#but Shadow moved back in and he was Loud last night :/

[squidkid15]

wow what's this a super self indulgent drabble that i wrote in a fever state between 12:30 and 2 am last night? wild

Anyways if you like shadow and rouge and some light angst come say hi

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: gunplay (ghoap x reader) cw: the tiniest of dub-con if you squint 1.8k of this foolishness and im pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere but in my defense, guns don't interest me

When you wake, you notice that Ghost isn’t in the tent. His bedroll neatly rolled up and put away in its usual spot and by the looks of things, he's been gone for quite some time. You sit up, the morning light filtering through the tent's fabric— the soft, diffused glow creating gentle shadows on the ground.

Outside, the air is crisp and sweet, dew still fresh on the grass, damp beneath your bare feet. Soap's lone mare is tied to the hitching post, tail flicking lazily as she eats off the hay net.

The campsite is quiet except for the chirping of birds and Soap's deep, growling snores coming from behind you. Ghost isn't here. Ghost isn't here. The thought bounces around in your skull, heart loud in your ears as the realization begins to sink in.

You could get away, slip away unnoticed from these two who've kept you as their reluctant companion since they wrangled you up in a rowdy saloon a couple of towns back with your hand deep in someone else's pocket. "Behave and we won't give ya up for the meager bounty yer worth." Or worse. The three of you knew no one would miss you, no family or friends to claim the body if you ended up face down on a riverbank.

It’s now or never. Freedom stands in front of you in a glossy, white coat and a braided mane, but being Soap’s horse, even approaching her will be a gamble. You'll just have to risk getting bucked off and trampled on.

When you go back inside to gather the few belongings you've got, you spot Soap's gun belt in all its worn leather glory lying in a tangled heap in the corner, revolvers still snug in their holsters. He must've gotten in late from town, the reward for the bounty he turned in last night traded in for hooch.

A mistake. His costly mistake. And a chance to ride his mare relatively unharmed. Your fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle, the ingrained symbol digging into your palm as you tighten your grip. You may not be a gunslinger with the fastest draw in the West, but you do know what end to point at someone.

But Soap's a bounty hunter and a damn good one. His reflexes are fast— faster than they should be with his dense, muscular build.  You've seen him close gaps with an unnatural speed that’s left even the toughest men reeling. He's a relentless force of pursuit when he wants to be and keeping him at a distance is a losing game, especially when you've no prior experience using a gun. Your only option is to corner him, limit his options. Every man bends the knee to power, and right now, you've got it in your clammy hand.

You straddle him, knees planted firmly on either side of his lower ribs, and press the barrel onto the left side of his jaw. Incredible, not even a hitch in his breathing, as if you're not sitting on him with your full weight. Fisting the front of his union shirt, you tug, the sharp, sudden sting of his chest hair being pulled taut waking him out of his deep sleep.

His bleary eyes snap open, blinking away any traces of sleep within moments, the new day's light catching the edges of his irises, making them gleam with an almost otherworldly brightness as they sweep the tent for any real danger.

Your breathing turns ragged once they land on you, satisfied, a wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of teeth. Dread claws at your gut, your nerves rattled, but you meet his gaze head-on. There is no room for hesitation, for doubt, not when the man you've got pinned with his own weapon is more touched in the head than Ghost is.

"I ken I'm handsome but all ye ‘ad t'do was ask, hen. I'm achin' fer the hair o' the hound if ye got any, though." His tone gives away nothing, his body completely lax. Even the rise and fall of his chest is steady, slow. You know better than to believe he isn't waiting on you to make the next move to retaliate, so you don't move. Neither of you do.

"You'll take me to town and you'll leave me there. Compared to the other folk you rope up and dump at the Sheriff's feet, I'm worth nothing." You'll make yourself scarce, move to a different state, maybe. A new life, a decent one. Honest work.

His smile widens, the puckered scar on his chin stretching. "Didnae think to take my girl? She's righ' there, saddle 'n all." Soap must think you daft.

"I want to disappear without drawing a target on my head large enough for you to see from across state lines." He would've hunted you down for sport, at that point. Soap blinks once, thrice, and then you have a solid weight pushing on your back, sudden and unexpected, forcing your upper body forward, your shoulders hunching in reflex.

The very familiar scent of earth and mildly ripe sweat sends a shiver licking up your spine, locking every notch firmly into place. Why you hadn't heard him arrive at camp or open the flaps to the tent is now irrelevant. Ghost is here now and you've nowhere to run, definitely not with Soap grabbing onto the soft of your waist, tethers made of human flesh and bone.

The weathered leather of his glove feels unexpectedly soft as his fingers curl around your trembling hand. "If you're gonna threaten ‘im, ya gotta do it proper," he mutters, breath warm against the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, rolling rumble, the kind he takes when calming his panicked horse.

"Easy now, settle down, loosen your arm a little." It does nothing to soothe you, Ghost looming larger than the gun in your grip, making it feel almost insignificant— a mere prop in the face of his overwhelming presence and the voice in your head screams at you to bare your neck, submit, and hope he goes for your jugular quickly, death seemingly a better choice than whatever game he’s making you play. "Open up, Johnny."

