#Let me know if other tags or warnings are needed

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: listened to juno in the car and had this idea 😋

summary: based on the song by sabrina carpenter (you babytrap nat); g!p nat, college!au, natasha's kind of a fuckboy

warnings: contains quite a bit of smut (hence the 18+ tag), babytrapping (= mildly toxic relationship?), buff athlete nat because that’s a warning in itself

word count: 11k (i fear it’s gotten impossible for me to write anything under 5k words lol)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Initiating public sex in front of your friends should never be a good idea.

When you're as bored as you are right now, though, that opinion quickly begins to waver.

Hand under your shirt, your head on her shoulder. The movie you're watching is one you haven't seen before. Teen pregnancy, Michael Cera, indie soundtracks, yawn. You sigh, first quietly, then a little louder.

Natasha's nose brushes against your temple. Her hand travels higher up, fingers grazing your bra.

"Not a fan?", she mumbles. You lean into her, feeling her bicep against your shoulder. "We can ditch them."

"No." It's been a while since you last had time to spend with your friends. It's also been a while since you didn't sneak off early to fuck each other brainless. "Let's stay", you say, turning your head. "At least so we can see whether they actually fall for each other."

"No offense, but who would fall for that guy? Even I would look better in those shorts."

"Don't disrespect Michael", you mumble, smiling. "Also, you'd need bigger ones to fit everything, babe."

In front of you, Clint rolls his eyes. He lets out the longest sigh known to man and turns his head, his expression lacking any amusement whatsoever. He should be used to this kind of behavior, but to be fair, he just wants one night where your shameless PDA doesn't ruin everything.

"Alright", he says. "One more comment like that and-"

"God, you're a prude." She throws her empty red solo cup at him and he jumps up. "Chill."

He directs one last warning glare at you both, then he plops back down onto the floor. As soon as he's distracted again — drinking beer, talking to his girlfriend — she pulls you closer. Your hand finds her lower stomach, gently pressing against it.

Her breath hits your ear when she exhales, hot and slow. Your hand moves a little lower. Not too far, just enough to flirt with the limit. Her fingers curl into the soft skin of your stomach.

She doesn't say anything, though. Your fingertips dance over the fabric of her sweatpants. They graze the bulge there, prominent even when she's not hard, before finally cupping it. A sharp breath escapes her.

Still, she doesn't stop you. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, where Juno is currently giving birth. The way she's staring makes it seem like she's actually invested in what's happening, but you know the truth. One wrong move, and she'll either embarrass herself — or ruin her pants.

Or both. Most likely both.

You already look irresistible enough, wearing that sinfully short skirt. With your legs tucked under your butt and your vanilla perfume clouding her senses, your hand on her cock can only lead to a disaster.

"Y/N", she whispers through gritted teeth. You palm her crotch and feel her harden.

"Mhm?" You lean in and press your lips to her jaw. Red lipstick stains her skin. It's a sight so satisfying that you keep trailing kisses across her cheek.

Natasha closes her eyes. A noise, muffled and quiet, gets stuck in her throat. You scoff and move your hand to wrap your fingers around her length, only the fabric of her clothes separating you.

"What is it?", you ask, giving a few testing strokes. She shakes her head and you finally hear that soft whimper you'd been waiting for. "Aw, poor baby. All worked up."

In front of you, Steve mumbles something. He gets up, but before he can turn around and catch Natasha and you in this compromising situation, you move and quickly sit on her lap.

Bad idea. This might be worse than the almost-handjob you were about to give her.

Steve doesn't notice anything, but you do. Her head falls forward to lean against your shoulder, her hands grip your waist. You shift and grind against her boner, feeling her tip rub against the wet patch on your panties. At least your skirt hides everything.

You rub against her with more insistence, eyes closing. Her cock, though still clothed, fits perfectly between your folds. If you try hard enough, you can pretend she's inside of you.

"Fuck", she moans. You reach behind you to squeeze her, squeeze any part of her you can reach. "Fuck, I'll come."

Clint pauses, then slowly turns his head. You go completely still, eyes fixed on the tv and your hands folded in your lap. He knows you better than to believe this little act you're putting on, though.

You're surprised he doesn't drag you out by your collars, but you get sent back to your dorms anyway.

"Idiot", you say, grabbing the front of her letter jacket. You pull her into a deep kiss, her hands roaming your body. Salt and butter, sugar and green apple. The snacks of the evening created an addictive taste, and you silently thank Clint for not getting garlic knots again.

"You started it", she pants, trailing her lips down your neck. Your back hits the wall of the dormitory, her hard-on pressing against your hip. Her hand disappears under your skirt and palms your crotch, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties. You're dripping down your thighs. "And I'll end it. Fuck."

You moan, the sound a little too obvious. It's quiet outside, apart from the occasional hum of car engines in the distance. Due to it being a Tuesday night, there are no parties. Most people are either in their dorms or pulling an all-nighter in the library. If anyone's got their window open, they'll hear you.

Natasha sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, a little louder, and she shushes you by nudging your panties aside with her fingers.

"Quiet", she mumbles, voice gentle like a praise. "Quiet for me, baby."

You writhe when she pushes two fingers into you. They slip in easily, your folds slick with wet heat, and immediately begin thrusting into you. You buck your hips to meet her movements, but she pulls out before you can even get started.

"Hey", you protest, ignoring the fact that she's already got her arm wrapped around you. Fingers in her mouth to lick off excess moisture, she pulls you toward the entrance. "Nat, I'm horny."

"Where's your roommate again?"

"Huh?" You frown, then lightly slap her chest. "Right! Good call."

She laughs quietly, the sound rough and strained, and walks up the stairs. Her hand moves to dip under your skirt. She gropes your ass, kneading the flesh. "I seriously don't know how you got into college, baby."

"Wow. Here I was, considering head tonight, and you made me change my mind."

"Oh, please." She pushes open the door and walks you to the bed. As soon as she's seated, you straddle her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even kiss her. Her tongue brushes against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth.

You grind against her boner, which only makes the ache between your legs worse. Natasha breaks the kiss to tug off your top. Her eyes dart a little lower, zeroing in on your chest. Full breasts, spilling out of a lacy bra with tiny hearts embroidered in it.

Her face sinks to bury itself between your boobs. You feel wet kisses on your skin.

"Taste so good."

"Nat."

"So soft."

"Nat."

She huffs, but doesn't look up. Her hands move your hips, making you rub against her cock. The crotch of her sweatpants is stained with a little wet patch. "What?"

"I want you to fuck me, not make out with my breasts all night long."

You feel the heat of her cheeks. Smirking faintly, you run your hand into her hair.

"Screw you."

"I'm trying." You twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tug. "Come on. I thought of a new position we could try."

That manages to make her look up, though she seems skeptic. It's almost like a game you've been playing — who can come up with the wildest position? Anything counts, as long as it leads to at least one of you having an orgasm.

"You better not disappoint this time", she says and kisses your jaw. Her hands splay out on your ass, fingertips brushing under the fabric of your panties. "That last one was a letdown."

You hum. You have to agree with her here — sidesaddle riding doesn't work no matter how you interpret it, apparently.

"This one's good", you say, getting off her lap. She groans.

"We could pause the game", she pleads, making puppy dog eyes at you. It's a fun game, sure, but sometimes, she wants to see your face while she fucks you. "Just tonight."

You tilt your head at her, eyebrows raised in silent approval for her to keep going.

"I'll let you top", Natasha adds. That's enough for you to be sold.

. . .

When you wake up, it's because of someone knocking on the door.

At first, you don't notice it. Too tight is sleep's grip on you, too warm is your bed. You're curled into Natasha, her arms wrapped around you and holding you close. But then they knock again, more insistently this time, and you sigh.

You squint to block out the sun and get up, stepping over the empty ramen cups you discarded on the floor after a late-night craving. Behind you, Natasha mutters something and rolls over. You slip into a loose shirt and open the door.

Randy, your resident advisor, pauses when he sees you. Messy hair, a thin shirt that barely reaches your thighs, your neck littered with marks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Yes?", you drawl. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His freckled face flushes pink and he coughs. "Come on, I don't have all morning."

"There, uhm- there was a noise complaint", he says, fingers drumming against the clipboard he for some reason always carries around. "From one of the other students."

You give him a blank stare. "Okay?"

"No, not okay. Look, I don't care what you do in your free time, but maybe keep it down? The walls are quite thin, and the excessive noise, uh..." He sighs, eyes flitting down your body again. He shifts awkwardly, clipboard angled a bit, and you realize that he's trying to conceal a certain problem he's run into.

If the situation was different, you'd be irritated. But watching Randy, the 30-something guy who started working here two years ago, stumble over his own words and stutter like a nervous first grader, is too amusing to genuinely get pissed.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Deep breaths, honey. Don't faint on me."

He tries to glare at you, but fails miserably. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Others want to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll tell Nat."

Behind you, Natasha groans into your pillow. "Tell them to mind their own business", she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Or move the fuck out."

He briefly peeks into the room, then directs his attention toward you again. You give him a challenging look.

"Nat", he repeats. The way he says her name does manage to irritate you now. You know what others think of her. You also know they're not entirely wrong. "Oh, yeah, fine. Good."

"Good", you repeat, stepping back with one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and Randy? I know you've been getting, like, zero action lately, but I just woke up. Not even you can be that desperate. Maybe touch some grass?"

He lets out a choked sound. Before he can say anything, you wave two fingers at him and close the door.

"Buh-bye!", you call, just before the door snaps in. You twirl around and spot Natasha, still half asleep and sprawled out on your bed. Her red hair is loose for once, messy and soft, and you ignore the urge to get back into bed with her.

She hums, stretching like a cat, all lazy smiles and toned arms. An admittedly enticing sight. "Got rid of him?"

"Oh yeah." You run your hand along her arm. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Don't. He's a creep." She puts her hand on the back of your thigh, tugging on it. If you didn't know better, you'd think she's scared you'll just slip away. "Feel bad for me. The abandoned girlfriend."

You huff, not budging. You'd love to go back to bed, but you have other things to do.

"Classes", you remind her, turning away. You take off your shirt and she groans. "Shower, too." Your panties follow. This time, she lets out a full blown moan.

You turn around and give her an unimpressed (albeit slightly amused) look. "And that is why we got a noise complaint."

"Come on", she whines. "Not even professors like their own classes. You can afford ten more minutes, baby. I won't even make you put on your clothes again."

"You say that like it's supposed to benefit me."

"It benefits both of us." Natasha grunts and finally sits up, slouching. Her arms are crossed over her lap as her eyes travel up and down your body. It takes you a second to realize why.

She tilts her head, cheeks pink. The expression on her face is both guilty and hopeful, like she's weighing her odds. A productive day or a few more minutes — maybe hours, if she plays her cards right — in bed with her?

Her chances aren't looking too bad.

"You can't be serious", you deadpan. Of course, she is.

"I'll be quick."

"You're never quick!"

"You can't blame me for that", she retorts. "God, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you for the next few hours?"

"Next few 'hours'? Babe, you have practice today. Plus, I wanted to go shopping."

Natasha flops onto her back dramatically. It gives you a full view of her body, head to toe, with her not-so-little problem included. You bite the inside of your cheek frustratedly as you realize she's chipping away at your resolve.

"Practice isn't that important", she mutters, her forearms covering her eyes.

"Babe, you're team captain", you say, turning around. Focus on something else, anything else. If you cave, you will definitely be late. Or, worst case scenario, you won't leave your dorm before lunchtime — again. "Just...take a cold shower. I'll see you tonight."

She mutters something about 'showers being a scam' under her breath, then finally gets up. You watch her gather her stuff and get dressed, but you keep her letter jacket clutched to your chest. She raises her eyebrows and reaches out her hand.

"No."

"That's mine."

"Nope."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but ultimately just kisses you before slipping into her shoes. She can't help it — she's weak for you.

"I'll get you back for this", she says, then the door falls shut behind her.

. . .

The basketball circles the hoop once, twice, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

One leg crossed over the other, you lean forward. Red lips part slightly, manicured nails dig into the thin skin of your knee. All eyes are on the ball, which wobbles — but then it slips off and bounces away. You groan and toss your head back.

"Come on, Romanoff!", someone next to you shouts.

"Damn it", you curse. You go to her games all the time, and usually, you enjoy it. Watching her miss a shot, however, is not the most pleasant part of the experience.

Natasha runs her hand over her hair, clearly frustrated. She's been off her shooting game today, and she doesn't know why. She's not doing anything different.

You watch her trail backwards, bouncing on her heels and her eyes locked on the hoop. When she hears her team's complaints, she turns around. She yells at a teammate, then at a player from the opposite team, before the coach calls for a timeout.

She jogs to the bench, snatches her water bottle, and tips her head back to take a swig. Baby hairs stick to her sweaty temples, the veins on her arms popping. You lean forward.

"Nat!"

She looks up, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. Then she realizes it's you and, just like that, her scowl softens. She glances at her team to check if anyone's watching her before approaching you. You're in the first row, right next to the home team's bench, so all she has to do is lean on the barrier separating the seats from the court.

"Hey", she says.

"'Hey'? Are you kidding me? What the hell was up with that shot?"

Natasha frowns and huffs. "Alright, I don't need a lecture right now. So unless you want to kiss me for good luck-"

A girl from her team — one you don't know too well — nudges her. Natasha barely glances at her, but it's enough for you to lean forward and tug at her ear.

"What the fuck!"

"I'm serious! You missed by, like, half a mile."

The glare she gives you is deadly, but you deserve it. You are being a little unfair. For good reason, though: whenever you're there to berate her, she suddenly starts playing much better. It's like magic. She needs a healthy dose of bullying from you for her performance to be at its peak.

"Alright", she snaps. "Be my guest. Suit up and try, if you think you'll do better."

"Oh, no." You reach up and brush your fingers along her jaw before resting them under her chin. "You're the best, aren't you? So show me that's true, and I'll reward you. But losers don't get a reward."

"You drive a hard bargain", she mutters. You smile innocently and tap her bottom lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll...do better, I guess."

"That's my girl", you purr and, with a light push against her mouth, send her back to her team.

The game continues.

Before halftime, Natasha's team was trailing 34-37, but after some strong defense and a layup, the score is tied again. That is, until the opposing team hits a couple of shots.

You're agitated, but confident. At least you're pretty sure you are.

Most of her games are like this. Her team needs to be slightly behind for her to be able to give it her all. You convince yourself it won't be different this time, either.

Eyes zeroed in on Natasha, you watch her every move. How she dribbles the ball, weaves through the defenders, loses the ball again. The game is a close one. They're playing against one of the better teams this time, and it shows.

It's a back and forth between the teams. The opposing team gets a small lead, which is quickly lost thanks to another shot. During the last minute, they're tied again. Teams are trading baskets, but you don't know whether you should stay positive.

For a while, it looks bad. Time is running out. Then, in a split second, Natasha is open at the top of the arc. The pass is fast, almost too high, but she catches it. Your breathing stops for a moment and you barely manage to restrain yourself from jumping up from your seat.

Five seconds left. The team's are neck-and-neck. Natasha has the ball.

Three seconds left. She makes her move, stepping back for a three-pointer. She rises, muscles coiled, and lets the ball fly.

One second left. After cutting through the air and briefly hitting the hoop, the ball swishes through the net.

66-64. The buzzer sounds. Her team has won.

You're on your feet before you realize it, yelling along with the audience. Natasha's team crashes into her the second she's back on the ground, but she only lets them slap her back and punch her arms for a few seconds before she weaves through the small crowd.

You hop over the barricade and into her arms, not caring about the fact she's all sweaty. Her lips press against your neck, her hand rubs up and down your back. She spins you around.

"You did it!"

"Because of you."

"That shot was amazing. More of that, please."

Natasha laughs, low and rough and exhausted, and tips her head back to look up at you. You smile and kiss her. She tastes like salt and Gatorade.

"Still the best?", she teases after pulling away. The soles of your sneakers make a quiet thudding sound against the vinyl floor.

"Always", you promise, pecking her lips once more. Natasha smirks and tugs off her jersey to hand it to you. With the fabric gone, she's almost naked. Only a sports bra and shorts cover her body. You earn a few stares from the opposing team, who isn't used to your little ritual, but you don't notice. It's a nice view, so you'd be an idiot to look at anyone but her.

You put on the jersey and let her pull you into her side again. She kisses you, slow and unhurried, while leading you back toward her team.

It's a last minute decision from the team to go to a bar together. Natasha takes a quick shower before you leave, now wearing something more comfortable. Getting her to dress up is a losing battle, so you don't even try this time. Plus, there's something distinctly attractive about the grey sweatpants she's sporting (or rather, what she's sporting inside the grey sweatpants).

You stay glued to her side pretty much all night. You're in her lap, her arm firmly holding you in place. The bass makes the ground vibrate and the alcohol is clouding your senses, but it's still early enough for you to be somewhat aware of reality.

You lean your cheek against her temple, then turn your head to brush your lips against her skin. She hums and squeezes your thigh, but her attention wavers. Two girls approach her, both of them around your age and probably fellow students.

Natasha glances at them, eyebrows raised. You cup her nape and brush your thumb against her hairline.

The girls smile, a little too brightly, and start talking about the basketball game. They're shameless — even with you, wearing Natasha's jersey and sitting on her lap, they're still going on and on about the game and the shots she made.

With every word that leaves their glossy pink lips, Natasha's focus on you slips more and more. Her hand on your thigh loosens. Her gaze, first flickering between you and the others, starts to linger on them. Her lips curve into that confident little smile you know too well.

You roll your eyes and scoot off her lap. If she has to do this, you don't want to be present. You excuse yourself and go to the restroom, where you freshen up. More lipstick, more perfume. You lift the front of Natasha's jersey and take a whiff to see whether it smells. It's not horrible, but noticeable enough, so you decide to change into the top you brought.

When you return to the bar, Natasha has leaned over to the girls. Arms crossed on the bar's counter, a lazy smirk on her face. The post-game glow is on full display. She tilts her head and mumbles something. It takes you a moment to realize she's flirting.

The girls are delighted. Giggling, shrugging, leaning forward as well. Their expressions indicate they clearly believe at least one of them has a shot. You understand why — Natasha, even after getting into a relationship with you, never quite got rid of her fuckboy-image —, but that doesn't mean you're not furious.

You want to compose yourself, you really do. You're pretty sure this isn't what it looks like, anyway. Fingernails digging into your palms, you watch them for another moment. Then, Natasha subtly bites her lip in that way that first drew you to her, and you've had enough.

You're next to her within seconds, your hand wrapping around her wrist. She lets out a grunt as you drag her away, leaving the two girls speechless and mildly annoyed.

"Have you lost your mind?", she complains, finally finding her voice again. You're already halfway into a bathroom stall.

"Have you?", you snap, pushing her inside and slamming the door shut. Natasha pauses, her eyes traveling up and down your body. The top, almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination, has her more than a little distracted. "My face is up here, you bastard."

"What? Hey!" She frowns. "What happened? What'd I do?"

There's a significant height difference between her and you, but it's not like that ever bothered you. You shove her against the wall, your eyes blazing. Her first instinct is to step forward — she's taller, all shoulders and muscle —, but she can tell you're pissed. Once she realizes she's fucked up, she lifts her hands and almost shrinks under your glare.

"Are you playing dumb? Don't play dumb!"

"What are you even- I was talking to them! They asked about the game!"

"You were flirting!"

Natasha scoffs, her cheeks a nervous-rosy pink. It'd look cute if you weren't about to slam her head through the plastic wall of the stall.

"I wasn't 'flirting'", she argues. "I was talking to them."

"No", you retort. "You were flirting. I could tell. They had that glittery look in their eyes stupid bitches get when you're close to them."

She blinks, caught off-guard, and her head tilts. The word you used is one you usually stay away from. The second you start cussing out other girls? Okay, now she knows you're mad mad.

"Baby", she says slowly, "I swear we were just talking. Nothing else. I don't give a fuck about anyone but you, and you know it."

"Right." You let out a bitter laugh. The sound makes her stomach tighten. "That's good to hear. Maybe it'd be believable if you hadn't tried to-"

The door of the bathroom stall next to yours opening cuts you off. You pause and turn when you hear the quiet pattering sound. Toilet paper rips. The person flushes. Then, shuffling of feet. It takes unbelievably long, and you let out a long sigh.

"Can you hurry?", you finally bark, and the person drops their purse. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry!", they say, their voice a squeak, and leave the stall. Water runs, more paper towels, then the door falls shut. You turn to Natasha again, whose ears are as pink as her cheeks.

You raise your eyebrows, as if daring her to say something. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"Okay", she says. "Maybe it was flirting, in a way. I didn't mean to, though."

Your fingers tighten on the front of her zip hoodie. Her eyes widen in silent panic.

"You can't flirt without meaning to flirt!"

"You totally can", she says, her back thudding against the wall once more. "Can you stop that?! Jesus, you're scary."

That last bit is mumbled, but you hear it anyway. It's enough to make you laugh — a sound that slips out unintentionally — but you quickly shake your head.

"I can be way scarier, you know. This is nothing."

"I totally believe that", she says, frowning petulantly. "You're turning into a tiny terror."

Despite your anger, your lips twitch again. Your grasp on her hoodie loosens, your scowl softens the tiniest bit. It's enough for Natasha, who first tried to gauge your mood for a few seconds, to take a leap of faith.

"The sexiest tiny terror", she adds, pulling you closer. You sigh. "My tiny terror. Why would I want anyone else when I have you?"

"This feels like manipulation, babe."

Her eyes light up — babe. She's getting somewhere.

"It's not", she promises, kissing your forehead. Her hands roam your sides, your hips, and slip under your top. "I'm being serious. Scout's honor."

"You're so full of shit."

Natasha grins and keeps kissing your face. Your cheeks, your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth. Unfortunately, each press of her lips against your skin softens you further. You'll probably just have to accept she's an expert at buttering you up.

"Come on now", she mumbles, her mouth against your ear. You giggle quietly when her tongue briefly flicks against your earlobe. "You know you love me."

"I must've done something terrible in my past life to deserve this."

She hums, her hands palming your sides. You exhale and lean into her, willing yourself to not give in — and failing. Her lips brush against your neck, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin, and a shiver rolls up your spine.

Without really noticing, you press closer. Natasha's fingers find the clasp of your bra and swiftly unhook it.

"Hey", you protest, trying to bat her hand away. She buries her face against your neck, but doesn't budge. Her hand slides around to your front. "I can't believe I put up with you."

"Me neither", she mumbles, smirking faintly. "I'm a lucky idiot."

"Well, that's true."

Natasha kisses your neck, then your shoulder. Her hands push up your top and reveal your skin inch by inch. Your breath stutters when, suddenly, the roles are reversed and you feel your back against the wall.

Your hands come up to tangle in her hair. She grips your thighs and mouths at your neck.

"You're not forgiven, you know."

"Sure."

Her teeth sink into your neck. You barely manage to speak.

"I mean it."

Underwear around your ankles, you help her tug her sweatpants down. She struggles with the condom, but once the piece of plastic is wrapped around her cock snugly, she holds your hips in place and buries herself inside you. No time to adjust — she sets a fast pace.

The back of your head hits the wall and you let out a moan. Natasha keeps rutting into you, moaning breathily, your hands in her hair and her hands gripping your ass. She stuffs you up to the brim, cock pulsing and twitching, and pounds into you relentlessly.

Right as you're just about to tumble over the edge, the bathroom door opens again. You feel a moan rise up in your throat and quickly slap your own hand over your mouth, stifling the sound. Natasha laughs breathlessly, but then whines against your neck.

Whoever entered seems oblivious. They're on the phone, talking rapidly, while water flows in the background. You hear the clinking of stilettos on tiles and then smell a faint waft of some overly sweet perfume.

This whole situation usually wouldn't pose much of an issue. You're close enough, and you know from experience that you can keep quiet when needed. But Natasha, being who she is, slows down. Her grip on you loosens, her movements are drawn-out. Your thighs tremble and you groan against your own palm.

"I'll kill you."

"Ssh, baby", she mumbles, dragging her lips along your jaw. Her hips meet yours, again and again and again, but she's going too slow to really achieve anything. "Don't get us caught."

Every deliberate roll of her hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You whimper and bite down on your palm harder, meeting her movements with your hips. The pressure increases, and so does the need to push Natasha to go faster. Your thighs clench around her, but all she does is smile against your neck. You rock against her hips, desperate for more.

"Fuck you", you hiss, but the words die on your tongue when she picks up the pace. She ruts into you, urging you closer to the edge while you wrestle with the impulse to shout her name.

"I love you", she says, each word punctuated by a soft grunt. The bathroom door falls shut, and you finally get coaxed into that sweet high of mindless oblivion.

. . .

The sun is long gone, replaced by the milky light of the moon that's seeping into the library.

Natasha called it a 'study-session', hoping it'd turn into something else entirely. But exams are coming up, and as much as you'd like to hide in the encyclopedia aisle and hook up again, you'd rather she passes.

You're sitting on the table in front of her, with her head in your lap, as you test her knowledge on the subject. Sports Law — something you've only gotten familiar with since dating her.

"That's wrong", you say, running your fingers through her hair. "It's title IX of the education amendments of 1972. You should know that, babe."

She groans and turns her head, burying her face between your thighs. You smile faintly and drum your fingers against her scalp.

"Who cares? I'll pass, anyway. I always do."

"I want you to ace this one, though."

"Pipe dream."

"Nat."

Another groan. She pushes up the fabric of your shirt and shifts, her lips brushing against your lower abdomen. You bite back a soft sound of pleasure.

Not now. You have other things to focus on. But god, her hands start massaging your thighs, and her lips feel warm and plush, and the library seems empty enough. Heat pools in your lower belly and you quickly shove her off you.

"No", say, voice strained. "Study. Now."

"You're boring", Natasha mutters, grabbing the book and skimming the pages. "I know all of this. It's easy."

"You got four questions wrong", you counter, glancing at the screen of her phone when it buzzes. Her wallpaper flashes on the screen — a picture of you, only wrapped into silky bedsheets, with kiss marks on your shoulders and your hair a mess. But that's not what catches your attention. It's the message that just popped up.

A girl named Tara.

Natasha lifts her head and peeks at her phone. You snatch it before she can reach for it.

"Who's that?", you prompt.

"A girl from Sports Economics", she says, sitting up. She tries to grab the phone, but you hold it out of her reach. "Babe."

"Why's she texting you at midnight?"

"Not sure", she replies, irritated, and tries to grab it again. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the phone. "I could tell you if you'd let me read the damn text."

"She always texts you this late?", you ask, glancing up at the phone.

A simple message — hey, you awake? :) — but still unexpected enough to annoy you. You squint and try to look at her profile picture.

"Hold on, is that the girl who said hi to you in the cafeteria the other day? The one with the pink eyeshadow?"

"Yeah", she says, her arm dropping in defeat. "Tara. Like I said, I know her from Econ."

"It's midnight", you mutter, bringing the phone back down. Before Natasha can protest, you've used her face to unlock the phone and opened the chat. Natasha rolls her eyes and huffs, so you pinch her bottom lip. "You should tell her to find some new makeup. I thought she was fighting for her life against allergies."

"You're mean."

"Her makeup sucks."

"Doesn't make it any less mean", she argues, resting her head on your lap again. She sighs, eyes closing, and waits for you to finish whatever you're doing. "Still scrolling?"

"It's a long chat", you mutter, thumb swiping over the screen. Luckily, the messages seem innocent enough. At least Natasha's do. "She wants you."

"I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Nat", you say, putting her phone aside. "Straight girls want you, too."

She looks up, smirking. You flick her forehead.

"Ow!"

You narrow your eyes at her, watching her rub the spot you flicked. "You're enjoying this."

"I am", she says bluntly. "You're going on and on about some girl I really don't care about."

"She cares about you", you argue. "In the past, that seemed to be enough."

Natasha scoffs and sits up, leaning back in her chair. She studies you for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, then sighs. Her legs stretch out under the table.

"Exactly", she finally says. "In the past. Not now, not last week, but when it didn't matter."

"I feel like some things don't stop mattering."

"Like my love for you", she flirts. You kick her side and she lets out a quiet 'oof'. "What'd I do to deserve that, huh?!"

"You can't flirt your way out of everything, you know!"

"I'm not flirting my way out", she protests, looping her arms around your waist and tugging you closer. You sigh, thighs snugly wrapped around her torso. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

"No?" You give her a skeptical look. She just shakes her head and leans in, pressing a few kisses to your chest.

"No", she mumbles. "I love you. Period. Now stop worrying."

You stare at her as she nuzzles and kisses your chest, slowly moving upwards. Her thoughts are somewhere else already, whereas you're still stuck. Tara, the girls at the bar, the stares Natasha gets all day long. Your worries, fears, and how easily she can dismiss them. How, when you're mad, she manages to worm her way out of just about everything.

Smooth words and soft touches are her specialty. She uses them like a tool, which can be hot, but also incredibly frustrating. You know why it's so easy for her — because she knows you'll stay. You won't leave. She claims that the same thing is true for her, but maybe she'll need to prove that.

The thought creeps in slowly, dangerously. It's nothing more than a small, fleeting idea at first, but the longer you watch her, the more drawn to it you become.

Natasha says she's yours. She says there's nothing to worry about. You'd love to know whether she actually means that.

She loves you, after all. Logically, she'd love a tiny version of you just as much.

"Hey", you mumble, eyes focused on her. She pauses, lips pressed to your jaw. "You seem distracted."

"Can't help it. I'll need a different study-buddy to be able to concentrate on anything but you."

"Oh yeah?" You glance at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. Almost 1am. "It's late, you know. We might as well leave."

She hums against your skin and looks up. "Your dorm's still empty?"

"Mhm", you say before you're able to reconsider this whole plan. "We got the whole room to ourselves."

"Well then", she says, getting up and pecking your lips, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The hallway is as empty as the library was. Natasha presses you against the wall, caging you in between a corner and her body, and kisses you. Hands bunch up your shirt, feel heated skin. You wrap your arms around her neck and hum into the kiss.

Her hand dips into the back pocket of your jeans. She fishes out the key to your dorm, then leads you down the hallway. One arm wrapped around your waist, she unlocks the door using her free hand.

Bodies tumble onto the mattress together. Breathy laughter, stripping of clothes, bare skin on bare skin. Natasha turns, opens the drawer of the nightstand next to you to look for condoms, but you tug her on top you again. She doesn't resist and kisses you, lips moving and messing up your makeup.

You feel her nestled inside of you, every vein and throb noticeable. She grabs and angles your thigh for deeper access, her moans mingling with yours. Lipstick marks smudged on her cheek, hickeys on your chest. The bed frame hits the wall with every thrust, muffled thuds filling the air.

Her hand finds your lower belly, pressing down on it. Natasha feels her own outline through the soft skin and groans quietly. Teeth nip at your neck, her hips meeting yours a few more times. Then, the anticipated release and the relief that comes with it.

Warmth pools deep inside of you. It drips down your thighs, staining the bedsheets, but all you manage to do is turn your head and bury your face in her neck. Your fingers brush against your stomach, and the full acceptance of what might happen starts to set in.

. . .

Weeks have passed. Late spring has turned into something resembling an early summer.

A little '+' confirms it.

You're alone when you take it. It's quite early, not even 6am, but you got woken up by someone yelling in the hallway. The test was right next to you, lying on your nightstand like a bad omen, then you finally grabbed it and got up.

Taking it wasn't hard, but checking the result is. You stare at the test in your hand, your brain too tired and sleepy to process everything. Leaning against the wall of your dorm's bathroom, you try to let reality sink in. It doesn't feel real. Not yet, at least.

Knowing it is real helps, though. You put the test aside and exhale, fingers drumming against the tiled wall behind you. Your thoughts are more of a mess than you thought they'd be.

It was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. It was also incredibly stupid. Yet you're here, eyes glued to the ceiling, and find yourself regretting nothing at all. At this point, not even the thought of her reaction scares you.

She said she loved you. All you're doing is putting that love to the test. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Bullshit. You know you've fucked up.

You meet her after class, as you agreed on earlier that morning. She seems calm, happy, completely oblivious to what secret you're (literally) carrying with you. Hands on your waist, she pecks your lips, then she grabs your backpack and slings it over her shoulder.

It's a warm afternoon, so you head to the mall. You grab a few things you need — new pajamas, some shampoo, a water bottle to replace the one you lost. Natasha tosses a pack of condoms into the shopping cart and you barely stop yourself from reacting too obviously.

On your way out, you pass a store that exclusively sells baby-related items. Strollers, onesies, highchairs. You avert your eyes and stay close to Natasha's side.

Late evening. You're back on Clint's couch, passing around pizza and trying to decide on a movie. Clint complains about Laura's last pick — Juno — which, apparently, most of you didn't like too much.

Natasha pulls your legs over her lap, lightly massaging your shin. She's only in a white tank top that leaves her shoulders and arms on full display. You'd be distracted if you weren't worrying about other things already.

"I wasn't a fan, either", she says, glancing at Clint. "But I did like what it led to."

"Right. I swear to everything that's holy, if you start something like that again-"

"Seriously, calm down." She raises her eyebrows. "Keep ranting like that and poor Laura will think you're going celibate."

He rolls his eyes and slumps into the couch, one hand swatting at her. She laughs and bats him away. When she glances at you, she notices how quiet you are, and nudges you.

"You're unusually non-hyper verbal, baby."

"I'm good", you say, stretching. "Just...bored."

You're not bored. You're far from bored. But you needed an excuse. However, Natasha takes it the wrong way, and a tiny smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah?", she says, running her hand higher. First it touches your knee, then it brushes under the hem of your dress. "Bathroom's empty. Maybe we'll even make it into the bedroom. I heard Mr. Prude over there got a new mattress."

"Romanoff, I will-"

"Shush." She raises her eyebrows at him before leaning closer to you. Her breath fans your cheek, her voice is a raspy murmur. "If you want us to ditch them, just tell me. I'll get us outta here."

"I'm fine", you assure her. "Just get me a beer."

Natasha nods and turns, grabbing a can from the ice bucket they prepared. She cracks it open right as you realize you probably shouldn't drink it.

"Actually", you stammer, "I'm good. None for me. Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment on it. Shrugging, she takes a sip.

"Sure", she says. "I can get you a coke?"

"No, thanks." You shake your head and sink into the cushions, trying to keep the heat from your face. It's difficult, though, and it only gets worse when a character in whatever movie you're watching (truthfully, you aren't paying much attention) is revealed to be pregnant.

You rub your neck, throwing glances at Natasha every now and then. She's still oblivious. Then, she catches you staring, and her head tilts in silent question. You pause before getting up and dragging her along.

"What...?"

"Not in my bed!", Clint shouts.

"We're not having sex!", you yell back, slamming the door to his bedroom shut.

"We're not?"

You turn toward Natasha. "No", you say, awkwardly crossing your arms. "We're not."

"Shame", she says, smirking, and pushes her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She studies you for a moment and her smirk softens. "You alright?"

"I'm fine", you lie. "We need to talk, though."

Her smirk disappears entirely. She frowns, her gaze steady and attentive. Alright, you think. You're mine now. Have fun finding out about it.

"Talk?", she says, leaning against the closet. "About what, baby? Did you do something?"

"Uhm..."

"You did?" She grins faintly. "Wow. Didn't expect that to ever happen. How bad is it?"

"It's not funny", you say, plucking at the strap of your dress. "You won't be grinning like that once I tell you."

"Don't underestimate me", she teases, hands slipping out of her pockets to rest on your arms. "Anything can be funny, if you're looking at it the right way."

"Oh yeah?" You pause. "How funny is us being in this for the long haul?"

"Not very funny, honestly. I wouldn't mind, though."

"Mhm." You tilt your head. Your heart beats faster and faster, but at this point, you have to say it. "Good to know."

"It is?" Natasha hums and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your nose. "Want to make it official, or why's that?"

"I mean, having a baby is pretty official."

The second those words leave your lips, Natasha freezes. First, she just stares at you. Her hands drop to her sides. She takes a step back, then another, her eyebrows furrowed and confusion etched into her face.

The gears in her head start turning. She tries recalling whether you've been using protection, but then her brain fails her, and she exhales sharply. Silence lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, before she finally blurts out.

"We're what?"

"I'm pregnant", you say. "Took a test. It's positive."

"You...I..." She rakes her hand through her hair, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another step backwards, and her back collides with the wall. "We were careful."

"Oh, no." You watch her, growing more worried. "We weren't. Not that night after the library."

Natasha looks at you. Her brain eventually catches up.

"Oh, fuck", she curses. "Fuck. Y/N!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?!"

"Can you calm down?" You tilt your head. "You said you're in it for the long haul, no?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Uhh, guys?"

You whip around. The door is still shut, but Clint is standing behind it.

"What?", you call, irritated.

"Look, no idea what the hell is going on in there, but if you need help..."

"No help. We're fine."

"Are we?", Natasha hisses. You look at her.

"Oh, relax", you say, rolling your eyes. "You'll live."

She lets out a panicked wheeze and scrubs her hand down her face. You're being too calm, too nonchalant, whereas she feels like she's about to have a dozen panic attacks at once. She's not one to let herself get tied down. At least, that's what she always told herself. You may have changed that belief, but old habits die hard.

"I can't have a kid now! I- I have practice, I have games!" Then, as if the thought just hit her: "This is like a teen pregnancy."

"You're in college."

"Same thing!"

"Absolutely not the same thing", you argue, stepping closer. "Look, it won't be easy, but it could be worse. I mean, you love me — now imagine how much you'll love a tinier, cuter version of me."

She shoots you a glare, her breathing still uneven and rapid. "Don't think you can get much tinier."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Absolutely not", she mutters. "Pretty sure that's what got me into this mess."

"You're saying I should've gotten railed by someone else?"

Another glare. This one shuts you up. Natasha turns, looks out the mirror, glances at the striped bedsheets and the painting on the wall. Finally, she looks at you.

"I shouldn't even ask, since you seem perfectly fine", she mutters, crossing her arms. "But what about you? You okay? I mean..."

"I'm fine", you say, more quietly now. She nods and looks away again. You step closer and cup her face, standing on your tiptoes to litter small kisses across her cheeks and forehead. With every touch, her panic softens into mild anxiety. Then, at last, her arms wrap around your waist.

You look at her. Natasha exhales sharply, like she's trying to make peace with it all. She doesn't smile, but her fingertips graze your lower belly.

"If we're doing this", she mumbles stubbornly, "I get to teach them basketball."

"Fine."

"They get a jersey. A tiny one. With my number on it."

You sigh. "Sure."

"Also, no more junk food. The baby eats what you eat."

You scoff, squishing her face. She gives you another halfhearted glare.

"I will end you", you say, squeezing again. She shakes her head and tries to pull away from your grasp. "I mean it! What's life without fries?"

"Depressing", she says, hands sliding to your front and then back to your waist. "But healthier for whatever is growing inside you."

Your expression turns deadpan. "It's a baby."

"Show me an ultrasound first."

"You know what, maybe I did make this up."

..."Excuse me?!"

"I'm kidding!"

