him,” you reply, placing a hand on his arm in reassurance. 

But your fiancé’s eyes don’t stray from Coryo. A frown mars his brow. 

“Who’s the woman with him?”

“That’s Tigris, his cousin.”

Striking blue eyes slam into yours, making your heart skip a beat. You watch as the blonde whispers something to Clemensia Dovecote before weaving his way through the crowd.

“He’s making his way to us,” William says.

Frozen in your seat, you nod dumbly.

He glides in your direction, each of his steps graceful and determined. Not once does Coriolanus’ cobalt gaze strays from yours.

“You came,” you say when he’s in front of you.

He plucks your hand from your lap and drops an ephemeral, soft kiss on it. When he lets go of your hand, the feel of his lips linger, making your flesh tingle. You confine a gasp, your face warming. The move surprises you coming from Coriolanus. He knows etiquette better than anyone else. Doing this in front of your fiancé could be perceived as provocation. 

You’re sure he didn’t mean it that way, being naturally suave and charming, but you wish he’d tone it down tonight to not give William the wrong impression.

“I made a promise to a pretty girl, so I had to,” he rasps, honey dripping in his deep timbre.

Part of you melts. Ten years ago, you’d have done anything for Coryo to notice you, let alone whisper words such as these to you.

You collect yourself, giving a nod as you rise from your seat. 

You beam at his cousin. As always, she looks stunning. Tonight she wears a tight, scarlet dress that compliments her slender frame.

“Tigris, it’s been a while,” you chime.

“Too long,” she replies before hugging you.

You return the gesture. Tigris was always sweet to you. While you never went to school together as she’s three years older than you and Janus, there were many times she’d admonish children who pestered you. You remember wanting to be like her when you were younger, a poised, beautiful Capitol lady that’d make your parents proud.

It was before you realized how vapid most citizens of the Capitol are, that none of them care about anything that matters. Still, Tigris remains one of the kindest people you’ve ever encountered.

“You’ve grown into a gorgeous young woman,” she praises.

Despite you, a sliver of pride flutters inside you at her compliment. 

The reunion is interrupted when your parents arrive.

As you expect, they barely acknowledge William, but they grin from ear to ear when addressing Coriolanus.

“You clean up nicely, young man,” Strabo lauds.

Your mother doles out similar praise, asking him where he got his shirt from.

“Shall we sit?” your dad adds.

“Oh, may we?”

“Don’t be silly. We made sure there’d be room for both of you.”

So that’s who the extra chairs were for. You wondered before. You suppose it makes sense now.

Everyone sits and food is brought to the table. 

The tantalizing spread of meat and vegetables doesn’t entice you despite its artistic arrangement. Still, you dutifully gulp bite after bite, aware people in the districts are starving while you get to enjoy a fancy meal. You shouldn’t waste any of it.

The whole time, you try your best to ignore the way Coriolanus’ arm keeps grazing yours as he talks.

You stay quiet as the Snow cousins and your parents drone on about clothes and other frivolous matters. 

When the conversation begins to veer to more serious topics however, your ears perk.

“...And we’ve been trying to raise the viewership for the next Hunger Games through-”

“Well, maybe if it wasn’t about sponsoring the murder of children, it’d be easier,” William notes, cutting your father off mid-sentence.

Quiet falls over the table. Strabo’s jaw ticks while he glares angrily at your fiancé. Your mother shakes her head and tosses you a look of disapproval.

She doesn’t have to utter a single word for you to hear her thoughts loud and clear. They’re plainly written all over her face.

As for you, pride and love glow inside you as you twine your fingers with William’s. 

Once again, he makes you feel like you’re not the mad one in this mad world.

“What do you think?”

 Coriolanus’s abrupt question has you choking on your spoonful.

You cough and dab your mouth with a napkin, embarrassment swirling in your gut.

Beneath his intense stare, you quickly try to gather your words.

“Me? I…There has to be another way to discourage rebellions, a more humane way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A tender smile unfurls on his lips. “You’re sweet.”

The symphonic orchestra on stage starts playing music. Some of the guests start joining the dancefloor, waltzing along to the melancholy tune.

Coriolanus suddenly gets to his feet and steals your hand. 

“Do you mind?” he tells William while tugging you out of your chair. 

“I…” your fiancé begins. But Coriolanus drags you to the dancefloor, not waiting for his response.

Too dumbstruck to utter a word yourself, you let him. 

He slips his arm around your waist and sways to the music. You follow his lead, trying to discard how unnerving the proximity is. The faint scent of roses coats your senses, rendering you a bit dizzy. It reminds you of your garden. 

“He speaks like a rebel,” he says.

You stiffen. “He speaks the truth, and he isn’t afraid to do it. It’s what I love about him.”

Coriolanus scrutinizes you, his blank expression impossible to read. You gasp when he spins you. He then pulls your back flush against his broad chest. Your heart hammers wildly  and you find yourself praying he doesn’t hear it. 

His soft whisper fans over your ear. “He’ll get you in trouble.”

“Maybe I like trouble,” you reply.

His deep chuckle ripples along your neck. “Hm, do you, princess?”

Your throat goes dry. You pivot in your heels so you aren’t so close, remembering that William is a few feet away watching.

Your cheeks burn. 

“Coryo,” you mumble, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Yes?”

“You’ve changed, you know.”

“Hm, maybe it’s my hair. I’m trying to grow it out again.”

You shake your head.

“It’s not that. You’re just…a bit different.”

You don’t remember him ever being so bold and…so many other things you can’t place. You simply know that the longer you are in his presence, the longer it feels as if you’ll tumble into an abyss, one you won’t so easily climb your way out of.

He slants his head.

“Good different or bad different?”

You shrug and smile.

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

The gala leaves you rattled, hesitant to speak to Coriolanus for a few days. You know he’s not to blame for your parents’ behavior, but he didn’t exactly help matters with everything he did that night. Your mother for instance couldn’t stop raving about it on the way back home. You were grateful William wasn’t there to hear it. He’s worked hard to obtain your parents’ approval, even pretending to be someone he wasn’t at first just to impress them. But nothing he’s done ever worked. By mere virtue of his birth, the match is ill-fated in your parents’ eyes. 

Maybe distance with the blond is what is best. Once you and William are married, they’ll have no choice but to accept it after all. It’ll be done and there’ll be nothing else for them to say.

“Your mother said I could find you here.”

Startled, you nearly drop your embroidery hoop. 

Your head snaps up. 

You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus’ towering frame darkening the entrance of the sunroom, sporting a white shirt and a long black coat. 

“Are you upset?” he asks, heading towards you. 

His bluntness, coupled with his unexpected presence, snatches the words from your tongue for a few minutes.

You blink and frown, focusing on driving the needle through the cotton fabric.

“Upset, why would I be upset?” you evasively reply.

“The gala…” His voice is closer now, the smell of roses floating around you.

You dip your head and examine your needlework. You frown. It’s a bit crooked. The stitches aren’t as tight as they should be, making the petals you were sewing appear misshapen.

“You’ve also been avoiding me,” he adds. Your breath catches as you realize he’s sitting next to you now. “You leave right after every class.”

It’s true that even at the University you’ve made yourself more scarce. You didn’t expect him to notice. But you surmise nothing ever escapes Coriolanus Snow’s sharp senses. As long as you’ve known him, he’s been this way. He’d let the tiniest, most insignificant problem corral his entire attention until he solved it. 

“I haven’t,” you mutter, shrugging. “I’m not upset, Coryo.”

“So why won’t you look at me?” You squeeze your mouth shut, sewing as if your life depended on it.

“Look at me, princess,” he repeats, his hand finding your chin to force your gazes to meet. Your nerves thrum as he gauges you.

“I’m looking at you,” you whisper.

The blond’s forehead creases. His deep timbre softens while he explains, “I just want to be here for you, take care of you. That’s all. It’s just that…” He releases your face, his shoulders sagging. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me,” you insist, now eager to know what words were about to cross his lips.

It’s his turn to dodge your eyes now. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Your frustration hits its crest.

“Now I want to know even more.”

Coriolanus studies you for a while before a long, weary sigh drops from his chest. 

“It’s what Sejanus wanted,” he confesses, his soft inflection wavering.

You exhale sharply. “What?”

His throat bobs, emotions storming his blue eyes as they turn glassy with unshed tears.

“It’s almost like he knew, like he could feel it coming, you know?” Coriolanus pauses as if to gather himself. “He said ‘take care of her for me, please.’ He even had tears in his eyes.”

The hoop slips from your grasp as you gape at him in shock. Your voice comes out a watery quaver, tears welling in your eyes too.

“Did he really say that?”

“He did,” he confirms with a nod. A lone tear travels down his cheek. “I keep wishing I could have saved him, you know?”