"No", she protests. "Now I want to see a doctor's note."

You let out a long exhale and pull her closer, your face against her neck. You press a kiss to her pulse point to keep yourself from slapping her. Sometimes, you wonder whether she's annoying intentionally.

But then, she softens. Her arms wrap around you, muscles enveloping you in safety and warmth, and her lips press kisses to your hair. Her heartbeat against your ear, her scent everywhere around you, you feel yourself melt a little.

"If this is real", she says, shushing you before you can interfere, "I'll do my best, alright? I'm not good at sticking around. I know that. But you have made me stick around, and I'm sure the baby will only make me stick around longer."

"'Longer'", you mumble, voice muffled, "better mean forever in this case."

"I said what I said."

"Romanoff."

She laughs, still shaking a little, and tightens her hold on you. Her nose is buried in your hair.

"We're also finding an apartment", she murmurs. "The dorm's too small. Can't fit a crib in there."

"Obviously."

"And we're not telling the others. Not yet."

You hum, hands sliding under her top and feeling the muscles on her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, making you press closer to her. She groans softly.

"No?", you ask, drawing shapes on her lower back.

"No. Not until I don't feel like passing out just thinking about it."

You laugh, fingertips pressing into her skin. You look up at her and smile. The smile you get in return is a bit strained, but her hands come up to cup your face. You lean in and kiss her.

First, it's soft and slow. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks. A quiet hum comes from her throat.

Then, you're walking backwards. You feel the mattress against your legs. You pull away and raise your eyebrows.

"Now?"

"Cut me some slack. I need to relieve stress."

You huff, but she's got you on your back before you can say anything else. Your hands fumble with her hair, releasing it from the loose bun, and watch the red strands come free. She hums and kisses your shoulder.

Her hand dips under your dress, traveling upwards until her fingers reach your stomach. She touches it, tentatively, before fumbling with your underwear. You let out a sound of approval, head dropping onto the mattress.

"This baby better not change anything", Natasha says, bunching up your dress around your waist.

"Change what?", you ask lazily.

"This. Us." She leans down and kisses your thigh. "You know what I mean."

"I truly don't."

She palms herself through her sweatpants, her eyes shooting you an unimpressed look. "You can't be that dense. Jesus Christ, my child is going to be a moron."

You scoff and flick her shoulder, but there's a faint smirk on your face. This is good. This is safe, familiar. "Can't believe I let you knock me up."

Natasha smiles. For a split second, her fingers twitch against your lower stomach before she focuses on pulling your underwear down. As if on instinct, she reaches for the condom in the pocket of her sweatpants, but then pauses. She glances at you. A look is exchanged, and you both start laughing.

It's slow, this time. Slow and lazy, unhurried. Your earlier 'fight' scared Clint off, so he doesn't even interrupt you. Neither of you is sure what's coming next, but in that moment, it doesn't matter.

. . .

By the way Natasha is staring at the screen, you'd think she's seeing an alien.

Truthfully, it might be one. You're not sure. All you know is that the white blob does not resemble a human in the slightest.

You glance at the ob-gyn, who seems unfazed. She keeps moving the transducer over your gel-slicked stomach, making the image on the screen waver. Finally, she stops and hits a button. The image freezes.

You squint at the screen. A blob. A vaguely human-shaped blob, maybe, but still a blob.

"There's the baby."

You look at Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, seeming helpless. Where?, she mouths.

The doctor is used to this. She doesn't even need to ask you anything to zoom in and point again, but it only helps minimally.

"Oh, yeah", Natasha finally lies. "I see it."

"Yeah", you add, trying to avoid the ob-gyn's eyes. "It's cute."

The woman sees right through you. She smiles faintly and prints the picture for you, then she wipes your stomach down with a few paper towels. "It's fine if you don't see it", she says, throwing the towels away. "Most parents don't. Babies do look a bit deformed in the beginning."

"But it's healthy?", Natasha asks.

"Completely healthy. Don't you worry." She smiles and tugs off her nitrile gloves. "I'll be back in a minute, alright? Feel free to look at the image and play 'Where's Waldo.'"

You hum noncommittally and glance at the ultrasound picture. Still a blob.

Natasha's fingers twitch against her knee and she shifts. All of this is becoming way too real way too soon.

"It's gonna come out looking like a real person, right?", she mumbles, frowning.

"You're kidding."

"Sorry, but it looks like something you'd see under a microscope."

You grab the first thing you find — your cardigan, bunched into a ball — and toss it at her. She catches it and spreads it out over your legs.

"Nice one", she says drily. "Come on, you can't tell me that looks like a baby."

You roll your eyes and glance at the picture again, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. She's right. It doesn't even resemble something supposedly alive, let alone a human being. But it is a human being, according to the doctor, and that's all you need to know.

"Maybe it's taking its time getting cute."

"That'll take a while."

"I hate you."

. . .

Nobody knows. Not yet. But hiding it is getting harder with every day.

Basketballs bounce, shoes squeak, the air smells of sweat and gym air. You watch the ball be thrown in your direction and you catch it, then toss it aside.

It was a flirty text that led you here. You were in bed, drunk on sunlight and half-asleep, when your phone buzzed. The picture you got was one you couldn't complain about — Natasha, in front of a mirror, only wearing boxers (just slightly tugged down to reveal an additional sliver of skin) and a bra. A picture taken in the locker room of the gym, right before practice. It was enough to get you semi-conscious and shoo you out of bed.

Practice is over now, so you walk onto the court. Natasha wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, her hand sneakily moving to your stomach — still pretty flat, but your shirt hides the tiniest of bumps.

"You did good", you say, smiling, and cup her face. The heat is making the ends of her hair curl, and strands of baby hair stick to her sweaty temples. You scrunch your nose, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "Really good. But that last shot was...meh."

"Criticizing me?" She scoffs and presses her lips to yours. Around you, her teammates talk and grab their stuff before heading to the showers. "A little more support would be appreciated, you know."

"This is me supporting you", you point out, walking her out of the gym. "What else do you want me to do, huh? Cheer? Fetch some water?"

"I wouldn't say no to seeing you in a cheerleading uniform."

You scoff, your hands wrapping around her lower arm as you lead her across campus. Only a handful of students passes you — it's summer, and most people are either visiting their families or vacationing. Not you and Natasha, though. You're spending your free time looking for an apartment.

"You'll have to wait around 6 more months for that." You pause, quickly re-calculating. "I think. My brain isn't working the way it's supposed to."

"Nothing new", she mumbles, shooting you a smirk when you jab your elbow into her side. "Kidding, kidding."

She squeezes your waist and leads you to the campus parking lot. She's still in her jersey, all sweaty from practice, but you have an appointment for an apartment viewing soon. Actually, you've got a whole list of apartments you want to look at. Natasha is taking apartment-hunting very seriously.

Too seriously, you're starting to think. Suddenly, not only the size of the apartment and the neighborhood where it's located are important, but also a bunch of things that are, in your humble opinion, simply not relevant.

"This next one has a basketball court nearby", she says, adjusting your seatbelt for you. "Good for early practice, you know. For the kid."

You raise your eyebrows. "For our fetus?"

"Hey, never too early."

You keep your thoughts on that matter to yourself.

At the apartment, the landlord shows you around. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, two bedrooms. Everything seems to be going fine. Despite still being in a sweaty jersey, Natasha manages to make a good impression. Then, he dares ask about your current family situation. That's when the usually so composed woman starts stuttering.

"Well, engaged. I guess. I mean, not yet, but in a way. Uh...fuck. Y/N?"

You glance at her, frowning. "Engaged? Where's the ring, then?"

Natasha looks at you. The panic in her eyes almost makes you laugh.

"Are you engaged or are you not?", the landlord asks. "It's fine if you aren't. Not that important, really."

"We're not", you say. "One day, though. Or so I hope."

"Yeah, yeah", Natasha says, still stressing. "One day."

A few more apartments you look at are enough to wear you out. You collapse onto the bed in your dorm, face buried in your pillow and one leg hanging over the edge. Natasha sits next to you and squeezes your butt, smiling.

"Hey", you mutter, voice muffled.

"Hey yourself", she teases. Her hand travels lower, tickling the inner part of your thighs. You squirm and she laughs quietly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Can't blame you for that, baby." She leans in, pressing a kiss to the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts. "Want me to order dinner?"

You glance at her, eyes lighting up with hope. "Pizza?"

"We said no junk food."

"You said no junk food."

"Think about the baby", she says, tugging at your shorts. "Mhm, you could take these off."

You snort and kick at her blindly. You manage to hit her in the ribs. She lets out a grunt and pinches your butt cheek. You roll over, one cheek reddened from the pillow, and give her a challenging look. "Ouch! Come on, I'm growing your kid. Least you can do is get me a pizza."

Her fingers trail up your spine. Before you know it, she's lying behind you with her front against your back. Pressed together from head to toe, not an inch of space separates you.

She kisses the back of your neck. Her hand rests on your stomach, rubbing gently. "You're right", she mumbles. "You've trapped me. Pizza it is."

The words trapped me make your cheeks go warm. You snuggle into her and ignore the guilt and satisfaction warring inside you. This is something she'll find out about one day. Maybe. But right now, you're too happy in your little bubble to make it pop.

"I want garlic bread, too."

"So demanding." She hums and dips her hand into the front of your shorts. Her bulge presses against your butt. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

You whine softly. With the pregnancy making your body overly sensitive, every little touch sends sparks of want through you. Heat pools in your lower belly and you shift, grinding against her. She hums, her fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. White lace is revealed, and she moans.

"Really hungry, actually", you mumble, squirming. "But I'm willing to wait."

"Thank god", she says, peppering your shoulder with kisses. "I was considering jerking off in the bathroom otherwise."

"Gross."

"Love you too."

Natasha somehow manages to place the order. It's difficult, though, especially when you roll over. One leg hooked over her waist, she whines and rocks her hips against yours pathetically. You laugh and then moan, feeling her hard-on nudge all the right spots.

You bury your face in her neck and place kisses until her entire neck is covered in lipstick. Finally, she tosses her phone aside. You both ignore the sound of your roommate's lamp crashing to the ground and instead focus on each other.

. . .

Natasha was never one to get easily distracted by an audience.

Now that there's a tiny viewer in the stands, though, that has changed.

Niko is barely old enough to stay awake for longer than two hours, but that doesn't mean he can't go to his mom's basketball games and watch. One hand wrapped around your finger and earmuffs that look way too big on him, he's undeniably the star of the stands.

You thought he'd be a tiny you. As it turned out, Natasha's genes are a little too stubborn for that. His eyes are still baby-blue, but the redness of his hair is unmistakable. Paired with the matching jersey he's sporting, you feel like you're carrying a much smaller version of her around.

You ignore the looks and the delighted whispers. As always, your focus is on Natasha. That's something that, even now that you have a baby, never changed. It's her game. She's the important one here.

You watch her dribble the ball as she scans the court. Focus unwavering, she dodges a defender and leaves them stunned. With one leap, she soars into the air and lets the ball swish through the net.

Not too long ago, you would've jumped up and cheered. But you don't want to jostle the baby too much, so you settle for clapping awkwardly while holding Niko in one arm.

Natasha turns, eyes glistening, and spots you in the crowd. You take Niko's hand and make him wave at her. Her smile only widens.

Minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Another victory.

Natasha comes rushing to the stands before anyone can even attempt to congratulate her. She helps you over the barricade, then takes off her jersey to hand it to you. The piece of fabric is swapped for the baby, who clings to her like a little koala.

"Did you see that?", she asks, breathless, and pats Niko's back when he starts fussing. "What a shot!"

You nod, laughing, and kiss her cheek. Sweaty as always. And, also as always, you don't find it in you to care.

"I did", you say, putting on her jersey. "Much better than in that first halftime, babe."

"Yeah?" She looks at the baby. He's still fussy, one hand grasping at her shoulder. "What about you, bud? You like it?"

"Didn't even cry once", you say, brushing your fingers over his tuft of hair. "Which is a miracle."

"It definitely is."

You linger by the barricade, talking and smiling, exchanging quick kisses. Natasha's teammates approach you to ask whether you want to go out and celebrate, but you decline. They leave, buzzing with joy, only for a few girls to introduce themselves to Natasha.

This time, all they get is a brief smile. She kisses Niko's cheek and leads you away from the court, away from the crowds, away from the noise.

"Not gonna stay and talk a bit more?", you tease. It's surprising, how much has changed. Her habit to flirt excessively seems to be gone. It's something you're thankful for — having to fight her about that was tiring.

Natasha shakes her head. You walk through a hallway, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and turn a corner. The locker room is empty when you enter it.

"Nah", she says, sitting down on a bench. She gently takes the earmuffs off Niko's head and watches him yawn. "I'd rather get home. He looks tired."

"He is, yeah."

"You're tired, too", she points out. You tilt your head and smile faintly.

"And here I thought I applied enough makeup."

"Don't worry, you're gorgeous. But you also look tired."

No point in denying that. Niko is merely four months old, and he's far from sleeping through the night. In addition, Natasha is unable to get up most nights, since practice and the games are demanding. She tries her best to juggle college, basketball, and an infant.

"Fine", you admit. "He kept me up all night. But I'm okay, I swear."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd look more put together, but you try applying lipstick while holding a squirming baby."

Natasha laughs and reaches up to take your hand. You're on her lap before you know it, nestled against Niko. She kisses your shoulder.

"You look put together", she assures you. "Tired, but put together."

You smile and lean into her. Her arm is strong around your waist, biceps swollen and veins popping, and you turn your head to kiss her cheek.

"All for you", you mumble. Then, you tap Niko's nose. "This' all for you, too."

"Oh, I know." Natasha nuzzles her face against your shoulder. "Lucky me. Lucky you. We're all lucky."

Lucky you, indeed.

[mcrdvcks]

— goodnight n go

chapter summary: You and Matt are childhood friends who met at the orphanage. But people always assume you two are dating.

word count: 3.6k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: as an og matt murdock stan, i can't believe i've never wrote for him. i hope this is accurate to his character!

and the title goodnight n go is a song by ariana grande from her album sweetener - which i fully believe is an underrated album

also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba

warnings/tags: mentions of twirling/playing with hair, after endgame (so tony is dead😭), best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, oblivious idiots, slight angst, mention of injuries and blood

“And don’t forget to clean the coffee filter. I don’t want anyone getting sick. Again.” You said, grabbing your purse.

“I swear, sometimes your worse than my mother.” Foggy replied, sipping from his mug.

Karen quirked a brow, “your mother isn’t exactly a role model for parenting.”

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, Foggy."

Foggy sighed dramatically, setting his mug down. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean the damn filter. But if I get coffee poisoning or whatever, I’m blaming you."

"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."

"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.

"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."

"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.

You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.

Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."

Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."

Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.

"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."

Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.

Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"

"Same as always. How was court?"

"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."

"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.

Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."

You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.

Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.

"You could stay," he murmured.

"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.

You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.

Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.

"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."

Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."

"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.

Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."

"You’re too slow."

"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."

You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.

"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.

"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.

You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."

Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."

You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."

"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."

You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.

---

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.

"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."

His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.

---

The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.

Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.

"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.

"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.

Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."

Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"

Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."

"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"

"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.

Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.

The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.

"Date?"

Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."

You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.

Damn him.

---

At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.

"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."

You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.

His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.

"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."

Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.

"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.

It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.

And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.

---

It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.

"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.

Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."

Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."

You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.

"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."

"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.

Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"

"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."

"You better."

There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.

Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"

The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.

You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.

Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.

"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.

Damn him.

You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."

Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."

---

A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.

You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.

"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.

"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.

You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.

Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"

"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.

You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.

The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.

You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."

You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.

Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.

Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.

"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."

Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.

"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”

Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.

"How so?"

"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"

The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.

"No," you admitted softly.

His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."

Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."

"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.

You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.

Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.

He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)

it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!

and, one more thing, i'd love to write more of these two! if you have any requests, send them in! i fear that that shower scene in that ddba trailer has taken up my mind... so don't be surprised if i write shower sex with matt soon...

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★ part one, part two

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ word count 8.4k+ (this was going to be 5k but then i ended up writing about 2.5k worth of smut... so!! beware)

ᯓ★a/n: this is weeks late, life happens, shit happens we get back up to write bucky barnes faniction. {para @dove4444 te amo, perdon por la espera <33333}

ᯓ★ summary: Tensions rise when a ‘friendship’ builds that leave both of you wanting more. Everyone can see how his eyes never leave you. If only you could get your head out of your ass and see for yourself.

ᯓ★ series warnings/ tags/ tropes: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, separation, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication Bad Ass Reader Soft Bucky Barnes, Mentions of torture off screen ------[PART TWO WARNINGS: unhealthy coping strategies, miscommunication, smut, dry humping, cursing in other languages (Spanish and Russian), dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, p in v unprotected sex]

You needed time to heal after— two days of bed rest, stitches, and recovery for a heavily sprained ankle. And unfortunately for Bucky, that meant no clandestine meetings at quarter past two in the morning. 

He tried his best to keep away. After the initial reunion, he handed you into the infirmary and avoided everyone like the plague. They avoided him right back; he couldn’t blame them. He felt as if a storm cloud enveloped him without you, knew he had murder in his eyes. It cost him to hand you up to the doctors, a pang in his heart at having you taken from him once again. He told himself it wasn’t like that, and you would be back in his line of sight before he knew it. His subconscious disagreed, so he trained for hours until he passed out in a mat, warring voices in his head quieting down with exhaustion that pulled at his body, made gravity stronger. Phantom hands yanking him down into oblivion mid-workout. He toed the line of danger training without a spotter, but once the black started to spot his vision and his dry throat burned with rage, —he was a super soldier, neglecting hydration helped him pass out faster— he knew to go to the mat so when he did pass out, at least he wouldn’t injure himself.

One of those days he came to the Black Widow frowning from above him.

He grumbled an intentional incoherent sentence, not feeling like interacting. The redhead’s brows furrowed further. Unimpressed with his antics.

“Get a grip, Barnes, this self-pity schtick has to go. Here.” 

He felt more than saw the weight of a water bottle against his stomach. Almost snarled before remembering himself. This was a bit embarrassing. He sat up and grabbed at the water with resentment in what was meant to be one fluid movement, but came out clumsy and sluggish. His head pounded, his vision clouded. Embarrassing. Begrudgingly, he unscrewed the water bottle and finished it in slow, measured drinks under Black Widow’s judging gaze.

Said redhead dropped to a crouch, eye level with him, frown unfurling, and even he could see the concern in her eyes and the unpleased twist of her lips.

“Barnes, look. I long ago forgave you for the scar you gave me, and I know that you hold yourself guilty for— don’t give me that look, you know you do. Anyway, the others wanted to stage an intervention— No, before you start, let me finish! They care about you. —No. I know that face, I’m going to ignore all your passive-aggressive expressions now, you petulant child— I know you don’t like to think much about what happened during— well, yes, I know you remember. Haven’t you ever stopped to think why the fifty-sixth floor stayed destroyed? Huh? Yeah! Thought you didn’t. I know you pay close attention to Tony, so I know you know he is prideful and a perfectionist. He wouldn’t leave a floor wrecked just because. And before you get angry. No, he didn’t tell anyone why he let it be. And I know for a fact that he turned off the cameras. I couldn’t find any trace of the feed for the floor, and I am Black Widow — it didn’t take me long to figure out he had forgiven you no matter how much he teases you. Yes, he was hurt, but he ultimately understood that it wasn’t a choice, and he cares, in his own asshole way. He— We care about you, Barnes. And I know things have been awkward with Steve— since you tried to kill him and all--, but if you don’t see that he cherishes you then you have been lying to yourself. And she cares too! Did you know she has been accepting visitor? She’s about to be discharged to her own room tomorrow morning. She didn’t need to stay in the infirmary but Tony worries, and I know you do too. So there is no reason to stay away from your friend— no rational reason. And it pains me to see hope bloom in her eyes once the door opens and the way she tries to cover up it’s shatter when it’s not you. You two understand each other. You are best friends. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. We live together. She wears her heart on her sleeve. You just have to learn to read her tells. She will never outright say what she means to say. She will veil her true feelings with insults and sarcasm. Now take a shower and go to her, you big fucking idiot. You reek.” She sprang up in one smooth motion, leaving him with a fond stern look and scolded, all of reminded him of his sister.

That was the longest she had spoken in front of him ever, even putting every interaction together. He didn’t have time to unpack everything, though. Bucky was left reeling, jaw clenched to prevent it from slacking open in shock. His breaths came in faster and faster. He missed you so much. He couldn’t stop thinking about having you in his arms, wanting you back there forever. But Black Widow was right. He reeked. 

His thoughts ran a mile a second, his body going through the motions without needing instruction. Made his way to his bathroom and showered, and did his night routine on autopilot. 

 It was late… you were most definitely sleeping. His every thought hyper-focused on you. On the fact that you weren’t there, your absence a heavy and loud presence in his heart.

  Bucky stared at his bed, bones weary and freshly showered. He would lie to himself if he said he contemplated sleeping there, visiting you tomorrow. He needed you now— needed you always—But his need for you felt more pronounced at that moment. His body was tired, but it yearned to hold you more than it did sleep. He needed his nightly dose of you. And even then that wouldn’t be enough, needed you close needed you in ways that had him blushing and running himself a cold shower. He shook his head, trying to lose memories of him jerking himself off at breakneck speed, to find some sort of release of the lust full torture he found himself in just by thinking about you— never mind breathing in your scent.

He threw himself on his bed. Trying to keep away, truly he did. But between the lands of consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw you. Screaming for him, crying out as you were tortured. He couldn’t take it. His heart pounded as he ran his fingers aggressively through his hair. 

He knew you deserved all that was good in the world, and that excluded him — but that didn’t calm down the tension in his body palpable through his teeth. Bucky tried to breathe in, tried to think rationally, but his limbs moved on their own accord as if deciding for him. 

His mind a passenger to his body as he was pulled by an invisible string holding his heart hostage, tethered to you, throughout the building to your door.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You couldn’t sleep, or rather you had been knocked out for a while, sleeping on and off, drifting between the blurred line of realistic nightmare and nonsensical reality, dozed in a wide array of medicine, and found yourself squirming at two a.m. in the morning. 

You were unable to move much. Your leg was elevated to aid your heavy sprain.

Your eyes were heavy, blinking slowly in the darkness. You were so uncomfortable, and you had to sit with one big fact. Squirmed with it. You wanted to see him. You distracted yourself from any other thoughts, from processing whatever the fuck happened in the warehouse, the new drops in the bucket of blood and death, with memories of his arms around yours. You had relished in life giving away beneath your hands, just as they had relished in breaking your bones. You glared at your palms as if they would give you an answer to why you didn’t feel guilty. You had to kill your way out, no one was coming to save you. He would’ve. You could see it in his eyes, he was about to fight Captain America to get to you. You shivered not knowing how to take it. He had been so relieved, and so had you.

Your inhale was shaky. You tried to think of him, but— your greatest fears had come true those long hours before you got to escape. Half unconscious with pain you thought you were back in Hydra. When you screamed in pain from the torture, you thought those nights with him had all been a nice dream. That the beautiful man with the sad blue eyes had been a hallucination. The cruel eyes from not too long ago blurred into those of  your past, of older memories from Hydra. A variety of eyes: twin flames, mirrored each other with sadistic pleasure and glee. There was a twist in your gut that didn’t let you give up, told you there was a man with soulful eyes and a gorgeous smile waiting for you. Pure grit brought you back online, moving your body in ways you hadn’t since your hydra days. Killed so many. You were scared that you didn’t care. Bucky was real, had hugged you so tight—

But an anxious, paranoid part of you still thought so.  You hadn’t seen him in days, and the rational part of you knew he was real, but a dark and needy side of you needed him here to believe it. A heavy sensation of being trapped grew in your body, your limbs heavy and achy impeded you from moving much. Frustration built in your chest, rising and rising. Your breaths came out fast and shallow. You didn’t know how to manage it, needed to move, needed him. 

A knock at the door dragged you from your haze. Hope failed to bloom in your chest, too many times had it grown only for someone that wasn’t Jamie to come into the hospital room.

You couldn’t see through your distress. It was late, and you didn’t want to be bothered— not by anyone who wasn’t him. You slid a hand under your pillow, fingers curling around the grip of your knife. 

You knew those soft footsteps, familiar with them even in their uncertainty— you were dreaming. “Doll?” Oh, how you missed him.

You placed the knife on the bedside. “Jamie?” You weren’t able to keep the excitement and relief from your voice.

“I had a nightmare. I had to check for myself. I’ll let you sleep.” His voice was gruff, worried. Worried.

Yes, you were in fact dreaming, a pain medication-induced nice dream. Your Jamie was proud, he would never— this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted and you wanted him around you. “Come here. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

Dream Jamie didn’t hesitate. The bed shifted with his weight. You flinched when you felt cold metal against you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I can move—”

You giggled softly.  The dark haze dissipating from your mind by his presence. “It’s alright, Jamie. You’re so cold. Get under the covers with me.” You yawned. Now that you weren’t in distress, your subconscious pulled you towards sleep—deeper sleep, since you were already in the sandman’s territory.

There was an awkward shuffle as he got inside the covers.

You curled around the cold metal arm as best as you could with restricted movement. You yawned again. “G’night, Jamie. Try to get some sleep. We’re safe here; nothing can hurt us in my dream. I’m so glad to have you in my arms I missed you so much. So happy you’re real and here, even if it is a dream Jamie.” Your words murmured. You rubbed your face into his cotton shirt. The pounding of his heart lulled you to sleep.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You thought you were dreaming! Did you dream of him often? It didn’t matter. He would ponder about this new revelation later; now he would focus on your soft, pliant body against him, and tiredness overtaking him.

Bucky’s consciousness came to him in phases, each one more forceful than the last, crashing into him in waves. The first sensation he became aware of was warmth. His body relaxed against it. It was familiar, as he had dreamt of it. The next thing he noticed was that the warmth was tangible, had soft give to it— he could feel it. He rolled his neck against foreign pillows… His eyes flew open, muscles tensing slightly with alarm. 

Your soft sleeping body cocooned his left side and enveloped his usually cold metal arm— which was at that moment the same temperature as your body. He so badly wanted to give in again. Burrow into your warm, soft skin. He barely had time to overthink it. His groggy mind almost reached consciousness before a soft murmur from your lips brought his thoughts to heel.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, s’early Jamie, sleep.” You didn’t seem to care about him not being a product of REM. You curled up tighter around him. Your smile bigger than last night, cheek pressed against his metal arm. And never had he felt any semblance of gratefulness toward Stark. But the new arm sent feedback to his brain. A weapon of destruction cradled and enveloped softly by your body. Somehow you trusted him, he felt less a weapon with no agency and more a person. He liked touching you with his metal arm. He knew that it was tainted but your touch made it pure. Bucky acknowledged that he would’ve never gotten you here with him if it weren’t for that still-wrecked floor. Unwanted tears prickled in his eyes. Would he ever live up to this forgiveness?

He didn’t want to think anymore so he followed the laced command in your sweet, sleepy voice urging him back to dream land and succumbed to his dreams.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The air around the two of you shifted after the one-person intervention. And yes, of course, the team noticed, but they chose to say nothing. They were glad that Natasha had gone in to talk to him by herself. Although she never did retell what happened, but it seemed to work. And while they liked to tease Bucky— some billionaire philanthropists more than others— they were happy for him; he seemed a little more calmer than before. Settled into himself. 

While he never directly came out and touched you in front of them. He started orbiting you blatantly. Taking a seat next to you during the rare shared meals. Glaring at anyone who dared take his spot next to you on the couch. Walking into a room and making his way to you. 

Two particular instances engraved themselves into the minds of the team members who were lucky enough to behold it. 

The first event took place in the morning. It started like any other. You chit-chatted with Steve and Nat as you made two of your breakfast bagels. They might’ve thought you had woken up hungry that day were it not for the two cups of coffee you set in front of the plate holding the two halved bagels.

Tony tinkered with a toaster in the background, his eyes looking up slowly when Bucky walked in fingers not stopping their ministrations on the machinery. 

And the team had been so wrong. Yes, Bucky had a strong disposition, but the way he had always stared at you, so intently. It should have been obvious. It was like their eyes opened after the mission had gone wrong.  The man was so obviously besotted with you. 

It couldn’t be more clear as the usual dark storm cloud that hung over him dissolved when his eyes found you. He strode toward you with one track mind. 

You spoke to him before your gaze found his, as if sensing his presence.“Hey there, I just made you my favorite breakfast. Grab our plate, here’s your coffee. Dark and joyless like you.” You turned to look at him with barely veiled glee.

Steve’s brows furrowed slightly, concerned. He used to make those kinds of jokes with his Bucky, but he didn’t know how this Bucky would react.

Tony’s eyes furrowed with concern—

Bucky huffed and pursed his lips. But his eyes, they were accustomed to his eyes being perpetually set in a glare. 

His gaze was soft, voice softer, “Doll… You know me so well.”

Your grin was dazzling and you were the only one that missed the way his stare lingered a bit too long on your lips.

DOLL??? Oh, you guys were clearly fucking. Natasha smiled, amused, and raised an eyebrow at Steve. 

Steve gaped at Bucky, lost and forlorn. He had spent so long tiptoeing around the man who used to be his best friend. 

Bucky didn’t seem to care that there were other people in the kitchen, long gone was the man who didn’t show up for breakfast. You curled your fingers around the handle of the two coffee cups, concluding the chit-chat. He grabbed the plate with his metal fingers. Then, so slyly as if with half a mind, he reached out his right arm toward you, near your hips. His fingers slid inside the loop of your jeans and yanked you toward him.

You let out a surprised yelp and laughed. “Jamie! Careful. The coffee will spill!” You didn’t seem the least put off by his actions. 

They had no clue when it started, but somehow, in a few months you had gotten through the broken and hurting Winter Soldier and got to Jamie. 

Jamie. Bucky never let Steve call him that. It was bittersweet. Your chattering voice faded as he dragged you out of the kitchen. It was then that he came to a conclusion. Bucky was a different man, and he wanted to get to know this version of him.

And they felt guilty, they had given a half ass try to get through to him, put off by his glower, you weren’t perturbed by his grumpiness nor his mood swings. Letting him be silent whenever he got too in his head. Chatting to him about whatever until you eventually drew out a small smile perceptible in his usually clouded expression.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You had found yourself in the proud position of Bucky’s friend, closest and best — you did sleep in the same bed—, yet you still felt like screaming in frustration. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t unhappy per se. You had him in your arms every night…Your cheek pressed against his warm, sturdy chest. The only thing between keeping your skin from his was a thin, flimsy shirt. And maybe it was wrong for you to, but you longed for more, to touch without restraint. Had feelings with more-than-friends connotations. Not that you had many— any— real friends before you were recruited here. So while you knew there was a difference between platonic and romantic love. You tried fooling yourself into thinking it was platonic. But you wouldn’t go and kill around 15 people for just about anyone, and it hurt. You wanted him to see you the same way you did him. Rare nights where it was you holding him instead of the more common inverse. 

You’d scrape your fingernails softly through his scalp. Hope would make your heart full, inflating it with every hum of pleasure he let out in his sleep. But then he’d wake up shy and closed off, cheeks red with what you perceived as embarrassment and your heart would collapse once again, hope seeping out and leaving acid in its wake.

But he’d do certain things that would make your heart race, exhilarated and frustrated, leaving you reeling and confused.

Your feelings grew despite your protests, so you kept them locked in nice and tight, hidden even from yourself, for as long as possible. 

You were full to the brim with tension, and one particular instance made you lose it, the container breaking with pressure and spilling all over the place. 

It went like so. It was early afternoon, and sunlight spilled from the high windows of the tower, casting a warm glow on the room. 

Natasha was telling you all about these two guys; they were inviting her and you to a double date. You were certain in your decision not to go. The man you’d be paired up with was the same one that frequented the bar with the team; he had brown eyes and a sleazy smile. Nothing like your Jamie.

You were doubling down on your decision when he walked in.

“Hello, Doll, Nat.” His greeting was gruff, but a few months ago, you would’ve thought him possessed.

Natasha’s eyes glinted with mischief and calculation. She gave you a feral grin before turning around, her expression slipping easily into neutrality. “Bucky, it’s so good that you’re here. You can help me convince her to go out with me.”

Jamie cocked his head, expression unreadable. “Sounds fun, Doll; you need a girl’s night.”

This was it! The perfect opportunity to gauge his reaction to you going out with someone else! “It’s a double date with the guys from communication.” You deliberately left out the part where you didn’t want to go, wanting to push a grand reaction. —It never came.

You saw his full body tense for a moment, and for a second, your heart soared… only to crash instantly when he gave you a terse smile. His voice was disappointingly steady, “Why don’t you want to go?”

You knew your body was overreacting, knew you were blowing it out of proportion, but your heart shrivelled nonetheless. You tried still, couldn’t swallow down the frustration try as you did.“I like my men a little bit older…” Your mouth answered for you, giving him a cheeky grin. 

He turned his full attention toward you, and your body viscerally recoiled from the look in his eyes. An angry and resentful glint in his eyes. So familiar—the way he used to stare at you before the first meeting at two a.m.

“You should go.” His words were final, a command. 

You didn’t understand, and you almost sobbed then. You prided yourself in being able to count the number of times you had cried on one hand. A chasm was growing between you, distance expanding with every word. He didn’t want you that way. Pinche ilusa! How could he ever want you that way? You snarled instead of crying, “Alright, I will, but don’t expect me here at two in the morning.”

His smile was bitter, mean. “I won’t.” 

Your returning smile was filled with spite. Anger bubbling in your throat, you saw red. “Pinche pendejo, deveras.”  (Such a fucking prick), it hurt to smile. You didn’t even want to think about the last time you used your Spanish. But his hardened eyes and clenched jaw brought out the most impulsive sides of you. 

Beside you, Nat and Bucky tensed. You lifted your downward gaze toward them. Their heads were cocked to the side, assessing… You’d never slipped into your native tongue.

You took a deep breath before speaking, “I’m going to get ready, Nat! See you at eight!” Smiled at them both before prancing to the elevator, assuming a mask of joy, heart sunken in.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The elevator doors closed in front of you, taking you from him. The Winter Soldier's gaze lingered on the spot where you'd disappeared, his eyes burning with a mix of longing and frustration before snapping toward his adversary.

The soldier was full of rage. Flowers had bloomed through the cracks in his stone heart only to wilt because of her.

The redheaded sensed the obvious danger, and spoke in a language the soldier didn’t understand. He understood her disappointment with him, which displeased the soldier.

“говорить демон.” The soldier growled, beckoning the demon to speak, try and save herself. 

She had been a friend…The redheaded demon responded in his language. “You were taking too long, and I couldn’t take any more of her sulking… So speak up or forever hold your peace, soldier. You don’t get to wallow in self-pity and watch life passing you by, cursing time for moving on and not standing still, you can’t unwind the clock, soldier, you can only go forward… So decide carefully before it’s too late.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe, bereft of oxygen. What had he done? Had the soldier really come back because of you? The threat of losing you?

He somehow found himself in his room. He didn’t quite remember how he got there. His brain a haze of frustration and defeat.

His room felt wrong, empty, and cold. He didn’t even approach his bed, knowing how that whole schtick would go. So Bucky paced and paced, his mind running around in circles. 

And what was that whole thing about liking older men? How was he supposed to take it? 

He knew he had fucked up. But he wasn’t about to go crash your date… So he went to his training room. Came back to the land of the living hours later, an unknown familiar face framed by gold hair staring down at him. Warmth pressed against his mouth and he drank greedily.

“…can’t keep hurting yourself like this, Buck.”

Bucky groaned in response and in acknowledgment. Looked at his friend’s concerned eyes. His chest ached with nostalgia, love, regret… everything. “That’s my line, punk.” His voice came out unsteady.

The ground moved underneath him, yanked by his metal arm toward Steve into a tight hug. For a moment Bucky’s arms hovered uncertainly and he could feel a Steve’s large body shake against him. So he hugged his friend back. He had been neglecting Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Stevie, it’s alright.” His voice was fond. He was yanked once again. Twin grips on his shoulders shook him with more force than merited. 

“No, you stupid idiot! It’s not alright…” For a moment Steve looked like he wanted to say more, but he knew how Bucky was, so he kept in his spiel and sighed dramatically. “Come on, let’s get some food in your poor body.”

Steve tried to help Bucky walk, which ended up with Captain America being whacked upside the head. The blonde turned to Bucky with fake offence, instead deciding to drag him to the kitchen by force. Oh, how things changed…

Steve had changed…he managed to beat Bucky in a stare-down. Even in his forties after the serum   that only happened once in a blue moon. So Bucky found himself eating a sandwich and a big glass of electrolytes with resentment. His leg bounced with vigor. 

He kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding Steve’s too observant eyes, eyes that knew him since childhood.

As soon as the last bite had been swallowed, Bucky looked up. Only to regret it instantly. Steve had a resolved expression. A glint in his eyes that told him to run. So he did. Not ready for whatever conversation he wanted to have.

“Where’s Banner?” He pushed off the table in a harsh, sudden movement.

Steve’s face fell, confused and hurt. “Huh?”

“I need a cigarette.”

He got furrowed brows and a cocked head in response.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

A few blocks away, your leg bounced anxiously. Unbeknownst to you mirroring the person who caused your stress, .

You sat across from Nat, your date an uncomfortable breath away.  The tension between you palpable as you struggled to make small talk with him. Thigh pressed to bouncing thigh. You wanted to turn pleading eyes to Nat. And for what? You had come here out of your own volition. Fuck. You needed a smoke. You tried to convince yourself you wanted to be here. If he didn’t want you, you deserved someone who did.

A meaty hand slid against your bare skin. Ala mierda… Yeah, no… Abort.

“Calm down, baby… you are all… amped up… how about we go outside and—”

“That’s a good idea.” 

You got a sleazy grin and a flash of eerily perfect teeth. His were a charmingly imperfect; he wouldn’t call you baby. He would call you doll….

“I am going outside by myself. I need a smoke. Besides— I left my lighter at home.”

“I-”

“No, thank you. Sorry, Nat.” You flashed your not-so-sorry gaze toward her. 

She was amused. “Go! by all means. I’ll get the check.” She moved her hand, shooing you off.

A grip on your arm stopped you. “Don’t tell me it’s because of that creepy guy with murder in his eyes.”

You shivered, giddy with pleasure. It was too obvious of a response for it to fly over your date’s head.

“It is! He stares at you like you hurt him. Like he wants to tie you up in his bed and never let you leave!”

Your wicked grin was enough for him to let you go with a huff of disgust. You didn’t care, kissing Nat’s cheek. “Goodbye, you evil woman.” 

She spanked your ass, sending you off. You turned one last time toward her, grinning. Your smiles reflecting glee and mirth.

You walked around the city for a while. Savoring being able to do so without recrimination. 

You weren’t delusional; you should’ve known better. Yet you were so blinded by self-doubt that you closed your eyes.

Bucky wasn’t loud with his emotions, ever. He swallowed them whole, drowned in them. Even if he wanted you, he was too prideful and scared of being hurt. Countless sleepless nights and nights where it was avoided deliberately to see each other told of a man who was interested in you in some capacity.

You weren’t dumb, you just chose to ignore the evidence. Turning a blind eye to the staggering difference in the way he spoke to you versus literally anyone else. He gave you preferential treatment. You cuddled every night for fucks sake! And you doubted that he cared for you? He couldn’t sleep without you, and vice versa! 

You checked your phone. 2:03 a.m. What were you stalling for? 

You smiled all the way back to the tower.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The third time the elevator doors pinged, Bucky’s hope had worn out. Expecting Steve or Natasha. The latter had come from the double date alone. “I told you to leave me alone to— what had you called it?— wallow in self-pity and the consequences of my own actions or whatever.” He raised a shaking hand, knuckles cracked and bleeding— he was embarassed to admit he had succumed to his baser needs and punched a wall out of frustration— taking a drag of a cigarette. It tasted radioactive… but it smelled like you. He coughed softly.

An achingly familiar laugh startled him from his stupor. He swerved around with wide eyes. A kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar… “What are you doing here? If you’re here to tell me about — I don’t want to hear it.” He grumbled. Yes, you were friends, but he really, really didn’t want to hear about you sleeping or even breathing in near another man. He took another drag of your cigarette. Filled his lungs with smoke, his blood with chemicals. Okay, yes. He got it now.

“You big, stupid man.” The candor of your voice dripped with irritation. You stomped toward him, heels clacking against the floor, and snatched the smoke from him in harsh movements.

He grunted in response, out of his depth, and turned his gaze toward the skyline. He was aware of your every movement. You took two drags and stomped a perfectly good half of a cigarette with your heel.

He turned to glare at you, giving you a once-over. Fucking helllll….. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bucky needed to dump cold water on himself ASAP. He was reminded of the many, many long showers he had jerked off in before joining you in bed. They were always futile, super soldier refractory period, and your soft skin, and— you were wearing a mini skirt and a top that accentuated your tits. Bucky mentally clutched his 100-year-old pearls. His breath hitching. Eyes catching on thighs— THIGHS. And boobsp—BOOBS!Before meeting your pleased predatory gaze. 

You took one step toward him, he took one step back.

“I’m going to ask you something, please answer me honestly— Why don’t you want to hear about my date?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” he ground out his non-answer.

“Why are your knuckles bleeding? Why are you smoking my cigarette?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” He repeated, body tense, ready to pounce, touch, taste. You looked so beautiful. The soft night lights illuminating your tinted lips, your glittery eyelids, bringing the color out of your iris.

“Well, I found myself seated next to him and thinking: Jamie wouldn’t say that— but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t you.”

This time when you advanced toward him, his feet stayed planted in place. Your took your time advancing toward him. And you were taller now, easier to reach with those long heels. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed up against him.

His arousal grew to unavoidable levels. Pushing against your hip. “Fuck, doll. You can’t— I’m wrong for you, all messed up and angry. And from the forties…” His fingers clenched and unclenched on his sides. He was lacking in excuses to touch you. His limbs itched to hold you. Dig into you.

“Well, I hate to repeat myself, but I see I have to. I’ve told you I like my men a little bit older… And maybe I’m a bit messed up too. Because seeing you all fucked up and angry…. Well, I wasn’t upset.”

“I can’t sleep without you. I dream of you, I—”

You smiled with glee, “I know, Natasha was all too pleased to explain to me the mechanics of ‘morning wood’”

Bucky groaned in response. Letting his hands, metal and otherwise, slide against your hips. It was nothing like cuddling; his intentions were impure. They had always been, but he had not felt any past guilt over his arousal, unashemed in his guilt, he felt no need to neglect his urges no— unless you told him otherwise.

He could tell you had some snarky response in the makings. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off your face. If you thought he would be taking the subservient route, you were gravely mistaken. At least right now he needed to be in control, needed you to trust him. Needed you. 

Your eyes glinted with snark, your mouth opening to tease. His hand coasted up your back, to your nape, his fingers gliding into your hair to pull you toward him. Your eyes widened in surprise, pupils blown out. Good, you thought too much; he needed to make your brain shut up for a bit.

He held his breath as he leaned in, hummed with satisfaction once your lips pressed against his. Your lips, so soft against his. He needed more. He gripped your hip, conscious of the strength in his metal arm, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you, but he did want to leave a mark. You gasped in pleasure. Your hands yanked on his hair, and he groaned against your lips.

He set his sights on a wall three paces away, pushing against you. So malleable under him, succumbing so easily to his ministrations, like putty under his hands. His blood sang with the escalating volume of your noises. With each step he took forward, you met with a step back. You gasped as your back met the wall.

“Jamie... please," your voice was so whiny, so desperate it made his cock hurt with arousal. Blood rushed in his ears; he needed more, needed you begging. Undone.

He yanked on the base of your hair with one hand, exposing your neck for him. He was oh so happy to kiss and lick your skin. You whined and shifted against him... sensitive. His other hand slid down your skirt until it met skin. Groaning against your neck, he slid his hand up, up, finally reaching your perfect ass. He couldn't feel any underwear... Fuck... he might've been from the forties, but he had internet access, and he could call a spade a spade, or in this case, a thong a thong. He yanked on the flimsy thing, so it snapped back against your skin.

You whimpered and panted, eyes closed in bliss. He could feel your hips shift, as if chasing after stimulation. And who was he to deny you?

He placed both hands just below your ass, lifting you up and pulling them apart, a silent command you gladly followed with a whine and a curse word in Spanish.

You locked your legs around his waist; his erection pressed against your warmth, and his soft cotton pants were doing nothing to help his desperation. He gave up on holding himself back when your lips met his once again, your hips jerking against him.

It was the best thing he had ever felt since... ever. His fingers spread on either side of your ass, your back supported by the wall. He was beyond words, and so were you.

His cotton pants were soaked with your arousal, hiding nothing. He could feel everything: your pussy open for his cock to grind on, your underwear had twisted to the side. He lost all ability to think, his conscious motor skills deciding to go offline, the only movement he could do was jerking his hips. His lips opened to pant like a dog. It was your turn to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated, as he ground against you.

He had half a mind to be aware of his strength, but each time he tested the waters, pressing harder against you, you moaned louder. So it wasn't long before he realized you could take it, take all of him.

His body trembled with built-up tension. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced. His hands flexed and tightened on your ass, pressing you harder against him, making the friction so much sweeter. He chased the pleasure with a one-track mind, couldn't think of anything but your scent, skin, taste – for years, he had felt numb, and you brought him back to life. He hadn't thought he'd be able to feel such exquisite pleasure; it was you who had his hips jerking, dry humping like teenagers. He didn't care.

Your fingers clawed at his back, nails scratching his skin; you had long ago stopped kissing him, opting instead for panting against his neck.

Pleasure built and built, mind-numbing. You were saying something... begging for him... He threw his head back and groaned as his pleasure crested, stars exploding behind his eyes; he couldn't see...

His hips jerked with aftershocks, breaths harsh against your neck; his pants were soiled with his come and your arousal. Your legs slackened, dropping to the floor. Most of your body weight rested on the wall, the rest supported by his hands. He had two functioning brain cells, both reminding him of his selfishness.

You didn't look displeased with him, though; your skirt was bunched up at the hips, top in disarray. Your eye makeup was a mess, and he loved that. Your panties were slid to the far side, showing off your glistening cunt.

His knees hit the floor before he even realized what he was doing. He felt your thighs shake against his skin as he leaned in to look closer. Your clit was swollen and dark. He leaned in to kiss, to suck. Fingers pressed against his face, pushing him away.

“S’ too sensitive," your voice wavered.

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking up inquisitively at you.

“Came. Twice," you clarified, tone shaky with satisfaction.  your gaze followed his movements as he stood up to cradle your face, tilting your head to kiss you softly. He sucked on your teeth before stopping the kiss.

“Huh, didn't notice. You felt too good I went crazy. Too bad though, I want to feel you come on my face and on my cock."

You smiled, satisfied, a cat who finally got the cream “Sure, later," you muttered against him.

“Whenever you want, doll face," he smiled down on you. You looked fucked all the way to next week, and he hadn't even dicked you down yet. “Come on, let's get cleaned up."

You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a silent request; he obliged happily, carrying you bridal-style all the way to his room.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie was so soft, so careful with you. Your head was hazy with the aftermath of pleasure. No orgasm in your past could hold a flame to the explosive bliss from the earlier encounter.

Your head was hazy as he led you to his bathroom, your mind too fucked out for processing his room. You complied with whichever way he tugged your limbs, sliding off your rumpled clothes, until the only thing on your body were your high heels.

He knelt in front of you, his touch tender, as if apologizing for moments ago when he ground on you without thought. His cool metal fingers skated up your calf, reaching up to support your knee, as his other hand worked on the latch of your heels. He pressed a kiss to each ankle before standing up in front of you.

You blinked slowly, your eyes trained on him. He was still clothed. Why was he still clothed? Your gaze caught on the wet patch on his pants, outlining his half hard dick. Praise super-soldier metabolism.

You planted your feet on the white marble floor, your arms stretching out toward him, fingers curling into his shirt and yanking. “Off."

He grinned softly – you would never, ever get enough of his smiles – before sliding his shirt off in one swift movement.

Your breath caught in your throat—fuck, he was beautiful.

“Beautiful Jamie," you said, taking a step closer. You slid one hand up his chest, using the other to trace fingers along scar tissue. He was so… captivating, so utterly himself, that you felt like you were the only person in the world who got to see him like this “Only for me, only I get to see you like this." You turned to throw him a challenging glare.

“Doll, I wouldn't have it any other way, and I don't share either. Call me old-fashioned –"

“If I see you with another woman, James, I swear to God, I will break my killing streak. And all three of us will end up in a –" Rage had barely simmered from the image before he had yanked on your hips to pull you into another kiss.

“Easy there, Doll, there's no one else," his voice was so satisfied, an assured tinge to his candor, in a way you knew it only got for you. You were so fucking stupid for not noticing.

“Good," you yanked on his pants. “So... super-soldier dick... how long can you go? I bet we can get Jamie junior tired."

He laughed loudly, the sound enough for you to shiver with pleasure. “Doll, I don't think you could keep up with me; you'd pass out. You don’t understand how many times I can go if it's with you."

“Well, surely you can keep count if I'm passed out... set a record."

His laugh was disbelieving. “I don't want to fuck you when you're unconscious; I want you awake and making those sweet, delicious sounds."

“Another time, then – take off your pants."

“As you wish."

You tried, you really did, to focus on cleaning yourself once you'd gotten inside the shower. But you didn't fight the urge to slide your fingers into his scalp and help him clean his hair. Forcing him into a crouch to aid your reach, resting his face on your shoulder.

His touch was gentle, a silent decision to wash each other. He went first. You pressed your fingers, massaging the soap against his skin, fingers traveling lower, your eyes fixed on his cock. He was beautiful. Your fingers reached his hips; he was fully hard at that point, leaking. You couldn't stop yourself; you had planned on teasing him, but his cock was too pretty, red and wet with pre-come. Your soap-slicked hands circled his cock... and damn the groan that fell from his lips was unlike anything – the groans before had been rough, taking. This one was desperate, needing.

You took him in both hands, dragging your thumb against his leaking tip. He threw his head back and groaned, fingers digging into the skating over your waist.

You dragged your touch up and down his length, your eyes studying his every movement: his clenched jaw, and tightened face. He was holding his sounds back; that wouldn't do. You tightened your grip, fastened your pace – only to have your movements halted by his tight grip on your wrist. His gaze was heavy on yours. “The next time I'm coming, I'm doing it inside you."

Tension filled the air as he had his turn, took his time cleaning you. He was so clinical it was driving you insane. But you could tell he was restraining himself, his movements rushed; he had an end goal in mind.

You dried off quickly, not mentioning the fact that showering would prove futile with what you had in mind. The night was young; it was barely 3 am.

The anticipation was thick in each deep breath you took. As soon as you had crossed the doorway to his bedroom, you couldn't restrain yourself. You turned toward him, but he beat you to the first move, yanking on your arm and throwing you over his shoulder; you laughed as he spanked your ass.

The next moment, your body was airborne before your back bounced softly on his bed.

You leaned on your shoulders, breasts heaving with each breath, thighs open.

“Do you know how much I've wanted you, how long... I thought I was going to go crazy with how much I needed you," he said, crawling on top of you. Kissing you once chastely, your breath hitching. You were out of your depth; this was a completely new situation, and you were loving every second of it. He featherlight kisses peppered over your jaw, below your ear, along your neck – your body twisted and turned – over your collarbone, down... “You're so beautiful, Doll— I had to restrain myself back there. You deserve worship." His gruff voice was all the warning you got before he latched on to a nipple and sucked, cool metal fingers rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers, awakening erogenous zones that made their debut with a bang.

“Ala puta, mierda..." This bliss was unlike anything. Your hips jerked, your cunt pounded with need. Warm fingers slid your pussy open, circling your clit. You could feel every nerve sing with pleasure. Your toes curled, the balls of your feet pressing down against the bed.

He slid one finger into your cunt, and your whole body jerked in response. “Ala madre – ala madreeee!" Your head lolled, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn't form coherent thought; your brain deciding to go offline.

Pleasure built and built, still sensitive from the past two orgasms. Just when you found yourself at the precipice, you were left bereft of pleasure, cut off from his touch. You looked at him with betrayal.

“No need for that, Dollface— you'll come soon. I want it to be on my cock— give me a second I’m going to get a condo –"

“NO!" You wanted to feel him and you wanted him inside you now .

“All right, Doll, and while I would love to put a baby inside you, I'm not sure I'm ready to share you yet –"

“I’m on birth control! I'm clean; I haven't – in years." Your voice was desperate, he smiled slowly at the neediness in your tone.

He shut you up with a kiss, fingers digging into the soft of your thighs, holding you open for him.

You felt yourself lose clarity, tears streaming down your face.You needed his cock inside you now.

You didn't have to wait long; soon enough he pressed his tip inside you. He was big... You babbled and pleaded for more to no avail. His fingers traced your skin, grounding you, as he slid in inch by delicious inch, until he was fully sheathed. Your body writhed under him with pleasure. It was a tight fit, bordering on a little bit painful. The slight pinch only made the feelings more heightened as your cunt pulsed around him.

You tried to beg him to “move," but none of the languages in your repertoire seemed to be available. So you were left a whining mess. He got the message. Felt his cock slide out of you only to slam into you so hard you saw stars. You could feel the exact moment he lost control, went feral and pussy-drunk. His thrusts were severe and hard, thrusting himself until your pelvises slammed together, the sound of your skin meeting his echoing through the room.

You were crying out, nails searching for pleasure on his back.

It didn't take long for your pleasure to peak; it ebbed and rose in waves. You weren't sure where your orgasm ended and another one began. Had started to come down only to have him pinch your clit and –

It was so good; you took everything he gave you greedily, you had been fulfilled a while ago your needs met ages ago. You were there for him to fuck however many times he wanted—  drenched with your arousal and his come. His hips would stutter, and you'd feel a rush of his come, warm and drenching you. He'd slow down for a few moments, making you think it was over, hips sputtering softly inside you. He'd kiss your skin softly in apology and harden inside you again.

He made good on his promise. Once you were close to passing out, he stopped.

Your full body shook as he cleaned you with warm towels, your mind unresponsive as he moved your limbs softly to slide on one of his hoodies and boxer briefs.

You were halfway to dreamland when he wrapped his arms around you, the room reeking of sex.

“…Doll... Mine... Love... Love you..." His voice was soft, and it barely processed as you fell asleep in his arms.

Did process enough for you to reply a sleepy, “Love you more."

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments (they fuel me), and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading love ya hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻!!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: Ugh, here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Steve, Captain, First Avenger, whatever you should call him, follows you down the stairs. You're overly aware of his presence. You're confused by it.

You got in one argument on the internet and now he's here? What the heck is wasting his time online for? Doesn't he have a life? He did tell you to get one after all.

"I got it," he dips around you as you get to the bottom. He pulls back the fire door and you eye him warily as you step through. Once more, he's on your heels. He gets the front door too.

You cross your arms as you come out into the sunlight. He shades his eyes with his hands and sighs, "nice day, isn't it?"

You roll your tongue around before you answer, "yep."

"I saw a shop around here--"

"It's expensive," you say.

"I said I'd treat you--"

"Why?" You turn on him and stop in the middle of the sidewalk. You cringe and seal your lips. You steady yourself. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be rude. I got your message loud and clear. You didn't need to come and make sure. Is that why you came?"

"I will explain. Smoothies first." He insists.

You huff, "I know who you are but this is still kinda scary. How did you even find me?"

"You know who I am," he shrugs. Your chest swims with nerves. You nod and turn down the pavement.

"What'd you eat today? You should try some Vitamin C in the smoothie. Get a protein booster." He offers.

You're slightly irked by his advice, mostly the assumptions behind it. You wet your lips and bite back on your retort. You are not a combative person. You never have been. He was right on that front. You settle for a lot of nonsense.

You notice the stray glances in your direction. Not yours, his. People stare at him like fawns, wide-eyed and frozen in place.

"So, what did you have for breakfast?"

"Steve-- Captain-- What would you prefer?"

"We'll get to that too," he says smugly. His answer unsettles you further. He's so certain and you are entirely lost. Not to mention, embarrassed.

"It doesn't really matter what I ate," you say.

He points you ahead of him, down the walkway to the shop door. He once more opens it and sees you through. You enter and look around. The amount of booty-lifting leggings and bulging biceps has you shrinking down.

You stare up at the menu and try to piece together how to order. You get a base and a boost and then there's all these bobas and vitamins? This is too complicated.

"You have any recommendations?" You ask. Maybe that will appease him.

"Sure, I'll get you my usual. You wanna find a table?"

"Can do," you mumble and walk away.

You sit in the corner and cradle your chin in your hand. You tap your lip and blow a soft raspberry. There's a woman staring at you from her group of friends. Her assumptions would be kinder than Steve's. He's here to lecture you in person, not take you on a date.

He sits across from you and sets down a cup filled to the brim with sickly green. You shouldn't complain. You're not exactly eating gourmet. You thank him and reach for it. He stretches his hand over the top.

"You shouldn't put your elbows on the table. It's rude." He reproaches.

Your frown then sit up, dragging your arm off the table. You can't make yourself apologise. He so easily picks out your every flaw.

"You gonna try it?" He watches you.

You hesitate but bring the straw to your mouth. You sip and your cheeks pinch. It's bitter yet tangy. How?

"Mm, good," you lie."

"You get used to it," he says.

"Can I please know why I came home to you in my apartment?"

He grins and looks down. He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

"You don't get out much," he lifts his eyes.

"Yeah, you were right about that," you squirm and put the cup down. You clasp your hands in your lap.

"How old are you?"

You chew your cheek before you answer, "twenty-three."

"Mhmm, and you don't have any schooling? Not formal?" He wonders.

You put your eyes down, "no. Can't afford it."

"Huh, from what I gather, lots of students work their way through these days."

Your heart sinks.

"Couldn't get accepted either," you mumble. "That's my own doing. So no need to say it out loud."

Your shoulders slump and your eyes glaze. This is humiliating. It's like having lunch with your mom. Not that she ever did much better. Still, she picks you apart like a chicken leg.

"You should sit up. Bad posture won't feel good as you get closer to thirty," he girds.

You suck in a deep breath and sit straight. You scowl at him, "I got your point, alright? I already feel terrible. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No," he tilts his head. "I want you to try. I want you to do better."

"What does it matter to you? You don't know me."

"It matters to me because I can make you better," he says. "You said you don't get opportunities. That everyone else has everything handed to them, so my hand is open. I'm giving you what you're looking for."

"Huh?" You shake your head gently and furrow your brow.

"No rent, no work, none of that."

You blink and cross your arms. What is he talking about?

"Here's the deal. You get a free ride and all you have to do is follow my rules. I promise you, everything will be better. No manager, no loud sister, no bills."

You narrow your eyes, "and what do I have to do?"

"I said as much, live by my rules."

"Oh," you purse your lips.

You have this rotting feeling in your gut. He's not saying something. There's no reason for him to do this. Over one little spat on a forum.

"Is this how you save people, Cap?"

"I prefer Captain," he spreads his shoulders wide.

"Right. Captain. What if I can't live by your rules? You think I'm lazy--"

"Unmotivated. Complacent. Apathetic. Not lazy," he corrects you.

"Sure, but why... me?"

His eyes twinkle thoughtfully. They are very blue. You were so focused on yourself, you didn't notice... him. He's forged like a statue. His eyes are bright, his features made even more handsome by his beard and his grown out hair. And you are in your work uniform. A mess.

"Chance, I guess." He shrugs. "I mean, think about it, what else do you got going for you?"

You stare at the table then turn your sights through the window. You issue a soft sigh. You put your elbow on the table and he tisks. You quickly pull it back and wiggle your foot anxiously.

He's not wrong. You have absolutely nothing. You don't see yourself getting too much further than minimum wage and a shit apartment. You are being handed this, are you going to turn away what you always envied? An easy out.

"What does it... mean? What happens if I agree? What are the rules?" Your questions bubble out.

He combs his thick fingers through his hair, "the rules you'll learn. First, you're coming back to New York, so I can supervise you. Then, we start. You get into a regimen; exercise, clean eating, routine."

You flutter your lashes. This is absurd. You scoff.

"You're joking. You're mocking me. You're--" you cover your face, "I get it now. I almost fell for it."

"No," he reaches across and pulls your hands down. You flinch at the warmth of his touch, the roughness of his skin. "I'm not. Look."

He retracts his hold on you and you fold your hands over your chest. He reaches into his jacket pocket and slides out two cards. He lays down the thick paper.

"I have two return tickets. For me and you. Tomorrow at noon."

"Tomorrow-- huh?" Your eyes round.

"I'm serious. You better get serious too. You'll be twenty-four soon. Then twenty-five. It's not too far before thirty comes knocking," he taps the tickets.

You're not like him. You're not going to stay young. You're not amped up on super goo. You're only human.

"Or you can do what you always do. Nothing, then blame everyone else."

It's like a slap in the face. Shame and anger. Hurt. Doubt. He's right, it's time to grow up. This isn't an opportunity you get very often. In fact, you don't think many others have been given the same chance. For once, you won the lottery.

"I'll try it." You say.

"No try. You commit," he retorts.

"Alright, I'll... do it."

"You'll do it, Captain," he corrects you.

Your insides wriggle at that. You ignore it.

"I'll do it, Captain."

⭐

Static scratches in your ears and skull as you enter the apartment. Alone. Stunned. As if a mine exploded in your face. In a way, it sort of did. Your online griping finally caught up to you. That and your real-life failure.

Shea is in the living room. She gets up on her knees and smirks at you. "Aw, where is he?"

"Who?" You blink, not processing her question.

"Captain America, duh," she scoffs. "Come on, you really sent him away?"

"He's... busy." You go to your bedroom door and the couch lurches with her weight.

"Hey, you can't just not tell me why he showed up. You didn't say anything about knowing Steve fucking Rogers."

"I didn't?" You open your door and she follows you into your room. You face her and block her from going further. "Shea, please, I need to be alone."

"Why? You're always alone. It's why I'm so surprised you have hunky blond heroes showing up for you. Taking you out for a smoothie," she taunts.

She was listening. He was right to go somewhere else.

"It wasn't... like that. Look. I'm..." you back away and sit on the foot of your bed. You're dizzy. You really said yes. You're entirely sure to what. He kept it all a bit too vague. "I'm moving out."

"What? Why? But--"

"Yeah, er, yeah," you stutter as you build a lie in your mind, "he was here about a job. Long shot. I forgot I even applied."

"Wait? You're going to work with the Avengers? Doing what?"

You look at her, "paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wait. How am I supposed to find a new roommate? When are you leaving?"

You rub your cheeks and stretch them as you drag your fingers down, "tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" She shrieks.

"Yeah, it's... they move fast."

"All the way to New York?" She blusters.

"Please, Shea, I need time to think."

"Yeah, me too!"

"I'll figure out rent for you. I don't know," you hold your head in your hands.

"Well, you don't seem very excited," she snorts.

"Shea!" You sit up with a snarl. "Stop. Alright! I need you to get out so I can pack."

"Don't yell at me--"

"I'm not..." you lower your voice, "yelling. I'm... trying to figure this out so please. Later."

She rolls her eyes and stomps out. "Donna!" She hollers and you get up to close the door behind her.

You stomp back to your bed and take out your phone. You almost can't remember work or all the BS there. You swipe through the search results and tap on the first that isn't sponsored: National Museum, Virtual Exhibit. You're brought to a page with a familiar face. Steve, with no beard and shorter, lighter hair. The infamous war hero.

You flip through, reading about his history, chewing your thumb. You stop at the part about the serum; 'This enhancement gifted Rogers with superstrength, heightened sight and hearing, improved resilience, and quick healing, among other capabilities.'

You rock nervously. That's a bit intimidating. You're not that stupid. You know he's a strong guy, almost invincible by the news stories, but you just never paid that much attention. Never thought of it. He protects people, right? But what damage could he do if he wanted to hurt someone?

Your phone vibrates. You flinch at the sight of his name. He made you take his number before you left the shop.

'I'll pick you up at 10. Wiil need to check-in for flight early.'

You send back a thumbs up. He's quick to reply.

'Is that a yes?'

You huff.

'Yes, Captain', you key in.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Prey

A/N: Follow up to The Hunt. Entirely written on my phone.

A/N2: Reader is big, tall and female.

Warnings: Implied smut, Implied violence, Self-deprecation, Stalking. Please let me know if I missed any.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It feels like you've been on edge the entire week. Like you're being stalked, but every time you look, there's no one there. Figuring you could use a break you decide to eat at your favorite place for dinner. You're sitting in a booth at the pub, reading a book and eating some dinner when a man you don't know sits across from you.

"Damn you're cute," he says.

"No I'm not. And I really don't appreciate lying."

He gives you a confused look, "what do you mean?"

"I am, objectively speaking, unattractive. The way you said I was cute indicates a feeling of attraction and, let's be honest, that's not possible."

"You don't even know me but you really think I'm that shallow?"

"Look, it's not your fault society dictates attractiveness. Maybe it's just not something you ever had to deal with because you are very much an ideal. You've got beautiful eyes, a physique that is tall, muscular and healthy. And it just makes me wonder what's wrong with you that you're not already taken and you're slumming it with someone like me."

"Slumming it?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes," you nod. "All my curves are disproportionate to each other, too much here, too little there. I've got chin hairs and regularly get acne. My eyes are, at best, normal and boring. And let's not even get started on my hair. It's also a fact that men do not care for women as tall or taller than them. I am, objectively, physically unattractive. So when you call me cute, I have to believe you're lying."

"You are very weird," he shakes his head.

"I am," you agree. "Then again, you're the one who interrupted my dinner."

"Just trying to give you a compliment," he groans as he gets up.

"And all you accomplished was interrupting my reading."

You pick your book back up and pretend to read. Your eyes follow him as he heads back to his buddies. Your suspicions are confirmed when you see him hand some cash over to one of his buddies.

It's not the first time bets have been placed at your expense and it won't be the last. It's always a game of getting the ugly girl's hopes up. String her along and then break her heart while leaving her with the tab.

Maybe you'd have been nicer about it if you hadn't been so on edge lately.

Across the bar you don't notice Kraven watching you. It took all of his strength to not step in and punch the bastard so hard he'd never breathe right again. And when you kept talking down about yourself he quietly growled with rage. When you're his mate, he'll make sure you never feel less than gorgeous.

And you will be his mate. He's been following you, trying to find flaws, reasons to walk away, but he can't. You've picked up on him following you, indicating an alertness beyond most humans. Despite obviously being upset, you still helped anyone and everyone at the library without them even guessing you weren't feeling well, indicating your suitability for raising offspring.

And when you tried to release some of that stress in the privacy of your apartment? He breathed in the scent the next day when he broke into your apartment. It was all over your panties that now reside near his bed. It isn't quite "bitch-in-heat" but it still gets him going.

But first, he's going to follow those assholes who messed with you and make sure they never do so again.

Soon he'll have everything needed for your new home. He's determined to show his quality as a mate, as a provider, by building you a dream den. It'll have everything you've ever wanted and needed. Perfect for raising your children.

The only thing you might not like is his rule about no outside contact. At least not until you're fully his. But he's sure it won't take long. You're incredibly smart, kind and you'll know it's meant to be.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @hederasgarden @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[mayajadewrites]

── .✦ Renaissance - Levi Ackerman .✦ ──

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ levi x fem reader

summary: levi leaves you in the underground for the scouts, only for him to find you again in marley when the war is over. however, nothing about you is the same as it once was. you are not the same person you were 12 years ago. cw: canon universe, smut, fluff, yearning ao3 authors note: there are several things in this story that are not canon to the original AOT storyline (like Levi needing a wheelchair) but I will warn you if/when those things come up.

CHAPTER NOTES: none hehe

tag list: @ackerboi, @staarflowerr, @midw1nter, @glads-stuff, @nxcxllxsevens, @qrhttp, @deniixlovezelda, @midnightwriter21, @levislegislation, @huriareads, @levikeigosdearest, @nikanaka, @richtofensdich, @sickpatientt, @scrumptioussongpainter, @crmnic, @gojoswifesworld, @bnbaochauuu, @american-girl001, @sparklyglitterangel

preface - chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five

thank you so much for your kind words! i hope you like this chapter, because the next one is gonna be smutty lol

CHAPTER SIX

6 YEARS EARLIER - LEVI'S POV

Comrades dying was nothing new to Levi. Being in the Scout Regiment meant not holding anyone close to you - it's best to assume they will be dead tomorrow.

This time, his own squad was wiped out by the Female Titan. He saw their lifeless, bloody bodies just laying in the dirt, and it felt like their death was for nothing.

No, not nothing. Their deaths have to mean something.

Back at the barracks, Levi is in his office as he takes off his uniform, the soreness of his muscles finally hitting him as he stands still. He had cuts, bruises, but he had his limbs.

As he looked down at his calloused hands, he winced slightly. "Tch."

When he looked away, his eyes fell on a piece of paper that is always folded in his pocket. He left it on his desk after his last training, seemingly forgetting to bring it on this mission.

Maybe that's why...

"A piece of paper isn't why people die, you dumb bastard." Levi muttered to himself, picking up the piece of paper.

The paper had been crumbled, some dirt stains, but it was in tact.

Levi sat in his office chair, hearing the soft squeak - a sign of it's old age. When he opened the paper, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Levi,

I'm not sure if you'll ever read this, or if you'll even find it. I hid it in your bag. It hurts me to write this, but I know you're destined for greatness, Levi. You are going to be an amazing addition to the Scouts.

I'll miss you, probably more than I'd ever admit to your face.

I hope we can find each other again someday. A day when there's no titans, and a day when we're not living in the Underground.

With love 💋

The letter was signed with your name and a lipstick mark of your lips next to it, which he tried to preserve. His eyes scanned the letter for the umpteenth time - he always reads it when he wants to feel closer to you.

He folded the letter neatly, putting it back in his pocket as he sighed, his palms pressing to the top of the desk, the cold wood against his skin.

Every week Levi would send cadets out to find you and check on you. They said you never noticed them, which didn't surprise Levi in the slightest. You're rather... oblivious.

"Captain, why the hell do you have us following some girl around?" Connie whined as he walked back in from the weekly errand.

"Any notes?" He ignored his whines, his eyes scanning the cadets faces. "Answer me."

"She works in a brothel now, I think." Sasha put one hand on her hip, the other taking a bite out of an apple. "We saw her walk in with some man."

Levi's heart sank, though his expression would never show it. He always feared this would happen. Its inevitable in the Underground for women.

"I see." Levi nods, clearing his throat. "Thank you."

Connie and Sasha shrug as they walk past Levi, and he lets his posture falter just a little.

As years went on, he still kept that note. He made sure he kept it no matter where he went. Whatever missions he went on. When he fought the Beast Titan the first time, you were right there with him in his pocket.

When he lost his eye and two fingers, you were also there.

When titans were finally, finally eradicated, you were there.

He never wanted to be without you.

READERS POV

You stand outside the teashop, patiently waiting for Levi to close up. You're wearing a new black dress you got at a small boutique near by, and you felt pretty. Pure, for once.

When you look up, Levi's back is to you as he locks the door, shaking the doorknob to make sure it's actually closed. You peer down at his hand, noticing the healed scars along his digits.

He turned to you, his stormy eyes finding yours as his gaze softens slightly. He's still the rough around the edges Levi, but whenever he looked at you a part of him softened.

"Ready?" He held his arm out for you, putting the keys to the shop in his pocket.

You wrap your hand around his bicep, following his lead as he walked down the path.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To a place that reminds me of you." He half smiles, his eyes wandering down your figure. "New dress?"

"Mhm." You give him a smile as you pose for him, laughing before wrapping your other hand around his bicep along with the other one.

"You look beautiful." His voice was soft, only you could hear it. A blush burnt your cheeks as you looked ahead.

"Thank you."

It's almost dusk - the sun setting beautifully on the horizon. You've been walking for about 15 minutes when you reach a field. A field filled with flowers.

"Levi, what is this -"

"I've been helping the town with this for awhile. Since before I knew you were here, but -" He glanced down at the rows of flowers, some of them already blooming. "You always loved flowers."

You gasp, kneeling down to look at the petals closely. The colors are beautiful - some red, some white, some orange, pink...

"They're stunning, Levi." You let go of his bicep fully to smell the flowers, closing your eyes as a hum escapes your lips. "We never had flowers in the Underground."

"I know." His hands pushed into his pockets, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. "Do you like them?"

"I love them, Levi." When you stand up again, he takes your hands in his as he helps you up.

In the middle of the field, it's just you and him. The sound of the wildlife can be heard in the trees, slight buzzing from insects.

He brings his hand to your cheek with the softest touch, his finger pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Levi looks so soft. Like an angel sent just for you.

For once, you lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his lips on your cheek, his warm lips igniting a shiver down your body.

You gasp softly when you open your eyes to look at him, only for his thumb to gently caress your skin. "I'm not leaving you ever again."

[gingerteafairy]

𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧-𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

Isn't it funny when students make suppositions about their professors? Even more when the one in question is pregnant. Prime material for gossip.

tags n warnings: brief smut/mdni, professor!tangerine x fem!professor!reader, est. relationship, long term implied, pregnant!reader, suggestive ending, breeding kink, maybe grumpy x sunshine trope, language, saphiofilia, breast play, praise kink. word count: 1.4k masterlist

You and Tangerine had been in a stable relationship for a long time. He loved you more than anything in the world, so it was only natural for him to find it strange at first that you wanted to keep the relationship under wraps. The main reason? You were both professors at the same university.

It wasn’t necessarily wrong—there weren’t any rules prohibiting two professors from dating, especially in a setting full of adults who didn’t pay much attention to each other’s private lives. But for some reason, it felt off, almost sinful. And more than anything, what student wouldn’t love to gossip about the tough criminology professor with impossible exams dating the sweet pharmacology professor? It was prime material for gossip in the hallways.

But everything changed after the students started picking up on Tangerine’s frequent visits to your classroom to drop off food or let you know the car was unlocked in the parking lot: you were pregnant.

Pregnant.

Who would’ve thought this would happen after some months?

It wasn’t planned, but you were both adults and fully aware of the consequences of being so physically involved—with a damn creampie kink from both parts. You had stable jobs, loved each other, lived together in a cozy apartment. You just hadn’t anticipated the chuckles from students and the whispers in the hallways with wild theories that you two couldn’t help but find funny.

“I think the pharmacology professor’s been with him since high school.”

“I heard Tangerine has three kids, and they’ve been married for 17 years.”

“I heard she can’t even get pregnant, so Tangerine found a surrogate.”

The rumors became more absurd by the day, and you and Tangerine handled them with humor, laughing at the end of the day over what someone had overheard and passed on to you. You’d just smile and murmur, “These students are so creative… Wish they could be like this in class.” Tangerine, on the other hand, was more blunt, blurting out, “When I catch the mother fucker who spread that, i'll need a bloody lawyer to help me from the atrocities…” only to soften moments later—because, after all, he had you.

“Hey, love. Busy day?” Tangerine greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as he walked in, immediately shrugging off his jacket and dropping his bag onto the sofa.

“Not really… just a couple of morning classes and grading the senior exams,” you answered as you locked the door behind him and walked over for a lazy hug. “And you? You’re late.”

“Case study,” he replied, sliding his hands around your waist and carefully pulling you closer, mindful of your growing belly. “Incredible how those stupid assholes can’t interpret a simple paternity test.”

“Tan, they’re freshmen. They’re still getting the hang of it,” you teased, cupping his face with your hands and tracing his cheek with your thumbs. “But how are your other four wives doing?”

“They’re fine, along with our fifteen secret children,” he chuckled, his deep laughter filling the room before he leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of your head.

“Fifteen, huh?” You grinned, tilting your head up to meet his lips, the tickle of his mustache brushing against you.

“Fifteen. And all mine. Heard that one from the law students,” he said with a playful smirk, peppering your face with soft, lingering kisses.”think i have super sperm, apparently.”

“Oh, you do. I’m the living proof.” You flirted softly, biting your lip, standing on your tiptoes to give him a longer kiss. “think I wanna try more, babe.”

“Hey, be careful.” He whispered, shaking his head, moving his hands down your back to your hips, squeezing the soft flesh. “You know I have to hold back with you like this. Ever since I found out you were pregnant, I’ve been watching myself. You have three more months to go."

“Oh, c’mon. The baby can handle it.” You smiled, giving him another slow kiss, his lips melting on your tender mouth.

Tangerine’s hands went down to your ass cheeks, giving them a generous yet gentle squeeze, as he returned your touch. But once he felt his breathing get a little ragged, he pulled away, returning to the small peck.

“Don’t tease me.” He warned, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before sealing it. “I wanna be careful with our baby, 'kay?”

“Relax. There’s something surrounding him. He’s safe.” You comforted, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Besides… Having sex during pregnancy helps with labor, contractions with hormones and everything.”

“So it's like morphine. Liked that information…” he smiled slyly, swaying your bodies from side to side like a loving slow dance, lowering his hand to gently squeeze your breast, never intending to hurt. Gentle and soft, like your Tangerine. “You know I love helping, don’t you?”

“I love that about you so much.” you whispered, closing the space between you in another soft kiss, where your fingers drove up to unbutton his vest.

“Where did you learn about that?” he asked, taking the suit off his shoulders, followed by the open vest, his fingers working to remove the shirt underneath.

“What? Sex?” you asked, palming Tangerine’s bare chest, pulling the fabric of the shirt down his arms, brushing your finger on the muscles with him helping you along the way.

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, remembering the softness of your touch on his warm skin. Intending to feel yours, he pulled the dress over your head.

“Internet.” You answered simply, clicking your tongue, raising your arms to iron your clothes. He raised his eyebrow. “Just kidding. I was reading some articles about pregnancy. wanted to stay informed. Prevent some things, increase others...”