He sounds disgusted with himself and your heart wrenches. It’s not like Coriolanus had anything to do with your brother’s death and could have prevented it. It saddens you that he feels the need to carry a burden that isn’t his own. All he did was be a friend to Sejanus. The picture of the two of them Janus carried proves it.

Without thought, your hand reaches his.

“This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

His fingers curl around yours.

“I just want to honor your brother’s last wishes. He was my best friend.” His thumb caresses the back of your hand. “And I know I can never replace him but…let me be here for you, okay?”

You chuckle through the blurry veil of your tears. You can’t believe Coryo carried this weight with him all along. You wish he’d told you earlier. 

He simply wanted to be here for you. You’re both grieving your brother’s death, after all. Guilt trickles within you for even doubting him.

“Of course,” you reply, giving a tearful smile.

His hands rise to cup your face. He gingerly wipes your tears as you sniffle.

His face comes alight with a broad, tight-lipped smile.

“I’m very glad to hear that, princess.”

[yannawayne]

iv. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established Relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

A typical dinner at the Waynes.

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Wednesday, 6:54 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City. 

Three Days Later

THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the occasional rustle of clothing as you pack your things. You carefully fold your favorite hoodie, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. Next, you grab a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and your worn-out sneakers. 

You pause, your fingers lingering on a framed photo resting on the edge of the dresser. It's a snapshot of you and Damian at a carnival, his arm slung over your shoulder, his lips gently pressed against your head. 

It’s been three days of radio silence between you and Damian. Three days of not speaking, which is practically a record for your relationship. And just when you were starting to get used to the peace and quiet, Bruce had to go and invite you and Selina to a celebratory dinner tonight. A gourmet guilt trip.

With a sigh, you place the photo gently on top of your clothes. Then you move to your desk, gathering a stack of notebooks crammed with sketches and half-finished plans scribbled on napkins and crumpled scraps of paper. You tuck them into the side pocket of your bag, carefully arranging the chaotic collection so that it all fits.

The door creaks open, and Selina steps into the room, her arms crossed with a proud smile playing on her lips.

“Packing up for your big adventure?” she asks.

You look up from your suitcase, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s only for a month, but it feels like I’m leaving for a year.”

“A month isn’t so long.” Selina walks over, her feet thudding softly on the floor. She picks up a small figurine from your desk, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think of it as a chance to stretch your wings and maybe learn a thing or two.”

“Thanks.” You smile and turn back to your packing, reaching for your suit. The sleek, black material glistens under the soft light filtering through the window. You run your fingers over the spider emblem stitched into the back, feeling the familiar texture beneath your fingertips.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing the suit, are you?” she asks.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the suit in your hands. “I thought I might need it. Just in case.”

“Well, you’re not planning on fighting crime in Stark Tower, are you?” she snarks, hands finding her hips as she gives you a look that clearly says she’s not buying your excuse. “This internship is a chance for you to have a life outside the vigilante shtick. It’s good for your future. A chance to live a normal life.”

“Normal? Mom, I stopped being normal the day I got these powers. There's no going back to that.”

“Maybe not,” Selina concedes, running gentle fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have something close to it. You deserve to have options, to see what else is out there for you.”

You meet her gaze, your resolve unwavering. “I hear you. But I think I need to bring it. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Selina sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “God. You are just as stubborn as me,” she says, rising to her feet with a resigned smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind about this internship. Give it a real shot, okay?”

“Promise,” you hum, feeling a small sense of relief. As you reach for the suit to tuck it into your bag, your phone buzzes insistently.

Quickly, you glance at the screen.

Morgana:

Busy tonight? There’s a shipment near the docks. Tech equipment from what I see.

You could infiltrate. They have valuable info.

It's… Black Mask.

For a while, you stare at the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen, itching to swipe through the new messages. But Selina is still standing nearby. With a soft cough and a resigned exhale, you place the phone face down on the floor, deliberately ignoring the message for now.

You turn your attention back to your suitcase, refocusing on the task at hand. Selina watches you with a knowing look but doesn’t press further. The silence in the room is filled with the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft clink of zippers as you continue packing.

“Ready for tonight?” Selina asks.

You nod, though a knot tightens in your stomach. Bruce’s congratulatory dinner feels less like a celebration and more like an impending test, especially with the unresolved tension between you and Damian hanging heavy.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you reply, attempting to sound confident.

You zip up the suitcase, taking a moment to glance around the room. Everything seems to be in place, but you double-check, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything essential. 

Selina nods approvingly, then steps closer, bending to pull you into a hug. “I’ll go get dressed. You do too, alright?”

Selina leaves the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Turning back to your suitcase, you rummage through the clothes, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a red jacket. After slipping on some socks and sneakers, you reach for a black shirt. But as your hand hovers over the fabric, your gaze is drawn to your suit laid out on the bed.

The spider logo on its back glares at you, its eight-legged emblem almost seeming to reach out with an imperceptible pull, as if urging you to embrace your other self.

After a moment of inner conflict, you give in. You carefully pull on the suit beneath your clothes, the snug material wrapping around you like a second skin. With the suit in place, you slip on your black shirt, followed by the jacket and jeans. You tuck your mask into the pocket of your jacket.

Wearing a superhero suit under your clothes for a fancy dinner—definitely not a sign of insanity. Totally normal behavior. Call it creative paranoia.

With everything packed and ready, you head downstairs. Selina is still in her room, and you catch sight of her as she steps into view, looking a touch more formal than you in a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that hugs her curves. It’s short, tight, and elegant.

“Done already?” she hums, moving to her vanity and starting on her hair and makeup.

You nod, leaning against the doorframe and giving your hair a casual tousle. “Yeah, figured I’d keep it simple. Not sure I’m in the mood for fancy.”

Selina glances at you through the mirror, a small, reassuring smile curling her lips. “You look great. And don’t worry too much about tonight. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

The clock on the wall reads 7:00. You have three hours before the dinner, and Selina, always the early planner, will be occupied with her preparations for a while.

Pulling out your phone, you check Morgan’s message again. If you played your cards right, you could handle the shipment bust quickly and still make it to the dinner on time.

Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the doorframe and tug your hood back on. You head downstairs, making sure to keep your movements casual and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

“I’ll be heading out for a bit. I want to get some flowers for Alfred,” you call out, your voice carrying through the house.

Selina glances up from her vanity, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We need to leave once the driver arrives.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod, turning and heading out of the room. You make your way downstairs, slipping out the front door and into the crisp evening air.

Once you’re in the privacy of a nearby alleyway, you waste no time. Tugging off your shirt, you shove it into the pocket of your jacket, feeling a rush of adrenaline. You slip on your mask, adjusting it carefully until it fits snugly, the familiar material settling comfortably against your skin. Your jeans, jacket, and sneakers stay on for practicality, and you plan to put the black shirt back on later.

With everything in place, you secure your earpiece and gadgets, pressing the earpiece into position and activating it. The familiar hum of your tech springs to life, and you’re ready to move. 

The city’s sounds fade as you slip into the shadows.

“Morgz? You there?” you call out, already scaling up the side of a building.

A crackle of static precedes Morgan’s voice. “Yeah, I’m here. You on your way?”

“Just about to leave,” you reply, grabbing onto a ledge and pulling yourself up. “Any updates on the shipment?”

“It’s scheduled to arrive in about 30 minutes. The tech equipment is being unloaded from a truck into a warehouse. Security’s decent, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re only 15 minutes away from your spot right now.”

“Got it,” you confirm, reaching the rooftop and taking a moment to scan the area below. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You launch into action, web-slinging towards the docks with a focus on speed. Normally, you’d be showboating and performing flips, but tonight, every second counts. The journey takes a bit longer than expected—20 minutes instead of 15.

As you approach the docks, you spot a boat pulling up to the edge, its silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Surprised you even took this up,” Morgan’s voice murmurs through your earpiece. “Thought you weren't allowed to patrol on school nights.”

“Technically… I’m not,” you reply, weaving between buildings and adjusting your trajectory for a swift descent.

“Yeesh. Going rebellious already?”

“Teenage angst, remember?” you quip, a grin forming beneath your mask as you prepare to intercept the shipment

Landing on a rooftop adjacent to the warehouse, you take a moment to plan your entry. The warehouse is a large, industrial building with a few tall windows and a side door that looks like it’s used for deliveries.

Security cameras are mounted on the corners of the building, rotating every now and then. You quickly survey the area, noting the guards' position.

There are a couple of guards patrolling the perimeter, walking in predictable patterns. One guard is stationed near the side door, checking his watch occasionally. The other two are more mobile, taking turns walking around the exterior and scanning the area.

Beyond the security, you see five workers moving boxes from the boat to the warehouse. The open doors at the far end reveal crates of tech equipment being unloaded.