“Hmmmm… and what’s the explanation for sex?” He asked, now touching your breasts covered only by the thin bra in a more comfortable model to accommodate your breasts that grew as the months passed. “Fuck, you look so hot.”

You giggled, pretending to shove him by the arm, but you just squeezed his biceps, maybe a small excuse to feel those godly muscles a little bit more. After the brief appreciation, you direct him to the messy room. Papers, pens and formal clothes around the corner. Being a professor was more complicated than you expected.

Tangerine followed you, lazily getting rid of his pants as he watched you take off your small bra and throw it somewhere in the corner of the room with the other clothes. He sat on the edge of the bed—the only thing really tidy, grinning when he saw your figure standing up, fitting between his legs to continue the explanation as his head was buried in the swell of your breasts.

“Well, not all sex during pregnancy is safe, but I’ve been researching and going to the doctor…” You began, pausing a little to take a deeper breath when he gripped your thighs, his hands going up to grab your breasts again and place a small kiss on the hardened nipple. “My case is safe. It produces oxytocin, endorphins. Also, sperm has prostaglandins that help with contractions.”

“You sound so sexy saying these things. Love how fucking smart you are.” He praises, snaking his hands up to your hips to pull you closer. “You look so fucking good like this, love. So perfect… with our child. You’re so… fuck.”

“Are you saying that to get me?” You teased, bringing your hand to his thick brown hair, your spine shivering as you felt him kiss your belly.

“A little. I love the idea of fucking the teacher, you know?” He flirted, closing his eyes to feast on your lips once more before you straightened up and continued.

“Well, our baby is safe. Wrapped in his amniotic fluid, sleeping peacefully without any worries about life and job.” You continued, biting your lip as you felt Tangerine carefully take your breast in his mouth, sucking on the small spot, the cold beating the heat of his mouth, welcomed once more by his tongue. “He’s… fine.”

“So he won’t be surprised by, i dunno—His father’s fucking cock out of nowhere?” He laughed, but the concern was noticeable amidst the sarcasm. You couldn’t help but chuckle, going down to peck his face.

“No. Just mommy here.” You muttered almost like a spell to him as he lightly chuckled, wetting his lips.

“I love you.” He said firmly, in contrast to every dirty and highly scientific tease from before. It was pure, just like Tangerine’s love and the heart that beat between you both.

“I love you too.” You replied, kissing him calmly, with his caution, as if you would break with every simple rough touch under those calluses from your beloved Tangerine.

[itsacruelsummerbaby]

HIDDEN FEELINGS

Emily finally lets you join them for a case, but things go south towards the end. But at least the drama brings some hidden feelings to the surface.

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader || tags: post-prison!Spencer, fem!reader, age gap, professor-student relationship, canon-typical violence || wc: 2.8k || navigation

“Penelope showed me a team photo from a few years ago,” you begin as you take a seat next to Spencer on the jet. 

This is the first time Emily let you join them, although only on the condition of staying at the base of operations, to which you agreed without hesitation. You’ve been thinking about how they work in the field ever since you joined the team three weeks ago, and despite almost all of them giving you an insight during conversations, those were just words.

Anyway, he gives you a surprised look at first, but then a small smile appears on his lips the moment you show him the picture on your phone.

He takes the device from your hand and zooms in, taking a better look at the previous members of the BAU. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this version of the team, but the old one? That was my favorite–don’t tell the others, though.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you take the phone back and moves the zoomed picture to the part where he can be seen. “This short hair? Damn, that suits you so much,” you note with a smile.

“Careful,” he warns you, but there’s no real bite in his voice.

You shrug. “I’m just being honest. It puts some real good emphasis on that killer jawline you have.” It’s hard to miss the crease forming on his forehead, so you’re quick to backpedal with your hands held up. “Sorry, there’s a line I overstepped.”

There’s a strange look in his eyes that can only be seen for a brief moment, but you don’t miss it, and it kicks your brain into overdrive. What was this all about? You saw it, but you simply can’t decode it, no matter how hard you try.

Well, you’re not a real profiler yet, so you don’t beat yourself up over it too much. 

After flashing a small, apologetic smile at him, you get up to pour yourself some coffee in the back, hoping this could avert your thoughts for a while. You’re here to work and learn, you can’t make such flirty comments, even if it’s nothing more than a game.

Because why would Dr. Spencer Reid want something from someone like you? He’s older, a literal genius, an expert in his field, while you’re just a student who got a summer job at the FBI out of pity. Yeah, it must have been nothing more but pity, what else could it be?

“I’m glad I caught you alone,” you hear Emily’s kind voice from next to you. When you look up with a smile, she leans against the counter. “Are you nervous? That’s the unfortunate thing about being among profilers, you know, we notice every single sign that gives these things away.”

“I mean, it’s sure a lot to take in, and we haven’t even arrived yet.” 

There’s a beat of silence while you try to gather your thoughts. First mistake. Emily’s eyes narrow slightly, and she even tilts her head to the side as she watches you, probably looking for the signs that can give away your real feelings. 

“I was thinking more about you and Spencer. I couldn’t help but watch you two interact, and there’s definitely something… I don’t even know. Unresolved? Maybe that’s the best word to describe it,” she says. 

You utter a quiet uhm, which turns out to be the second mistake. 

The unit chief puts up her hands in defeat, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her lips. “Look, forget I said anything, you’ll figure this out on your own.”

And with that she returns to Rossi, leaving you standing there completely dumbfounded. Your gaze turns to Spencer for a moment, but he’s busy watching his boss with a suspicious look on his face until he suddenly turns to you. When your eyes meet, he gulps and returns his attention to his book. 

Having a feeling that he doesn’t need your company, you return to your seat next to Luke, who gives you a questioning look that says, ‘Do I want to know?’ You shake your head, then lean back and close your eyes to get some rest until you land.

At first, you take notes on your phone every time the team gathers to discuss what they’ve found, already stitching the profile’s little pieces together. But soon the amount of information becomes overwhelming and you kinda lose track of where exactly they are now, so you give up and decide to take mental notes instead.

“It’s a lot to take in, right?” Luke asks you towards the end of the day, and you only blink at him with a confused look on your face. “Do you know what might help?” he goes on with a smile on his face, clearly knowing what’s going on inside your head.

In the past few weeks he somehow became the person you trust the most, some sort of a big brother that looks out for you, no matter what. You appreciated his kindness, especially when he gave you insight about what it’s like to be a newbie on this team. 

At least Penelope wasn’t stand-offish with you. Quite the opposite, actually, she even invited you for a drink on your first day.

“Ask questions.” It sounds so simple, yet so hard. How do you ask questions without looking like a complete idiot? He seems to notice what you’re thinking about, because he goes on. “You’re not a profiler, but I know you want to learn. So, ask away whenever you have the chance, I’m sure everyone will be glad to help out if they have the time to explain things.”

You let out a sigh as you put your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “I don’t want to bother them, they have a lot on their plates,” you admit. 

“Okay, I have an idea. While we’re here, we’ll meet in the hotel lobby every night after work, and you can ask whatever you want. How does that sound?” he asks with a smile. 

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem for you?” He takes a deep breath as he rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s not really mad at you. “Alright, this sounds good then. Thank you.”

He nods, and you can tell he wants to say something, but then his attention shifts to something behind you, and you can’t help but follow his gaze. In the door of the room the team’s working in, there’s Spencer who’s watching the two of you with a deep frown, but the moment your eyes lock, he turns on his heels and walks away. Just like that, without saying as much as good night. 

You don’t miss the thoughtful hum Luke lets out at this, but he doesn’t comment on what just happened. 

On the second day of your stay, Tara and JJ offer to take you to the police station in the morning. They both have a pretty suspicious smile on their face whenever they look at you, and it takes every ounce of willpower to remain silent. 

But not five minutes into the trip, Tara turns in the passenger seat to look at you. “What’s your impression so far? This is the first time we brought you along after all,” she notes with a kind smile.

It’s hard to put the flurry of thoughts in your head into words, but after giving yourself a few seconds to think, you give it a try. “It’s a lot to take in, especially when you start brainstorming, but I’m everything but bored. I know I don’t do much to help, but I’m doing my best to absorb as much knowledge as I can. I’m glad Emily decided to bring me along, I’ll have to figure out how to thank her.”

There’s an exchange of glances between the two profilers in the front seats, one that you don’t understand. They looked surprised for a moment, but then they both had that same smile on their lips. 

“What is it?” you ask eventually as you put your hands on the backs of the seats to lean closer. 

JJ takes a deep breath, then looks at you through the rear view mirror. “It wasn’t her idea,” she admits, which draws a questioning hum out of you. “Penelope told Spence that you mentioned how good it would be if you could see us in the field once during your internship, and he convinced Emily to let you tag along.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips at this. “I’ll have to thank Penelope then,” you note, although you’re dying to add that Spencer deserves something too.

No, you have to ignore that voice that keeps reminding you of just how perfect he is. It’s kinda pathetic, really, how your mind has been thinking about him nonstop ever since you joined the team. 

Okay, no, it began back during his classes.

Damn it, you think, hoping your internal struggle isn’t that obvious from the outside.

To your luck, the conversation shifts back to the case, and the two profilers tell you trade secrets you usually wouldn’t hear. While you stayed behind with Penelope, she taught you things too, but you wanted to see what it’s like to be a profiler in case you ever wanted to choose this career, so being here was much more valuable. 

When Tara touches a topic you already heard a lot about, the words spill out from your lips before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, Luke mentioned that yesterday.” Her eyes narrow, and for a moment she glances over at JJ, who now has a knowing little smile on her face. “What?” you ask. 

“It’s just,” Tara begins slowly, carefully thinking about how to phrase what she wants to say. “Based on how much effort Spencer put into getting you this intern position, we thought he would be the one to teach you. But it seems like he’s barely talking to you, at least in front of us.”

Your brain momentarily short-circuits at this. “Yeah, he secured this position, but he has a lot of responsibilities, I guess he’s happy someone else takes the time to teach me,” you say hesitantly, and when JJ hums in a way you don’t really like, you can’t stop yourself. “What was that hum? I heard it, there must be a reason.”

She looks at you for a moment through the mirror before turning her attention back to the road ahead. “I’m not sure if happy is the right word, that’s all. Look, I’ve known him for a long time, he’s one of my closest friends, I can see if something’s bothering him. That’s all I’m saying, I don’t want to get too involved in this. You two will have to figure it out yourselves,” she says, closing this topic for now. 

It was too late by the time you noticed there was someone behind you. 

The unsub walked into the police station without any of the present cops noticing, and when he saw you sitting behind a desk, he decided to take you as hostage, so now you’re standing there with his arm around your chest and a knife held to your neck. It’s terrifying, there’s no better word to describe it, but within seconds he has several weapons aimed at him, and you can hear it in his voice that he’s losing hope that he could get out of this alive. 

To you, it doesn’t matter if he regrets coming here, it doesn’t matter if he dies, all you can think about is the possibility of him taking you down with him. He has nothing to lose, why would he leave you alive? 

What happens around you in the next few minutes is a blur. You close your eyes to fight your tears, and it turns out the darkness is almost soothing, especially after you tune out the voices too. But then you hear a gunshot right next to you, and in a moment you feel him let you go, to which you react by quickly taking a few steps away from him. 

When you look back, you can see Matt standing there beside the lifeless body of the unsub, gun in hand, and somehow the sight of a dead man is what makes you break down. The tears are flowing harder than before as you collapse onto the ground, your back resting against the desk you were sitting behind as you pull up your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, come with me.” 

You look up at the person who’s kneeling next to you, and you find Spencer there, watching you with a worried look on his face. There are so many things you want to say, but you simply can’t get yourself to speak up, so you just take his extended hand and let him help you up. He takes you to the small kitchen across the station, far from the unsub, far from the things you want to forget. 

The moment the two cops who are drinking coffee there leave, he closes the door and leans against it with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s defensive, building a distance for some reason, but in your current state of mind, you can’t bother to think about it. So, you just wait as you try to breathe, inhaling then exhaling over and over again. 

“I won’t ask if you’re okay, because it’s clear you’re shaken,” he suddenly speaks up. 

You nod, genuinely glad he doesn’t feel like interrogating you about your feelings. But despite all this, a part of you can’t stop thinking about the why. Why did he bring you here, away from the rest of the team? Or did he just plan to separate you from the body of the man who attacked you until they cleaned up the scene? 

Spencer takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair as he paces in front of you. “You should go back to the hotel and stay there until we go home. I’ll talk to Emily, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I stayed with you,” he goes on, and he finally looks at you–really looks at you–which makes your heart skip a beat. 

There’s so much pain and guilt in those hazel eyes, as if he assumed it was his fault this happened. How can he think that? What on Earth could possibly make him believe the unsub attacking you was his fault? 

Following your instincts, you step closer to him and gulp, still hesitating a little if you should do what you’re planning to do. His brows furrow as he looks down at you, but he doesn’t stop you when you put your hands on his shoulders to make sure he’s focusing on you in the next few seconds. 

“Please, tell me you’re not blaming yourself for what happened,” you say softly. Your heart clenches when he gulps and licks his lips, because you can tell that’s exactly what’s happening, just as you assumed. “Spencer, no one knew he would show up here. This place was supposed to be safe, you couldn’t have known.” 

His hands drop to his sides as he thinks about what to say. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. 

You shake your head a little at this. “It's not your fault.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Spencer points out with a sigh. 

Having no idea what he’s referring to, you give him a questioning look, but he chooses to act instead of speaking, and puts a hand on the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. You return it without hesitation, but it doesn’t last long, because he pulls away eventually to rest his forehead against yours. 

He remains silent for a few seconds, maybe waiting for you to say something, maybe trying to stall to think it through. Eventually, he kisses the tip of your nose and says, “Do you know what bothers me besides bringing you here and putting you in danger? That I don’t know if this kiss was a mistake or the right thing to do. Which one is it?” he wonders, as if you knew the answer. 

He’s right. This is a question even you don’t have the answer to. 

But with so many things going on in your head, from the unsub issue to the kiss, you don’t have the brain capacity to think about the consequences. Because there will be consequences, that’s guaranteed. 

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXVII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: physical abuse/triggering language. Author’s Note:  In case you missed it, I commissioned an art of Iris here! Thank you for reading, we're gearing up for the end soon!!!

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my cheerleader <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch / @moonfawnx

Find it all here.

Iris jolted awake, blinking groggily with a groan. There was a slight throbbing in her head and her arms were aching but when she tried to move them, she was met with resistance. She shifted with a wince, her eyes still fighting against the blur, trying to figure out where she was, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing she could recall was – was her father.

She took a deep startled breath as the room finally became clear and Iris had no idea where she was. She didn’t think she’d ever passed this particular room and wondered where the fuck her father had taken her. But most importantly what had happened to Emil? To Lady Enya?

What was happening with Eris? 

Her heart felt tight in her chest but Iris needed to remind herself to take another deep breath and assess her situation. Straining her neck to glance up, she found the source of resistance was rope, tying her arms together with her dagger lodged right in the knot. 

And she wasn’t just tied up anywhere. 

It was a flogging pole. 

A flogging pole. 

Her breathing quickened and Iris forced herself to swallow, to remain calm. Was this the same one Eris had suffered on? She wouldn’t put it past her father and the High Lord to make a sick twisted joke out of this and she didn’t want to let herself think exactly what would be happening to her soon.

Her bottom lip trembled but Iris made herself glance around the room and was startled when she found two other bodies there with her – a male and a female. 

The male was chained to the wall, breathing heavily and Iris noted the bruises along his arms, his tunic nearly shredded with all the beatings he seemed to have gotten. The female’s arms were tied in front of her and she was blindfolded, small cuts peppering her face and neck, her body trembling as Iris noted the disheveled appearance of her simple gown slightly, dark auburn hair messily unbound. She hadn't seen the girl before but the male was familiar.

Licking her lips and attempting to pull her arms again, Iris cleared her throat. The male’s head immediately shot up, glaring but his gaze softened when he saw Iris and she recognized the beautiful blacksmith immediately.

“Theo!”

“My lady.” he answered wearily. 

“W-what happened to you? How did you get here?”

The blacksmith gave her a thin smile. “We’ve been betrayed. The High Lord knew when I was departing and I was ambushed,” he explained and tilted his head towards the girl. “This is Cosette. It seems they did the same with her.” 

Iris’s expression softened, her hands tightening into fists above her head as Cosette seemed to tilt her head towards Theo. 

“You – you must be Iris,” Cosette said softly and Iris noted the thickness of her voice, the careful enunciation, and remembered her father’s taunt about removing her aide. She wondered how well she could hear Iris. 

“I am.” she answered and Cosette’s trembling hands twitched. “My father – I’m sorry for whatever he has done. I - I’m unsure how well you can hear me I know he took your –”

“You’re speaking too f-fast.” Cosette interrupted. “I can hear you better if you speak slowly.” 

“I apologize.” Iris said and licked her lips. “I’m so sorry for whatever my father has done.”

Both Cosette and Theo shook their heads. 

“It’s not your fault, my lady.” Theo said quickly. “Whatever will happen, it is on the High Lord and no one else.”

“Did they say anything about what they’re planning?”

But even as Iris asked the question, she already knew the answer. If the High Lord was aware of the coup, he would be using the three of them to hurt the brothers. He would be using them as an example and dread curled in Iris’s stomach at how the situation seemed to go from bad to worse.

The blacksmith’s throat bobbed, glancing at Cosette for a moment before he answered, his expression tight. “Knowing what I know about this family, it won’t be a pleasant experience.” 

Iris felt herself blanch and yanked at the ropes tying her arms again with a grunt. “We can’t stay here, like sitting ducks.” she said. “Where is Helene? Is she –”

“No. She’s the only one I didn’t see.” Theo answered. 

Relief washed over Iris but it was short-lived as Cosette shifted and said, “They couldn’t find her but they have Lord Marcus. They – they will hurt him instead.”

“How do you know?” Iris asked quickly.

“How do I know, is what you asked, yes?” Cosette asked then licked her lips. “They – they assumed without my aide I couldn’t hear at all and spoke freely.”

“Do we know if any of these guards are linked to the brothers?” 

Theo shook his head. “They’re all loyalists to the High Lord.” he said and gave her a tight smile. “Provided by your father.”

Iris tried not to let herself deflate. Things had turned so quickly. She couldn’t even imagine what Eris was thinking. If the knots in her stomach were any indication, he was as anxious as she was. She hoped it wasn’t anything worse. She prayed it wouldn't be anything worse.

Iris allowed herself a moment to process the dire situation. The weight of it all pressed down on her but keeping in mind everything Eris had prepared her for, she couldn’t let herself succumb to despair. They needed a plan and they needed it now.

Flexing her aching hands, Iris brushed her fingers against the dagger. Then she paused, glancing at Theo. “If I can get my hands on the dagger, I can try to cut my rope and free Cosette,” she said carefully so Emil’s lover understood her. Will my dagger be able to unlock your shackles?”

“I made it. Of course it will.” he said and Iris appreciated the confidence in his skill; he was a male proud of his work. 

Her nod was a grateful one. “Will you both be able to move once I get us out?”

Cosette nodded and Theo gave Iris a grim smile. “I’m a little beat up but I’ll do my best.” 

“I can heal you before we leave. Can you guide me to cut the rope, please? I can’t see what I’m doing without hurting my neck.” 

Theo nodded and with newfound determination, Iris stretched her hands, grasping at the edge of her dagger’s hilt. She yanked as hard as she could and let out a breath of relief when it was freed and slowly worked the rope with Theo’s guidance until she felt it loosen. 

Iris slipped a hand out and then turned to free her other hand more easily, her blood pumping in her ears, trying to work as fast as she could. Her father and his grunts could be back any moment. She had to get out. She had to help the others get to safety. 

She had to get back to Eris. 

With a growl, Iris yanked her hand free and the dagger fell to the floor with a clang as she rubbed her sore wrists now marred with red. She allowed herself one breath of relief but didn’t waste additional time. Quickly getting up, she picked up her dagger as she went and moved to Cosette first, removing the blindfold gently, and giving the girl a tight smile as she cut through her ropes. Emil’s lover was truly a lovely thing; big chocolate brown eyes and freckles scattered across her soft face.

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Iris said gently and Cosette returned the smile timidly. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Thank you, I’m alright.” she replied, rubbing her wrists and Iris turned with her as Cosette’s eyes glanced at Theo. “Theo got the brunt of it – help him.” 

Nodding, Iris moved to Theo, and using her dagger, she attempted to pick the locks on the chains as best as she could. Struggling more than she would like, Iris’s pulse began to quicken again, and that sense of anxiousness that hadn’t left her since the day began rose in her throat. 

“I can’t —” she whispered and hated the slight panic in her tone. “I’m trying but I can’t –” 

“Let me help you,” Theo said gently and Iris met his gaze. “We’re going to get out together. Let me guide you.” 

Iris’s lip trembled just slightly before she inhaled and nodded, following Theo’s instructions on how to unlock it. Her hands had started to shake and a pounding had started in her head but after a few tense moments and a grunt later, she jimmied the lock of the chains and it finally landed on the floor with a clang. 

Theo stumbled into Iris and she caught him, leaning against the wall for support. 

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled. “I can’t quite feel my arms yet.” 

“It’s alright, let’s see what I can do.” She reassured him and assisted him to slide down to the floor, running her hands over him, looking for the hurt, grimacing. “You have bruised ribs and some nasty cuts all over. Surprisingly your hands are alright.”

“Who do you think they get their swords from? They don’t want to risk losing the talent,” he said with a tired snort. Iris chuckled and glanced up, feeling Cosette near them.

She held up what looked like a small device with a thin smile and adjusted it in her ear. “I found one of my earpieces. The other was crushed.”

Iris grimaced again then sighed. “I’m sorry.” she said turning to continue slowly working on Theo until his breathing became more stable and he wasn’t wincing. 

Cosette gently touched Iris’s shoulder and when she turned to glance up at her, her expression was firm. “Do not apologize for other people’s behavior. You are here because of them too.” 

Iris swallowed, her hands stilling for a moment as she remembered Eris’s similar request many moons ago. Where a lack of apology to her father had Eris tied to the flogging pole she had been on moments ago. Her resolve sharpened and she squared her shoulders, meeting Cosette’s gaze. “You’re right. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” 

Cosette nodded and lowered herself to support Theo as Iris worked on whatever bruises she could find, even as she felt herself depleting. She’d already used so much earlier and was starting to feel tired more quickly but gods damn it will she carry on. The true fight hadn’t even begun. 

“Did you happen to hear them discussing anything else, Cosette?” Iris asked and the girl tilted her head as she shifted, holding Theo. “Any idea who might’ve betrayed us?”

“I didn’t hear all of it but…I think they tortured it out of someone,” she said quietly and Iris felt her chest tighten. 

There was a small number of people who knew the exact plans they had in place and Iris had a feeling whoever it was had seen a glimpse of what the High Lord would be offering them if they didn’t manage to get out of here. 

Sitting back and breathing deeply as her hands fell to her lap, Iris observed Theo and was pleased to see him stabilize. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” he said, gingerly moving his arms. “Thank you. I didn’t realize you were a healer.” 

“In training,” she said with a small smile. “Though the training timeline has been expedited today.” 

Theo’s face shuttered. “Finn?” he whispered and Iris shook her head and glanced at Cosette.

“Emil and Lady Enya. Oren as well.” she explained and Cosette’s face immediately paled. “But I healed them all. He’s alright.”

“W-what did the High Lord do to him?” she asked and Iris shook her head. 

“It’s best not to dwell on it. Let me heal those cuts you have and we’ll get out of here.” Iris had barely brushed a hand across Cosette’s face when a long-suffering sigh had Iris whirling towards the door and her stomach caved in. 

“You will never learn, will you.” 

Once again, her father had found her at the most inconvenient of times and the tension in the room rose tenfold as she shifted in front of Cosette, quickly grabbing her dagger off the floor. Theo had stood slightly in front of her but Iris put her arm out in front of him, the other in front of Cosette. 

“Let us walk out and we don’t have to let this escalate,” she said calmly and her father shook his head, irritation coming off him in waves.

“I am so sick of you making everything so fucken difficult.”

“I’m as sick of you as you are of me.” Iris snapped. “You already lost once against me. I have no qualms knocking you out again.” 

His expression darkened, and Iris felt her pulse quicken. She had tested all her limits with her father today and had no doubt he was only holding back for a bigger reason. 

“You can try, daughter. But I’m afraid this time, you’re outnumbered.” 

The smirk on her father’s face had Iris’s heart drop as about ten guards filled the room and Iris’s throat bobbed. 

Aron walked slowly toward her, smiling darkly. “This can go two ways,” he said, glancing at the three of them. “You three can cooperate, and we can move on to the next phase.”

“Or?” Iris asked but Theo straightened, his expression flat.

“The next phase of what?” the blacksmith demanded and Aron spared Theo one glance before returning his gaze to Iris.

“You three will get another taste of pain and still move on to the next phase. And remember,” Aron explained with that same dark smile. “I can do whatever I want. Choose wisely.” 

Iris considered his request. Here he was, cornering her like a mouse again but this time, she wasn’t alone at the end of his fists. She had barely healed Theo and though he was a solid force next to her, Iris worried he’d strain himself again. Cosette’s fist was tightened in the folds of Iris’s dress even as she stood tall behind her but given how disheveled she had been when Iris had awoken, she didn’t want to risk any additional wrath on the girl.

This was her father’s doing at her father-in-law’s request. How could she ever consider herself a princess to this court if she couldn’t protect its people? If she couldn’t protect those important to her family? 

Iris steeled herself, squaring her shoulders, and met her father’s gaze head-on. “Let them leave unharmed and I’ll do whatever it is you want from me,” she said. Theo and Cosette’s objections were immediate but Iris gently held up a hand and it warmed her heart that it caused them to listen. She spared each of them a glance before returning to face her father. “We both know who the High Lord wishes to punish the most and it’s the same person you’ve always delighted in beating down. I will take whatever punishment was meant for Theo and Cosette alongside my own but let them leave.” 

Her father watched him quietly for a moment, then snorted. Iris felt his scorn heat her skin, but this time, she would not let it get to her. She only held her head high. 

Iris had gotten one on him earlier. She had beaten him in the hall. Whatever happened next, Iris would always be proud of herself for standing up to him in the only way she knew how. 

“Tempting as that offer may be, I’m afraid that isn’t an option. The High Lord requested all four of you and so, I do as the High Lord asks.” Aron said with a nasty smile. 

“Four?” Cosette asked quietly and Aron’s gaze was predatory enough on the girl that Iris shifted just slightly to glare at her father. 

“Yes. Four,” he replied, jerking his head to the doorway where a body hung between two other guards, barely recognizable. “We couldn’t find his daughter but I suppose he will do.”

“Lord Marcus.” Theo breathed and again, Iris felt the world slide from beneath her feet. 

One target for each brother. 

The High Lord knew everything. 

“Did you really think you could bargain your way out of this? That I would listen to you?” her father sneered and Iris couldn’t take her eyes off Helene’s father, bloodied and bruised almost beyond recognition. A male who had served in this court for years now dragged to be humiliated. “Your little act here will cost you and I suggest you don’t fight it.”

“Wait –” Iris breathed but her father held up a hand. 

“Rough them up and get my daughter on her knees tied to the flogging pole.”

Chaos erupted once more around Iris as guards grabbed each other and Iris watched in horror as three began pummeling Theo and a different guard grabbed Cosette by the hair while another began sliding his hands over her body. 

“Stop. Stop this madness.” Iris demanded, her dagger swinging, dodging a guard as she tried to reach her father. Both Theo and Cosette were resisting, fighting back as hard as they could but Iris felt Theo’s strength waver as he went down on his knees, felt Cosette’s panic when the guard tore at the front of her dress and every inch of her was seething in hot anger. The sound of Cosette’s sob had Iris turning and with all her might, she flung her dagger to land into the back of the soldier who had been touching her, watching with satisfaction as he dropped. “Keep your filthy fucken hands off of them. Stop this now.”

Her father held up a hand and the room stilled as Iris panted, glaring at the male who had sired her. “The more you resist, the farther the hurt will go,” he warned and Iris hated the menace in his tone and how it made her bottom lip tremble. Her gaze drifted to Theo on his knees, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and his temple, panting heavily. She looked at Cosette, being held against a guard holding her arms back, the tear in the front of her dress exposing the bruises peppering her skin and cleavage. 

And Iris could tell these soldiers were hungry. For blood. For pain. It would get worse if she tried to fight.

What good would it do them if she lived, knowing the two of them had been tortured because of her choice? How would she face Emil and Finn ever again? How would she live with herself?

Iris felt her shoulders slump. She would cave to her father’s demands if only to spare them from worse.  

“Fine.” she conceded with a swallow. “I won’t resist your punishment but you will not hurt them anymore. You will not touch them.” 

“Will you take their lashings then?” Aron asked with a smile and Iris felt her chest tighten. Her father had certainly beaten her in the past. He’d broken a few bones here and there, but she’d never gotten lashings before.

She thought of Eris. Her husband who had dealt with that time and time again. Whose skin was permanently marred with it. Her throat bobbed before she answered, “Yes.”

“Ten lashes to start per person and there are three others besides yourself.” Her father explained with a delighted gleam. “Do you think you could handle forty lashings, daughter? Your skin is so soft.” 

Iris felt her hands begin to tremble and she fisted them at her sides. “That seems excessive.” 

“If you can’t handle it, I’m happy to let each of your friends taste their own.”

“No.” she immediately said. “I will take it. Do not harm them.”

“Iris, wait –” Theo began, then groaned when a soldier kneed him in the stomach. 

“Iris, please don’t –” Cosette was cut off with a startled noise as the soldier holding her covered her mouth. 

“Do not harm them.” she snarled at the guards then turned back to her father. “I will never stop fighting you and I will claw my way out of whatever hole you try to shove me in. Know that I will never stop and when Eris gets his hands on you, I will not stop him this time. I will let him tear you apart limb from limb and you will have no mercy. Do – not – harm – them.” 

Her father’s eyes narrowed and a fleeting moment of satisfaction coursed through Iris at the slight dim in his confidence. His expression shifted into distaste as he waved to his guards.

“Tie her up and straighten the other three. They are to be in chains for all to see.”

Iris didn’t wait for her father’s sentries to touch her but pushed past them to stop by the flogging pole. She could have fought back and a part of her wondered if maybe she should have. But for how long could she have resisted before things got uglier?

Maybe her father had cornered her, thinking Iris was as helpless as she had been under his thumb but Aron couldn’t be more wrong. She was being backed into a corner but it was for a family that was now hers. She was fighting not just for herself but for people who shared her fate in loving a Vanserra – who knew exactly the kind of life you had to lead tied to this family.

Eris needed a partner who would withstand the tide with him and Iris would take the brunt of it all if only to ease their burden. 

So she stood her ground, waiting until Theo and Cosette were given the chance to stand properly, and as the two gave her pleading looks Iris shook her head; she would do what it takes to keep them safe. Once in the ballroom, they had a chance. The brothers would be there. Eris would be there and it was of her husband she thought of when her father stepped in front of her and backhanded her hard enough that she stumbled back. It was Eris’s name that replayed in her mind when her father’s fists collided with her ribs and she sank to her knees.

It was only of Eris she thought of when she was tied to the same place that haunted him and his mother. Only her husband, her mate when her father slammed her face into the pole and ripped the back of her dress to expose more of her skin. 

Iris’s lips trembled, her eyes welling up with unshed tears as she forced herself to take a breath, glaring at her father with as much of her anger as she could muster. She would not give him any more of her tears. Any more satisfaction. 

The first crack of the whip against Iris’s skin was a violent one and if she could, she would’ve doubled over, a gasp of pain escaping her lips. But hearing the chuckle escape from her father’s lips only made the dread grow worse as the second lashing slammed into her and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

She was almost too thankful when black began to cloud her vision but tried to hold on with a small groan as the third lash burnt her skin. Pain like nothing she had ever experienced before seared her body and she forced herself to take a deep breath, even as she blinked back the well of tears. She would not give him any more of her tears. 

The thought was short-lived; Iris cried out as her father yanked her head back and dug his other hand into her fresh lashings. “This was only a teaser as it will only get so much worse from here. I can’t wait to see the look on Eris’s face when I make you bleed in front of him.” Her father leaned next to her ear and whispered with glee. “The High Lord has granted me the privilege of winnowing within the walls. I hope you’re prepared to make a bloody entrance.”

–

Eris remained in front of his father, trying to control his breathing. The High Lord had allowed him to stand once more but he was still barely able to shift his feet. His eyes shifted around the room trying to find his brothers, trying to sense if something was amiss. He did notice the guards that didn’t bore his mark or the marks of his brothers scattered about the room but when he looked to the positions of where his arrows should be in place, Eris could see that many remained. 

But not as many as there were before.

Acid clogged his throat and he looked at his father. 

“Father. Whatever it is you think is happening, let us discuss –”

Beron’s magic lashed out and Eris made a choking sound as it wrapped around his throat. “What is it you think I know, boy?”

“I’m asking you.” Eris wheezed. “Let us discuss. See reason and release me.”

The High Lord hummed, tilting his head. “But I like you powerless. You grew too big for your britches, son.”

Eris fought back his snarl. “Father –”

Beron's gaze bore into Eris, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Do not snarl at me like an animal. You were raised to be more refined than that.” 

Eris forced himself to close his eyes and leash his magic tightly; he had to wait for whatever this surprise show his father had in mind. He couldn’t waste it, even as it nearly burst out of him. “Father.” he tried again, clearing his throat. “Please, let us speak calmly. It is meant to be a joyous night after all.”

His father watched him for a heartbeat and then gave him a smile that made his throat tighten. “A joyous night indeed.” the High Lord said and glanced at the glass in his hand. “That was the intention. At least…that was my initial intention. Until of course, I found out you had other plans for this evening.”  

Eris’s mouth went dry but he forced his tone to remain steady, to remain feigning ignorance. “I’m unsure what you mean.”

His father's piercing gaze swept over him, lingering with disdain. “Insisting on this little charade, are you?”

Eris carefully locked his eyes on his father’s and said, “You’re the one speaking in riddles, Father.” 

“Am I? Or are you the one who continues to hold out on me, son?” Beron mused. “Am I to misunderstand what I’ve learned about you and your extracurricular activities?” 

Eris attempted his usual bravado and raised a brow. “You’ll have to be more specific, father. You and I both know that I’m a very busy male.” 

It fell silent between them and the sound of the ball behind them raging on was a mockery to his nerves. Eris said nothing as his father watched him, the only sign of the High Lord’s patience running thin was the tightening of his hand on his glass.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Eris.” his father finally growled. “I know what you and your brothers have been up to. Your foolish attempts to undermine me tonight.”

Eris said nothing but could only wonder how. How had his father found out? Who had betrayed them? 

He made himself straightened and only said, “There seems to be a misunderstanding here. You know that I am always loyal to our family and this court.”

“Loyal.” The High Lord said the word slowly as if savoring it then hummed, sending a shiver down Eris’s spine. “I suppose it is my own fault for forgetting how good of a liar you are when you lie the way you breathe.”

Eris clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his emotions in check, and held his head high. “You call me a liar when I am what you made me, High Lord,” he said lowly. “I’ve only ever served our family faithfully and if that is considered a lie to you, then so be it.” 

And Eris watched as his father’s gaze slowly morphed into hatred. His father had looked at him with anger and annoyance. Disappointment. Exasperation. Long, long ago, he had once looked at him with pride. Eris could even remember joy as a babe. Maybe a whisper of love.

But the hatred in his father’s eyes now? It burned worse than any lashing of a whip. 

“Years, I spent on you…I trained you. I gave you the best opportunities. Placed a court at your fingertips and the first moment you get…you plot to betray me. My crown prince. My favorite son. My glory.” Eris’s breath stuttered in his chest as his father’s gaze pierced into him. “You repay me by thinking of bringing death to my doorstep.”

The High Lord slowly stood, the glass in his hand vanishing as he took a step towards Eris, clasping his hands behind his back. “I admit, it took me some time to sense something amiss,” Beron said quietly. “You’ve served me so well over the years that if I started to question your loyalty, how could I trust anyone else?” 

He wondered if his father could hear the pounding in his head, could sense the fire rising in his throat. Eris didn’t let himself fidget as the High Lord stood so near and opted for an aloof response. “I assure you, Father, I have never taken your trust for granted.”

“And yet, you break it so easily,” Beron whispered, baring his teeth. “You think to play me for a fool and keep lying.”  

Eris braced himself for the blow as his father backhanded him hard enough, he tasted blood. He didn’t hold back his glare as he faced Beron watching him with distaste.

“Do you remember when you and I first came to an understanding about your wife?” he asked quietly and Eris felt his chest tighten, his gaze narrowing. “What did I say to you?”

“I don’t see how –”

“I said – it would be a shame if I had to find out where your true loyalties lie and who you valued more.” Beron snapped, then straightened coolly. “It certainly doesn’t seem to be me.” His father tilted his head, watching his son. “So if you had to choose, who would it be? Your mother? Your wife? Or those stupid hounds you’re attached to like a child?” 

Bile rose in Eris’s throat. Did this mean his mother and Iris were in his clutches? His hounds were locked in their kennel with their guards but if he was bringing them up now – did that mean he had targeted them too? Forcing himself to swallow and muster a sense of calm despite the blind rage threatening to consume him, Eris choked out, “Tell me where they are –” 

“You do not get to make demands of me, boy.” Beron snarled. “Not when you’ve betrayed me in a way no one has ever dared. Not when you stand in front of me and dare to challenge me.” His father straightened as Eris’s breath turned shallow. 

The weight of the situation pressed down on him like a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Did it even matter anymore if he confessed now? His mind raced to come up with a way out without giving anything away – without setting himself up for worse. But how much worse could it get now? His father had his mother and Iris. 

His worst nightmare was coming to life – his father had his mate in his clutches and the thought gnawed at him, a relentless spiral of anxiety tightening its grip with each passing breath.

Eris felt fissures spread throughout his body, his wretched heart pounding so loudly he felt it in his throat. He was already spread so thin, it would take little for him to explode. 

His father had backed him into a corner, exploiting all those fucken feelings he always buried deep, taunting him with the people he’d been stupid enough to care about – just as Eris had always worried would happen.

This was all his fault. 

He should’ve been smarter about it. He should’ve been more careful.

He should’ve carried all the weight on his own and maybe some of them would make it. 

Beron seemed to know where his son’s thought process had gone and his answering smile was chilling. “Are you wondering if someone betrayed your trust like you betrayed mine?” he asked and Eris’s jaw clenched. “How your master plan unraveled?”  Smiling, his father leaned in closer. “It was your lapdog, Mikel.” The High Lord said and Eris had to fight to keep his expression from shifting. 

Mikel. His longtime friend. One of his most loyal soldiers. It couldn’t be.

His father gave him a knowing look. “You do know how to pick good soldiers, I will give you that. Despite the agony I put him through, he didn’t break. He held and was smart enough to hide his husband.” Beron mocked. “But his other family members were fair game.”

Eris couldn’t stop his expression from dropping. “What did you do?” he whispered. 

“Here’s a little surprise for you, traitor son of mine,” Beorn said with that nasty smile of his, reading Eris’s expression. “I managed to find a daemati to keep at my disposal. I acquired him recently and am still breaking him in but he has already helped me tremendously.” His father’s smile turned deadly. “An excellent addition to my assets, no?”

A breath stuttered out of him at the mixed feelings of relief and rage.

It hadn’t been a betrayal. His father had tortured it out of him. Took pride in torturing his friend because he knew that Mikel was close to Eris. Because despite how unimportant he pretended everyone around him was, his father still knew where to strike. And the High Lord struck to kill.

“Is Mikel alive?” he asked and his voice was hoarse as every worry, every single concern he’d had about this plan surfaced. So many people were going to get hurt. So many lives were on the line. 

And it was all his fault. 

“I left him hanging in the dungeons to reflect on his loyalty falling in the wrong place.” His father said with a snort and Eris stiffened. “You did train him well to block his mind but as you know, I do enjoy breaking things.” His father took a step closer to him and Eris did all he could not to react, even as the High Lord’s gaze burned into him. “It seems he isn’t the only one whose loyalty lies in the wrong place,” Beron said quietly.

How much of the plan did his father know then? How much had Mikel given away? 

His father’s chuckle sent a chill down his spine and Eris tried to hide the shaking in his hands as The High Lord began to pace around him, watching his every breath. 

“So. Care to stop lying or should I begin my fun early?” Beron taunted and Eris’s body began to shake. “Do I let you save your mother? Or…” His father gave him a nasty smile then. “Do I let you save your mate?”

Eris blanched. 

The one thing that was his – the one piece of information he wanted to savor. His father knew.

He had severely miscalculated. His planning had meant nothing.

“How do you –”

The High Lord waved a hand and Eris felt his breath tightened as with a wave of his hand, his father shattered the glamour of his hidden scent – the scent of his thread of fate with his wife. 

“Did you honestly think you could hide your mating bond from me, boy? And then to think you and your stupid brothers could get away with overpowering me?” Beron hissed and was now even closer to Eris, breathing in his personal space. “Did you think I wouldn’t sense the shift in the tide happening and question why my wife was behaving differently? Why my sons seem to suddenly be closer than they ever bothered before? Why you keep a shield around you at all times?” Beron’s scowl was deep as he glared at Eris. “You hid your footsteps well but not enough. You think you can play your games and tiptoe around my throne trying to steal it from me and I would simply kneel over for you? Let my wife leave me? Let you take it?” His father’s hand wrapped around Eris’s throat and Beron yanked him closer. “I am your High Lord. I took this crown by blood and the only way I would abandon it is by blood. If you will not bend to me, you will cease to be useful and I will break each and every one of you until you are all set straight.” 

Roaring filled his ears as his father shoved him back and Eris stared at him.

It had all come down to this then.

His mind raced as his options narrowed to a suffocating point. His father held all the cards. He had his wife and his mother and Eris had not been quick or smart enough to get through this. He had spent years tolerating all this agony for his father to still try and take it all away.

If it was all going to end in a fiery nightmare, it was time Eris went out swinging. He would not cower. He would not let this moment pass him. 

Steeling himself, Eris so very slowly counted to ten, feeling his magic awaken gently, unfurling through his body. Whatever happened next, he would take his father out. The sky would fall and crumble and the world around them would burn but Eris would weather it all so that no more harm came to anyone else.

His family was counting on him and this monster was done haunting them. 

His expression settled into stoic indifference. “So it seems we’re at an impasse,” he said and his father lifted a brow, tightening his grip on Eris’s throat.

“So it seems.”

Eris let his magic seep into his fingertips, slowly testing the bounds of his father’s hold on him. If he could crack it, he’d make his move.  “What exactly made you begin to question me?”

His father seemed to note the slight change in his demeanor as narrowed his gaze on him. “Your little incident with your father-in-law,” Beron spat. “If you dared to defy me then, what else would you do?”

Eris scoffed. “I have never once been taught to apologize to anyone. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be starting with that piece of filth,” he said tightly. “Your expectations of that situation still baffle me.”

His father hummed and seemed to ignore Eris as he continued, “Then your goings and comings began to increase. You were very good at slithering in the dark unnoticed,” the High Lord said and Eris scowled. “But as you have your loyalists, I have mine.” 

Eris shook his head, a humorless laugh slipping from his lips. “You call yourself my father yet you have shown me and this family nothing but pain and suffering and shame.” Eris snarled. “You have never given us a moment of reprieve since under the mountain. You have gone on and on and have made every year worse than the next and yet you wonder why we pulled away? Why we’ve looked for a way out with you?”

“Ah, so you’re admitting to your crimes.”

“I am admitting to the sheer agony that you’ve been putting us through all these years that if you took one moment to self-reflect you’d realize it was you who ruined us.” 

The air between them thickened with tension. “You think I ruined this family of traitors?” Beron hissed and Eris let out a choking sound, unable to move out of his father’s grip. “Did I not give you a warm bed? Clothes on your back? Food on your table? Servants to fulfill your every wish?”

“Did you not also give me nightmares that never leave me? Wounds that keep bleeding?” Eris growled and he was almost desperate for his father to see reason – to hear him and know it never had to be this way. “You cannot admit one without the other and everything comes at a price with you. A price my mother has been paying for years. A price you took out on me and my brothers time and time again. You –”

Beron scowled and made a noise of disapproval, cutting him off. “This is exactly your problem. You’ve been too fucken soft for this court.” he sneered and Eris couldn’t help his exasperated eye roll. “I tried to beat that out of you and yet…” Beron heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “You were meant to keep this failure of a family from sinking further – from becoming weak. Little did I realize you would be the one to set the terrible example for the rest of them.”

“Family.” Eris spat and knew his eyes were burning as he glared at his father. “You know nothing of that word or what it means.” His magic flared as it shoved against his father’s. “My mother, my brothers, and I – we are a family. You are nothing but the sickness that ails us. You are the weakness.”

Beron’s expression flickered and Eris didn’t know if it was his words or the fact that his fire had cracked through his father’s magic. But Eris didn’t care – he was past logic, past thought. 

“You have never cared about a single thing other than yourself.” he snarled, every syllable trembling with rage. “You’ve let this land fester. You do not get to call me a failure when the reason you still have a court is because of me. I cleaned your messes. I handled all the things you deemed beneath you. I am the reason you still have sons who haven’t deserted you. You can pretend the reality is different all you want but this court has always been mine and it’s about time I took it.” 

His father watched him and the look of deep hatred had returned. “And you think you can rule better than I can? Bribe them into kneeling before you?”

“I wouldn’t have to buy people’s loyalty. I’ve earned it.” Eris spat and satisfaction coursed through him at the slight color that seeped into his father’s face, the cracks in his armor showing. “You’ve earned nothing but their resentment and hatred and I’ve tried over the years to help you, to try and make it better but all you did was resist and fuck around while your sons slaved away for you.”

“And what now, you think you will teach me a lesson, boy?” Beron sneered angrily and Eris staggered back as his father’s power slammed into him again, holding him down. “You think you can win against me when you made the stupid mistake of getting attached to people I could use against you?”

“You’d rather I be an empty husk like you?” Eris sneered.

“An empty husk you say?” Beron mused in disgust. “And how does it feel to know that I left your mother and traitor brother soaking in their own blood where no one will bother to look? What about your pretty wife?” Eris groaned under the weight of his father’s fire. “How does it feel to know I would’ve spared her had you yielded but now the least I will do to her is give her matching scars to yours?”

Eris felt his heart give way. He had let his wife walk out of there and right into his father’s schemes. His mate. Where was she now? What had his father done? 

He felt that thread at his ribcage but couldn’t tell through his own discomfort what pain was his and what could be hers.

“What did you do?” Eris growled, his voice nearly guttural as his magic surged up again, pushing against the weight of the high lord’s.

“How will you protect them when you’re powerless against me? You, who has always been my greatest asset and my biggest threat.” Beron said softly and Eris felt his chest tighten when his father waved his hand and another glass appeared. “Emil is smart but he let himself get tangled with an enemy and fall in love with his unfit daughter. Finn is a disgrace and Izak has always been stupid but at least now that I know he has a child on the way, I can fix what I couldn’t with you all.” His father’s smug smile made Eris realize he’d let his expression fall. “Oh yes, I know all about that now. The shields around his father-in-law’s mind weren’t as strong as Mikel’s.” The High Lord’s chuckle made Eris want to throw up. “Izak’s wife may have slipped through my fingers but I’ll get to her eventually. After all, I wouldn’t be so cruel to harm a pregnant female.” Beron shrugged slowly. “I’ll keep her alive until she gives birth. If she has a son, she may live. If she has a daughter, I’ll kill them both, and then maybe your brother. We’ll see how I feel by that time.” 

Eris stared at him in horror, his magic faltering. “You speak of your family’s death so easily and yet you expect me to believe we ever mattered to you.” he breathed. 

“You only matter when you bend the knee. The second you stepped out of line, your punishment was prepared for you and you have given me so much ammunition.” Beron sneered. “I hardly know who to torture you with first but your mate seems like the best choice. I hope you enjoy watching me break her.” 

Every inch of Eris burned as his magic flared. “Where the fuck is my wife?”

Beron’s smile was wicked and Eris barely took a breath as the High Lord leaned in close and said, “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough but before that, have a little taste of this, son. I heard you were saving it for me.” 

Still locked in by his father’s magic, Eris couldn’t brace himself as his father splashed the glass filled with liquid in his face and he gasped feeling his magic dry out almost immediately. 

No.

“Let us begin.” 

[joanquill]

"Wanna try that thing they do in movies?"

With William's suggestion to recreate your favorite romance novel, you're now unsure how to look him in the eye. Continuation of this one.

William James Moriarty

A/N: Sorry for the inactivity 😭 William's a little more on the teasing side here Tag/s: Established Relationship

"Shall we try some of the scenes in your book? The ones you seem to favor the most." William suggested with an enigmatic smile on his face.

You clenched your teeth as you breathed in, unaware you were holding it this whole time.

"Well...?" William goaded, tilting his head as you looked away, unsure how to react or answer.

"I, uh... I need to go!" you quickly snuck out of the way and grabbed your book, rushing out of his office.

"(Y/N), don't run inside!" Louis shouted, but you kept running, almost tripping down the stairs.

'That jerk...!' you shouted in your head, your cheeks burning hot despite the cold air hitting your face as you ran out of the manor.

You gasped for air as you slowed down, finding yourself in the gardens as you collapsed on the ground.

You looked around as you caught your breath, your body loosening up now that you saw William was nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously... He's taking his jokes way too far..." you muttered, fanning yourself with your book.

"Who is?" a voice chimed, making you shout as you turned to whack the voice with your book.

"Watch it!" another voice warned as a hand grabbed you by the arm.

You saw that it was Sebastian with Bonde behind him, both wearing a confused expression.

"O-Oh, sorry... Welcome back...!" you awkwardly greeted as Sebastian let you go with a huff.

"Right... We're back. What's gotten into you?" he asked, eyeing the book as you hid it behind your back.

"Nothing! Just... a little tired is all," you dryly chuckled, avoiding their eyes as Bonde stepped closer, inspecting your face.

"Were you and Will flirting again?"

"We're not-!" you held your tongue as you took a breath, giving him a slight glare.

"We were not flirting. He just likes to pick on me, for some reason..." you clarified, but the two men were unconvinced.

"He's been like this since back in the orphanage, okay!?" you added with your voice raising a pitch, making Bonde chuckle and Sebastian smirk.

"Aww... Did he pull on your hair too?" Sebastian joked, poking your cheek as you gave him an unamused look.

"(Y/N)! There you were..." Fred sighed as he walked up to you, "William is looking for you. It seemed urgent..."

Your body tensed up as Sebastian and Bonde gave you a knowing look.

You tried to scowl at the two, but your reddening face betrayed you.

"Right... I'll be right there,"

"William, I beg you. Spare me what little dignity I have left," you pleaded, your hands completely covering your face as William had his hand against the wall, trapping you.

"What's wrong? You seem to favor this from the book you read," he asked, feigning innocence.

You parted your fingers as you looked up at him with a glare, seeing a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Nonetheless," he added, placing your chin between his fingers, making you look up at him as he leaned in closer, "You do enjoy these types of intimacy, correct?"

You quickly held your breath as you crouched down, using every bit of strength you had not to scream as you crawled away.

William, on the other hand, was laughing as he followed you.

"If I knew this would happen, I would have locked away that damn book in the first place..." you muttered, emotionally exhausted.

William chuckled as he knelt down, meeting your eyes as he kept his smile.

"My apologies. But I find it endearing how much you react to mere touches and affirmations," he justified, making you scoff as you stood up, dusting yourself.

"Yeah, right. You're not sorry at all," you rolled your eyes playfully as he smirked.

"You know me so well, my love."

[cherrycheolkat]

• no blueberries, feat. mingyu, pt. 3 •

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

mentioned: seungcheol, joshua, vernon, christian yu (dpr ian in part ii& iii)

word count: 3.1k

genre: fake dating, college au, college student!mingyu, college student!reader, fluff, f2l, idiots, idiots in love, angst, pining, denial of feelings, established friendship (reader & ian), miscommunication

summary: mingyu was just your lab partner and study buddy for several semesters, but lately things seem to have changed, and maybe everyone else has noticed, but for the most part, neither of you even think about what you are to one another until mingyu asks you to be his 'fake' date for a long weekend trip so he can avoid an ex, the biggest problem is realizing that there's nothing fake about your relationship but when mingyu won't even talk about what you are to each other, you start to think things might be over before they even really start

warnings: explicit language, mentions of anxiety, sexually suggestive situations, drinking, smut, penetrative sex, oral (m. receiving)

a/n: they are still idiots but idiots who are finally getting it together ;-;

xx kat

[part i] [part ii]

♡ if you would like to be tagged in my upcoming posts, go [here]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔

she spent the rest of the break hanging out with ian - they went to a few art galleries and some new restaurants. she didn’t upload her photos anywhere, she didn’t want to make things any worse with mingyu. it was just a low-key break. she slept late a few mornings, went running if she felt like it, and took long breaks from reading a book she had found by staring out the huge windows of ian’s apartment. he had an insane view of the city. 

the problem was her habit of snapping photos because she was suddenly without anyone to send them to - she had taken tons, and she could sit and scroll through them, but they only made her feel lonely as the break wore on. she kept thinking if he would just post one thing where he looked like he was having fun, then she could pretend nothing had happened. everything would go back to factory settings or something - she wasn’t sure.

it was only the last night of break, while they were having dinner, that ian asked her about mingyu.

“so, have you answered him at all?” 

naturally, she knew the ‘him’ being referred to. “not yet,” she paused, “i don’t really know what to say - how do you back up from the fact that you left someone during a vacation because you’re in this weird tenuous space where neither of you seem to be able to talk about anything properly?”

he laughed, “yeah, that’s a nice description - i’m sure i’ll back away from the discussion now,” he rolled his eyes, “you have class with him tomorrow don’t you?”

she nodded, “yep - two classes, actually, and usually we grab breakfast,” she sighed, “not tomorrow though, i guess.”

he drummed his fingers on the table, “because you can’t, you know uh, give him a ring and i don’t know, maybe ask to talk?”

she stared at her plate, not wanting to let the reasonableness sink in too deeply. 

she poked at her food, “look, i don’t like that he kept something from me, and i don’t like that admitting we might be a couple seems like such an issue,” she pursed her lips. 

she had had a lot of time sitting around to think through how she was actually feeling, and even if she handled things badly, she felt like there were legitimate issues.

“ah, and so instead of telling him about all of this, you’re just going to avoid it, or did i miss something?”

she shrugged, “i don’t know - shouldn’t he maybe know that i have issues with these things?”

“to me? how would he - and why are you being so inflexible - we both know you like him, maybe you just need to take a step towards him instead of running in the opposite direction like your hair is on fire whenever you start to have some real feelings,” he sounded way too sage. 

“don’t be obnoxious,” she deadpanned.

he swirled his wine, “look, if you want to end it with him, then just do it, but waiting around, seems like a big mistake, especially if you do care about him - you’re stringing him along.”

she sighed, “i think i’ll wait to see if he’s suddenly back with his ex before i do anything,” she concluded icily. 

he laughed and sipped his wine, “so avoid him until he does something that proves your theory then?”

she flipped him off. 

but even when she went to bed in his spare room, she kept tossing in bed. she couldn’t get comfortable. 

it was too hot - then too cold - her back hurt, but she didn’t like sleeping on her stomach. she was convinced the aircon wasn’t working properly and kept trying to feel the air from the vent by standing on a chair. she eventually gave up and sat down to scream into her pillow out of sheer frustration. but, lying there post-scream, more than anything, she wondered what mingyu was doing. 

she kept checking his socials, looking for signs of life, but he hadn’t posted anything. she checked again, and when there was still nothing, she went to her messages to stare at the draft she had typed out. she had typed short things and long things, and she kept coming back to the fact that they were all wrong. none of them said the right things - none of them were going to fix anything. 

she glanced at the clock, 10:38 pm. she stared around and finally typed a message quickly and hit send. she couldn’t undo it - it was already gone. all she could do was stare at her phone and wonder if he would reply. 

after about one minute, she shoved her phone off the bed, certain he would never talk to her again. she couldn’t handle waiting and checking. she had flipped her ringer on, though, just in case he did answer. she hoped that he would, but she was very sure that he wouldn’t. in her mind, he had totally forgotten her and was already back together with katie, exactly where he should be. and she was alone - probably forever. she was definitely going to die alone, and not just in the poetic way of how we are all alone in death or whatever. 

she practically leapt out of bed when the little ping suddenly interrupted her thoughts. 

[mango 10:41]

where?

she stared for a moment, trying to remember what she had even asked - she glanced back at her message, asking if they could meet. 

she bit her lip, trying to think of where might even make sense, but she saw his little typing bubble and waited to see what he said. when it went away, she felt like she needed to answer quickly or all would be lost, she named a park - it was probably closer to him, but she didn’t exactly care. she waited, feeling nervous all over again. 

but then her phone screen lit up - he was calling her. she watched for a moment, silently panicking, before finally swiping to answer.

“why do you want to meet in a park, y/n?” he asked immediately, no preamble, just his husky, sleepy voice.

she shrugged, “i don’t know - i guess so we can talk in private?” 

she knew precisely how uncertain she sounded.

he was quiet for a moment, “just come here - it’s only me,” his voice trailed away.

she closed her eyes, “did they decide to stay or something?”

she felt horrible for asking. 

“not everyone has monday classes.”

she hummed, “right.”

she suddenly felt tired - she realized how used to talking to him at night she was. the difference being they were usually in the same room, and the same bed. 

she sighed, “i miss you.”

she picked at the fabric of the duvet she was lying on top of - it had never become comfortable for reason. 

“like a lot,” she added, voice soft, floating off into nothingness.

she stared hard at the white fabric of the duvet, waiting for him to say something, as she tried to follow the lines of the fabric’s weave. and the silence only made her hate that she had taken ian’s advice. he was wrong - she should never have taken a first step or any step at all. 

she started to say his name, thinking maybe he had fallen asleep. 

“so come here, then you won’t have to miss me,” he whispered. 

“mmmh, are you mad at me?”

she could hear him shift around, “not mad - maybe confused,” he paused, “but not so much that it really matters right now when i just want to be with you.”

she nodded, feeling her stomach flutter, “mingyu?”

“hmm,” his voice was low.

she knew what she was thinking, but she wasn’t sure how to say it.

“if it’s too late”— she started.

“y/n, just - please come - i’ve missed you too,” he spoke quickly. 

⋆˙⟡

she ordered a car, and without traffic, she was over the bridge quickly. it didn’t stop her from being nervous when she hit the buzzer for his apartment. even walking up the familiar stairs, she was still jittery. she decided that if she needed to leave, at least it would be a quick ride home to her very empty, very cold bed. 

she was expecting to need to wait outside his door, but he was already there, waiting for her. she gave a small wave as she neared him. even dressed in sweats and a tshirt with slight bedhead, he looked stupidly handsome. no, she decided, he was much worse than handsome; he was gorgeous and perfect, and she had missed spending her entire break with him. 

she only noticed his split lip when she was closer, immediately reaching for him, “what happened to you?”

he shrugged and moved for her to go inside, which she did since standing in the hallway wasn’t the best thing. but she immediately rounded on him, “seriously, what happened to you?”

“nothing,” he caught her hands lightly before they could make contact with his face.

she tried to tamp down her annoyance because it felt like, again, he was just holding out on her. for no reason she could even begin to understand. 

unlike earlier in the week, she wasn’t looking for a reason to be annoyed with him, but she wanted to know. 

“please tell me?”

“why, y/n? it was just something stupid with seungcheol - it’s not important,” he whispered, his hands tracing lightly over her arms. 

she groaned, “yes, it is,” she could see him getting ready to assure her that it wasn’t - “it’s important, just like the stuff katie said to you, okay - all of it matters to me because it’s about you, so even if it annoys me or whatever, please tell me, okay? you’re not protecting me from anything - it just makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something,” she had imagined being a bit calmer when she explained that, but she hadn’t known how soon they would be talking about it either. 

he nodded, “fine,” he laughed, “he was trying to make me feel better about you leaving, and it turned into me calling him short and we sort of got in fight,” he nodded, his face flushing.

she stared at him for a moment, “did you at least hit him back?”

“yeah,” he whined, “he was being a dick to begin with.”

“i thought you said he was trying to make you feel better?” 

he rolled his eyes, “he was, in a very seungcheol way, and even if he was right, i didn’t like the things he pointed out,” he said matter-of-factly.

she tilted her head slightly, wondering what seungcheol had pointed out. although, she had the distinct feeling this wasn’t the time to ask. they were both quiet for a moment. she could feel his fingers tracing along her waist, gently pulling her closer.

“did you actually miss me?”

she nodded, “umhm,” she stepped closer, leaning into him, feeling his arms surround her.

she pressed close, glad that there was no distance between them. 

“i’m sorry i left,” she whispered. he kissed the top of her head in response. 

they stayed there hugging like it would make up for the last few days. and then they went to his room to go to bed. but even lying next to him, she knew she wasn’t exactly doing anything differently than before. she was letting the physical calm between them fill all the little emotional cracks, but that wasn’t going to fix how she felt. it would just keep things together until the next time and the next time until maybe the cracks were too big to be held together. 

which was how she found herself poking mingyu in the cheek at 3 am until he woke up.

“what’s wrong?” he sounded only slightly annoyed, like she did this all time, and he was used to it. 

she took advantage of the fact that he was groggy, not because she thought it would help her get what she wanted - it was because groggy mingyu was less intimidating than fully engaged mingyu. 

“nothing, but i need to ask you something,” she whispered. 

he whined “right now?”

“yes, it’s important.”

he nodded, barely keeping his eyes open, “okay, what is it?”

maybe she was wrong, even groggy mingyu made her stomach turn back flips. “do you want to date me?” she was barely audible.

she watched him close his eyes - her stomach immediately sank. 

but then he nodded, “yes, of course - that’s what i was trying to tell you before, about being with you is all that matters.”

she leaned over him, playing with his hair, “i wasn’t completely focused on those things.”

“i know.”

she watched him for a moment before leaning close to kiss him. it was sweet at first - soft and mellow - neither were in a rush. she realized that even a few days without kissing him felt like ages. to her, mingyu had seemed half asleep, but after a few minutes, she found herself on her back, caged in by his arms as they continued to kiss. when she felt his hand slide down to grip her thigh, she knew it was over - the fact that it was the middle of the night didn’t matter. she gasped softly when she felt his hips press roughly against hers. he found his rhythm easily, rolling his hips against her, teasing her. she pulled his hair roughly, wanting to feel more. 

she managed to break their kiss and press him back. she pulled off her own shirt before tugging at his, wanting him to undress too. she watched him run a hand through his hair before finally matching her, pulling off his shirt, and he followed her example again when she stripped off her pants and underwear. 

she pressed close to him, running her fingers down his chest, loving his muscles - she wondered if she told him that enough - the things she liked about him. she leaned up to kiss beneath his collarbone.

“you’re so perfect,” she whispered against his skin, kissing further down his chest. she pressed him back onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses and bites and whispered praise as she went. 

she liked going down on him - there was something about the size of his cock that she couldn’t help but enjoy. she licked a fat stripe along the underside of his cock, paying attention to the thick vein there, all the while, she heard him moaning softly. she smiled, kissing his shaft and sucking gently at the skin as she moved up to suck his tip. she tasted his precum and enjoyed knowing that she could make him leak for her, just like he could make her a wet, sopping mess. 

she pulled back, hearing his soft panting, “good baby?”

he groaned, “what do you think?”

she smiled and leaned up to kiss him. she licked into him and moved so that she was straddling him. she grasped his cock, hearing his low groan. he knew she was going to finish him off by riding him. he gave her ass a soft smack, urging her on as she lined her pussy up with his cock. she didn’t waste any time taking him in - she let herself slide down on him until she was sure she could feel his cock in her stomach. she stayed there for a moment, loving the way he filled her. she leaned back enough to let her hands rest on his thighs for leverage, and then she started to move her hips. 

she knew he liked when she was a bit rough - she loved the way he watched his cock disappear inside her. she felt his fingers on her clit, massaging it in little circles, she moaned, “fuck, just like that.”

he bit his lip, “come on, finish yourself on me like a good girl,” he rasped. 

her eyes fluttered closed, and she smiled at the idea that she was just using him for his cock when they were like this. 

instead though, she started to whimper and whine, “i can’t,” she gasped.

“can’t what baby girl?”

her hips had slowed, “can’t get myself off like this - need your help, daddy,” she leaned forward, her fingernails barely digging into the skin of his chest, “help me?” she whined softly, knowing how much he liked it, feeling his cock throb inside her.

she kept him inside as they swapped positions - she grinned up at him, “fuck me?”

he nodded, picking up her thighs and throwing them over his shoulders - his first thrust left her mewling. the way he was hitting every spot so perfectly left her grasping the edge of the mattress, whining his name over and over as he slammed into her. 

she squeezed him tightly, hearing the soft grunts, despite how determined he looked, until suddenly he became relentless, fucking into her like she was the toy - their roles reversed. she came, gasping and moaning, almost choking on her own pleasure, and still feeling him pumping into her until he finally finished with a hard groan - his cum filling her completely. he leaned down between her legs, sweat glistening on his skin, as their bodies melded and they kissed until he finally pulled out with a soft moan.

“fuck,” he groaned, wiping himself off with his discarded tshirt before turning to her to do the same. 

she pulled him into another lingering kiss. she wounder her fingers in his hair, wanting nothing else but to stay in the afterglow with him. 

when he leaned back, licking his lips, “so did that count as ‘make-up sex’ or ‘we’re dating sex’?”

she laughed softly, “both maybe?” she suggested, watching him.

“or maybe i just really missed you sex?” she offered after amoment.

he nodded, “i was afraid you wouldn’t miss me at all.”

she pressed closer to him, kissing him again. it was soft, though. 

“how could i not miss you?” she asked as she pulled away, “i love you,” she whispered, a new flush coloring her cheeks.

she waited nervously for him to respond - she had thought it so many times. it was only when he kissed her back, gently pulling away and whispering his own confession, that she relaxed, knowing that mingyu loved her too. 

⋆˙⟡

they did not go to classes the next day. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

a/n: look they made it! sorry if miscommunication (lack of communication maybe in this case) isn’t your genre - to me it’s like the main driver of most issues…there could be more pining but as someone who also loves instant crushes….i actually just want them together

anyway, tell me what to write next…some vampire x human arranged marriage?? or like type a personality / type b personality rivals to lovers…both are in my wips but so are so manyyy other things, like mafia au with arranged marriage, gov’t assigned soulmates and more random stuff - give me input, plz - otherwise it may end up being this random idea i had about golf and fr no one needs that

♡ kat

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

tag list: @syluslittlecrows @cherrylovescheol

if you want to be tagged, go [here] & my [master list] if you want to read more

[bullet-prooflove]

Eurydice: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

The perfect song for this piece: Eurydice by Vincent Lima

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not fine.

Closure - Gibbs supports you in the aftermath of the arrest.

Save Me San Francisco - Gibbs is forced to confront his feelings when you leave for San Franisco.

San Francisco agrees with you. Gibbs can hear it in your voice on the other end of the phone as he sits in the chair alongside his window and looks out across the San Diego skyline. The sun is starting to set in the distance, the sky streaked with darkness as it turns to the colour of cornflowers. The exact same shade as your eyes. He wonders if they darken at the height of pleasure, if you’ll keep them fixed on his as he brings you to the brink of rapture.

Those thoughts, they’ve been invading his brain ever since the day you left, since you kissed him on the mouth and told him to think about visiting you in San Francisco. That moment, it had awakened something inside of him, something he thought had died along with Shannon.

“I found this wonderful little microbrewery you’d love.” You tell him as he tunes back into the conversation. “I could take you the next time you have leave. A vacation would do you some good.”

He remains silent and he can feel your disappointment over four hundred miles away as he cradles the phone underneath his chin. He can tell your hope is dying, that you’re starting to give up on him. You’ve been away for six months now and he hasn’t been to see you despite your offers. He can sense that you’re starting to move on with your life, that you want him to be a part of that but being with you, it changes everything for him. It means letting go of his wife, his daughter and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready for that.

“OK.” You say finally, your tone shifting to one of resolution. “I should probably stop calling right? Let you get on with it?”

“I like knowing you’re ok, that your safe.” He reassures you.

These Thursday night phone calls are the highlight of his week. Each and every one reminds him of the connection the two of you have, that he still means something to you despite the distance.

“Jethro.” You say softly. “I need to know what we’re doing right now, if I should be holding on for something more or if it’s time to let this go.”

And here it is, the inevitable fork in the road, the one that Mike Franks had warned was coming because you can’t have one foot in and one foot out, not the way he has been.

“Do you want me Jethro?” You ask him, your voice raw with emotion. “Do you want me the way that I want you?”

His breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He opens his mouth to speak but the words, they’re lodged in his throat like the Lego blocks still scattered across the floor of Kelly’s bedroom floor.

“Alright, I understand.” You say quietly and the resignation in your voice, it tears the heart right out of his ribcage. “Goodbye Jethro, stay safe out there.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[paracosmic-murdock]

vigilante like me

chapter six: the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

pairing: matt murdock x black widow!vigilante!reader

summary: nights and nights of playing the hero as if that could redeem you that easily ended up taking you to new york, where you accidentally met the man who would turn your world upside down. a vigilante like you.

warnings/tags: (this chapter contains smut, shower sex virginity loss, unprotected sex, minors dni) angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, violence, phd in applied flirting and ma in yearning studies, some smut (minors dni), takes place sometime during the blip, when born again comes out we might find out if my decisions of who were gone were right, spoilers/references of stuff and themes from daredevil (2015); avengers: infinity war (2018); avengers: endgame (2019) black widow (2021); and hawkeye (2021), but y'all must've watched all of those already so idc, yelena belova and the themes and events from the black widow (2021) movie are very relevant in this plot, song: cowboy like me (taylor swift)

word count: 3.3K

✰ chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

He left the kit on his bed and went back to you, helping you stand up and walking you to his bathroom.

“May I?”

“You don't have to do that.”

Matt chuckled. “You did this for me once, and I was in kind of a better shape than you are now. Just… allow me.”

“Okay,” you agreed, knowing he was right and that you needed to be clean so he you could patch you up and avoid infections. You were too injured and bloody and couldn't risk it. “I liked these jeans.”

“Yeah, maybe they can be ripped jeans now,” he proposed, an optimistic grin plastered on his face.

“I've learned a thing or two about fashion trends, and let me tell you: apparently, ripped jeans are completely hideous today.”

“I guess you're a well-dressed lady.”

You laughed. “When it matters, yes I am.”

“Were you well dressed today?” he asked, taking off your black sports sneakers.

“Not really,” you replied. “Nothing important going on.”

“Hey,” he called you. “I am sorry about what I said last night.”

You gave him half a smile, putting your hand on his chest. “Are you?”

“I am sorry.”

“I'm sorry too,” you apologized, surprising yourself. “I just… I've learned who you are, and I know you aren't one to give up. You were there tonight, Matt. This is something that can happen countless times because I've done pretty fucked up things. Whether I was in control of my actions or not, I did it and I can't ignore that. I don't want my shit to affect you or for me to be… measured the same way that you are.”

“It's okay, I get it,” Matt helped you take off your oversized white, blood stained t-shirt. “We both have skeletons in our closets.”

You smiled weakly, now taking off your jeans with difficulty. “I guess so.”

Then, there was silence.

Matt guided you to his shower and turned it on. The water was hot, almost too hot, so, while you waited until the temperature was just right to get under the stream, he took his clothes off too. Now, you were both in your underwear and the idea of him and you like that made your cheeks go warm.

Just like you did to him the other day, Matt washed your hair with care. It was so intimate you wanted to throw up, and he seemed to realize how the moment was affecting you but said nothing.

“Govnyuk,” you muttered when his hands touched a wound above your right breast. “It hurt.”

“Sorry,” Matt whispered. “This one is pretty bad.”

“That makes me feel better.”

He shook his head, taking your right hand in his and put it on the left side of his chest. “I have the same one. Credits to a ninja named Nobu. It was really bad, I think it makes it to the top five of my worst moments.”

You traced the shape of it with the tip of your finger and did the same with a similar one on the other side.

Matt turned around. “He did those, too.”

“They're awful,” you noted. He laughed, turning to you again.

You took his left hand and drove it to your upper right thigh. “There was a tracker here to keep me on sight. When Yelena, my friend and another Black Widow, freed me, I stabbed myself to take it out.”

“Contrary to what you might think, I can't dodge every bullet,” he explained when he drove your hand to his right bicep.

“I was in Novi Grad when Yelena found me,” you said as you put his hand on your right lower back. “I had a partner, Emilia. Our job was to make sure the big guys never forgot they were under the rules of Dreykov, the director of the Red Room. Emilia died during the infamous Battle of Sokovia; a robot shot her to death and shot me here,” you continued, then made his thumb meet the little scar on the side of your index finger. “You know, Wanda Maximoff, the Avenger, had a twin brother, Pietro. Nobody knows him or what he did, but I do. He spent three seconds taking me to a safer location, then told me he was free on Saturday for a dinner date I now owed him for saving me,” You laughed a little. “Hours later, I found out he took dozens of bullets to save Clint Barton and a little boy. Don't tell him, but I teared up a little when I found out that the guy who used to flirt with me in the market twice a week was dead. I got this one when I was peeling a plum there because I got distracted telling him that he looked ridiculous with his hair bleached. He didn't.”

“I don't even remember how I got this one,” He chuckled, showing you one on his left side. “Just another beating one night.”

“Knife training in the Red Room,” you said, showing him various scars on your abdomen, thighs, and back. “We gave each other a bunch of these when we were practicing. Or some other times, when we were forced to fight each other until there was only one left standing. I was always that one; that's why I am alive today.”

“A building fell on me,” he added as if it was nothing while showing you other scars throughout his torso and a few on his thigh. “Some guys and I were trying to defeat The Hand, an evil-”

“Oh, that was you?” You smiled, almost proudly. “Congrats on defeating them, Dreykov considered them the competition.”

“Thank you, it wasn't easy, but it's done.” he smirked, and just then you noticed how close you were.

“Here,” You cleared your throat. You rested his hand on your left breast, making unnecessary contact with most of it as the scar was almost on the valley between them. “I got in a lot of trouble in Madripoor. In Moscow,” you continued, driving his other hand to your hip, right on your underwear. “Even New Asgard, as peaceful as it seems. I used to be a mess after Yelena disappeared along with half of us.”

Matt caressed your skin as you spoke, causing goosebumps all over your body. Your brain couldn't comprehend how you were truly feeling; all you knew is that you didn't want it to end. Neither did him, as seconds later his hands went to your neck to lift your face softly. He got closer in what felt like an eternity, and finally, Matt closed the almost non-existent gap between your lips.

Your first kiss, actually.

With all that happened to you, you never considered dating or meeting anybody. You thought you weren't reluctant to the idea, but caught yourself rejecting every person that asked you out. Therefore, you have never had real dates, kissed anybody, and much less had sex.

Being in the shower with the first man that ever ignited something in you, ironically both anger and attraction, made you want it. Crave it, even.

You moaned his name when he broke the kiss and drove his lips to your neck.

“Is this okay?”

With your breath all heavy and your heart losing a race to a lioness, you nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Matt kept kissing your neck, even going lower, careful not to get close to your open wounds. His touch muted all the pain, all long forgotten, as he moaned between each little bite. “Can I take this off?”

You hummed, letting him get rid of your soaked white and bloody sports bra.

He moaned your name. “I'll take care of you.”

“Call me it,” you told him, just like an order.

“Call you what?”

“You know,” You gripped his hair. “Sweetheart.”

“Oh, sweetheart?” Matt smirked. While you couldn't see him, you felt on the skin of your breasts the shape of his lips changing. “You're driving me insane, sweetheart.”

The sole sound of that term went from offending you to making your underwear wet with more than water.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, desperate, as your scent filled his nostrils suddenly. His lips left your nipples and went south slowly, torturing himself with the lazy rhythm. “Fuck, sweetheart-”

On his way down, now on his knees, Matt's lips stumbled upon a scar right above the black lace panties he so desperately wanted to take off.

“This one-”

Matt hushed you and traced the silhouette of your scar with kisses. He ignored the origin of it, but didn't say a word. Whatever it is, he knows it's not one to take lightly. “It's okay.”

Your hands stayed in his hair, stroking it. His played with the hem of your panties. “Do it, Matt.”

He took them off in a hurry, like he was being hunted. Hunted by the despair of tasting you for once.

Now, your scent was stronger, more invasive. Matt felt himself go hard only by imagining how it would feel to eat you out. However, he began gently kissing your thighs and meeting the scars on your legs, tracing their shapes as he passed by them. Most of them were almost completely faint, which made him realize there must've been years since you first got them. Matt wondered how long you were in the Red Room and how old you were when they began to turn you into that version of yourself you wanted to erase but don't seem to be able to leave behind.

“Can I taste you?”

You frowned but nodded, trying your best not to give away the fact that you had no experience at all. Thankfully, Matt didn't seem to notice it, or at least not yet. Not when he was incredibly busy pushing you against the walls of his shower and putting your left leg on his shoulder to get a better access to you.

He was absolutely enraptured by you and had no idea how he hadn't devoured you just yet; something inside him was telling him this was a memorable moment. When will he ever get to taste you, the woman that's had him on a chokehold for numerous reasons, for the first time again? Dear God, Matt felt like he had never wanted anybody as much as he wanted you… every attempt to push him away or insult him only made him grow more attracted to you. It was like you had some sort of string tied to him and you, and each time you interacted it grew thicker but shorter. Matt could feel physically empty whenever your interactions concluded without resolving the tension of the string—which shrinks more by the second—, and it would leave a pain in his chest, one more agonizing than all of those that have left him on the verge of death altogether. Because you were killing him in a way no tangible death could ever compare.