You activate your earpiece. "Update. Three guards outside. Five active workers. They've got cameras. Can you get those down for me?"

Morgan's voice crackles through your earpiece. "On it. Give me a sec."

You watch the cameras, waiting for them to go offline. The guard near the side door looks at his watch again, oblivious to what's about to happen. 

After a tense moment, Morgan's voice comes back. "Cameras are down. You've got about an hour before the system kicks in again. Oh. That and there are about 5 more guards inside."

"Perfect," you hum.

You time your movements with the guards' patrols, slipping through the shadows. You approach the side door, keeping low and quiet.

Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, with stacks of crates creating narrow pathways. The workers are busy unloading the truck, their focus on the task at hand. You crawl up the walls swiftly and silently.

You spot a terminal near the back of the warehouse, its blinking lights indicating it’s connected to the inventory system.

Time to get to work.

“I'm at the terminal. What’s next?” you whisper into the earpiece.

Morgan’s voice comes through with a steady tone. “Plug in the flash drive to copy the inventory data. While that’s running, find the main control panel for the security system and plant the tracker. This will help us monitor future shipments.”

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Got it. Flash drive first, then tracker."

You slip to the terminal and plug in the flash drive, which hums softly as it starts copying data. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, you head to the security control panel hidden behind some crates and quickly plant the tracker.

"The tracker is set," you inform Morgan.

"Great job. The data copy should be done soon. Once it’s finished, you can pull the flash drive and get out of there."

You head back to the terminal, keeping an eye on the workers and guards. The flash drive's light blinks, signaling it's almost finished. After a few tense moments, the light turns solid.

"Data copied," Morgan confirms. "You’re clear to go."

You pull out the flash drive, tuck it into your pocket, and start heading toward the exit, blending into the shadows. Just as you reach the door, you hear voices nearby.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Your heart stops as the guard’s flashlight beam sweeps dangerously close to your hiding spot. You freeze, pressing yourself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing.

“Probably just a rat. Let's check it out just in case.”

You curse silently under your breath, watching as the guards start moving in your direction.

The first guard steps closer, his flashlight scanning the area. You silently crawl up the wall, positioning yourself above him. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at the flashlight, yanking it out of his hand and into the darkness.

“What the—” the guard starts, but you quickly web his mouth shut and pull him up towards the ceiling, wrapping him tightly in webbing and securing him to the roof. You knock his head against the metal, and he passes out.

The second guard, alarmed by the sudden commotion, turns his back to you as he draws his weapon. The rifle fires, but your spider sense helps you dodge the shots. 

Cursing, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can react, you web his hands to the floor and sling his weapon away.

Dropping from the ceiling, you slow your landing with a web and slam your foot down onto his head, knocking him out.

Despite the quiet disposal of the two guards, the earlier rifle shot already alerted the other workers and guards in the warehouse. You hear shouts and hurried footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s here! Find them!”

Guards scramble, their flashlights slicing through the darkness, casting erratic beams that dance across the warehouse walls. You sprint away, weaving between crates and machinery, but a new threat emerges from the shadows—a massive, burly man, easily twice your size. He’s built like a brick wall, his muscles straining against his uniform, and his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone, etched with a permanent scowl.

“Who’s messing around in 'ere?” the giant roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous space. He brandishes a rifle, and from the looks of it, he seems to be their leader.

You glance at your watch—damn, it’s been two hours already. 

Only an hour left.

Still… you could probably get one fight in before leaving.

…

Swinging out of the shadows, you land in front of the giant, hands on your hips.

“Hi, Mr. Villain!” you call out, catching a punch he throws and giving his hand a playful shake. “I’m Spidey, your friendly neighborhood nuisance. Always nice to meet someone with such a ‘heavy’ presence. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a security problem here—totally my bad.”

The giant snarls at you. He fires his rifle, but you deftly dodge the bullets. With a swift move, you fire a web at his feet and arms, pinning him momentarily to the ground. The rifle is knocked from his hands, clattering out of reach.

The guards scramble to regroup, and you spring into action. Flipping back into the air, you disarm the remaining guards—quick web blasts here, a roundhouse kick there, an uppercut thrown. Each guard crumples under the assault, slamming against the walls one by one, webbed together in a tangled heap.

There’s a snap as the leader breaks free, roaring in fury and charging at you. You duck under his swinging arm and fire a web at a stack of crates. The crates topple and crash into his path, heavy wood and metal smashing together. He stumbles, cursing and flailing wildly.

“Careful there! You might just crush your own merchandise,” you taunt, sidestepping his erratic swings.

In that moment of distraction, you snatch his gun away with a quick webshot. But as you turn to face him again, a jolt of pure adrenaline slams through your veins, sharp and unrelenting, like an electric shock.

The world sharpens into hyperfocus. 

DANGER!

Your instincts scream at you to move. You leap to the side, but it’s already too late. A shadowy figure springs from the darkness, their knife catching a deadly glint in the harsh warehouse lights.

The blade slices through your suit, leaving a searing, agonizing wound. You stagger, clutching your side as blood seeps through the torn fabric and pools on the cold concrete. With a pained grimace, you muster the strength to shoot a web at the attacker, slamming them against the wall with a forceful swing.

“Spidey?! Come in. Shit. What happened to staying stealthy?” Morgan's voice crackles through the earpiece. “PEPPER, run back their vitals on me.”

A mechanical voice responds through your earpiece. “Vitals are stable. The wound is a deep six-inch laceration on the left side, with moderate blood loss, but the suit's padding has helped. The injury missed major organs and arteries. Immediate first aid and stitches are recommended.”

“Looks like I’ve got a new scar to show for tonight,” you heave, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as the giant stalks toward you. “But I’m not done yet.”

The man's roar shakes the warehouse.

“You think you can take me, you puny spider?!”

You lift your chin, tilting your head with a smirk. “Puny? That’s funny. I’ve taken down bigger.”

The giant lunges, brandishing a scrap of metal like a battering ram. You barely dodge, feeling the whoosh of air as it swings past. You retaliate with a web shot to his face, but he roars and swats it away, his massive arms tearing through your webbing.

“Careful there, big guy,” you quip, “I’m not into heavy metal, but thanks for the offer!”

His hand clamps onto your chest, lifting you off your feet with an alarming strength. He hurls you against a stack of crates, the impact slamming you into the wall. You slide down to the floor, dazed and with blood trickling from a split lip.

While you're down, the giant strides toward you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a mini earthquake. You struggle to rise, just as he launches a flying knee. Your senses scream, a blaring alarm urging you to move.

!!!

With a yelp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that hits where you had been seconds before.

“Hey, watch it! I’ve got places to be after this!” you yell.

Before you can react, a powerful punch slams into your face, sending you spiraling backward.

“Owie. That one’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” you groan, pain radiating through your skull. Desperately, you shoot a web at his legs, hoping to slow him down. The webbing holds for a moment before he rips through it with sheer brute force.

Groaning, you shake off the dizziness, rolling your shoulders to loosen them before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Alright,” you mutter, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, the webs aren’t working. Guess we’re sticking to fists. Put ’em up, big guy.”

Laughing with a guttural, mocking tone, the giant charges at you. As he lunges, you brace yourself and bring your fist up to guard your face. With a burst of power, you jab forward. Your knuckles connect with his face with a sickening crunch, the sound of bone shattering and flesh splitting echoing through the warehouse like a thunderclap.

JAB!

The man staggers back, his head snapping violently to the side, blood spraying from his jaw. Before he can recover, you launch into a spinning kick. Your leg connects with explosive force, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud.

You follow up with a powerful jump, driving a kick into his ribs. The impact echoes with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and collapses, slumped against the wall.

With quick reflexes, you shoot a web at a high pipe, coiling it tightly. You yank the pipe down with all your strength. It crashes onto the giant with a resounding clang, the impact knocking him out cold.

You take a couple of deep breaths, blood and sweat mingling on your clothes and face as you survey the wreckage. The giant groans weakly—alive, but definitely out of commission for the moment.

“Looks like the big guy’s all out of steam,” you murmur, wiping the blood from your brow with a grim smile. “Now, time to find that exit before my own steam runs out.”

With a final glance at the chaos you've left behind, you swing toward the exit. The cut on your side throbs with each movement—though it's slowly healing, the pain and blood are still very much present.

"Spidey? You alright? What the fuck, you just beat that guy within an inch of his life."

“He’ll live,” you huff as you swing through the streets. After fumbling around for a while, you pull your phone from your jacket and curse at the time. 

Only ten minutes before the car arrives. 