You looked at him, seeing how his right hand caressed the skin of your thigh delicately. The tip of his fingers was so dedicated to cherishing you somehow, giving special attention to everything that would make you flawed to any other. Matt's lips kissed your inner thighs affectionately, making you wetter and hotter with every graze of his beard on your sensitive, heated complexion. His other hand was on your hip, but in the blink of an eye, the both went to your ass and groped it hard enough to leave behind residual pain in the shape of his fingers but not to the loss of intimacy. You wondered how he could make you feel that way, but your thoughts went blank when he pulled you closer to him and gave you a long, agonizing lick.

“Oh, my God!” you almost yelled, never imagining, not in a million years, that a human being could make another feel this good. He moaned at the taste of you, the sound producing small vibrations that enhanced the pleasure Matt was giving you.

His eyes went to yours while he licked and sucked your cunt that had never known such a feeling. Your eyes stayed locked on his, even when he wasn't seeing the erotic, blissed expression dancing on your face, the hunger and devotion were crystal clear on his, all for you to gaze at. Surely, you did. Knowing what you provoked in him made you even wetter, making Matt groan; it was all so sensual and indulgent that you fought the urge to ask if he would tell a priest about this in his next confession, or maybe if he enjoyed it enough to go to Hell for it without a single regret.

If Matt's sin of choice was wrath, yours might as well be lust. Now that you experienced it, you know you would never give it up; you don't really have a chance to go to Heaven nevertheless.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, voice smokier than usual.

“Yes, fuck,” You gripped his hair and pulled him closer to you. His cocky chuckle didn't make you wait, and, while normally it would drive you insane in a bad way, right now it was the sweetest thing on Earth, Heaven, and Hell. “Rodnoy, please.”

The sudden switch to Russian turned him on. He would be embarrassed by it if he didn't have you at his mercy right above him. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You couldn't utter a word as you felt how his middle finger joined his mouth in the quest of pleasuring you. First, it teased you as if he were making fun of you in the cruelest of ways. Then, he put in two of his fingers at once.

The feeling was strange: pain and ecstasy both, blending together and taking over your whole body. The pain seemed to be the outside effect, as with every thrust of his fingers the pain of your previous injuries awoke for a brief second. The inside effect was the ecstasy, which traveled through every inch of your body to the degree that you could feel the yearning boiling your blood, frying your brain, burning your heart. Now what you truly needed was a release for all of that, and you felt closer and closer to the edge.

Matt's other hand left your thigh, and your eyes followed its path with attention. It landed on the only piece of clothing left separating you from equality of conditions. You saw how he took it off and then his attention went back to you.

You couldn't decipher what the look in his eyes meant, he looked somehow urged and furious, and then left you unattended. You thought that maybe he didn't like it that you were inspecting his every movement. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

Though, seconds later, Matt stood up and searched for signs of consent. He found them in the heat of your body, completely unrelated to the stream of warm water falling from the shower head. He found them in the beat of your heart, fast enough to mock having twice as many. He found them in the new flow of arousal leaving you at the thought of you completely naked and ready to do something you were ignorant of, and the weight of intimidation at your belief of him wanting to punish you for witnessing something you shouldn't have.

But Matt kissed you, the softness and care of the beginning long forgotten as his lips captured yours, his teeth collided with your own, and his tongue craved to fill you. And sure he did.

“Matt, Matt,” you cried out his name, feeling him get inside you slowly. “God…”

They also say that the satisfaction brought the cat back.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt groaned, his voice almost inaudible. “You feel so good. You taste so good… Fuck.”

“Fuck me,” you ordered, knowing how much you needed it and that you could take it. “Fuck me. Show me how much you want me.”

He pressed his forehead against yours and held you by the hips, and then obeyed you as if you had a say in his life. “I've wanted you since the moment I met you.”

“Yeah?” You felt your wounds open slightly at the brusque thrusts of him, but didn't consider stopping him, not even for a second.

“Yes,” he confirmed. The fresh smell of blood hit him. “Are you okay?”

You hummed and nodded urgently. “I'm perfect. Don't stop.”

“I have to… pull out, sweetheart,” he notified you as he realized he was about to come.

“Don't do it,” you countered, taking his hand and driving it to the large scar on your lower abdomen. “It's okay.”

Matt understood right away.

“I want you to come for me,” he said, approaching your lips to kiss you. The hand that was on your scar traveled south and drew circles on your clit. You felt yourself about to pass out. Or pass away.

Either way, what a way to die, you thought as you came undone. You screamed his name along a series of oh, God's, and found yourself shaking and sweating.

His neighbors are sick of hearing it.

Matt thought they should get used to the sound of your voice, because he wasn't planning on letting you go, even if it cost him his life and sent him straight to Hell.

Then, he came too, moaning and panting like an exhausted animal.

“Wow,” you muttered. He pulled out of you. “That was-”

He smirked. “Yeah, it was.”

“Yeah. I think I'm gonna faint in a second, though.”

“Stay strong a little more, alright? Let me clean you up.”

You nodded, and he drove you under the shower again. Matt cleaned you, making you flinch as he touched the areas he had overstimulated a minute ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I might lie.” you joked.

“I'll know,” he replied, knowing damn well he couldn't.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Was this your first time?”

The smallest gasp left your mouth. “What? Why are you asking me that? How would you even know that?!”

“Hey, it's just a question!” He defended himself. “You bled a little, that's how I know.”

“Well, I'm not a virgin. You're delusional.”

Matt laughed, guiding you out of the shower and putting a towel on you.

You walked to his room and once you were both sitting on his bed, Matt opened the kit and took out the tools he would need.

“Can I take you out for dinner as soon as you're a hundred percent alright?”

“Make a wish,” you told him. “I'm about to agree to a date for the first time in my life. One with you.”

He stayed silent for a few seconds. “Can I tell you my wish?”

You hummed as he began stitching the wound above your breast. “Tell me.”

“I wish for you to be a hundred percent alright as soon as possible.”

“Cute,” you noted with a smirk.

The process of him patching you up was filled with small talk and flirting. You found it ridiculous to see yourself in that situation, but you wouldn't want it any other way, to be honest.

Once he finished, he gave you one of his t-shirts and helped you put it on.

Matt left and then went back with two phones in his hand. “Save your number.”

“Aw, you want my contact in your burner phone, rodnoy?”

“I want your contact in my burner phone, yes,” he confirmed with a smile. “And what does that mean?”

You did as he asked you. “It's Russian for sweetheart.”

Matt chuckled and cupped your face. “You're cute.”

“Oh, don't you dare tell anybody, Devil.”

“I won't.” And he kissed you softly.

When you pulled away, he made you lie down on his bed and covered you with his steel blue silk bed sheets.

“Fyodor was supposed to be my friend,” you said suddenly. Matt lied right beside you, holding you close. “But he drugged me and then left me at the mercy of a man who wanted to avenge the person who stood there forcing me to kill my friends when I was a little girl in the Red Room. That's what happened tonight.”

He felt like he had never been so consumed by wrath in his entire life.

[cheers-to-you-th]

Hook, Line, and Sinker TEASER

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut !MDNI!, enemies(ish) to lovers, 1920s AU

Tags: Fluff, slow burn, 20s AU, probably angst knowing me but I haven’t finished writing so who knows, police officer!mingyu, speakeasy owner!reader

WC (teaser): 2k

Estimated Final WC: TBD

Release Date: TBD

Warnings: teaser-none

you can skip the authors note under but please read the bold part and the one under the cut.

A/N: this hasn't been proofread yet so if there's errors they'll (hopefully) be fixed when the full story is released. Feel free to tell me if you see any. Also if there’s any names that get messed up please tell me, this was originally an English assignment (I think, I wrote it last year but decided to turn it into a ff) so the names were different and it was in first person. Oh also because this is set in the U.S. the last names go last (it pained me to write it this way but having some last and some first made it really confusing. Okay I’ll stop yapping now.

Summary: Running a speakeasy isn’t the easiest of jobs, especially when you find out that there’s someone being rather loose-lipped about it. The arrival of a police officer was inevitable in this business, you just hope you can catch the rat before Officer Mingyu Kim uncovers the secret behind the quaint diner he’s investigating.

A/N: you give a fake name at the beginning, it won’t be used often but just know that the main character isn’t an OC.

Bright crimson light and smoke cloud your view, the distinct, cheap smell of Woodbine cigarettes and liquor filling your nose and numbing your senses. You scan the room, searching for any sign of a cush looking to spend some extra money. Your eyes land on an older gent sitting in the far corner of the room, dressed in a sharp suit and sipping a cocktail. Standing up and smoothing out your dark red sheath dress, you start making your way over to him.

“May I?”

He glances up at you, a small smile on his chapped and aged lips. “It’d be a pleasure.” His voice is rough, years of smoking evident, but it carries confidence and steadiness. Upon closer inspection, you notice a large scar on the hand gripping his glass. A war vet, if you had to guess.

“Ah, a Cuvée Royal. What a splendid choice.” You extend your gloved hand. “Opal Smith.”

“Colonel Charles Davis. It seems you know your liqueurs.”

You let out a chuckle and look down at your lap, feigning embarrassment. “You seem to read me well. Alas, I’ve only ever seen the beverage. It is a trying time, Colonel.”

“That it is, Ms. Smith, that it is.”

“Please, call me Opal. My brother was also in the military, so in a way, we are already familiar with each other.” His lips quirk upwards as he puts his glass down. He rests one of his hands atop yours on the table, using the other to wave toward a passing worker.

“Two more Cuvées! One for me and one for Ms. Opal over here.” His hand squeezes yours, and you force a shocked expression onto your face. Hiding your disgust is as easy as breathing now, after having done this same routine so many times before.

“Oh, Colonel, that was not my intention! You really don’t need to do such a thing for me.” You retract your hand, painting the picture of guilt, and he, as they all do, grabs it once it's resting in your lap, his calloused fingers brushing your thigh intentionally.

“Don’t mention it, dear. A pretty woman such as yourself deserves all the luxuries in life, and I am more than happy to give you such a small gift.” There’s a glint in his eye and a lilt in his tone that give away his insincerity—one you’ve seen on more men than you can count. Nevertheless, you wear a small smile as you give a slight nod, glancing once more at your lap. His free hand moves toward your chin, forcing it upward. Your eyes widen in mock confusion.

“Now, darling, don’t be so shy. I’ll buy you all the drinks in this bar if I must.” As if on cue, your drinks are placed on the table. You gently remove your hand from his, inwardly rolling your eyes as he doesn’t move his, instead securing it firmly on your thigh.

You softly bring the glass to your mouth, letting the cool liquid make its way down your throat. Colonel Davis watches you expectantly as he sips his own glass, his eyes shifting to where the glass meets your lips.

“It’s wonderful! Unlike any drink I’ve ever tasted!” you say, forcing a smile. The drink isn't unpleasant, but it is far from what a true champagne would taste like—because your drink is, in fact, ginger ale. If you don’t look too closely, it’s a fine replica. The Colonel, however, is ever so pleased with your performance, watching as you take one sip after another until the contents are nothing more than mint leaves with ice.

“I’m ever so grateful, the drink was amazing. Why, I’d drink a gallon more if I could!”

The man smiles at you as he finishes his own, real Cuvée, and flags the same worker as before. This time, when your lips curl upward slightly, it is not a front as he orders two more beverages. The only thought in your mind is… hook, line, and sinker.

Two hours and three drinks later, the once distinguished man has become a blubbering mess, spouting nonsense of war, women, and conspiracies. His hand, which once rested on your thigh, has migrated to your waist at some point or another, and his groping has become less and less subtle.

“Now, deary... how about I take you on a niiice drive to my... place, huh?” His words are slurred and slow, his hand tightening its grip around your dress. You place your hand atop his, gently removing it from its resting place.

You allow him to guide you out of the hidden door round’ back of Crystal Corner, your dear diner, letting out hums of acknowledgement as he prattles on.

“Opal Smith, what do you think you’re doing?” An angry woman's voice cuts through the chatter. You jump, seeming startled as the voice’s owner marches over to you.

Haneul Shin, your dear friend and colleague, feigns anger, practiced as much as your flirtatiousness. She’s a stout woman barely double your age, with brown hair pulled into a neat bun sitting at her nape, a few grey strands peeking their way through the darker color.

“Mother!” you gasp.

“Now listen here, young lady! You are coming home with me at once! I really can’t believe you, running around with a new man every other day! Come now.” Her voice is clear and stern. The Colonel glances at you, as if double-checking that you are the same woman he exited the bar with not one minute ago. You bow your head low and meekly make your way to her.

“I’m terribly sorry, Colonel Davis. It was really a pleasure to be in your company,” you remark before reaching Haneul, who grabs your wrist in an aggressive motion—although her grip is anything but.

“And you! A Colonel, was it?” She accuses, “To think you’d hang around such a young girl—shame on you!”

Colonel Charles Davis, for the first time that evening, is dumbfounded. The mixture of alcohol and shock leaves him stuttering an apology, claiming misunderstanding, before he quickly runs off.

–

Haneul and you, after making sure the older man is gone, silently make your way back to the rear of the diner’s exterior. At a glance, it looks like a normal outside seating area, curving around from the side to the front. Circular tables are evenly spaced with bright white umbrellas perched atop a pole in the center of each; a white-painted wooden bench sits appealingly next to a phone booth of the same hue. The area looks completely normal, having almost an innocent, youthful aura—if you didn’t know any better.

You quickly enter the phone booth and dial 27978252. A faint click signals you to push gently on the back, and it leads you back into the speakeasy. Upon entrance is a hallway, about ten feet long. Two mahogany doors line the left wall, restrooms marked for ladies or gents. A neon sign at the end of the hallway reads Crystal Cove, and the short hallway leads to the busy bar you were previously in. Instead of going straight, however, you turn right to a single door—mahogany like the others—with the word STAFF written boldly. Haneul follows as you fetch a key from its hiding spot in the top of your dress and insert it into the round handle of the door.

Once the door is locked behind you, you make eye contact before doubling over with laughter.

“How much did my dearest daughter swindle today?” Haneul says between laughs.

“Enough to give my sweet mother a better allowance,” you respond.

The server, who provided drinks for the Colonel and you, walks into the room. He gives you an exasperated look that only makes your laughter grow.

“And?” questions Heneul. “The verdict, Mr. Boo?”

With a small smile accompanied by a roll of the eyes, he pulls the bills from his pocket and places them in your hand.

You count them carefully, fingers moving deftly over the crisp paper. Thirty-six dollars—more than most honest folks make in a month. 

“Thirty-six,” you repeat, placing the money into a locked cash box under the desk. “It’ll do.” Haneul lets out a satisfied huff and leans against the desk, arms crossed.

Seungkwan Boo leans against the desk, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. “You’re getting sloppy, ‘Opal’. That old geezer barely needed two drinks before spilling his war stories all over you.”

Haneul snorts, unlacing her stiff shoes with a sigh. “Oh, leave her be. He was a rat with a fat wallet. Would’ve been a waste not to bleed him dry.”

You smirk, but the humor doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“Speaking of rats…” Your gaze flickers toward Seungkwan. “There’s talk that a copper’s got wind of us. Someone’s been tipping off the authorities about speakeasies in the area.”

Your smile falters for the first time that night. “How close?”

“Close enough. Word is, he’s sniffing around the diner.”

You exchange a glance with Haneul before schooling your expression back into something unreadable. “Well,” you say lightly, “it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Seungkwan doesn’t look convinced. “Y/n…” your real name slips past his lips.

“I’ll handle it.” You assure him.

“I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Seungkwan offers, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if they’re already looking into the diner, we need to be extra careful with how we’re running things.”

“I know,” you say, “But have a little faith in your boss will you? Like I said, I’ll handle it.”

Seungkwan snorts. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

You grin as you push past him. “By being exactly who I’ve always been—a sweet, hardworking woman who wouldn’t dream of breaking the law.”

And with that, you head out the back, your mind already spinning with the possibilities.

—

Your normal Wednesday routine starts as it should, you pick up the liquor at the docs (it’s concealed well in boxes disguised as some foreign product) in the morning, putting it in the trunk of your car as you drive to your sister’s house to unload. You grab one of her strollers, neatly tucking the three bottles of wine in a hidden compartment in the bottom as Mina dresses herself for another day at the office. Her husband went M.I.A in the Great War, leaving the two of you to support each other and the child. Your mother was a help, of course, but as she ages you try to give her as much luxury as you can. Mina hands you your dear nephew with a smile, “Don’t get in trouble.” She says, kissing your cheek before walking out the door and driving away. 

Little Minjun coos at you in his swaddle and you can’t resist the urge to squish his cheeks gently before setting him in his stroller, “You ready, my little crime lord?”

Exiting the house, you push the old pram down the street, its wheels rattling slightly against the uneven pavement.  As you near the diner, you spot a man lingering near the entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sharply dressed in an officer’s uniform, he stands out from the usual lunchtime crowd. His gaze is sharp, scanning the area with a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch for just a moment before you force yourself to keep moving.

He looks up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Afternoon, miss.” You glance at his badge that reads CPL M.KIM.

You offer a polite smile, slowing your steps. “Afternoon, officer.”

His gaze flickers to the pram. “That your baby?”

“Oh, no,” you say, laughing softly. “My sister’s. I’m just dropping him off at my mother’s before my shift.”

He nods, relaxing slightly. “Good of you to help out. Not easy, raising a kid these days.”

“No, it isn’t,” you agree. “But the diner’s really quite accommodating towards these sorts of things. I work there as a cook most days.”

His lips quirk in a slight smile. “That so?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “Would you like a table, officer?”

“Mingyu,” he corrects. “And yeah, I think I’ll sit for a bit.”

[sunnie-angel]

Part 14: The Replacement

part 13 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason's got a new ally and starts to make new connections about what's really going on in gotham

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.8k

a/n: so. it's been a while. mostly i was afraid of writing stephanie brown for the first time (and if she seems ooc, i'm still working on it) but i promise the end is in sight for this fic.

Jason’s got to hand it to Barbara, she’s a problem solver. Not only has Dick been warned to stay far, far away for now, but he’s actually listening to her. Shocker. It’s been weeks of patrol and Jason hasn’t seen a slip of blue fluttering at the edges of his territory the way he’d expected to. Getting the full brunt of the Dick Grayson Puppy Eyes Experience is a lot. Jason had let it distract him from his goal, but no more. Playing at happy family can wait. It’s a bitter thing, this pain in his chest that for all his family says they love him, none of them will listen to him. But to Babs? Well her words are worth their weight in gold apparently.

Jason lands on the next rooftop a little harder, pebbles crunching under his feet as he rolls to absorb the shock. He pants, breath coming out in harsh waves as he shakes the landing off, before backing up to get his next running start. It’s an easy rhythm to fall into, on that doesn’t let him dwell on any uncomfortable thoughts. He’s got an objective and a time limit and that’s all he needs to know.

He’s not late – he’d left with plenty of time to make it – but Spoiler is already waiting for him. Smart. She’s had time to survey the ground, to use the terrain to her advantage before meeting him alone. Funny, Jason doesn’t think he’s seen her without one of the other Bats running interference. He’s turned tail and beat a hasty tactical retreat several times after catching sight of Spoiler purple next to Red Robin crimson on a rooftop. Grit crunches under the rubber sole of his boots as he makes his way to the building’s exhaust vent, letting it shelter him from the wind. Spoiler tracks him, body pivoting so that she never gets caught with him in her blind-spot. A habit, one probably engrained by Red Robin. Jason might not be tangled back up in the inner circles of the family but he’s got eyes and ears enough to know that they’re close. The lighter flickers in his hand but the cigarette catches. Not really a wise choice to be letting his guard down so quickly, not when Spoiler is so clearly still sizing him up, but its the closest thing to an olive branch he can manage.

“Oracle says you’ve got a serial killer problem you can’t handle.” She breaks the silence first. The first drag of the cigarette fills his lungs, the cold of the wind pinking his ears, and for a moment Jason wishes he had the hood on instead.

“Wouldn’t say I can’t handle it,” he says between draws on his cigarette. “But I need fresh eyes, more eyes.” Somewhere in the distance a siren wails. Neither of them move.

“Anybody else could have looked at the case,” is what she says finally. “D—Nightwing was practically begging to.”

“An’ he woulda been so focused on reforming me, he woulda forgotten about the case entirely.” The ash never hits the ground when Jason taps at his cigarette, the wind whisking it away.

“And you think I won’t?” She asks.

Jason scoffs. “I don’t think you give a shit about me. I think you give a shit about dead girls turning up in a part of town that’s not too far in your rearview mirror.”

Spoiler’s shoulders sag, her weight coming off the balls of her feet. “Fine. I’ll help for them, not you, got it?”

“Oh reading you loud and clear, don’t you worry.”

Spoiler drifts closer. Not close enough to get within grabbing distance but close enough that the wind doesn’t carry his words away. Jason pulls a thumb-drive out of his jacket pocket and tosses it her way. She catches it, as expected, and squints at it as if it might begin to bite.

“That’s everythin’ I got.” Jason nods at the drive. “But the phone calls are missin’. That’s what we need from O.”

“Phone calls,” Spoiler repeats flatly.

Jason sighs. “It’s in the file. The victims were taken on a Friday night but they made phone calls to a loved one early Saturday morning. The ones that did pick up won’t tell the police what was said and I haven’t been able to get ahold of the voicemails.”

The thumb-drive disappears into Spoiler’s gloved hand as she clenches her fist around it. Jason tries not to let the relief he feels show.

“I’ll see what I can do,” is her tight lipped reply.

Jason stubs out the cigarette, the cherry embers neatly extinguished. It’s a cold night, windy too. Soon all traces of their meeting will disappear into the night with them. Jason turns to leave, but Spoiler’s voice stops him.

“Hood? We might be working together on this but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Jason should have worn the Hood. It hides his expressions much better. This had been the moment he’d been waiting for all evening, hadn’t it? She shouldn’t trust him, not by any stretch of the imagination. It means she won’t take any of his investigation without tablespoons of salt. She’ll catch something – she has to, for your sake –  something that Dick in all his heartfelt soppiness over Jason’s new life would have missed. That doesn’t make the sting of it any less, the aching relief of pressing down on a bruise to find the bone unbroken under it. He doesn’t turn to face her, simply throws the glib words over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Stephanie Brown contacts him four days later, a text to a cellphone he definitely didn’t give her the number for, and arranges to meet. The coffee shop is cozy, one of those quirky independent shops where all the drinks are named ‘death by caffeine’ or ‘kill me quicker’, the corner she’s picked out suitably isolated from any of the other customers. Jason stares down at her furiously typing away on her laptop completely oblivious to his presence, and sighs before trundling off to the counter.

“Can I get whatever you’ve got that’s closest to a flat white and a refill for her?” He nods at Stephanie’s still oblivious hunched over figure.

“Sure! That’ll be one ‘Drowned in the Milky Way’ and a ‘Helado de Café Homicide’’ the barista says far too cheerfully and Jason makes sure to tip her extra.

Stephanie startles when Jason places the mug down in front of her and he does his best to hold in his sigh. Really, what is B teaching them these days?

“Thought you could use that,” he says, settling into the chair across from her. It’s too small for his frame but he tries not to let the discomfort show. There’s a fine line between her distrust and her disgust and only one of those things is going to help him here.

She swigs back a grateful gulp, a thin line of foam painting a moustache on her face. Rummaging in her back, she pulls out a manila folder. Eager, Jason reaches for it but she surprises him with her speed, pulling it out of his reach.

“Barbara got the transcripts.” Jason nods, then settles in to hear what she’s found. Nothing good by the dark circles under her eyes and the flat affect of her voice. “Are you sure that the first victim was the first one in the file?”

“Went back six months in the coroner’s files, wasn’t anythin’ close to this,” he tells her. His knee starts to jiggle unconsciously.

“There’s— there’s something in the calls, something that feels like he’s making them reference a specific event,” she starts slowly. “He’s made all of the women say variations of “he’s going to finally put holes in the pretty one��� and “he’s gonna show the world what a bitch the lady is, toss her out so we can all get on with our nights”, stuff like that.”

Jason can’t feel the chair under him anymore. He can barely hear Stephanie calling his name over the roar in his ears and the echoing memories of a gun, an alley, a man. His mouth is dry, so dry. Thud thud thud goes his heart knocking against his ribs. The cup handle breaks off in his hand, the sting of the cut bringing him back into the present.

“There was—“ he stops, clearing his throat. “There was an attempted robbery. In November. The robber he— he said those things.”

“Okay well good, we can follow up on that.” Stephanie smiles.

“Can’t,” he croaks. Is the room getting smaller? It feels like the room is getting smaller. “I was there. Me an’ a friend. A friend that looks just like all the other victims.”

“Oh,” is all Stephanie says, leaning heavily back in her chair. “Well isn’t that a good thing? He’d be in the system from when you turned him in. It sucks that your friend got pulled into this but at least we can put this to rest.”

“Can’t.” Jason knows that he’s parroting himself again but he’s currently stifling the urge to go screaming through the streets. “Never turned him in.”

“Okay so if he’s dead, then it’s got to be someone else that overheard—”

“He’s not dead,” Jason interrupts her. God he’s so fucking stupid. He should have— have killed the guy when he had the chance or called it in to one of the Bats to take care of but no. He’d taken one look at your tearstained, vacant face and panicked.

“So he’s...” Stephanie says leadingly, confusion plain on her face.

“No clue. My friend was...she was in shock, I had to get her out of there.”

Stephanie stares at him. Jason stares back. She chugs the rest of her drink.

“Okay! Okay so we know that the killing started after this guy tried to rob you. I’m assuming he failed?” She levels him with a look and he nods. “Oh you’re really, really gonna hate this next part then.”

Very, very consciously Jason pushes the mug and its broken handle away from him on the table.

“I think he knows your friend.”

Red crescents are carved into Jason’s palm, his nails drawing more blood.

“Why,” he grits through clenched teeth.

“It was Babs that flagged it, not me, but the nature of the killings, the taunting phone calls, it all reads extremely personal. Beyond just the mugging.”

Jason can’t— there’s not enough air. He has to see you. Now. Needs to know that you’re alive and safe, tucked away in your shoebox of an apartment. He sees them – your friends, your coworkers, hell even the bus driver on your route home – faces grinning in the shadows. He can’t be here anymore.

part 15

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 9 - The Point Of No Return Summary: You choose to spend the night with Arthur, seeking warmth and solace in each other's arms as the storm rages outside. But as the night deepens, so does the pull between you, an unstoppable tide of desire that neither of you can no longer resist. wc: 19.7k (good god) tw: NSFW 18+, minors DNI. More under the cut. There is so many, its diabolical. Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Surprise, I said I would post this tomorrow but I actually finished it early! Oh boy, here we go. I am so out of touch with reality, touching grass is not nearly enough. Cheers!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @misosoup1001 @sarah-heyes @kindadolly @atticssmellgood @bomdada

tw: pwp. monster genitalia. two cocks. oral!both recieving. p in v, no protection. breeding kink. creampies. anal. double penetration. overstimulation. biting. primal mating instincts. dirty talk. slight pain kink. That about covers it!

I was done fighting this—done pretending my body didn’t crave him, that my soul wasn’t drawn to his like the tide to the moon. We were two creatures who should never have found each other, never have touched, never have felt this unbearable pull. 

I am human. Arthur is… not. Half-man, half-siren—a being my people dismissed as myths, whispered as warnings, something both beautiful and terrible, born of the abyss.

But he wasn’t a nightmare to me. He was a promise. One wrapped in the shimmer of a pearl, in the memory of his lips and tongue claiming me as if I already belonged to him.

I was so afraid that if I spoke one more word I’d blurt out that I was in love with him. And that was insane. I wanted to ask—did he feel it too? Could sirens even feel love? Or was this just instinct, some primal need woven into his nature? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I cared. Not when his hand slid lower, heat blooming beneath my skin where his palm lingered, leaving a fire that only he could quench.

Tonight, one way or another, I would give myself to him. I would let him take me, claim me, drown me in the depths of whatever this was. And gods help me, I was ready to beg for it.

I had no idea what it meant to be his mate. Was I about to make a terrible mistake?

Those thoughts shattered the moment his thumb grazed over my hardened nipple, slow and deliberate, as if testing how much I could take. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

With his chest flush against my back, the storm outside raged on, wind howling, rain battering the facility’s walls—but it was nothing compared to the storm unraveling between us. The heat of his body seeped through my clothes, igniting every nerve in my skin. A soft, breathless moan escaped my lips as he rolled the sensitive peak between his fingers, and I felt the warm rush of air from his gills, a shuddering exhale against my shoulder, like he was sighing in bliss.

“You’re sensitive here,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with quiet reverence, as if he was making some careful observation rather than teasing me to the edge of madness.

I nodded, arching ever so slightly, seeking more. “Yes… I am.” The words came out uneven, little more than a whisper, but he hummed in response, a pleased, knowing sound that sent a thrill through my belly.

The barrier of my clothing was unbearable, tormenting, and I silently pleaded for him to tear it away—to rid me of anything that kept his skin from mine. But Arthur, ever patient, took his time. One hand continued its torturous attention to my breasts, rolling and pinching the stiffened peaks, while the other drifted lower, tracing slow, teasing circles over my stomach. Each movement burned, his webbed fingers barely skimming the waistband of my pants, making me tremble with anticipation.

I rocked my hips forward, a silent plea, urging him to touch me where I ached the most. Instead, Arthur leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of my throat, warm breath fanning against my skin before his teeth ghosted over the pulse hammering beneath. The first pass of his tongue sent shivers through me, a slow, sinuous lick that left a trail of heat in its wake. I moaned, tilting my head, offering him more, and he took it—pressing his mouth to the column of my throat, drinking in every quiver, every shudder.

He could taste it, I realized. The need thrumming through me, the way my body betrayed me with every ragged breath, every rapid beat of my heart. Sirens could sense desire—could drown themselves in it. And Arthur… Arthur was reveling in it.

He pinched my nipple again, rougher this time, sending another wave of pleasure spiraling through me. My hips jerked, seeking friction, and before I could stop myself, I reached up. My fingers tangled in the damp hair at the base of his skull, clutching him to me. A deep, rumbling growl of pleasure vibrated against my skin, his grip tightening as his body rocked into mine.

There was no denying it now. The proof of his own need pressed against me, hard and insistent beneath his scales. His breathing had turned heavier, rougher, lips still tracing along my throat, tasting, savoring, claiming.

We were both unraveling, caught in the storm we had no hope of escaping.

Spreading his fingers wide, he finally dipped below my waistband, and my breath stilled, caught somewhere between anticipation and desperation. His touch was torturously slow as he explored lower, gliding through the dark curls before slipping into the slick heat waiting for him. My body welcomed him eagerly, a moan tumbling from my lips, raw and pleading.

Arthur hissed out a long, shuddering breath against my ear, the sound vibrating through me. His fingers flexed, carefully angling to keep his claws from scraping my sensitive skin, moving with a gentleness that made my chest ache. He explored me as if I were something sacred, something fragile despite the hunger in his touch. I arched into him, seeking more, but his palm remained just out of reach. Teasing. Testing. My frustration curled into something hotter, needier.

The webs between his fingers pressed into me, creating delicious ridges that dragged against my throbbing core. Every slow, gliding stroke sent a pulse of heat rolling through my spine. Fuck. It felt so good. So devastatingly good.

“My girl,” he growled, his voice molten, so deep and low that it settled in my bones. “You are wet… and so soft.”

The way he bit out that last word, rough and devout, sent a thrill down my spine. A whimper left my throat before I could stop it.

Arthur pressed his lips against the shell of my ear. “Move your hips for me, pretty girl. I want to watch you ride my hand.”

Something inside me shattered. A new sound spilled from me—a mix between a cry and a whimper, need unraveling into something desperate. Leaning back against him, I let my body move like a wave, rolling into his touch. Each slow, purposeful grind against his fingers had heat licking up my spine, my moans growing softer, breathier. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but fuck—he felt perfect.

I opened my eyes, my vision hazy, only to be met with Arthur’s gaze—those dark, endless pools drinking me in as his hand disappeared between my thighs. His lips curled, tongue darting out as if he could taste every slick, needy sound filling the space between us. His pupils flared, hunger darkening his expression.

Arthur leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. “Close your eyes… just feel.”

A shudder ripped through me at the command, his voice dripping with something possessive, something all-consuming.

My cheeks burned, heat licking up my neck as my breath turned frantic, every exhale breaking into little gasps. I changed my rhythm, rolling my hips faster, pressing harder, chasing that rising heat curling tight in my core. The tension coiled, winding itself into something unbearable—until it snapped.

Pleasure crashed over me like a wave, thighs shaking as I shattered around him. A long, drawn-out moan broke free from my lips, my body trembling, muscles clenching around the fingers still stroking me through it.

Arthur held me close, one hand slipping up to cup my chin, tilting my face toward his. His lips found mine in a kiss that was slow, claiming, fervent.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth. His voice was hoarse, filled with something deeper than lust. “You come so pretty, my girl.”

Drawing his fingers out, I caught the glistening evidence of my desire illuminated in the soft, pulsing glow of his bioluminescence. My breath hitched as I watched, completely entranced, while he brought his fingers to his mouth, those dark lips parting just enough for that inky blue tongue to flick out. He sucked his fingers in slowly, deliberately, his tongue lapping at his palm with a deep, indulgent hum. The ridges along the surface of it caught my attention, my mind spiraling with the thought of how they might feel dragging over my skin, exploring every inch of me.

It must feel incredible.

Arthur's gills flared wide, both at his neck and ribs, revealing the delicate, pink membranes hidden within. A shudder rolled through his body, his exhale coming out as something primal, something utterly unrestrained.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, his voice a low, reverberating thing that seemed to vibrate through my core, settling deep between my legs. “Whatever this is, I wish to coat myself in it.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up my spine, setting my skin ablaze with anticipation. And then, finally, his hands were on me again—frantic, needy—tugging at my clothes as though they were the only thing keeping him from fully devouring me. His fingers trembled slightly as they pulled at the fabric, urgency seeping into every movement.

Like I might vanish with the wind.

He yanked at my top, and I lifted my arms to help him, the garment disappearing in one swift motion. But my pants proved more of an ordeal—my legs shook as I tried to help, my body already weakened from his touch. Arthur let out a soft growl, impatience flashing across his face before he took control. His large hands wrapped around my calf, spinning me effortlessly toward him. My breath left me in a rush as he dragged my pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, the brush of his fingertips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through me.

Then he tossed them aside, forgotten.

For the first time, I stood completely bare before him. The heavy humid air kissed my overheated skin, briefly cooling the sweat that clung to me, but I barely noticed. My entire world had narrowed to the man in front of me, to the way his glowing skin reflected off the curves of my body, making me feel like something otherworldly myself.

Arthur drank me in, his gaze searing and hungry. Barely contained restraint coiled through his muscles, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap.

I should be afraid. A small, distant voice in my head whispered that I should tell him to stop. That I was standing before something not entirely human, something born from myth, from nightmares.

But I wasn’t afraid.

Somewhere deep inside me, I knew he would be gentle. That he would take his time before fully claiming me.

And all at once, I wanted to know him. To explore him. And to be explored. I had a feeling Arthur wanted the same thing. 

"Teach me how humans mate," Arthur spoke, his voice rough, the words clawing up his throat like he was trying—desperately—to hold himself back.

I faced him fully now, shuffling forward on my knees, closing the space between us until my breasts nearly brushed against his chest. His breathing was uneven, ragged, his gills flaring open as though he couldn’t quite get enough air. I tried to keep my focus locked onto his face, not letting my gaze drift too low—to where his human torso met the shimmering scales of his tail. That junction between two worlds, two forms.

Instead, I leaned in, close enough that the delicate fins near where his ear would be quivered from my breath.

"Remember when I said humans like to kiss everywhere?" I asked, voice soft, teasing.

Arthur nodded, the movement stiff, restrained. Something inside me thrilled at the way he held himself so still, at the way his body hummed with tension just beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the moment to strike.

A rush of boldness overtook me, a primal instinct answering his own. Slowly, I lifted one knee over his lap, straddling him fully, my weight settling onto the powerful expanse of his tail. The moment our bodies met, slick against slick, his breath hitched. He was wet—just as wet as I was—and that realization sent a spark of heat raging through me, settling low in my stomach.

I felt my lips brush against the sensitive seam of his mating slit, the place where he was still keeping himself hidden from me. Not yet, his body seemed to say. Not until he was ready. But he felt me there, pressing against that heat, and his whole frame went rigid beneath me.

Like he was unsure what to do next.

I let my full weight sink down on him, savoring the way his hands flexed against me, how his fingers twitched at my waist like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. Reaching for one of those broad, webbed hands, I guided it to my breast, shivering as he cupped me with a gentleness that made my stomach tighten. His fingers squeezed—tentative at first, then firmer as he felt my body respond to his touch.

"Well..." I exhaled, breathless, eyes fluttering shut as a slow, aching warmth spread through my core. "Kiss me wherever you like."

A sharp sound tore from his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, his fingers spasming at my waist. Then he moved—instinct taking over—his head dipping low as he pressed a lazy, weighted lick over the curve of my breast.

Heat flashed through me, my back bowing as a startled hiss escaped my lips. Arthur didn’t stop. His tongue, ridged and hot, dragged over my nipple in a long, sweeping stroke, the sensation nearly overwhelming. The growl that rumbled against my skin only made the coil inside me tighten further.

Gods above.

His mouth—that mouth—latched onto me, his lips sealing over the sensitive bud, sucking, tasting, devouring. His tongue flicked, his sharp teeth grazing my skin without breaking it, just a whisper of danger curling at the edges of pleasure.

I arched against him, hands flying to his head, fingers digging into the thick, damp strands of his hair as I held him there, desperate for more. Arthur made a sound of approval, the vibrations rippling straight through me, and then his other hand traced up my spine, urging me to lean back, offering myself to him.

And I did.

I let him hold me open, let my body stretch and bend for him. And as I shifted, as my hips rolled forward, I felt it—something new.

Instead of the firm, smooth ridges of his finger webs, this time, I met something softer. Something slick and hot and pulsing. My clit rubbed against his, throbbing and oh so sensitive. The folds of his slit pressed against me, and I realized—our bodies were kissing in more ways than one.

But fuck, those ridges.

They were so distracting, so different—so much a reminder that he was not a human man. And yet, that only fueled my hunger, my need to know him, to understand every foreign, exquisite part of him. I wanted to know every difference. Every inch. Every piece that set him apart.

I dragged my nails down the back of his neck, tracing the delicate, bioluminescent patterns there, feeling the warmth of his blood pulsing just beneath the surface. The tremor that coursed through him at my touch. And beneath me—gods—I could feel the steady, pulsing rhythm of his twin heartbeats against my clit, where we met, where our heat mixed and tangled. A rhythm that felt dangerously in sync with my own.

A deep, guttural growl erupted from his chest, vibrating through my skin, making my stomach tighten with longing. The sound was primal, possessive, a predator reveling in his claim.

I wanted him to lose control. Wanted to feel him shatter against me.