“Uh, Morgz, do me a favor. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

"Christ. You just busted down an illegal tech deal and now you're out for flowers?" Morgan’s response comes through the earpiece before you hear some typing. “There’s a florist two blocks from your current location. I’m sending you the address. But—You really need to take care of that wound.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply. There's a ping as the location pops up on your phone. “Just need to pick up some flowers. Trust me, it’s important.”

You adjust your swing to head toward the florist, landing quietly in the alley outside. With quick movements, you slip off your mask and start changing. You discard your jacket, revealing the bloodied suit underneath. The suit’s dark color masks most of the stains, but it's still a grim sight.

Pulling on your shirt over the suit, you try to conceal the worst of the mess. The sticky, wet feeling of blood against your skin is unpleasant, and you grimace as you adjust the shirt. Finally, you slip the jacket back on, hoping it will help you blend in and give you a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and glance at your reflection in the nearby puddle. The image staring back at you is a disheveled mess: hair tousled, face bruised and bloodied, jeans stained with grime and blood, and a jacket barely concealing it all.

“Not my best look,” you bite your lip. “But it’ll have to do.”

With a sigh, you step into the flower shop. The bell above the door jingles softly, and the warm, floral scent is a welcome relief from the warehouse’s stench.

The florist looks up from behind the counter with a curious glance. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your disheveled appearance but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

In Gotham, a bloodied teenager is probably just another Wednesday.

“Evening,” the florist says, his voice carrying the neutrality of someone accustomed to the oddities of city life. “What can I do for you?”

You give a quick nod, trying to keep your tone casual despite the blood still seeping through your shirt. “Need something nice. Simple. No need for anything flashy.”

The florist nods and starts arranging a bouquet of flowers. You drift over to a corner and find yourself looking at some daisies, their bright, cheerful colors a stark contrast to your current state.

“Spidey? How’s it going?” 

“Alright,” you shrug, though she can’t see it. “Can I get a rundown on my vitals again?”

Morgan’s voice hums and there’s the sound of clicking keys. “Vitals are stable. The cut is slowly healing, but you’ll need to properly bandage and get some of that stitched later Happy to say you're not going to die bleeding out.” 

She pauses, and then adds, “You’ve got a couple of broken ribs though.”

You blink in surprise and pat at your sides, feeling nothing. “Really? Guess that’s my pain tolerance working overtime. Didn’t even notice.”

“Please tell me you’re getting that treated first,” Morgan says, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Nope,” you reply, moving to pay for the flowers. “Already running late. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

Morgan’s voice is laced with skepticism. “She’s going to find out anyway.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the twinge in your side. “I’ll just say it was a mugging.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that?” Morgan asks, her tone dry.

You let out a small, pained chuckle. “In Gotham, maybe. But realistically…no. I’m just hoping to buy myself a little time before it all catches up to me.”

With the bouquet in hand, you head back out into the night. You tuck the flowers into your free pocket and swing off into the darkness. As you soar through the city, you reach for your earpiece and say a quick, “Goodnight, Morgz,” before shoving it into the pocket of your jeans.

Just as you near the bridge, your phone rings. You glance at the screen and curse under your breath—Selina’s calling, and from the look of it, she’s been trying to reach you multiple times over the past hour.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

You answer the call, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Selina’s voice comes through, clearly agitated. You can hear her huffing as she closes the apartment door, the background noise of a car engine rumbling outside. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting forever. We’re all set to head out.”

You quickly scan the streets below as you swing past, trying to gauge your location. “Uh, I’m on 2nd Broadway… actually, make that 3rd Broadway. And… 4th of Broadway! I’ll be there in… twenty minutes tops. Almost there, Mom!”

There’s a pause.

“... Are you swinging?”

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, narrowly dodging a pigeon that flaps angrily past your face. “Just a bit of a detour. You know how it is.”

“Honey. I can hear the wind. Are you really swinging around? It’s a school night. You know the rules—”

You wince, knowing you’ve been caught. “Just… had a few things to take care of. I’m on my way. Promise. Actually, why don’t I meet you at Wayne Manor instead? I’m near the bridge. Ya know, the one by the docks.”

There’s another pause on her end. 

“Why are you near the docks?!”

You avoid the question, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Long story. Look, I’m running late. Can we just meet at Wayne Manor? I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

Selina’s frustration doesn’t ease, but she sighs. “Fine. Wayne Manor it is. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “Understood. See you soon. Love you, Mom!”

༻⊰───⋅

BEEP.

Selina scowls as she ends the call and heads down to meet Alfred. The gritty streets of Gotham greet her, the cacophony of sirens and street chatter providing a harsh backdrop to her mood.

Alfred, noticing her irritated state, opens the door for her with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you Miss Kyle. May I ask where the young miss is?"

Selina forces a smile, trying to mask her frustration. “She’s… handling something that came up last minute. She’ll meet us at the manor.”

"Very well. I trust she’ll be punctual." Alfred says, a hint of concern in his eyes, but he says nothing more. He closes the door behind her as she slips into the car, adjusting her coat and glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The engine starts, the low hum blending with the city’s background noise. As the vehicle pulls away, Selina leans back against the cool leather seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, her mind already racing through the conversation she knows is coming.

You were dead meat.

༻⊰───⋅

After nearly an hour of high-speed swings through Gotham, you finally touch down in a secluded area near Wayne Manor. You're breathless and disheveled, your earlier efforts to look presentable having fallen short. You quickly scan the area, making sure the security cameras don’t catch your arrival.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you adjust your clothes and press the doorbell. The chime rings through the grand entrance. You glance at your phone and wince—you're an hour and thirty minutes late.

The swinging took longer than expected, and to make matters worse, you had to intervene when this ginger reporter was being robbed. You couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Now, as you wait by the gate, you hear footsteps approaching from inside. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, who freezes for a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and clearly worse for wear. You lean against the gate, your fingers curling around the metal.

“H—Hey, Al.”

“Goodness me!” Alfred exclaims, hurrying over to the gate and pulling it open wide.  He rushes over, opening the gate wider and pulling you inside with a practiced ease. His gaze sweeps over your injuries, concern etched deeply into his features. “Miss Kyle, you’re in quite a state!”

You manage a tired smile, carefully pulling the bouquet from your jacket. It’s in rough shape—torn petals, crushed blooms, and snapped stems. It looks like it’s on the verge of dying.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, wincing as you hold up the sad arrangement. “These… are for you. I, uh, ran all the way here. I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

Alfred takes the flowers with a gentle smile, his concern momentarily overshadowed by a touch of warmth. “Thank you, Miss Kyle. However, I assure you it’s fine. The others have already started eating. They won’t mind if you—”

“It’s fine! This is just…,” you pause, pursing your lips as you scramble for a plausible excuse. You force a smile, shaking your head and pulling your jacket hood further over your face to hide the swelling bruise around one of your eyes. “Hah, you know how Gotham can be.”

Alfred gives you a sympathetic glance but says nothing more. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

He guides you through the grand hallways, your footsteps echoing in the vast space and mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. As you reach the dining room, the door swings open, revealing a table set with care and already abuzz with activity. Selina, Bruce, and the others are seated, their animated conversations abruptly halting as they turn to look at you.

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

Selina’s eyes narrow into slits, her irritation barely concealed behind a strained, tight-lipped smile. Bruce’s complexion drains to an ashen hue, his eyes are wide as saucers, looking like he’s about to pass out from shock. He casts Selina a panicked glance, which she meets with a weary sigh, her hands momentarily covering her face as if trying to shield herself from the mess. She looks utterly drained.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

Next to him, Cassandra’s face is blank. Her fingers fidget with her utensils as she shifts her gaze rapidly between you and Selina, trying to piece together the fractured narrative from your battered appearance and Selina’s body language.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing, stands up and approaches you with slow, measured steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice a deep, resonant murmur. His hands, surprisingly gentle for their strength, settle on your shoulders. His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the dark depths of a stormy sea, now soften with the tenderness of a lighthouse guiding you through a night. “What happened, kiddo?”

There’s a strange, twisting sensation in your gut, flaring just beneath your ribs. A lump rises in your throat, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, your eyes begin to well up.

“I—” you begin, but the words falter. Your gaze drifts across the room and locks onto Damian’s eyes. They’re like emeralds, gleaming with a ferocity that seems to pierce through the walls you’ve built. Though he remains silent, his piercing look conveys a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

A wave of shame is crashing into you, pushing your words back down. “Just… a rough night. Got into a fight.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow, and a wave of seething anger ripples through him. You try to ignore it. 

“And who was this?” he demands, his voice a controlled, simmering growl.

“It’s okay. It ended up alright,” you try to shrug it off, forcing a casual tone. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just a run-in with some rando on the street.”

Everyone’s reactions vary, but it’s the look in Selina’s eyes that strikes you the hardest. Selina’s weary gaze peeks out from behind her hands, and the sight makes your face crumple.