Then there was a sharp nip.

Arthurs lips left my breast, only for his sharp teeth to close over my nipple in a teasing bite. I gasped, a quick, startled sound, pleasure tinged with the faintest sting—until his tongue was there, soothing, laving over the mark with slow, languid strokes. My head tipped back, spine curving as I let myself feel it. The wet heat, the soft scrape of ridges. 

Those iridescent threads. His mark.

He pulled back, his eyes locked onto my chest, staring at where his mouth had been. Something primal flashed across his features, a mix of pride and possession.

Following his gaze, I looked down. Beautiful, glimmering strands of his touch radiated from my nipple, delicate yet meticulous. The patterns mirrored those that lined his tail—intricate, artistic, like brushstrokes from a painter’s hand.

I shuddered. He was painting me. Claiming me.

“I like it,” I whispered, voice breathy, tinged with wonder. “I like knowing that you were here.”

And I did. Gods help me, I really did.

The thought of his marks hidden beneath my clothes—just like the ones on my ear, little pinpricks of salt-laced pain—it thrilled me. A reminder that I was taking something ancient, something untamed, to my bed. Arthur wasn’t human, and that truth only made me crave him more. And he would take me exactly how he wanted.

Arthur’s smile stretched across his face, soft at the edges but smoldering in the center. It was slow and devastating. His eyes crinkled as he licked his lips—as if he could still taste me there.

“I lose myself when you touch me, my love.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.”

His hands slid up my thighs, fingers lingering, exploring, memorizing. Then, with effortless strength, he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around my back as he carried me with him into the water.

The coolness rushed over me in a stark contrast to the feverish heat we had built between us, and I gasped as the sensation sent goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"I want to savor you," Arthur murmured, voice like a promise against my lips. "Not rush this."

I shuddered at the promise in his voice. “Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

Leaning up, I let my tongue glide from his lips to his throat and then gills, feeling his skin twitch beneath the touch. The reaction was instant, involuntarily. A shudder wracked through him, his gills flaring wide, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass with a bruising grip.

A pleased growl rumbled from his chest, deep and low. “Gods, you are so fucking perfect.”

And then he sealed his mouth over mine once again. The moment I breathed him in, he pulled me under.

The water enveloped us in a cool, silken embrace, the world above dissolving into muted ripples. My senses sharpened—the strength of his arms around me, the steady thrumming of his twin heartbeats against my chest, the way his body fit against mine as if molded by the sea itself. His lips never left mine, coaxing, devouring, claiming.

Beneath the water, we moved as one, our bodies shifting, adjusting, discovering. Fingers tracing, mouths tasting, breaths mingling in the space between us.

I opened my eyes, finding his already watching me. And in that endless, glowing blue, I saw it—the hunger, the awe, the reverence.

This was no simple act of desire. Arthur wasn’t just taking me. He was drowning in me. 

And gods help me, I wanted to drown with him.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Moving quickly through the tank, I had little time to process exactly where Arthur was taking me. The water, dark and thick, swirled around us, alive with hidden movement. 

I closed my eyes, leaning in closer, tucking my head under Arthur's chin as he guided us effortlessly through the darkness. Trusting him, every inch of me surrendering to the rhythm of his movements. There was a strange peace in that—letting go completely, not needing to know where we were headed.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my mind. Was he taking me back to his underwater cave? That dark, secret place where he'd made a nest for himself? It seemed cozy for someone like him, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I would fit into that picture. It was his world, and the thought of mating there instead of making love like humans did felt strangely daunting. It was as if everything about him was alien, untouchable, even though his touch burned through me with a heat I couldn’t escape.

I tried to push the thought aside. I could breathe through him, of course, but the idea of slipping up—of inhaling a lungful of water—sent a sudden pang of fear through me. The panic threatened to pull me out of the moment, to make me pull away, but then I felt him, strong and sure, guiding us deeper.

The faint sound of a lock clicking, followed by the soft hiss of something sliding open, pulled my attention back. What was that? Had he figured out a way to enter different parts of the tank? My thoughts swirled with curiosity, but before I could process it, he pushed us to the surface.

The cool rush of air met my face, and I inhaled deeply, tasting the fresh sea salt on my tongue. I opened my eyes, blinking to adjust to the change in light. It took me a moment, but then it hit me. I recognized the space around us.

We were in the Atlantic seal exhibit—the one at the back of the facility. It was open-air, but sheltered beneath a massive pavilion. The glass walls that surrounded the pool protected the seals from the elements, and the storm outside was beginning to lose its fury.

The seals had been brought inside for safety, their sleek bodies resting in the shallows. The water here was calm, warm, and much shallower than before, and the edges of the pool curved, inviting the seals to rest on the soft dips. It felt almost tranquil, a contrast to the storm that raged just beyond the walls.

But what truly caught my attention, what held me in place for a moment, was the view beyond the glass.

The open ocean stretched out below us, a wild, dark expanse, and the last remnants of the hurricane were fading away. The clouds were parting slowly, leaving behind a blanket of stars, so sharp and vivid they almost seemed too close. The storm’s thunder had quieted to a low rumble in the distance, almost like the earth itself was sighing in relief.

For a fleeting second, it felt as if the world had slowed, as if I could see everything in the universe, all at once, and still—I only wanted him.

Arthur released me from his embrace, and I slowly stepped away, my feet barely reaching the bottom of the pool as I moved toward the glass. The water lapped softly around me, the ripples glistening in the dim light as I knelt on the dip in the pool, pushing myself out of the water. As I did, gooseflesh prickled across my skin, a divergence from the heat that still lingered on me from his touch. 

The ocean breeze, cool and refreshing, swept through me, kissing my flesh like a lover’s soft caress. I closed my eyes and let it wash over, feeling the weight of the storm outside beginning to recede, and I drank in the sensation. The air felt pure, eclectic, a relief from the suffocating humidity of the facility without its air circulation.

I savored the moment, as if the world had paused just for me to take it in.

I felt him before I heard him. Arthur, swimming up behind me, his presence as natural as the water that flowed around us. He joined my side, his movements fluid and effortless. He pushed himself up onto the lip of the pool, his torso settling comfortably on the edge. His gaze, however, was lost, staring beyond the glass, at the endless stretch of ocean and the crashing waves below. 

There was something about the way he looked out at it, a deep, quiet longing that tugged at something inside me. His muscles rippled slightly, his back arched in a way that made the light catch on his skin, revealing the subtle curve of his powerful form.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, his voice thick and low, full of unspoken emotions, “I’ve been sneakin’ in here after hours to watch the sunrise.”

I glanced up at him, my heart skipping a beat at the way he seemed to blend into the shadows and the soft light, almost as if he were part of the ocean itself. I stood on the dipped edge of the pool, my head barely reaching his chin, and I felt the vulnerability of the moment—the closeness between us, but also the weight of his words.

With gentle hands, I brought his face back to mine, my fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. I tilted his head just enough to look into his eyes, hoping he could see my sincerity, the quiet plea in my gaze.

“You can go wherever you please, Arthur,” I whispered, my voice soft but certain. “This place,” I swept my arm around the pool, motioning to the space around us, “this facility—it’s not a cage. If you wish to leave, I’ll make it happen.” My throat tightened as I searched for the right words. "I never want you to feel like you're..." I trailed off, knowing it wasn’t as simple as that.

Arthur’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, but it was his eyes that spoke louder than any words. They told me something far more complicated than just the idea of freedom. They told me about a man torn between the world he was forced to live in and the world he wanted. 

And as much as I wanted to give him everything, to take him away from all this, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. 

I swallowed, feeling the weight of the truth settle in my chest. No matter how I spun it, the truth was clear—he was trapped here, at least for now. The world outside had hurt him too much. The people who had done this to him needed to be held accountable, and I would make sure they were. Whether it was behind bars, or not breathing at all. But for now, we were stuck in this cage together.

Before I could voice any of those tangled thoughts, Arthur’s deep voice, familiar and reassuring, rumbled through me, “I’m right where I want to be, darlin’.”

And in that moment, with the soft crash of the waves and the quiet hum of the night around us, I realized that maybe he was right.

Leaning down, Arthur captured me in another kiss, his lips devouring mine with an urgency that took my breath away. His hands grasped me tightly, pulling me closer, and as I moved, his tail slid between my legs, the strong muscles and smooth scales gliding against my clit. The heat surged back, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the water, as if it had never truly left. I felt the pulse of his presence in every inch of my skin, the weight of him, the intensity of everything that had brought us here.

In this position, Arthur was above me, his body looming like a protective force, a reminder of that first morning we spent together. That day, when I had explored him with nothing but curiosity and a featherlight touch, unsure of what I would find. Now, it was a different kind of exploration, deeper, more intimate. 

My fingers traced down his neck, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath my touch, and then over the delicate curve of his gills. They fluttered under my fingertips like fragile wings, their texture a world of their own. I marveled at how strong and yet so vulnerable they were, the way they moved with his breath, rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrored the twin heartbeats within his chest.

When my hands reached the larger gills on his side, Arthur froze. I could feel his body tense, every muscle going rigid at the lightest touch. I ghosted my fingers over the delicate filaments, and he shuddered beneath me, his breath hitching.

"S-sweetheart," his voice was shaky, strained, "when you touch me like that, it's..."

A giggle escaped my throat, the sound light but filled with an unmistakable thrill. "Sensitive?" I teased, my grin widening as I felt the power of the moment shift in my favor. 

To tease him, to give him a taste of the same pleasure and torment he brought me—it was intoxicating. I rolled my fingers over the silky membrane of his gills, and he let out a choked groan, the sound so raw and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down my spine.

"F-fuck... ngh—y-yes," Arthur hissed, his voice thick with the tension building in his body. His tail lashed through the water, the movement so powerful that it nearly knocked me off my feet. The sensation of his raw need, the way his body writhed under my touch, was almost more than I could bear.

But as much as I reveled in the sight of him undone, overstimulated by the sensation of my fingers on his gills, it wasn't quite what I had in mind. My hands left the sensitive slits, and I felt the heavy release of his breath, a sigh that seemed to escape from deep within his chest. I trailed my fingers lower, shifting my focus, and I watched him closely, never breaking eye contact as I moved.

Arthur, sensing what I intended, leaned back slightly, resting his head against the glass wall that separated us from the open sea. His eyes, dark pools of sapphire, locked onto mine with a trust so intense it made my heart ache. There was so much unspoken between us, so much he allowed me to see of him. And yet, even in this moment, it was clear that his body—his autonomy—was something he gave me, something he allowed me to touch. 

But still never truly owned in its entirety.

As I traced the edge of his mating slit, I saw the vulnerability in him—raw and exposed, a part of him that he rarely let anyone witness. His trust in me was palpable, and with every touch, every movement, I realized just how much of himself he had granted me. The realization settled deep in my chest, a weight that made the moment feel even more intimate, more meaningful. His longing was written all over him, but this was his body, his choice. 

I was still learning, still understanding how much of him was his own, no matter how familiar our bodies felt together. Arthur was not a human man. 

“Is this okay?” I asked softly, the sincerity in my voice offering him the freedom to refuse if he needed it. But the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know—he wasn’t going to pull away.

Arthur’s grin spread wider, his tongue flicking out in a teasing motion, his impatience barely contained. “You know you don’t have to ask, pretty girl.” The wink he shot my way was playful, yet something about it sent a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, a spark of anticipation racing through me.

It wasn’t the answer I’d expected, but it was more than enough—permission granted, clear and everlasting. 

I took a slow breath, letting my fingers hover over his slit for a heartbeat before I let them dance along its edge. The sensation of his heat under my fingertips was exhilarating, and I let my hand slip lower, gliding over the silky smoothness of his need. I coated my fingers with the same arousal I had given his hand earlier, savoring the feeling of him in my touch. He was so wet, and it was all for me.

Arthur’s breathing deepened, the weight of his gasps reverberating through the space between us. His gills flared wide, the movement so primal it almost felt like he was trying to inhale the very air from my lungs. The tension in him was unmistakable.

“Oh, honey,” I cooed, my voice dropping to a soft, earnest tone, a contrast to the simmering heat between us. “I will always ask you first. It’s important for humans to communicate their needs when they mate.” I brushed my middle and ring fingers over his clit, watching as his muscles tensed in response, his body locking up for a brief moment. "You always have a choice. If something doesn’t feel right—or if you just want me to stop—all you have to do is say the word." 

He hissed out a long breath as my fingers teased the entrance, forcing out the words with a low groan. “D-don’t stop.” 

"Before I touch you, I’ll have your consent first. Every time. With everything I do, I want your hearts in it too. And then… I’ll ask you—do you like that?"

My hand moved with purpose, rolling my wrist in slow, deliberate circles, every motion controlled but full of intention. And oh, he liked it. Fuck, he even whimpered. Arthur’s body writhed beneath me, the strain visible as he fought to keep himself from bucking into my touch, his tail thrashing gently against the water. The rawness of the moment, of how much control he was handing over, gave me a high unlike anything before.

"Even when you can't find the words, I'll still ask—does that feel good, baby?" My voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was filled with conviction. 

I needed him to know that his pleasure, his voice, mattered. It was a quiet promise between us, one that resonated in the very air we shared.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back against the glass wall, and he nodded in a jerky, almost desperate motion. His breath was ragged, blowing out rapidly through his gills as his slick warmth continued to spill over my fingers. It was impossibly wet, dripping down the side of his tail as I quickened my pace, matching his rising need with every stroke.

I grinned, feeling a surge of power as a deep groan rose from his throat. The sound was primal, and his clawed hands gripped the edge of the pool with such intensity that I could feel the muscles in his arms straining beneath the motion. His veins grew and pulsed along the skin of his forearm. My own heat between my legs was building steadily, every inch of my body attuned to him, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinding my hips down against the rigid muscle of his tail. The contact sent jolts of heat through me, intensifying this thick tension between us.

“Sometimes,” I paused, savoring the moment, feeling the raw desire flare in my eyes as I spoke. His brows furrowed in frustration, breath quickening. “I may even ask you to tell me what you need.” My words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise. 

Arthur’s gaze snapped open, locking onto mine with desperate intensity, and I could see it—the hunger. He wanted more. He wanted it all. But I was in control now. And I was savoring every moment of making this massive, powerful creature beg for what he craved.

“Please,” he didn’t need to say a word for me to know exactly what he was thinking, but when he did, it was a low growl that sent a shiver through me. “I need,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

And then, what he did next surprised me, but it only sent a thrill of excitement coursing through my body. Arthur grabbed my wrist with almost brutal urgency, guiding my fingers toward his entrance, his touch insistent. I couldn’t help but gasp softly as his heat surrounded my fingers, slick and welcoming as he pushed them in. 

His hiss echoed in the quiet space, and as the word slipped from his lips, the rawness of it had me aching for him.

“You,” he breathed, eyes locked onto mine with a pleading desperation.

It would be sinful to deny him when he asked so sweetly. As I sank my fingers into his slick heat, I felt the undeniable strength coiled within him—tight, powerful, and yet yielding beneath my touch. His body mirrored my own in ways I understood, yet there was something exquisitely foreign about him, something that made my breath hitch with fascination.

A trembling, melodic moan spilled from his lips as I dragged my fingers out, only to sink them back in, slow and vigilant. The way he clenched around me, the way his body reacted so beautifully, had me utterly entranced.

I let out a slow, measured breath, watching the way his body trembled beneath my touch. His gills flared, his claws flexed, and his tail twitched with restrained urgency. He was holding himself back—barely. 

And gods, did that make me want to give him everything.

I pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, letting my lips linger against the damp heat of his skin. “You’re being so good for me, Arthur,” I murmured, my voice a low hum against his throat. “So strong, so beautiful… and so needy.” 

I dragged my fingers along the sensitive flesh where I knew he was aching for more, teasing, coaxing, making sure he knew that I saw him. That I felt his want, his desperation, and that I wanted it just as badly.

"You've been craving this since the moment we met," I purred, my fingers working deeper, drawing another shudder from him. "Needing someone to touch you like this… to guide you through the season. Help you find release."

I picked up my pace, and the groan that tore from his lips was nothing short of divine. Leaning in, I let my breath ghost over his ear, savoring the way he shuddered.

"Someone like me," I murmured, voice dripping with promise, "someone to take care of you."

A growl rumbled from deep within his chest, but there was no anger in it—just raw, aching need. I smiled against his skin, pressing my body closer, grinding just slightly against the ridges of his tail. My own need was probably burning into his flesh as I spoke.

“I love feeling you like this,” I continued, my fingers pressing just a little deeper, feeling the way he clenched around them. “Letting me touch you. Letting me feel how much you want me.” I curled my fingers, rubbing slow, pressured strokes, and his entire body jerked. 

Bullseye. His cunt had that perfect sweet spot, just like mine—hot, sensitive, and begging for attention. 

The moment I found it, Arthur's whole body tensed, a desperate, shuddering moan spilling from his lips. He was melting beneath me, unraveling with every stroke, every teasing press of my fingers. Completely, utterly mine.

His breath hitched, his tail slashing once through the water before curling tightly around my thigh, as if he couldn’t bear for me to be even a fraction away from him. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart—” His voice broke, a shudder rolling through his massive frame.

I grinned, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, honey,” I cooed, nipping at his skin. “You don’t have to hold back with me. You shouldn’t hold back with me.” I quickened my pace, watching as his grip on the edge of the pool tightened, as his hips rocked helplessly toward my hand, chasing the friction. 

“This pleasure is yours just as much as you are mine.”

His eyes snapped open at that, something wild and vulnerable flashing through them, but I didn’t let up. I wanted him to believe it. To feel it.

I dragged my free hand down his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thrum of his twin heartbeats against my palm. Muscles tensing and rippling with every stroke. “Let me hear you, Arthur,” I whispered, lips ghosting over his ear. “Let me feel you come undone.”

A deep, rolling vibration bloomed beneath my palm, starting in his chest and spreading outward—a purr, low and unrestrained, shaking through his massive frame like a storm barely contained. My breath caught at the sheer feel of it, how it reverberated through me, sank into my bones, made my skin prickle with something warm and electric.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, a blissful moan slipping past my lips as pleasure surged through me. His whole tail vibrated with it, firm and unrelenting against my core, sending shockwaves of heat through my body. I let my fingers dig into him, teasing, savoring. “You purring like that for me?”

Arthur barely managed a grunt in response, too lost to the sensations I was dragging him through. His head lolled back against the glass, his gills flaring wide with each breath, knuckles white as he scraped against the ledge.

As if he were trying to hold himself to this plane of reality and not be swept under completely.

But I wanted him swept under.

I wanted him undone in a way he’d never been before.

As he slicked over my fingers, hot and heady, something inside me ached to know more—to feel more, to taste more of him.

I moved without thinking, shifting down, pressing soft kisses along the length of his torso, trailing lower and lower until I was kneeling in the shallow water before him. My fingers were still buried inside him, still curling and stroking in slow, precise movements, and when I leaned down—when I pressed my mouth to where my fingers disappeared inside him—Arthur’s whole body froze.

“D-darlin’ wha—what’re you—“ 

“Relax,” I cooed. “I’m kissin’ you. Just feel.” Repeating his words from earlier when he shattered my mind with only his hand. 

Sucking on that sensitive nub, in the exact way that would send a woman like me over the edge. A sharp gasp tore from his lips, his tail kicking wildly beneath me, nearly knocking me off balance. His entire body went rigid, his breath stalling for just a second before it hitched and broke into a desperate, strangled sound that sent heat pooling deep in my belly.

“Sweetheart—please…I-I’m mmffuuck—” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his hips rocking instinctively toward my mouth as if he were utterly powerless against the pull of pleasure.

I hummed, taking my time, dragging myself along the delicate, fluttering muscle beneath my lips, tasting the briny sweetness of him. Flicking my tongue and feeling every one of his nerves come to life as it pulsed in rhythm with his glowing lights. 

“You like that huh?” I teased, licking up his slit before pulling him back into my warm mouth. 

He was writhing, his voice barely audible as he choked. “Y-yes I—fuck that feels s-so good.” 

It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, intoxicating and primal, and the way he reacted only made me crave him more.

Arthur was panting now, one hand rested on the back of my head, sharp claws dangerously close to my scalp. The other hand digging into the stone, his twin heartbeats hammering against my palm where I still held him. His purring had turned frantic, uneven, broken by sharp gasps and shuddering moans, his body trembling beneath me as I coaxed him toward the edge.

Dragging my fingers from his warmth, I kept my tongue focused, mapping every inch of his slick heat as I searched for something more—something deeper. My breath hitched when I found it.

At the base of his slit, I felt it—something unmistakably firm, pulsing beneath the surface, pressing against my touch as if drawn to me, as if yearning.

"Arthur," I murmured, my voice low and tantalizing. "I want to see you. All of you."

A shudder ran through him, his body taut with restraint. Even as his chest heaved, even as his hearts pounded wildly, he still held back.

And I knew why.

The memory of our first time crept between us like a shadow. The moment he had bared himself to me in full—vulnerable and aching—my own startled hesitation had fractured his confidence. Not rejection, never that, but enough uncertainty to plant the seed of doubt within him. And now, even with my mouth pressed to his most sensitive places, even with my fingers coaxing him toward release, he hesitated.

I wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sliding my free hand up, I traced along his torso, brushing my fingers over the delicate slits of his gills. Soft. Silken. So devastatingly sensitive. Perhaps I was pushing him too far, I knew that if I touched him here he would be unable to control it. His breath caught, body trembling beneath my touch, stuck in the warring tides of desire and doubt.

"Let go, honey," I whispered, pressing soft, slow circles against the slit between his scales, teasing, soothing, urging. “You don’t need to hide yourself.” 

A strangled whimper escaped him—so raw, so desperate that it sent a thrill straight through me. Desperation aching between my legs as I clenched around nothing, the anticipation was enough to make me dizzy. 

And then it happened.

He gave in.

Complete and utter surrender.

I felt it before I saw it—the way his muscles relaxed, the way his slit parted, and the way something thick and wet unfurled into my waiting hands. Gliding between my fingers. Hot. Slick. Pulsing with an unrelenting need.

A gasp caught in my throat as my fingers traced over his length, marveling at the alien smoothness of it. Unlike a human’s, his skin here was impossibly soft, almost velvety, but firm beneath my touch. Toward the base was thick, swollen, coated with sticky arousal, while the shaft tapered to a rounded point, long and elegant. My fingertips glided along its seamless curve, feeling the subtle ridges, oh yes, he had ridges here too. It twitched and flexed instinctively at my touch.

It was strange and yet, somehow, arousingly perfect. Designed to be felt. To be worshiped.

And oh, I intended to worship it.

"That’s it, baby," I purred against him, wrapping my fingers around his glossy length, stroking slowly, savoring the way he trembled for me. "Let me take care of you. Let me feel you come."

Pressing my lips to his clit, I let my tongue tease and flick, tasting the briny-sweet essence of his arousal as I stroked his cock. Arthur jerked, a broken moan tumbling from his lips, his tail thrashing beneath me as if he couldn’t control it. 

Gods, he was fucking perfect.

A guttural, near-animalistic roar tore from his throat, his entire body seizing, and I barely had time to brace myself before he came undone. His tail thrashed, his muscles locked, and I felt the rush of wet heat against my tongue, the desperate shudders that wracked through him, the sheer, overwhelming force of his climax.

I clung to him, savoring every broken moan, every helpless twitch, every tremor that wracked his body as he came apart for me—completely, unashamedly, beautifully. The realization struck me then, a delicious surprise—his separate sexes could reach their peaks independently. And oh, the possibilities that opened up. So many ways I could unravel him, shatter him over and over again… if he didn’t completely wear me out first.

As he slumped back against the glass, utterly spent and panting like he’d just survived a war, I slowly pulled away, savoring the way his body still shook with aftershocks above me. Pressing one last lingering kiss against his sensitive flesh, I finally let my gaze drop, truly taking in the sight before me.

“Holy shit…” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really do have two.”

I had felt it, but seeing it was something else entirely. It would take some time to wrap my head around the sheer beauty of it—because that’s what it was. Beautiful. I realized I had been stroking the bottom one, my fingers wrapped around its soft heat, while another identical appendage stood erect above it. They were joined together at the base where they had emerged from his slit, a perfect mirror of each other. In the low lighting, their color became more apparent—a lighter, almost iridescent blue, reminiscent of his tongue. And those sinful ridges… they traced all the way from the smooth, tapered heads down the underside, subtle yet pronounced, meant to drive whoever took him to madness.

A shiver of excitement coursed through me.

Arthur was big too, thick and impossibly heavy beneath my fingers, though I had already suspected as much. I could barely wrap my hand around one, let alone both. They weren’t exactly rigid, like humans. But instead, solid yet pliable. A fluid kind of firmness that still allowed the right amount of flexibility. They were supple, almost like... fuck, like a tentacle—perfectly balanced between softness and strength.

Yet in my arousal—my love-drunk haze—I wasn’t concerned with whether he would fit. Because he would. Because I would make him.

His breathless reply finally came, slow and laced with the remnants of his climax.

“Yeah… I really do.”

I looked up to find him watching me, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. His entire body was still trembling with the aftershocks, but there was something else there, something almost spiritual in the way he gazed at me. Like I was unreal. Like I was divine.

Like I had just handed him a new god to worship. And maybe I did. 

Then, a clawed hand slipped around my waist, trailing lower, teasing the curve of my bottom. A devious glint flashed in his eyes, that exhaustion from mere moments ago replaced by something insatiable, something hungry.

“And you’ve got two holes,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky with desire.

A single teasing finger dipped lower, pressing lightly against that forbidden place, and a thrill shot through me. I had never taken a man there before—never even considered it—but the idea of Arthur being my first? That was intoxicating.

Pressing my body flush against him, I let out a soft, pleased hum as he swirled his finger, coaxing a new kind of ache to bloom inside me.

“Mhm,” I purred into his ear, my lips brushing the sensitive fins there. “It’s like I was made just for you.”

Arthur’s grin was slow and wicked, his sharp fangs glinting in the dim light.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice thick like honey. “Just fr’me.”

Then, with effortless strength, he pushed himself off the edge of the pool, taking me with him as he sank our bodies back into the water. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, his cocks pressing against my aching heat, the sensation alone nearly sending me over the edge. The anticipation was maddening—I was ready to beg, to insist that he take me right here, split me open on his thick cock until I couldn’t speak.

But Arthur had other plans.

He crossed the pool, carrying me effortlessly through the water, until he reached the shallower end where the rocky curve sloped up like the natural landscape of a beach. Then, pulling himself from the water, he laid back against the warm, smooth stone, his muscles gleaming under the dim light, his gaze locked onto mine with pure, unrestrained desire.

His hands found my hips, his touch firm and possessive.

“My turn,” he rumbled, patting my bottom with a teasing smack, urging me forward.

I blinked, realization dawning as heat pooled low in my belly.

“Come ride my face, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise. “I wanna drown in that sweet taste of yours.”

Finally. That slick, sinuous, and utterly sinful tongue was mine to claim.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Arthur’s gaze burned with unrelenting hunger as his mate crawled up his torso, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto his with a silent anticipation that sent a primal thrill through him. Something had shifted—his words had unlocked a deep, hidden desire within her, something raw and unrestrained. Tonight, he would have her trembling, breathless, crying out his name until it was the only thing she could remember. He would etch himself into her soul, claim her so thoroughly that no human touch could ever compare. She would yearn for him, crave him, beg for him to take her, to fill her over and over until she was swollen with his child.

The thought sent a possessive heat curling low in his belly, an ache unlike any other. Arthur had spent a lifetime yearning for freedom, dreaming of the ocean’s vast and endless horizon—but beneath it all, there had always been something deeper. A longing for purpose. A need to protect, to nurture. To have a family again. To raise a child in the ways of his people—what little he could still remember—to teach, to provide, to love. And now, the female who had captured his hearts lay above him, offering herself to him so freely, so trustingly.

It drove him absolutely wild with desire.

His twin cocks twitched and pulsed as she straddled his face, thighs spread wide on either side of him. And gods, her scent—it was intoxicating, heady and thick, curling around his senses like a siren’s call. So close to his gills, it was all he could breathe, all he could taste, an irresistible lure that had him parting his lips in anticipation. The moment his tongue tasted the air, he nearly lost himself.

Instincts roared to life, drowning out reason, darkening the edges of his vision with a need so deep it bordered on madness. Breed, they urged. Fill her, claim her, fuck her until every last drop of his seed was buried inside her tight, aching heat. Until she was marked by him in every possible way.

But Arthur had learned patience—decades of solitude had taught him restraint. He knew humans mated differently, savoring the slow burn, the delicate unraveling. And he could see it in her—she was relishing in the exploration of his body just as much as he was hers.

So he would take his time.

Slowly, reverently, he would worship every inch of her, tasting, teasing, until she was trembling, pleading, desperate for more. Until she was ready to take all of him.

Letting out a trembling breath, she eased her hips down, hovering just above his parted lips. The heat of her, the exhilarating scent of her arousal, had Arthur’s gills flaring wide as he let his tongue slip out. Dragging a hot, wet stripe from the base of her entrance to the little pearl hidden beneath.

Gods, it is so much like his own. Her body mirrored his in ways he was only beginning to understand, the similarities both fascinating and maddening.

A breathy moan filled the silence as her hips jerked up in an involuntary response, her thighs quivering above him. Arthur smirked against her slick folds, knowing his ridged tongue must have been rough against her soft, sensitive flesh. A stark contrast to the way her own tongue had felt against him—smooth, impossibly silken—a torturously agile muscle that had him seeing stars, his tail trembling as she wrung him dry.

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t ya?” His voice was thick with desire, dark and teasing. Gripping her bottom, he kneaded the supple flesh, coaxing her to lower those beautiful hips again. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Please, sit on my face.”

She let out the prettiest little sigh as she finally surrendered, sinking down and pressing herself fully against his waiting mouth. Arthur let out a deep hum of satisfaction—this was heaven, it had to be. He had never been a religious man, but between her thighs, he swore he had just met god.

Puckering his lips, he placed a lingering kiss against her clit before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently, teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

Her cry split the air, sharp and breathless, her fingers tangling in his damp hair with a desperate grip. Her thighs quivered against his face, her body tightening and arching like a bowstring. She had ridden his hand earlier like a woman starved, grinding against his calloused palm with reckless abandon—yet now, against the ridges of his tongue, she trembled as though he was unraveling her piece by delicate piece.

“You alright?” Arthur rumbled, recalling her little mating lesson on human communication. Whatever she needed from him, he would give without hesitation.

She nodded quickly, sucking in a shaky breath as his hot exhale ghosted against her core. “Y-yeah… your tongue just feels so good, Arthur.” His name came out in a breathless pant, raw and pleading, like she was coiled tight and ready to shatter.

Fuck.

Hearing her say his name like that sent a rush of blood straight to his cocks, his vision darkening at the edges with something feral, almost possessive. His fingers flexed against her ass, holding her firmly in place as he growled, “Good. Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Her gaze flickered down, brow pinching together in surprise at his sudden command. He met her eyes, unwavering, voice rough with impatience.

“Ride my face.”

A delicious tremor ran through her, and then finally—finally—she rolled her hips, gliding against his mouth just as she had done against his palm. And fuck, she was utterly perfect.

“Atta girl,” he groaned, voice thick with need.

Pushing out his long tongue, he laid it flat against his chin, offering himself up for her pleasure as she ground down onto him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as she moaned, loud and unabashed. Her slick coated his taste buds, warm and succulent, her soft folds silkier than the petals of a water lily as they skated over his mouth.

Arthur breathed her in, pulling her scent deep into his lungs, letting it sink into his very bones. Every nerve in his body burned with the need to memorize her, to commit every note of her arousal to memory, something he could cling to when they were apart.

Closing his lips around that swollen nub, he licked, sucked, and swirled his tongue in gradual circles until her hips bucked wildly against him. Blunt nails scraped against his scalp as she grasped at him, desperate for something to ground her in the storm of pleasure he was dragging her through.

His grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh, claws pressing dangerously close to breaking skin as he nipped at her folds. But he didn’t just lick her—no, Arthur devoured her. He was messy, unrestrained, and loud, filling the space with deep, throaty groans and eager slurps, as if she was the most divine thing he had ever tasted.

Because she was.

She cried his name, a broken, desperate sound, trying to lift her hips and escape the relentless pleasure. But he wasn’t about to let her go. Taking full advantage, he plunged his tongue deep inside, feeling her body clench around him as he claimed every inch of her from the inside out. Every ounce of his attention zeroed in between her thighs, his ridged tongue carving out a space for himself that he knew she would feel everywhere. Those bumps stroked along her soft, velvety walls, dragging over her sensitive clit with each deliberate movement. He licked, sucked, and teased until she was trembling violently in his arms, a heaving, incoherent mess.

A string of curses spilled from her lips, each one stoking the fire inside him, driving him closer to madness. His tail thrashed in the water, desperate to coil around something, desperate to ground himself as his own arousal surged past the point of reason. His cocks were aching, weeping, throbbing with the unbearable need to be inside her—to replace his tongue with something thicker, heavier, to stretch her open and fill her to the brim with his heat.

And then she leaned forward, her body shaking, and began rolling her hips, undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm, fucking his tongue as she chased her release.

Arthur groaned, his entire body shuddering at the sight of her above him, lost in pleasure, lost in him. Gripping one of his cocks, he stroked himself with a rough, desperate hand. Pre-cum slicking his fingers as he imagined her wrapped around him, wet and tight, squeezing him with every rapid heartbeat.

Arousal dripped down his chin, sliding into his gills, and Arthur nearly lost himself. They flared against her thighs, fluttering greedily, as if seeking more—more of her scent, more of her taste, more of her. The urge to flip her over, to pin her down and claim her fully, was almost unbearable.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, eyes dark and heavy as he watched her writhe above him. Her breasts bounced with every movement, her nipples pebbling into tight peaks, a sight so tantalizing it made his mouth water. He licked her lips, gaze locked onto her as she used him, as she took her pleasure from him.

“Ain’tchu a pretty sight,” Arthur cooed between thrusts, his voice thick with hunger, worshipful and wild all at once.

Something behind her must have caught her attention, her gaze drifting over her shoulder as she watched him stroking himself. A soft pout formed on her lips, full and enticing, before she gave a quiet, disapproving hum.

“Stop that,” she murmured.

Arthur’s lips curled against her folds, his breath warm and teasing. “Un-unh,” he rumbled, tongue flicking against her clit. “Don’tchu worry about me now, keep on.”

But she wasn’t having it. In a sudden shift, she pulled her thighs from around his face, and he growled—a low, primal sound of frustration. His instincts screamed at him to seize her hips, to pull her back down, to demand she ride his mouth until she was sobbing his name, her juices slicking his tongue, dripping down his chin, saturating his throat.

But if he’d learned anything from her little lesson, consent was important. No matter how desperately he ached to have her, if she wanted to stop, he would obey.

A breathless giggle escaped her lips as she lifted one thigh, twisting away from him. “Relax, big guy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur blinked, puzzled for a moment as she resettled above him—only this time, her back was facing him.

Then she began to lower herself again, and realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.

“I think you’re going to like this,” she whispered.

Gods above.

She bent forward, offering him a front-row seat to the breathtaking view of her plump ass and the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy. A masterpiece, a canvas begging for him to paint with his tongue. His fingers clenched, nails pressing into his palms as his restraint frayed at the edges.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked with need. “Look at you. I ain’t never seen nothin’ more perfect.”

Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward, dragging his tongue in a slow, reverent stripe from her clit up the base of her spine. The taste of her here sent a thrill throughout his body. She shuddered at the contact, a gasp escaping her lips as her back arched, presenting herself to him in full.

And then—Arthur froze. A ghost of warm breath fanned over the tip of his cock.

Twin hearts stuttered, pounding out of rhythm. His mind, already clouded with lust, struggled to catch up. But before he could even form a thought—before he could even breathe—a wet, sinful heat engulfed the head of his cock.

His whole world shattered.

Vision exploded into stars, white-hot and blinding. Darkness crept at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under. A strangled, animalistic growl tore from his throat as instinct took over. His hips jerked upward, seeking more of that delicious heat, that tight suction wrapping around him like a vice. It felt perfect, she felt like home.

And she took him with ease. Jaw widening to take all of him.

His smooth skin, already dripping with pre-cum, slid effortlessly down her throat, her lips sealing around him in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. The sensation sent lightning down his spine, setting every nerve on fire. 

Then—oh fuck—his second cock.

As the first one disappeared into the warmth of her mouth, the other slid between the pillowy softness of her breasts, nestled in their embrace as she moved. Each subtle shift, each press of her skin against him, stroked him with a maddening friction that made his tail coil, his claws scratch at the ground.

He was losing himself.

Arthur was about to thrust again, to surrender completely, when she suddenly pulled back, lips gliding off his length with a wet pop. His cock twitched at the loss, desperate for more, but before he could even protest, she swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, rubbing over the slit with slow, deliberate strokes.

He choked on his breath, body locking up, teetering on the edge of ruin.

And then he remembered—remembered the treasure that lay before him, glistening, waiting, begging to be worshiped just as she was worshiping him.

With a sharp inhale, Arthur wrenched himself from the haze of pleasure, pulling his mind from the way her mouth sucked and stroked. And with renewed hunger, he buried his face between her thighs, lavishing her with the same fervor she gave him, licking, tasting, devouring her like a starved man at a feast.

This new angle allowed him to thrust his tongue deeper, curling and pressing against the sweet spots that made her cry out, her body trembling with need. Each stroke of his tongue sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her, while she, in turn, learned from him—every shudder, every twitch, every growl he made as she explored his length. Her soft little tongue traced the ridges of his cock, her lips gliding down the shaft with slow strokes, teasing, taunting.

Arthur nearly lost control when she scraped her teeth ever so lightly over the tapered head. His body jerked, his gills flaring wide as a strangled groan ripped from his chest. Gods above—apparently, he loved that. He hadn't even known about it until now.

She was teaching him things about himself, unraveling new depths of his pleasure just as he was discovering hers.

His heavy-lidded gaze locked onto the mesmerizing sight of her back arching, thighs trembling around his face every time his tongue slipped—teasing that forbidden entrance. She clenched instinctively, her muscles fluttering around him in shy resistance. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was hesitation or something deeper, but she seemed unsure, almost bashful about this particular touch.

And that only made him want to worship her more.

With a deep, godly growl, he gripped the plush curves of her ass, kneading the supple flesh in his rough palms. His claws skimmed lightly over her skin, just enough to leave her shivering as he spread her open, exposing every inch of her to his hungry mouth. He returned to her clit first, laving over the swollen bud with slow, languid strokes, coaxing her muscles to relax. Her body softened against him, just enough—just enough for him to press his mouth over her, his tongue prodding over that tight, untouched ring of muscle.

Her reaction was instant.

“Arthur!” she gasped, voice breaking on a sharp cry—somewhere between shock and something else, something breathless and raw.

Arthur stilled, his tongue retreating as he soothed her with a gentle, circling thumb. His heart pounded, worry flickering through the thick haze of his lust. Had he gone too far? Had he overwhelmed her?