“Pull off your hood,” Selina commands, icy and devoid of warmth. As she straightens in her chair, her blood-red nails dig into the mahogany table, turning her knuckles as pale as frost.

You keep your gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, scuffing the dried mud across its pristine surface. The silence in the room grows heavier with each passing second.

“Take off the damn hood and show me your face!”

Scowling and clenching your jaw, you yank the hood off. As it falls away, the full extent of your injuries is laid bare. Selina’s eyes widen as they take in the black eye, the bruises, and the cuts that mar your face. Her shock quickly morphs into a deepening scowl, her lips trembling as she fights to control her rising anger.

Everyone waiting for the outburst that is sure to follow.

Instead, Selina’s hands fly to cover her face, and she looks as though she might fall apart at any moment.

Bruce stares at you with something akin to horror.

Before anyone can react further, Damian abruptly stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the room. 

His muttered words are barely audible, “I’ll take care of their injuries.”

Bruce moves back to Selina’s side, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he tries to offer comfort. 

You can hear his soft, reassuring whisper as you walk away, “You can stay for the night. It’s too late to head out now. Give her some time.”

Selina, her face still pale and troubled, nods gratefully, her gaze tracking Damian as he helps you toward the manor’s second floor.

Damian ushers you into his room, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. He motions to the bed, and you sink onto it with a heavy sigh, the weight of the day dragging at your limbs.

You watch Damian retreat to the bathroom, your gaze lingering on the raw, bloodied skin of your knuckles, tinged with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Moments later, he returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels before you, reaching out to tug off your jacket, but you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to discover the suit beneath.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” you rasp. Damian silently nods, moving to his closet and pulling out one of his cotton shirts and boxers. He hands them to you with a resigned sigh and leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you need.

You take the clothes from Damian and head to the bathroom. As you push open the door, the dim light casts long shadows across the tiled floor. You deliberately avoid meeting your reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the full extent of the mess you’re in.

Once inside, you drop Damian’s shirt and boxers onto the floor, followed by your jacket, shirt, and pants. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound as it lands. With a deep, steadying breath, you begin peeling off your suit, slow and painstaking.

As the suit peels away from your skin, the blood and sweat that have soaked into it reveal the severity of your injuries. You wince as the cut on your side comes fully into view, a raw, angry red line that stretches from just below your rib cage to the middle of your side. It looks even worse up close—jagged and still oozing a bit despite the healing process.

You quickly change into Damian’s boxers, opting to keep the shirt off for now. You carefully bundle your suit and hide it under your jacket and pants, folding it as neatly as you can manage. With a deep breath, you step back into the room.

Damian’s eyes narrow as he assesses the cut on your side, now reduced to a four-inch scar due to your enhanced healing abilities. His gaze is hard, and you can almost see the weight of the lecture that would have come if he’d seen the injury in its original, more severe state. 

“Sit down,” Damian finally speaks, his voice firm. He begins to open the first aid kit, movements slow. You drop your ruined clothes in a far corner and plop back down on his bed, rubbing your hands together nervously.

A beat passes as Damian finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the anesthesia, preparing to start stitching you up. You shake your head and push his hand away. “I can take it.”

“No,” Damian scowls and continues his work. He applies the anesthesia despite your protests, injecting it around the wound to numb the area. The needle pierces your skin with a sharp sting, followed by a dull, throbbing sensation as the anesthetic begins to take effect.

He sets the syringe aside and picks up a pair of sterilized tweezers and needle and thread. You watch as he carefully makes the first stitch, his hands steady and precise. The thread pulls tight, closing the wound with a series of tight, even stitches.

His long lashes flutter over his hooded eyes with each focused blink, his emerald gaze intense and filled with concern. The warm ambient light of the room casts a gentle glow on his deep tan skin, accentuating the chiseled contours of his face in a soft, almost ethereal light.

The beam of light highlights the light almost invisible scar that stretches from his cheekbone to his crooked nose, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbone and the strong, defined line of his jaw. Your gaze drifts to his full lips, noting the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

His hair is meticulously styled, with longer strands on top falling in inky, sleek waves across his forehead, remnants of gel catching the light. Damian’s thick, well-kept hair frames his face like brush strokes, adding to his strikingly handsome appearance.

Unable to hold yourself back, you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Damian hums, a low, soothing sound that rumbles in his chest. He keeps his eyes focused on your wound but tilts his head slightly to press a soft, tender kiss to your wrist.

With the stitches complete, Damian shifts his attention to bandaging the wound. He secures the bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he smooths out the edges. Finally, he raises his head and meets your gaze, eyes conveying everything he can’t say aloud.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into Damian’s embrace, dropping your hands onto his shoulders. He responds instinctively, taking your hands in his. Large, calloused fingers gently lift yours, pressing a tender kiss to each of them before moving to softly kiss your bruised knuckles.

With a whisper of your name, Damian draws your hands over his shoulders. You smile, sinking deeper into his embrace, arms draped over his strong back. Damian holds you close, lifting you off the bed as he pulls you into a hug. His arms wound up around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“You know, trying to keep secrets from me is pointless,” Damian murmurs, a thinly veiled threat in his words peppering kisses up the side of your neck. “I am the son of the greatest detective in the world. I will find out what happened.”

You chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me hold you, you insufferable know-it-all.”

Damian’s grip tightens slightly. His forehead rests against yours, hearts swimming in his emerald eyes. “You’re lucky I tolerate your nonsense. But seriously, you need to start talking.”

“Maybe later,” you reply, smiling against his shoulder. “Right now, I just need you.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, it’s already 1 AM, but you and Damian are still awake, watching a show on his television. You’re curled up together on his bed, the flickering light from the screen painting the room in shifting hues of blue and gray, casting gentle shadows that dance across the walls.

You rest your head against Damian’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Despite the late hour, the warmth and comfort of his embrace keep you from drifting off.

“This show is surprisingly bearable,” Damian murmurs.

You smile, nuzzling closer. “Told you it was worth a watch. Thanks for staying up with me.”

Damian’s fingers gently stroke your hair, each touch a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “Of course I’d do it, even if it means enduring your rather questionable taste in television.”

You scoff, pretending to be wounded. “Questionable taste? This show is a gem. You just don’t want to admit I’ve expanded your horizons.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Expanded my horizons? More like subjected me to a marathon of pedestrian entertainment.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite his words. The episode continues, the soft hum of the TV blending with the comforting rhythm of Damian’s breathing. The earlier tension and worry seem to dissolve into the background, replaced by a quiet intimacy.

Damian’s hand moves slowly, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumb begins to trace gentle, deliberate patterns on your back. You shiver slightly at the unexpected sensation, a delicate ripple of warmth spreading through you. His touch is soft yet firm, spelling out something with careful precision.

Though you don’t fully grasp the intent behind his touch, Damian’s fingers trace a delicate script across your skin, inscribing the words of Talia’s favorite Arabic love poem onto your back.

“My life shall be sacrificed for her beauty,” his thumb whispers across your skin, “my blood shall be spilled freely for her, and though I burn for her painfully, like a candle, none of my days shall ever be free of this pain. Let me love, oh my God, love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it was and is.”

The gentle pressure of his touch, the rhythmic way his thumb moves, slowly eases you into sleep. As each verse of the poem is imprinted on your skin, you find yourself drifting off, nestled against his chest. Damian tenderly presses his lips to your temple, wishing you sweet dreams.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 3:02 AM - Damian's Room, Wayne Manor.

Dick moves stealthily down the moonlit hallway, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. He reaches Damian’s door and pushes it open with a gentle nudge. Despite his careful approach, the old hinges protest with a loud, protesting creak, shattering the quiet of the night and immediately stirring Damian from his sleep.

The sudden noise jolts Damian awake, his reflexes kicking in. His eyes snap open, and in a heartbeat, his muscles tense as he instinctively tightens his protective embrace around you. The world outside fades as his focus zeroes in on the intruder.

Damian’s gaze narrows into a steely glare as he locks onto Dick. In a seamless, fluid motion, he throws aside the blankets and reaches beneath the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of a gleaming katana.

Without hesitation, he draws the blade with a swift, practiced flick, sending the katana arcing through the air toward Dick. 

SHINK!

Dick stumbles back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. The katana thuds harmlessly into the wall beside him, its sharp edge embedded in the wood just inches from his head. 

"Such a dramatic wake-up call… Good morning to you too," Dick grins, clearly used to this routine. “Alright. I know it’s late, but Selina is still up. I think she wants to talk to Y/N.”

Damian’s snarl is a low, dangerous rumble. “If you wake her, I will cut your hands off.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Come on, baby bird. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let her know she’s needed.”

Damian’s eyes remain locked on Dick, a burning intensity that could have melted steel. Yet, after a long, tense moment, he grudgingly nods, the anger in his posture easing ever so slightly. With careful precision, he unwinds himself from the cocoon of blankets that envelops you, making sure not to jostle you awake.

!!!

But as Damian shifts, your senses stir, your eyes fluttering open to the dim light of the room. Your hand moves instinctively, reaching out to grasp Damian’s wrist, your fingers curling around him with a surprising strength. The sudden contact startles Damian, and he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you.

Confusion and concern flash across your face as you murmur, “Dames?”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting a tender regret. “It’s okay. I apologize for waking you, but Miss Kyle is calling for you.”

You tense immediately, and Damian feels a pang of guilt unfurl in his gut for disrupting your rest.

You sigh softly and rise slowly, wincing slightly as though the wound still bothers you. Although your injury has healed, you  keep up the act, unwilling to make it too obvious that you’re fine. You know you’re on thin ice, and the last thing you want is to make things more suspicious.

Damian instinctively moves to support you, his hand steadying your back with a reassuring touch as you rise. Dick, lingering at the doorway, casts an apologetic glance your way.

Damian helps you to your feet, his touch steady and reassuring. He retrieves his soccer jacket from a nearby chair and drapes it around your shoulders with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The jacket, well-worn and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, envelops you in its soft, reassuring warmth. 

As you and Damian approach the door to his room, you hesitate and turn to him.

“I think I need to handle this alone,” you say quietly. “Can you wait here?”

Damian's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates, his protective instincts flaring.

“Are you sure?” he asks, running a hand up your back.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yes, it’s better this way. I’ll be fine.”

Damian’s expression softens reluctantly. “Alright. I will be right here if you need me, beloved.”

You watch as Damian retreats to his room, his hand sliding around the katana lodged in the doorframe. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he withdraws the blade, the metal glinting momentarily before the door closes softly behind him. Dick, meanwhile, falls into step beside you and guides you down the corridor. His presence is steady and reassuring, a calming force in the tense atmosphere.

As you walk, Dick leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Your mom’s been on edge all night. I’m… not sure what’s going on, but she made it clear she wanted to talk to you immediately.”

You nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady.

Dick’s expression turns serious, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You really gave us a scare,” he says, his tone softening. “Just remember, as a future Mrs. Wayne, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of his words offering a small measure of comfort. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead as you reach the door to Selina’s room.

You turn the knob and push the door open.

Tall windows, framed by heavy drapes, stand slightly ajar, allowing the Gotham breeze to drift through the room. The curtains flutter rhythmically, whispering softly against the glass panes. Selina stands by the window, her silhouette etched sharply against the city’s glittering skyline. Her back is to you, tense and rod-straight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and she turns her head slightly, her gaze meeting yours with a cool, unreadable intensity.

"Are you going to start talking, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I was just—” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I passed by, okay? I saw the situation and I had to intervene—”

Selina cuts you off with a sharp twist of her head. “I have eyes. I know what happened. I was informed about a tech shipment—an underground tech shipment by the docks. It was infiltrated. They found all the men webbed. Webbed. To the walls and floors. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

You sigh, the weight of the truth settling heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah. Okay,” you admit, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. “It… was planned.”

Selina’s eyes narrow dangerously as she strides towards you, heels clicking sharply against the floors. Her silhouette, framed by the soft, muted glow of the city lights filtering through the window, looms larger than life.

“Did you have a single clue as to whose men those were?” she demands, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip crack.

“I knew,” you say quietly, “I knew they were connected to Black Mask. It was a tip-off, and I thought if I could just—”

“You thought? You thought what? That you could handle it alone?” Selina’s eyes flash. “This isn’t some playground for you to experiment with your powers. You’re dealing with dangerous people—people who won’t hesitate to kill. And if you get yourself hurt—or worse—what good are you to anyone?”

You lower your eyes, feeling the sting of her words as if each one were a reprimand meant to cut deeper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Sorry isn’t going to undo this mess!” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of a table.

A hand tangles itself into her hair, strands of hair failing over her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What you’ve risked by acting recklessly? I’m not just scolding you because I’m angry. I’m scared. You’re my responsibility”

Your anger surges, and you shout, “I know, Mom! I know!” The words escape before you can stop them.

Selina’s expression shifts from anger to hurt, her eyes momentarily softening before hardening again. “Don’t take that tone with me."

“Excuse me?” you snap, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost something? Every time I bring up my mother, you just give me the bare minimum! I was going to start digging eventually.”

Selina’s eyes widen, a mix of hurt and frustration flashing across her face. “You think I’m holding back information from you? I’m trying to protect you! When your mother died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get hurt."

“We’re so past that! I’m already knee-deep in this world,” you say desperately, your voice rising. “Mom, look at me! Just look! I have Spider DNA in my veins. My boyfriend is a vigilante. I’ve faced kidnappings and attempts on my life ever since I was born! You can’t keep treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered from reality.”

“I raised you! ” Selina screams, raw and primal, the words tearing from her throat with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned. “I gave up everything to keep you safe, to try and shield you from the worst parts of this life because I couldn’t bear to lose you too!” 

Her voice shatters mid-sentence, the tears slipping from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. But she doesn’t stop, pushing through, her words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush. “Every time you put yourself at risk, it’s like ripping open a wound that never heals! Don’t you get that? I can’t—I won’t—lose you, too!”

The raw emotion in her voice shatters your anger, melting it away like ice under a warm sun. You step forward, your movements gentle as you grab onto her shoulders, guiding her down into a chair. 

“I know, Ma,” you murmur, your voice softening as you try to soothe her. “I know it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Selina breathes heavily, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I know. I know you’ve been through so much. It’s just—I don’t want you to be a target for Black Mask. He’s a fucking monster, and I didn’t want you to be in his crosshairs.”

“I’m already in his crosshairs,” you whisper, bending down and reaching into your sock, where you’ve hidden the flash drive containing the information you retrieved from the warehouse. You had tucked it in earlier while changing in the bathroom.

“This,” you continue, holding up the small device, “is information on all his future activities. This was the mission I had earlier.”

Selina’s eyes widen in alarm, her fear quickly reigniting into fury. “Have you put no thought into the rules I set? Putting yourself in that kind of danger—” 

“Danger I’m already in,” you cut her off. “Danger I’m about to face.”

"Y/N," Selina hisses out in warning, her eyes flashing dangerously, fangs glinting in the moonlight like a cornered cat.

“What? You think you can stop me?” you scowl as she stands. “I’m done playing by your rules. And if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Selina’s eyes narrow, and a scornful smile twists on her lips.

"Prove it."

“What?” you manage to choke out.

Without a word, she launches herself toward you. Her foot whips out in a sharp, hard kick, sending you reeling backward. You hit the small balcony with a heavy thud, the harsh chill of the metal biting into your skin.

A pained grunt escapes you as you scramble to regain your footing, the cold air wrapping around you like a bitter embrace. 

"Prove it, honey," Selina taunts, her voice dripping with contempt as she saunters toward you. She draws her claws with a slow, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Show me you’ve got some fight.”

Before you can fully recover, Selina is on you again. You barely evade her claws, landing heavily on the cold metal railings. The chill bites into your feet, but you push off the railing with a powerful leap, ready to re-engage.

Selina's leg sweeps toward you with brutal intent, aiming to knock you off balance. Reacting quickly, you shoot a web to the railing, swinging yourself back into position and avoiding her strike.

You retaliate with a hard kick to her chest. The impact sends Selina sprawling, her body slamming into the ground. She rolls to absorb the blow, springing back up.

Her eyes flash with anger as she leaps from the balcony’s ledge, executing a high-spinning kick. You twist in mid-air, grabbing the edge of the balcony to dodge her attack and pulling yourself back onto solid ground.

“If you try to stop me, if you try to control me, you’ll only push me further away,” you shout, breath coming in sharp bursts. “And I promise, I’ll fight back with everything I’ve got.”

"Then fight!" 

As she swings at you again, you snatch her wrist, twisting it with a sharp, decisive motion. With a sudden push, you force her own claws against her, the cold metal slicing into her shoulder.

Selina hisses in pain, her body recoiling as she shoves you away. The razor edges of her claws carve a deep, angry line across her shoulder, a vivid stripe of crimson blooming against her skin and staining her outfit.

The sight of it catches you off guard, a sharp pang of guilt gripping you as her pain registers. You stand frozen, eyes locked on the streaks of red that disrupt the perfection of her skin. 

“Mom—” your throat tightens. “I’m so—”

Selina starts to smile, a small, almost reluctant grin that slowly grows wider. The sight is so unexpected that it momentarily takes you aback. Then, much to your surprise, she begins to laugh—a rich, genuine sound filled with a mix of relief, amusement, and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“You think this is funny?!” you exclaim, bewildered and on the verge of anger.