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was rough, hoarse with restraint. He needed her, but he’d rather burn alive than push her past her comfort.

A shaky breath left her, but the scent that filled his lungs next stole his own. A fresh wave of arousal coated her sweet pussy, thick and glistening, her body betraying her hesitation.

Did she… like this?

A slow, wicked grin curled at his lips.

Arthur added the slightest pressure, teasing, testing, his thumb circling as his tongue returned to her clit, flicking, licking—doubling the sensation.

She jolted, her hips wriggling against him, pleasure tangling with her uncertainty. “N-no—it doesn’t hurt, I just…” She trailed off, breath hitching as he pressed another teasing lick to her clit. “It—It’s just…”

The words wouldn’t come.

Arthur pulled back just enough to murmur against her flushed skin. “It’s beautiful,” he finished for her, voice thick with reverence. “Just like you.”

A soft, helpless sound slipped from her lips—something blissful, something like surrender.

A shudder rolled through her, and then she was trembling. “Oh, Arthur, I—fuck, I-I’m close…”

He kept up his pace, relentless yet purposeful, his tongue flicking and swirling over her swollen clit, drawing out every ragged breath, every quiver of pleasure that rippled through her. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles around the slick entrance nestled between the soft curve of her ass, teasing, coaxing. Each stroke eased the tight ring of muscle just a little more, and the way her body trembled beneath his touch made his own restraint threadbare.

When her lips wrapped around him again, taking him in with the same achingly slow, worshipful devotion, a deep, guttural groan tore from his throat. The hot, wet pull of her mouth matched the rhythm of his tongue, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. His orgasm loomed, swelling like a rising tide, threatening to crash over him, but he needed her to come first.

Her breath hitched, panting, breaking into frantic little gasps. He could feel it—her body winding tight, on the precipice of release, her movements growing sloppy and desperate. But Arthur didn’t mind, not for a second.

“I need you to come, baby.” His voice was rough, thick with hunger as he murmured against her flushed skin, his lips brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’ve been dying to see you come for me like this.”

He never paused in his ministrations, never relented.

A keening cry ripped from her throat, her body going taut—held in that exquisite, breathless moment before she shattered completely. And then she broke, pleasure surging through her like wildfire, her release spilling over his tongue, soaking him in her essence.

“Good girl,” Arthur coaxed, his voice molten as he lapped up every last drop, drawing out every aftershock, every tremor. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

She shook violently, her body limp and spent as she slumped against his chest, utterly undone. Arthur barely noticed the added weight pressing into him—his mate was falling apart in his arms, and fuck, it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She was perfect.

Her scent, thick with lust, wrapped around him, and when she whispered his name in that wrecked, blissful way, something inside him nearly snapped.

With gentle strength, he lifted her, shifting her trembling body so she could rest against him. He sat up, holding her close, his calloused fingers stroking up and down her spine, grounding her. “I’ve got you,” he soothed, pressing a slow, affectionate kiss to her damp temple.

She blinked up at him, dazed, her pupils blown wide, her cheeks flushed a deep, intoxicating red. Her hair was a tousled mess, her lips swollen and glistening, and fuck—if anyone else saw her like this, they’d think they had already mated.

But the night was just beginning.

Arthur had made her come twice now. He had only unraveled once. And the next time? It would be when he was buried deep inside her, his cock pulsing, filling her with every drop of his release, marking her as his.

The thought sent a violent shudder through him, his tail twitching in anticipation.

Breathing hard, she gazed up at him, her eyes wide with something close to awe. Arthur was certain of it. “Wow,” she whispered, breathy and sweet.

He was panting too, his gills flaring wide, both of his cocks aching with raw need for what he knew was coming next. But still, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear it from her lips, needed the reassurance, the praise.

“That was good?” His voice was low, husky, edged with the remnants of restraint.

Her melodic giggle sent a bolt of heat down his spine, making both of his hearts stutter. “That was perfect.” She traced her gaze down the broad expanse of his chest, her fingers following the rivulets of water gliding over his skin, before dipping lower, toward the thick, twitching appendages at the base of his slit. Her expression shifted, tinged with something shy, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish. It was… a little hard to focus when you were—” She bit her lip, cheeks warming.

Arthur tutted softly, his lips curving in a knowing smirk. “Quit all that.” He leaned down, his breath hot against the shell of her ear before capturing it between his teeth, nibbling just enough to make her whimper. “I’d much rather save it for when I’m inside you.”

She stiffened slightly—not out of fear, no, he would have tasted that. This was something else. Excitement. Anticipation. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, and she melted as he began to ease his massive body over hers, pressing her back against the smooth, warm stone. The gentle ripples of the water lapped at their waists where their bodies met, a teasing caress against overheated skin.

Arthur could have taken her in the water, let it cradle them as he claimed her completely, but not this time. Not for their first time. No—he needed control. He needed his tail to set the rhythm, to keep her breathless but safe, and he intended to have her screaming his name the moment he sank into her tight, welcoming heat.

And then she opened for him, spreading her legs just enough for the thick length of his bottom cock to glide against her slick folds. Arthur’s breath caught. His muscles locked up. Fuck. He almost feared for her heart—it was beating so frantically, fluttering like a caged bird desperate to take flight.

She needed this just as much as he did.

Arthurs fingers gripped her thighs, thumbs stroking along the sensitive flesh as he positioned himself, savoring the way she trembled for him. His voice was dark, rough, almost a growl as he whispered, “I’m going to fill you up, sweet girl. And I won’t be able to stop.”

Her breath hitched, her thighs twitching around him.

Smirking, Arthur lowered his mouth to her ear, letting his voice wrap around her like silk. “I’m going to watch my cum seep out of that pretty little slit of yours… before I mate you again and again—until each of your holes has tasted me.”

Pupils blown wide, her breath stuttered as she stared down at the thick, throbbing lengths pressed against her. The hunger in her eyes was consuming.

“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” His grip tightened, grounding them both in the moment. “All of me.”

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, then nodded. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Arthur.

He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his burning gaze. “I’m asking you,” he rumbled. “Do you need me?”

Her lips parted, breathless, her voice clear and certain. “Yes.”

An invitation. A surrender. A claiming.

Arthur let out a deep, satisfied growl.

And then he feasted.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

That was the hardest I had ever come in my life.

For a moment, my mind felt like it had split in two—fractured beyond recognition. I couldn't think, couldn't speak, hell, I was pretty sure my breathing had stopped entirely. The world ceased to exist, swallowed whole by the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed through me, so powerful, so utterly devastating, I thought I might collapse beneath its weight.

But Arthur caught me.

He held me as if I were something precious, something breakable, his strong arms cradling me against his chest. His hands—so large, so impossibly gentle—stroked slow, soothing circles down my back, his fingers brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to my forehead. He murmured softly, something I couldn't quite process, not yet, I was too lost in the aftershocks of bliss still pulsing through me.

He gave me time—time to breathe, to come back to myself, to let my thundering heart settle. And then, carefully, knowingly, he eased me down onto the stone beneath us.

The second my back met the warm smooth surface, my body seemed to forget everything—the exhaustion, the overstimulation, the way I'd just touched the divine. Because now, all I could think of was him.

Everything I had been waiting for. Everything we had been building toward.

Our heartbeats pounded in sync, a rhythm thrumming between us, tying us together in ways deeper than touch.

I looked up at him, my pupils blown wide, my vision hazy with lingering pleasure, and all I saw was hunger. The last traces of that familiar ocean blue had all but disappeared, swallowed by the endless black of his pupils, stretched so wide they resembled the full moon hanging heavy in the night sky. It paralyzed me.

He looked otherworldly. Primal. The gills along his neck flared, exhaling hard like he'd just swum leagues without stopping. And that sound—that deep, inhuman noise, something between a growl and a purr—it sent a bolt of heat straight to my core. I'd heard it before, in the rare moments when he had surrendered fully to pleasure—when he came undone, or when I took his cock into my mouth and owned his pleasure.

But this? This was different. This wasn’t just need. 

This was instinct.

And gods, did it make me weak.

Heat flushed through me, thighs trembling as I tried to spread them wider, aching to accommodate the sheer size of him. And for the first time, I really saw him.

Arthur loomed over me, his massive shoulders blocking out the ceiling entirely, muscles rippling with every breath. Somehow, being around him so often had numbed me to the stark reality of our size difference. But looking up at him now, with the full weight of his body braced above mine, the reality sank in.

He was big. So much bigger than I had let myself truly process.

And I wanted him.

The craving cut through me like a blade, sharp and merciless, twined with the faintest whisper of fear—not of him, never that. Every instinct in my body told me I could trust Arthur with my life, with my pleasure, that he would never harm me.

No, what scared me was how badly I wanted him. Like my life had only just begun the moment he drifted into my life. 

It was unnerving, this desperate, gnawing hunger coiling in my gut, the way my body ached for him. I wanted this animal, this gorgeous beast, to fuck me until I was seeing stars. Until my legs shook with the memory of where his cocks had driven me mad with euphoria. Marking me in ways that would tie him to me forever.

Did…did that make me fucked up?

I didn’t care. I loved it.

Arthur took my chin between his fingers, his clawed thumb brushing over my swollen lips, tracing the heat he had left there. His touch was firm, possessive, yet reverent. “I’m asking you,” his voice rumbled from deep within his chest, rough and strained, as if he were barely holding himself together. Every fiber of his being was begging him to take me, to claim me—to mate me. But still, he fought against his instincts, grounding himself, waiting.

Waiting for me.

“Do you need me?”

The question was more than a plea. It was a confession—raw, aching, tinged with the kind of desperation that made my chest tighten. He needed to hear it. He needed to be sure. Like some small, fragile part of him feared I would deny him. That I would change my mind.

As if I could.

After everything we’d been through? After the earth-shattering pleasure he had just given me? I was already lost to him, tangled in something deeper than lust. There was no going back.

My breath came fast, my body already writhing with need as I flicked my tongue over the pad of his thumb. A teasing taste. A promise. Arthur mirrored me, his own tongue swiping over his lips, pupils so wide they swallowed the blue whole.

“Yes.”

The second the word left me, Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, his gills flaring as if he could taste my desire in the air. Then came the sound—that deep, primal growl, full of satisfaction and hunger. His thumb left my lips, trailing a slow, tantalizing path down my side, skimming over my ribs before curling around the back of my knee. His grip was firm, his claws grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver as he pushed my legs open. My muscles burned, stretched almost too wide, but I barely felt it.

I was too focused on him.

Arthur watched me, his gaze locked onto my trembling form as he took hold of the cock that had been gliding over my slick folds. The weight of it, the heat, sent another pulse of arousal through me as he positioned the tip at my entrance.

We were half-submerged, our hips still in the water, but it didn’t matter. I was already soaked, and he had never stopped dripping with that intoxicatingly sweet pre-cum.

The moment he pressed the thick head past my entrance, we both froze.

Arthur’s head snapped up, searching my face, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and intense. This was the threshold—the moment of no return. A silent understanding passed between us, a knowing that if we did this, we would be bound to each other in ways that neither of us could ever undo.

I nodded.

Reaching up, I tangled my fingers in the damp strands of hair at the base of his skull, tugging him down into a kiss.

“Yes, Arthur.” Breathing the words against his mouth, reassuring him again for good measure. 

Arthur flexed his hips, sliding in just an inch, and the sensation was like liquid fire pouring through my veins. I gasped into his mouth, my body stretching around him, barely able to take him, and yet desperate for more. He was almost too much—too thick, too long—but the way he filled me was perfect. Devastatingly smooth, gliding deeper without resistance, my body yielding to him like it had been made for this.

Tilting my head back, I groaned as he sank in another inch. Then another. The initial burn melted into something deeper, something hotter, my walls clenching around him, gripping him greedily, urging him to fill the aching emptiness inside me.

Arthur’s tail shifted, and he drew back.

The slow retreat of his cock left a trail of fire in its wake, dragging over every nerve, every oversensitive inch of me. A whimper slipped from my lips at the loss—only for him to roll his hips forward and push deeper.

A choked sound erupted from me, somewhere between a moan and a cry, as Arthur let out a long, guttural groan, his forehead pressing against mine.

Breaking our contact, I looked up at him, drinking in the sight of him above me—his eyes squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched tight in concentration. His gills fluttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control himself, to hold back.

But I didn’t want him to.

His second cock lay heavy against my clit, the ridges pressed flush against my aching bundle of nerves, sending jolts of sensation sparking through me. It would be my undoing.

But only if he moved. And fuck, I needed him to move.

“Arthur,” I whined, the sound pitiful, dripping with need. My voice was raw, breathless, and desperate.

He groaned, his breath ragged, heavy with restraint. “You feel so good. S-so tight.” His words came out in a rasp, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Please…move,” I whispered, arching toward him, my fingers trembling against his skin.

A wicked thought struck me—what if his kind didn’t move like humans? What if they locked together like some species of fish and that was it? No thrusting, no rolling of hips—just static, leaving me hanging in this unbearable tension.

No. I refused to let that be my fate. I would get my dues on this. 

My back arched off the stone, pressing into him as I rolled my hips, pulling back so he nearly slid free from my body. The sensation sent a shudder through me, a teasing promise of loss that had me aching for more.

Arthur hadn’t stopped me. His fingers dug into my hips, claws pressing just enough to sting, but he didn’t resist. The only sound he made was a soft, broken whimper—like he thought I was pulling away. Like he feared I’d changed my mind.

I shattered that fear in an instant.

Slamming my hips back up into his, I pulled him deep, forcing his cock to fill me again as I clutched at his shoulders and back for leverage. The other cock slid with the movement, dragging against my clit in a way that sent a raw, unfiltered pleasure ripping through my body. The weight of it, the ridges pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves—it was perfect. Maddening. Overwhelming.

A breathy, high-pitched cry broke from my lips.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. And I saw the moment it clicked.

A growl curled from his throat, deep and predatory, his lip curling in a snarl as his grip tightened on my waist. A sharp, demanding possessiveness flickered across his face before he slammed into me again. 

And again.

And again.

Each thrust was punishing, relentless—his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm that had me gasping, keening with every inch that he drove into me. Giving me what I had so desperately needed. The sheer girth of him as he bottomed out, the stretch, the way those ridges caught on every nerve—it was too much and yet not enough. 

It was pushing me toward my limit.

My mouth had never fit around all of him. My fingers could only wrap around the head before the thickness at the base swelled too wide. And yet, my body—desperate, greedy, utterly consumed by him—took him. Wanted him.

Arthur’s pace turned brutal, his hips pistoning into mine, the water sloshing violently around us. The wet, obscene sounds filled the air, mingling with his deep, guttural grunts and the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin. The force of it drove my body into the stone beneath me, every impact sending shocks of pleasure and pain colliding in my core. 

I welcomed it.

The ache, the burn—it only made the pleasure sharper, brighter, until I was unraveling around him again, walls clamping down, squeezing, milking him as I screamed. My nails raked down his spine, dragging over the smooth expanse of his skin as he arched over me, driving himself even deeper.

Nothing had ever felt this real. This right.

“Fuuck—” Arthur cursed, voice wrecked, his control hanging by a thread. Then came my name, raw and guttural, torn from his throat in a deep groan that sent a violent shudder through me. “That’s it. Fuck, baby, that’s it. Oh, you’re so good. S-so fucking good.”

His praise shattered me.

A desperate whimper spilled from my lips, my body already spiraling toward the edge again, the pleasure building too fast, too strong. My muscles tightened, every nerve firing, as he drove into me with merciless, ragged thrusts. The wet, slippery sounds filled the space around us, almost drowning out my sharp, gasping cries.

Arthur didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

His movements were relentless, pounding into me so hard my tits bounced, my heels scraping against the roughness of his scales as I clung to him. Oh, I was going to be sore after this.

And gods, the thought only excited me more.

Arthur wasn’t just fucking me—he was claiming me. Breeding me with a desperation so fierce it was as if some unseen force was testing him, whispering that if he didn’t do this right, he was a failure. He poured everything into this, into me—each deep, pounding thrust an unspoken vow, each bruising grip a plea and a promise all at once.

I felt him, all of him.

Raw desire clashed with aching longing, a feverish passion stoking the flames of something far more primal. And beneath it all, there was hunger—a possessive, feral hunger that burned through every stroke, every grind of his hips. His claws dug into my flesh, sharp enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. Leaving behind a delicious ache that had me arching into him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice hoarse with lust. His breath was hot against my lips, his words a branding iron against my skin. “This pussy belongs to me.”

A choked gasp escaped me, my walls clenching around his cock in a desperate, involuntary response. He felt it—knew what his words did to me, and kissed me hard, swallowing every whimper, every ragged moan.

“Always,” I rasped, my voice breaking. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “I’m yours, Arthur. Every inch of me.”

Body and soul. I wanted to add, but his lips sealed over mine again. 

Moans left my lips like prayers, my pulse hammering, my heart racing. I was so close, so devastatingly close. The pleasure coiled tight, white-hot and unbearable, clenching around me like a vice. My breath hitched as the pressure built, built, until darkness crept at the edges of my vision, and stars exploded behind my closed eyelids.

The feeling of being so full, so ruthlessly taken, had me spiraling.

“F-fuck, Arthur, I’m—” My voice broke, trembling, whimpering. Some desperate, self-preserving part of me wanted to hold on, to keep teetering on this exquisite edge forever. I wasn’t ready for this to end.

Arthur knew. With a deep, guttural grunt, he pulled out completely, and my body screamed for him.

But he wasted no time.

Rolling his hips, he pushed back inside in a way that was slower, deeper—grinding against that devastating spot inside me. It sent a fresh wave of pleasure tearing through my body, a sensation so intense it nearly had me convulsing beneath him.

He knew I was holding back. And he wouldn’t let me.

Arthur drove me to my limit, stripping away my restraint, my humanity, until all that remained was pure, primal need. My body was his, and gods above—every instinct inside me demanded he make me take all of him. To fill me so completely that the rest of the world fell away, leaving nothing but this moment, this feeling, just him.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he rasped, dragging his tongue in a slow, searing stripe from the hollow of my throat up to my ear. His voice was velvet and gravel, laced with sin, with command.

“Let me feel that perfect pussy milk my cock.”

His command was enough to tip me over the edge. To shatter me.

The moment I obeyed, it stole the very breath from my lungs, wracking my body with a release so intense it bordered on painful pleasure. My limbs trembled, my fingers clinging helplessly to Arthur’s slick skin as wave after relentless wave crashed through me. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and overwhelming, slipping down my cheeks as I gasped his name like a plea, like a prayer.

I’d never felt anything like this before. And gods help me, I knew I would do anything to feel it again.

Arthur had ruined me. Branded himself into my very bones, carved his name into the deepest parts of me. No other man would ever compare, and I hated him for it—hated myself for craving him with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

A rough, guttural groan tore from his throat, his rhythm faltering as his cock thickened, stretching me in a way that sent fresh, electric pleasure sparking through my veins. He buried himself to the hilt, hitting a place so impossibly deep it turned my mind into nothing but white noise.

And then I was gone.

Screaming, sobbing, breaking apart in his arms as I praised his name like he was something holy.

“Fuck!” Arthur roared.

Burying his face into my chest, his body crashed against mine. Every muscle in his frame tensed as he pressed me into the unyielding stone beneath us. He was heavy, overwhelming, his desperate thrusts turning frantic, erratic. His fingers dug into my flesh, as if he could anchor himself—as if he didn’t want to let go.

Then I felt it.

The hot, liquid pulse of his release spilling inside me, filling me, so much more than any human could give. So much that I could feel it slipping out even before he pulled away, mixing with the water around us in delicate, shimmering tendrils—pale and iridescent, like an otherworldly oil slick. It made my pussy clench around him again. 

The sensation of him coming inside me only sent me spiraling further, prolonging my orgasm until I thought I might pass out.

Darkness fluttered at the edges of my vision, my body completely spent, pulsing with an exhaustion that felt almost euphoric.

Arthur pulled out, and I shivered at the loss, an ache curling in my gut that was almost unbearable. He had left me empty—hollowed out, missing something vital. I fought against the daze threatening to consume me, but I was too far gone, too lost in the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.

Distantly, I heard my name. Arthur’s voice, low and hesitant, cutting through the fog. I tried to respond, but my lips wouldn’t move.

I just needed a moment. Just one.

He sat up, easing his weight off my chest, and I sucked in a deep, trembling breath, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of what we’d just done.

"Shit," Arthur breathed, his voice thick with concern. "D-did I hurt you, sweetheart?"

The sudden panic in his tone snapped me back to reality, cutting through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion. I must have taken too long to respond because his grip on me tightened, lifting me with such careful reverence that it made my heart ache. He cradled me against his chest, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool air around us. The shift in position sent a slow, delicious trickle of heat spilling from between my thighs, a filthy reminder of just how thoroughly he had taken me.

His voice rasped against my ear, desperate and pleading. "Say something, please."

I managed a small, breathless laugh. "I'm okay." And I was. More than okay—I was wrecked in the best possible way. "You could never hurt me, Arthur."

The words came out raw, thick with the depth of my emotions. With a trembling hand, I cupped his cheek, fingers stroking through the damp strands of his beard. His eyes softened, relief crashing over his features like a wave before his lips curled into the most breathtaking smile—sated and beautiful.

“That felt like—” I began. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, our breath mingling as he whispered, "Home."

A shiver danced down my spine.

"You felt like home."

Something in my chest cracked open at those words.

We stayed like that for a moment, lost in each other, letting our aftershocks fade into slow, tender kisses—featherlight, reverent, addictive. Our noses brushed, soft and teasing, like swans in a gentle courtship dance. The intimacy of it made my heart race in a way that sex alone never could.

Arthur had told me once, in that quiet, broken way of his: My hearts will follow you to the end.

Now, with the way he held me, worshiped me, I understood. This was what he meant. This was his love, laid bare.

"You were so beautiful," he murmured, lips tracing over my temple, my cheek, my jaw. "So perfect. You take me so well, my girl."

His words were honey-thick, dripping into my ears and down my spine, making my thighs clench involuntarily.

Then I felt it. Something hot and heavy twitching against my calf where our bodies curled into each other.

My breath hitched.

Arthur's grip on me tightened, his voice dipping lower, heavier, hungrier.

"But I still need you."

Oh, fuck. He really wasn’t lying when he said both of my holes would taste him. 

I barely had time to process before he was moving again, gripping my hips and flipping me onto my belly, easing me down and pulling my ass up as my bare skin pressed against the smooth stone. Encouraging me to settle onto my knees. 

"Ah—Arthur—"

"Shh," he soothed, running a broad hand over my spine, down to my ass, spreading me apart just enough to make me tremble. A teasing finger glided over that forbidden entrance, now coated in arousal. Dragging it down further he brushed over my achingly sore heat. Spreading his seed around my lips and up between my cheeks. Painting myself in his sticky hot spend.

"I have two," he reminded me, voice a dark promise against my skin. Gently, I heard him shift in the water, adjusting himself. Looking back over my shoulder, I watched. He gripped his thick, swollen cock still dripping with cum. And teased my entrance, the head nudging, demanding.

"And so do you."

Heat flooded through me, anticipation winding me so tight I thought I might snap.

Before doubt could creep in, I already had my answer. "Then you shall have me."

Arthur growled, a sound of pure satisfaction, gripping me like he owned me.

"Good," he purred, lining himself up again. Using the tip of his cock to spread his cum over my ass as it seeped out of my slit.

I froze as a new sensation erupted—sharp, foreign, a mix of lingering pleasure and a stinging ache where he had already claimed me. My hips were lifted above the water now, exposed to the cool air, and though his spend made my skin slick, it wasn’t enough. Not for this. A shiver ran down my spine, part anticipation, part apprehension. I had never taken anyone here before, and I knew if he was too quick, too rough, the pain could overwhelm the pleasure.

“W-wait,” I panted, my breath shaky. “Arthur, stop.”

He stilled immediately. A warm, steady hand smoothed down my spine, grounding me as he leaned in, his chest flush against my back.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, earnest, full of concern.

I pushed myself upright, twisting slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s do this in the water,” I murmured. “It’ll be easier, with less gravity and…” I trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. I didn’t want my hesitation to deter him, but I needed him to be gentle.

Arthur’s dark eyes softened with understanding, and he gathered me into his arms without question, guiding us into deeper waters. The moment we sank down far enough that my breasts floated, warmth wrapped around me like a soothing balm, easing the rawness between my thighs.

“And what, my love?” he pressed, his voice a silken promise against my ear. “Tell me what you need.”

His lips found my neck, kissing and nipping gently as his strong hands roamed over my body. His touch was both reverent and possessive, mapping every inch of me as if committing it to memory. I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart against my back, his breaths turning ragged with restraint.

The cool water swirled between my legs, heightening the sensation of where he touched me, dulling the sting and replacing it with something new, something thrilling.

“I need you to go slow,” I whispered, unable to hide the nervous tremor in my voice. “Much slower than before. Is… is that alright with you?”

Arthur exhaled a shuddering breath, his gills fluttering against my ribs. I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement, anticipation, or the sheer effort of holding himself back. His tail coiled around my calf, pulling me closer, holding me steady.

“Yes,” he groaned, the single word dripping with need. “However you wish to have me. I will give it to you.”

His vow sent a molten heat through me, pooling deep in my core. I had imagined this before—anal, double penetration—but I had never trusted someone enough to try it. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen like this.

With him.

Arthur reached between us, his fingers curling around one of his cocks, guiding it between my thighs while the other pressed insistently against my bottom. With slow, deliberate motions, he rocked his hips, letting them glide back and forth—one thick length sliding over my swollen, aching clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, while the other traced the valley between my cheeks, teasing the tight entrance with every pass.

A shudder wracked through me, my body caught between tension and longing. Arthur’s grip on my waist tightened, anchoring me against him as his other hand found my breast. His fingers were both firm and gentle, rolling my nipple between them, kneading my flesh in slow, languid strokes. The contrast of sensations had me trembling in his hold.

“Which one do you want first?” he rumbled against my neck, his breath hot against my damp skin.

My breath hitched as I reached behind me, fingers wrapping around the thick cock nestled against my back. I gave it a teasing squeeze, feeling the way it pulsed against my palm.

“This one,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.

The water rippled around us as a deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled through his chest. “That’s my girl.”

Arthurs grip on me shifted, steady but unrelenting, as he tipped me forward slightly. The water rose up to my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep from sinking beneath the surface. I barely had time to register the change before I felt the blunt tip of him pressing against my entrance, nudging cautiously.

A sharp hiss escaped his gills, a primal sound that sent a delicious shiver through me.

I gasped, letting out a quiet, startled yelp as a new, overwhelming pressure spread through me. I had never been so acutely aware of this part of my body before, of how tight and untouched I was.

A large, webbed hand slipped down my torso, fingers finding my clit and rubbing slow, torturous circles. The pleasure warred with the ache, sending my body into a dizzying spiral of sensation. My muscles instinctively clenched, trying to resist the burn of his thick length pressing deeper, stretching me open with the first inch.

“F-fuck, Arthur,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulder. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” Arthur growled, his voice dark with restraint. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

He sank another inch, and my breath hitched, my mind going blank with the sheer intensity of it. It was too much, not enough, my body on the verge of being split apart yet craving more.

A shaky whine crawled up my throat as I arched back against him, my body struggling between resistance and surrender.

“Hold onto me,” he murmured against my neck, his voice softer now, coaxing.

I reached up, my arms winding around his neck, clinging to him as if he were my only tether to reality. My eyes squeezed shut, my breath coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

Arthur tutted softly, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Sweetheart, you gotta relax. Take a deep breath for me.”

His tone was impossibly gentle, melting through my tension like warm honey, making my stomach flip. Gone was the primal, possessive animal that had taken me like a man starved—now, in its place, was something just as powerful but infinitely more tender. A gentle beast, guiding me through the motions, patient and careful as if I were something precious to be unraveled slowly.

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, willing my body to obey, to loosen its desperate hold on him. But it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Every fiber of me was wound tight, clenching around him, fighting the stretch, even as I tried to surrender. The slippery feel of his cock, gliding with an otherworldly softness, was a small mercy. I was incredibly grateful in that moment that he was not solid like a human.

“Again,” he coaxed, his fingers stroking soothing circles over my hips. Then, in a teasing lilt, he added, “Unless you need me to breathe for you.”

A shiver ran through me at the idea.

His grip tightened slightly, grounding me. “If I push any harder, I’m gonna hurt ya sweetheart. Try to focus your attention here,” he patted the swell of my ass, his touch firm yet affectionate.

“It’s all I can fucking think about!” The words tumbled out in a breathless flurry, and Arthur let out a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest.

And it—oh fuck—it felt good.

“There you go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise and want. “Fuck, you feel incredible. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He sank another inch, and a shaky gasp left my lips as something in me finally gave way, my muscles easing, accommodating his size. The sharp edge of discomfort dulled into something else—something deeper, heavier.

“D-do that again,” I stammered, breathless.

“Hmm?” He rumbled, his chest still pressed firmly to my back.

“That—that vibration,” I choked out, my head tipping back as he pulled me tighter against him, his cock pressing deeper, rubbing hard against my inner walls.

Arthur’s lips brushed the shell of my ear, his breath warm as he cooed, “Oh, I see.”

Suddenly, his purring flared to life, and I cried out as the vibration sent ripples of pleasure through my body. It wasn’t just in his chest—it was everywhere, resonating through me, inside me, making my nerves light up like fireworks. Somehow, I could feel the pulse deep in my core, as if the sensation traveled through the places where I was stretched around him, amplifying every twitch, every shiver. A strangled moan tore from my lips, my body shuddering against his, and I silently cursed him for not doing this earlier. I had never realized just how closely connected those muscles were, how each vibration sent a shockwave straight through me.

Arthur felt me melt beneath the sensation, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, and he took advantage of it—sinking deeper until he bottomed out against my ass.

A sharp gasp echoed through the room, mingling with the deep, guttural groan that rumbled against my neck. “So fucking tight,” he breathed, his voice thick with restraint, with need.

I had always thought anal could be mildly pleasurable, but this—this was something else entirely. I wasn’t just tolerating it. I was enjoying it. No, I was lost in it. If he kept this up—if he pressed inside my pussy too, stretching me so utterly, so completely. I was sure I would come so hard I might fall apart in his arms.

Then Arthur moved—oh, he moved.

Slow, methodical, controlled. Like he was barely holding himself back, honing in on every subtle cue my body gave him. Testing my limits with precision, ensuring there was no pain—only pleasure. He withdrew slowly, the sensation nearly undoing me as he pulled out until just his tip remained. Then, with a firm grip, he slid his other cock between my thighs, positioning me just right.

And then, finally—he sank me back down.

A keening sound wrenched from my throat as he speared me on both cocks, rolling his hips up at the same time, filling me inch by agonizing inch until he was seated deep inside me. It was a stretch unlike anything I had ever felt before, a blissful, unbearable fullness that sent waves of heat rolling through my limbs. My head tipped back against his shoulder, a deep, shuddering moan rising from somewhere in my chest—a sound I hadn't even known I was capable of making.

I felt him everywhere.

I could taste him on my tongue, could feel the ocean in my veins, the tide of his body racing through me like horses galloping through white-capped waves.

I was still sore, my pussy clenching around him as pleasure and pain tangled together, stars dancing across my vision. I tried to adjust, to find some semblance of control, but anyone who’s ever been fucked hard understands the delicious sting of being stretched too soon, too deep, before you’re quite ready. Well, maybe not everyone—but it was true for me. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that made my toes curl, that had my breath stuttering and my fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

And with the addition of his second cock, this was the fullest I’d ever been in my life.

I could tell by the way Arthur was shaking, his grip bruising on my hips, that he was just as overwhelmed as I was. That my body, clenching tight around him, was driving him to the edge as surely as he was unraveling me.

“Do you trust me?” The words were rough, bitten out through clenched teeth, barely restrained.

A silly question. Of course I did. More than anything.

“Yes,” I whispered, my lips trembling against his jaw. “Always.”

It was a slow glide, so wet and effortless that the friction was almost an afterthought—until he pulled back and slid in again, and I felt every ridge of him, each textured bump dragging against my walls, sending shivers rolling through my spine. I could count them, could map each one with the breathless rhythm of his thrusts. Every slow, deliberate movement stretched me open, coaxing me into surrender until there wasn’t a single trace of discomfort left—only pleasure, slick and consuming.

“Oh, Arthur!” I cried, the sound tumbling from my lips, raw and unfiltered.

There was only pressure now, incredible and unrelenting, filling me so completely that it stole the air from my lungs. From every angle, in every part of me, I felt him—felt the way he claimed me, the way he kissed my soul with every deep, languid stroke.

I wasn’t sure when my head tilted back onto his chest, when my lips parted on a silent moan, but Arthur seized the moment. His mouth was on mine in an instant, devouring, his tongue plunging deep, licking into me with slow, intoxicating strokes. He nipped at my bottom lip, teasing, pulling a whimper from my throat before swallowing it down like he was starved for the taste of me.

“Breathe, my girl,” he commanded, his voice thick with heat. He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“Please,” was all I could manage, a desperate, breathless plea. I needed more. I was teetering on the edge of something earth-shattering, something vast and uncontrollable, and I didn’t know how to fall into it. I only knew that Arthur could take me there.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my back, and then—fuck—he thrust into me harder. Not as rough as before, but there was force now, a controlled hunger, a restraint that made the ache even sweeter.

I made a sound I had never heard before, something deep and unrestrained, as he gripped my hip and drove into me again. His tail coiled around my calf, tightening possessively, anchoring me to him.

Hard. Harder. Deep and devastating as he bottomed out inside me again and again.

Arthur pressed a broad, calloused hand to my belly, his webbed fingers splaying wide as he felt himself move inside me, as if mesmerized by the way my body took him in. His breath came out in ragged, shuddering pants, hot against my neck, before his sharp teeth grazed my skin, nipping, teasing.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard,” he growled, his voice rough, nearly broken. “You’re—fuck, you’re everything to me.”

“I’m s-so close. Please, come with me, Arthur,” I choked out, my fingers digging into his arms, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

A low, pained whimper crawled up his throat as he pressed his forehead to my shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of his restraint. “I know, pretty girl, I know,” he rasped, his voice frayed at the edges. “Just a little more. I—I don’t wanna hurt you. It’s—h-hard not to lose control when you’re squeezin’ me like that.”

I gasped as he rolled his hips again, deeper, slower, torturing us both.

His pace faltered as my body reacted to his words—the sincerity, the raw, aching need woven into every syllable. The guttural rasp of his voice, thick with strain and barely restrained hunger, sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me. It tore through my veins, white-hot and all-consuming, until I shattered around him. My vision blurred, my body trembling as pleasure surged like wildfire, licking at every nerve, setting me ablaze.

Somewhere in the haze, I felt him follow me over the edge.

Arthur let out a broken string of curses, his breath ragged and desperate against my shoulder. His entire body quivered, his muscles rigid as he fought the primal instinct to lose himself completely—to rut into me with reckless abandon, to bury himself as deep as I could take and spill every drop of his pleasure inside me.

“Th-then lose control,” I whispered, my voice trembling, a plea wrapped in a breathy moan. My fingers dug into his arms, nails dragging down the hard lines of his body. “Bite me, Arthur. M-mark me as—as yours.”

His breath hitched. “What?”

“S’okay, honey,” I murmured, my voice dripping with something sweet and sinful. “Just let go. I can take it. Give yourself to me.”

A sharp, tortured cry ripped from Arthur’s throat, his entire body shuddering against mine. And then—I felt it.

His teeth, sinking deep into the muscle of my shoulder, sharp and unyielding, branding me with his need. The sting of pain bled into pleasure so sharp it stole the breath from my lungs. My body clenched around him, gripping him like I never wanted to let go, and the mix of sensations sent me spiraling into oblivion.

The warmth of him filled me, deep and hot, as his release spilled into me, claiming me in every way possible. The sheer force of it ripped another scream from my lips, his name tumbling from my throat until it was raw.

I was drowning in him—his touch, his breath, the way he trembled against me as he came undone. And I had never felt more owned by him than I did at that moment.

My mate. My Arthur.

Arthur soothed the ache with his tongue, spreading that thick, healing mucilage over the wound as he lapped up the blood before it could trail too far down my arm. I sagged against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, my cheek pressed to his warm skin as the last of my tears dried. My body still pulsed with aftershocks, every nerve alight, and I felt the slow retreat of his cocks, softening as they slipped from me. Arthur’s tail trembled against my leg, his muscles taut with the lingering overstimulation, as if the pleasure had unraveled him just as much as it had me.

Turning me in his arms, Arthur held me close. His touch was unbearably soft in the wake of everything we’d just done. His lips followed the damp trail of my tears, kissing them away one by one as if he could erase the overwhelming pleasure, the raw emotion, the sheer intensity of it all with his mouth alone. His hands, rough and warm, cradled my face, fingers stroking over my cheeks with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his southern drawl thick and deep. “You alright?”

I nodded weakly, still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion. My limbs felt boneless, my body buzzing, hypersensitive to every little touch. Arthur hummed in satisfaction, shifting us until I was nestled against him, my legs draped around his torso. His tail curled loosely around my ankle, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Y’were so good for me,” he praised, brushing his lips over my temple. “Took me so damn well. My strong, beautiful girl.”

A small sound caught in my throat, something between a sigh and a whimper. Arthur’s chest rumbled with a deep, satisfied purr, the sound vibrating through me, comforting and grounding. He cupped the back of my head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder as his other hand traced soothing circles along my spine.

“Still with me?” he teased gently, though I could hear the genuine concern laced in his tone.

I gave a breathless laugh, weak but real. “Mmhmm… just—floating.”

Arthur’s smile pressed against my hair. “Yeah? Think you can handle another.” 

The teasing lilt in his voice let me know he wasn't serious. Though I don’t think he could survive another round even if he tried. Laughter bubbled up despite my exhaustion. I shook my head, too content, too warm, too wrapped up in him to move just yet. He seemed to understand, settling us deeper into the nest of his arms, letting me bask in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

For a while, we just stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet. Arthur floated on his back as I rested on his chest. His fingers wove through my hair, his breathing steady, grounding me in a way that nothing else ever had.

Eventually, he broke the silence, voice low and reverent. “Ain’t never had nothin’ like this,” he admitted, almost to himself. “Never wanted someone so bad. Needed someone like—like the world was just beginnin’ to make sense. You know?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, pressing a slow kiss to his collarbone. “I feel the same way, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a shuddering breath, his arms tightening around me. “All mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against my hair.

I smiled against his skin. “All yours.”

As sleep began to pull me under, wrapped in his warmth, I had no regrets. 

I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

AN: Did we survive?! Because there were times I feared that beautiful creature was going to kill us with those cocks, not that I'm complaining. Woof, this chapter was such a horny beast and I don't even feel like I've tamed it. There will be more smut chapters, but nothing this lengthy. This was basically a cluster fuck of exploring kinks. And for whatever reason, I really wanted to put it all in one chapter. I love torturing myself. Anyways, its time to get back to the plot! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and support!!