Selina looks at you with a bitter smile, her laughter fading. She clutches her bleeding shoulder, her expression softening as she lets out a long sigh.

“You really are my daughter,” she murmurs.

You slowly ease from your defensive stance, confusion furrowing your brows.

“Alright, fine. Point proven,” she continues, voice gentler now. “Trying to cage you would only make you fight harder to claw your way out. Literally. I should know better than anyone how that feels.”

“O… kay?” you mutter, still grappling with the sudden shift in her demeanor. “So, I guess we’ve proven my point. What now?”

“Now,” she says slowly, “we talk. Like sane adults. No more clawing each other’s faces off.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, both of you sit on the edge of the bed, cradling cups of warm jasmine tea from the tea set provided in your room—because, of course, each guest room in the Wayne Manor has one.

The steam rises gently from the cups, warming your fingers and offering a soothing contrast to the cool air. Selina sits across from you, her shoulder wrapped in bandages.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you fill Selina in on everything that’s happened: the mugging with Morgan, the shooting when you saved her, and the whole "guy in the chair" thing. You’re honest about all the other stuff and the support you’ve received, but you leave out the fact that Tony Stark knows your secret identity, keeping that bit to yourself for now.

Selina stares at her cup of tea, her eyes wide with disbelief. The steady ticking of a clock fills the room, punctuating the silence as she processes what you've just shared.

“So, you’ve been pulling all the strings?” she asks. "Orchestrating all of this?"

You lick your lips, choosing your words carefully. Orchestrating is a strong word. More like everything is falling into place. But that does sound better.

“Something like that,” you say, nodding.

Selina blinks, taking a slow, contemplative sip of her tea. “Trying to rein you in would be a lost cause at this point,” she says, setting her cup down. “So, what exactly is the plan from here?”

You place your cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, the porcelain’s gentle chime briefly breaking the quiet. “I need to dig deeper into Black Mask’s operations. With Morgan’s help, I’ve got the tech and the intel, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”

Selina nods, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup, her gaze distant. “Batman will notice. The moment you step out into the city proper, you’re going to be a target. And once you’re on his radar, a contingency plan will be set.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your fingers.

Selina’s gaze hardens. “And that’s what worries me. Bruce is just a man—no powers, no special DNA. But if he sets his mind to something, he can take anyone down. I don’t want you caught in that crossfire.”

You open your mouth, but Selina cuts you off.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

You glance at her, a thread of dread weaving itself into your thoughts. “Contingency plan?”

Selina nods, her tone heavy. “When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

Selina’s expression softens slightly. “I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

“Metropolis?” you ask, your disbelief coming through with a half-smile. “Seriously?”

Selina winces, her expression sours. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

She cracks her knuckles, releasing some of the tension in her hands.

“It’s still an option if things get too messy. But for now, I’ll help you as much as I can here."

༻⊰───⋅

Damian walks up the stairs, his steps muted against the polished wood. In his hand, he clutches a thick blanket he’s taken from the storeroom. The absence of your presence has made his room feel uncomfortably cold, and he refuses to go back to sleep without you there.

As he nears the guest room where you and Selina are deep in conversation, he slows his pace, the soft hum of your voices drifting through the slightly ajar door. 

He knows he should respect your privacy—a lesson he’s learned the hard way after being caught tailing you during patrols more than once. But his curiosity tugs at him. 

He lingers outside the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, straining to catch snippets of the conversation drifting through the slightly ajar door.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

The voices are muffled, but Damian can detect the guilt in Selina’s tone.

“Contingency plan?”

There was a pause.

“When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

Damian freezes.

"Metropolis? Really?"

Selina’s voice carries a note of sorrow. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

Damian remains frozen in place.

Hunt? Who was hunting you down that made Selina think it was necessary to move rather than seek help from his father? Did she not trust Batman's abilities? Did she not trust his?

His grip on the blanket tightens until his knuckles turn white, the rough fabric digging into his palms like a searing brand. A bitter, acrid taste rises in his throat, mingling with the bile of frustration and helplessness.

Had he not proven his devotion enough? Each time he threw himself into the fray, each time he fought with everything he had, did she still doubt his ability to protect you? His every act of defiance, every sacrifice, should have been proof—shouldn’t it? 

Did she think that running away was the answer? Did she believe that abandoning Gotham and leaving him and Bruce out of the fight was a better choice? Her secretive plans, her carefully crafted illusions of safety, were they really a solution?

Panic starts to claw at him, twisting his insides into a tight knot. Or maybe it was because of him? 

Gods, he knew you were too good for him, but was he so inadequate that she thought hiding you away was the only option? The thoughts gnaw at him like ravenous insects, feasting on his insecurities. He can almost feel the raw, hot sting of failure as it eats away at him from within. 

He remembers the first day he was left with Bruce, the way his own father looked at him, the way his brothers looked at him—like something about him was inherently wrong. 

He was the outsider, the boy who had to claw and tear and rip his way into their world, proving his worth to a family he barely understood, a family that barely understood him.

Every mistake he made, every bout of uncontrollable rage, felt like blood on his hands—dark, sticky, and impossible to wash away. Another mark on his name. 

And now, Selina’s confession feels like another blow to his fragile sense of self-worth. If even she doesn’t trust him, if even she thinks he’s not enough to protect you, what does that say about him?

His legs grow numb, his head spins with disorientation. The edges of his vision blur, and each breath comes in shallow, frantic bursts. He stumbles forward, driven by an overwhelming need to escape. His body moves on its own, carrying him towards his room.

Was he what Selina was protecting you from?

The thought strikes him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling. The blood, the violence, the cold efficiency with which he was taught to kill—it all comes rushing back. Damian was trained to be an assassin, raised by the League of Shadows to be a weapon, a tool of destruction.

He feels numb as he stumbles into his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to comfort him. He collapses onto the floor, his legs giving way as he sinks to his knees. Clutching the blanket to his chest, he tries to draw some warmth from its fabric, but it feels like an inadequate shield against the cold, hollow emptiness that gnaws at him from within.

The voices of doubt and self-loathing grow louder, echoing in his mind. Damian doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, trying to control his breathing. Time seems to blur, each second stretching into an eternity. His thoughts spiral, a maelstrom of fear and insecurity, until he hears the soft creak of the door opening.

You stumble in, and he freezes.

Your eyes widen as you take in his disheveled state, the blanket clutched tightly in his hands, his face pale and eyes wide with panic. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Dames," you whisper. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head, unable to meet your gaze. He doesn't deserve to.

You hush gently, raising your hands to his face. "Can I touch you? You’re having a panic attack, baby."

He nods, his breath still coming in shallow gasps. Your hands are warm and steady as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

"Look at me," you murmur softly. "Focus on me. Breathe with me."

He struggles to follow your instructions, his eyes locking onto yours. You take a deep breath in, exaggerating the motion, and slowly exhale. He tries to mimic you, his breaths hitching but gradually evening out.

"That's it," you encourage. "In and out, nice and slow. You're doing great."

Damian's grip on the blanket loosens slightly as he continues to focus on your breathing, finding a semblance of calm in the steady rhythm. Your presence anchors him, drawing him away from the chaotic storm in his mind.

"You’re safe," you whisper. "I’m here with you. Just keep breathing."

Gradually, the tension in his body begins to ease. He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The panic that had gripped him so fiercely started to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of security.

He sits there, the silence heavy around him, before his voice breaks through it, rough and raw. "Are you scared of me?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air. He doesn’t mention what he overheard, but the question reveals the depth of his doubt.

You gently brush a strand of hair from his face, your eyes soft with understanding. "Scared of you? Damian, I’m not scared of you."

He clenches his fists, the blanket still wrapped around his hands. "I… I can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like I’m always falling short."

"You’re not falling short," you reassure him softly. "You’re human, and you’re trying your best."

You lean in, your lips pressing against his in a tender, reassuring kiss. As you pull back, your eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" you whisper.

Damian takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor as he gathers his thoughts.

“I overheard part of a conversation between you and Selina,” Damian begins, his voice sharp and dripping with bitter resentment. “She spoke of a contingency plan involving an apartment in Metropolis and expressed concerns about someone hunting you down. If… If she felt the need to protect you from something by leaving, does that mean that I’m not enough? That I’m not capable of keeping you safe?”

His words come out with an edge. He meets your gaze with eyes darkened by hurt and anger. “I wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could safeguard you, not merely another liability. But now it seems I’m just… inadequate. As if my dedication and efforts amount to nothing.”

You start to speak, but Damian interrupts. “Who’s hunting you down? What’s going on? Beloved, I’ve let you into my life—please, let me into yours.”

“I know, baby,” you say softly, running a hand through your tousled hair as you try to gather your thoughts. “Alright, okay, I need to tell you about something important. It’s about the spider vigilante, alright? There’s something you need to understand.”

“Again with this?” Damian scoffs, his hurt evident as he starts to rise from the floor. The movement makes you panic, and you grab his arm, pulling him back down.

“Nonono, wait,” you say urgently, trying to steady your voice. “Forget that for now. There’s something else I need to talk about—something personal. It’s about me, and I need you to listen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay. There’s a lot more going on than you realize. I’m investigating Black Mask. He’s got some operation threatening Gotham, and it’s connected to everything that’s been happening lately. I’m trying to figure out what he’s up to, and…”

You pause, struggling to find the right words. “And I might have something to do with that vigilante spider you’ve seen around.”

Damian’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He stands there, his mind racing as he pieces together the implications of your confession.

The increased absences, the unexplained injuries—suddenly, everything starts to make sense. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. How did he not connect the dots? The vigilance, the secrecy—it all makes sense now.

You’re the one being hunted.

Brows threaded together, Damian steps closer, taking your hands in his. His fingers brush over your skin, gently massaging small circles.

“I understand,” he says with a grave tone. “I suspected as much. You don’t need to explain yourself, beloved.”

You smile in relief, misinterpreting his seriousness for support of your dual life as Spidey.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, your tone warm and reassuring. “Just… couldn’t find the right moment.”

Damian’s eyes soften, but a steely resolve glimmers within them as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering.

If the spider is the threat, then it’s the spider he’ll take down.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 7:53 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Hours later, Damian pulls up to the sleek, glass-fronted Stark Industries building. The structure towers above, its façade a mesmerizing expanse of reflective glass panels that catch and scatter the sunlight, creating a dazzling play of colors. A polished steel entrance welcomes visitors, a bustling crowd already walking in and out.

As the car comes to a smooth stop, he turns to you with a soft, reassuring smile. You reach over, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips.

His fingers gently brush your cheek as he murmurs against your lips, “Be careful.”

“I will,” you beam, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Promise.”

With one last lingering look, Damian reaches over to unlock the car door. You open it and step out onto the curb, unloading your bags. Damian gives you a final wave as he shifts the car into gear, gliding smoothly down the street and disappearing into the city’s bustling flow.

You clutch your bags tightly in your hands. Exhaustion pulls at your every muscle—patrol, the fight, and the travel have left you feeling like you're on the edge of collapse. After everything that went down last night, you can’t help but feel a bit relieved about the month off from school, courtesy of your internship.

Bags under your eyes betray the sleepless night, while the oversized shirt and sweatpants you’ve borrowed from Damian make you look more like you’ve just rolled out of bed than a professional intern.

Technically, you did roll out of bed, having snagged only about three hours of sleep.

How the hell did Batman and the Robins manage to juggle this kind of life week in and week out? Right now, you feel like death is just a breath away, waiting to claim you.

“Hey, kiddo!” Tony Stark’s voice calls out from a distance, cutting through your fog of exhaustion. “You planning to stand there and stare at the building all day?”

He steps out of his sleek convertible, tossing his keys to the valet with a flick of his wrist that’s more showmanship than necessity. As he strides towards you, his eyes do a quick sweep over your state.

“I offer you the top spot in my program, and this is how you show up?” Tony says, giving you a light shove on the shoulder.

You give a weary sigh and shuffle alongside him into the building. “Good to see you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony continues with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first intern to look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone.”

He leads you into the sleek, glass-walled elevator, pressing the button for the upper floors. The elevator hums softly as it ascends.

You turn to him, trying to muster the energy to keep up with his banter. “So, where’s Morgan?”

“Working on your new tech stuff,” Tony replies. “She’s buried under a mountain of circuits and cables. If you’re lucky, you might get to see her emerge from her tech fortress.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the upper floors of Stark Tower. Tony leads you down a pristine, modern hallway where glossy surfaces catch the ambient light, enhancing the tower’s futuristic vibe. He stops in front of a door adorned with a sleek plaque bearing your name.

You gawk at it, your sleep-deprived brain barely processing the sight. “Damn.”

Tony pushes open the door, revealing a spacious, elegantly furnished room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and the room is equipped with a large, comfortable bed, a sleek desk, and a cozy seating area.

“Welcome to your new digs,” Tony says, gesturing grandly. “I’d say it’s a bit of a step up from your old place. Given your current state, though, I’d suggest you take it easy for now. Rest up, and maybe try to look less like you’ve just walked off a horror set, okay?”

Despite your exhaustion, a small but genuine smile tugs at your lips as you take in the surroundings. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. It’s really… nice.”

With a casual salute, Tony heads towards the door. “Anytime. Now, go on and get some rest. I’ll let Morgan know you’re here. If she manages to claw her way out from under her tech mountain, she might swing by to say hi.”

༻⊰───⋅

A few hours later, you’re well-rested and dressed in a much more presentable outfit: a crisp white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked neatly into flared slacks, and paired with white sneakers.

After one last check in the mirror, you give your appearance a satisfied nod, then rub the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You head out of your room and make your way toward the elevator.

Pressing the button, the elevator doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss. You step inside and swipe your ID card against the scanner. The elevator's high-tech screen lights up, displaying a seemingly endless list of floor options. You whistle as you scan the array, finally selecting the tech room.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, a voice suddenly speaks up, making you jump with a startled yelp.

“Good morning!” the voice says cheerfully. “Welcome to Stark Tower. How can I assist you today?”

You quickly recognize the voice as FRIDAY, the building’s AI system. You’ve read about it in papers and seen it on TV before. The holographic interface on the screen activates, displaying a friendly, animated avatar of FRIDAY. The AI greets you with a warm, digital smile and a cheerful tone.

“Oh. Hi!” you respond, a bit thrown off. “I’m, uh, just heading to the tech room.”

“Understood,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “I’ve already noted your arrival. The tech room is on your left once you exit the elevator. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help with, sexiest vigilante.”

You blink at the nickname.

“That’s definitely Morgan’s touch,” you mutter.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a workshop that looks like it’s been hit by a tornado of technology. Equipment is strewn everywhere, and tangled wires snake across the floor. In the center of the chaos, a few remains of a fire extinguisher lie scattered. Morgan is crouched in the middle of the mess, her hair a wild tangle and her face streaked with grease and soot. She’s working intently, completely absorbed in her task despite the disorder around her.

You clear your throat, and Morgan looks up, freezing mid-action. Part of her shirt is charred, and a small flame flickers from one of the devices she’s holding.

“Let’s be honest,” she says, waving a wrench at you, “you’ve seen me in worse shape.”

Shaking your head, you step into the room.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” you remark, your eyes scanning the cluttered area.

Morgan quickly puts out the fire and brushes a few stray wires out of her path before standing up and stretching with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Between the latest tech malfunction and the mini-explosion, it’s been one chaotic circus.”

“Should I even ask what set off the explosion?”

Morgan chuckles dryly, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. “Oh, just a little experiment gone wrong. Nothing major. Just some excitement to kick off the day.” She steps over to you, grabs a case from a nearby workbench, and hands it to you with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as you take the case from her. With a click, you open it to reveal a pair of sleek, high-tech glasses.

Morgan plucks them from the case and holds them up with a grin. “For you. They’re packed with all sorts of features—real-time data, targeting assistance, and even advanced communication options. Basically, they’re your new best friend in the field.”

You slip the glasses on, adjusting them to fit comfortably. The world immediately sharpens, and a translucent display overlays your vision, showing various readouts and notifications. You gasp in awe, your amazement reflected in Morgan’s fond smile as she watches your reaction.

She then moves to grab another device—a metal-looking belt that covers your entire stomach. At its center is a spider emblem. She clasps the belt around your waist and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Tell it to go on,” Morgan instructs.

Confused, you turn to her. “Huh?”

“Just think of a suit wrapping around you and command it to do so.”

You give her a skeptical look but decide to give it a try. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focus on the idea of your suit materializing.

“Activate?”

Immediately, you feel a tingling sensation as nanoparticles begin to stream from the belt, enveloping your body. The sensation is oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. The suit materializes in shimmering panels, stretching and shaping itself around your form. The glasses transform into a sleek helmet, molding to fit your head with a satisfying click.

The entire process takes mere seconds, and when you open your eyes, you’re fully suited up. 

The suit fits perfectly. The color is a deep, vibrant red that covers the majority of the suit. Black accents trace intricate web patterns that start from the center of your chest and radiate outwards.

The chest emblem is a bold, black spider, its legs extending across your torso and seamlessly merging with the web patterns. The helmet, now a sleek, black mask with a smooth, glossy finish, features white eye lenses that glow faintly. The same high-tech display you saw in your glasses is now visible in the helmet.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

 ༻⊰───⋅