He does so readily, a transparent string of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Ghost's denim-clad thighs bracket yours as he settles comfortably behind you, his barrel chest engulfing the entirety of your back with space to spare.

Soap lies there with his tongue out like a dog on a hot, summer's day, mouth open wide enough for you to see the ridges and grooves of his molars. Ghost forcibly moves your hand, metal scraping against Soap's stubble with a coarse, gritty sound.

“Lie still Johnny, ya hear?” his pointer finger hovering over the trigger. The lump that’s risen to your throat makes breathing hard, each swallow a struggle. You never intended to fire a shot, just hoped the threat of life and death would be enough to make things go your way. 

“W-wait,” you gurgle out but Ghost’s hand only tightens around yours. 

“Can’t get cold feet now, sweet’eart, not when Soap’s southern blood is pumpin’ ‘cause a you.” His-? You take notice of it then, the rigid swelling between your legs, pushing up into your center. As if to drive the point home, Soap bucks his hips while pulling you down, making the inseam of your pants brush against your pearl. 

“Oh-,” he does it again, and again, the leaden lump of dread that had once anchored itself in your belly begins to melt away, becoming an insistent ache that quickens your heartbeat and warms your veins, a mellow heat radiating from your core outward.

And then two things happen at once. 

Soap takes the pistol’s barrel into his mouth, slightly pursing his lips as he creates a seal around it, and his cheeks gently hollow as he bobs his head forward and back, and Ghost slowly weaves his unoccupied hand south, under your jeans and underwear, the roughened tips of his fingers quickly finding what you’ve been forced to neglect for months. 

Soap grunts, a gravelly resonant sound— rich and full— when you dig your nails into the meat of his chest as Ghost jerks erratic little circles on your puffy clit, sending shockwaves through your stomach, each wave headier than the last. 

“Can’t let ‘im ‘ave all the fun, eh?” The pressure on your waist is enough to ache, your flesh already throbbing beneath Soap’s hands, and the closer you get to the precipice, the harder they squeeze. 

Metal clacks against tooth every time your body tenses, muscles constrict, unable to keep your arm steady even with Ghost’s iron grip over your own. Soap’s a slobbering mess, spit dribbling down his chin, pistol glossy with it as he sucks on it as if it were a man’s cock instead.

(Maybe he wants it to be.) 

A couple of hiccups claw up your throat as the sticky, wet sounds of Soap’s mouth get drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears as you teeter on the sharpened edge, Ghost’s pace on you turning frantic, almost violent, and—

“Keep those pretty eyes on Johnny, he’s been dreamin’ of lookin’ at ya in the face while you come.”

Ghost tossing the gun aside, metal skidding across the floor, and you’re coming apart with Soap’s tongue in your mouth, swallowing your every gasp and moan.

It tastes like the lubricant he uses to clean his gun. Metallic. Tangy. Slightly acrid.

You’re barely able to draw in a breath when Ghost is already tugging your pants off, waistband coming to settle snugly right below your arse, exposing only what he needs, a couple of fingers gliding along your folds, curling right at your entrance.

But he doesn’t do what you expect; for him to sink into cunt, fill it to the brim, distended until you’ve got tears clumping your eyelashes and blood on your tongue. 

(It’s been a very long time since you’ve last laid with a man, and not one has ever been as big as he in stature.)

Instead, he takes Soap’s bare length in one giant paw, using your creamy slick for better friction, and ruts his own heavy cock against it until they’re both spurting the warm spend Ghost crams into your needy hole with two fingers.

“‘M not fuckin’ you, not after your stupid little stunt,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather, and you’re not sure if laughing will stop the hysterical sob about to slither past your trembling lips. 

Soap stares up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, content, satiated unlike you, and pinches your cheek with his fingers. “Next time ye want tae threaten a person—,” his voice peters off, and you can feel Ghost wiping his hand on the back of your shirt before reaching for Soap’s pistol and pressing a button, the cylinder dropping open.

Empty. Every single chamber is hollow, like the empty sockets of a honeycomb. “Make sure it’s loaded, sweet’eart.”

Un. fucking. Believable.

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon commission for @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

Request: I was thinking of doing a warlock x bar keep (maybe a minatour or orc, honestly dealers choice), but because the reader is a warlock her patron (a tentacle guy) is always watching, so she warns the bar keep thinking he will wanna stop, but he dosen’t. So while the bar keep and reader are having sex (in the closed bar), some tentacles from her patron come out and help. And maybe if possible have the patron speak to reader in her mind and just is super condensing and dirty. While the bar keep is super nice and praising. So reader warns orc that tentacle monster will be watching and interacting, but orc doesn't really care, or likes the idea!

A/N: The phrases in italics are said inside the reader and orc’s mind. Enjoy!

After closing

Orc x gn!tentacle monster x warlock fem!reader || tentacle sex, sharing is caring, exhibitionism (kinda?), semi-public sex, double penetration, dirty talk, (light) degradation

You were tending the bar, and all night long, an orc had been chatting you up when you weren’t busy. He was handsome and big, and looked good enough to eat. So when he asked: “Can I stay?”

You couldn’t do anything but to agree. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Let me help you,” he offered as you cleaned the place, taking the broom and doing a quick but efficient job at cleaning most of the dirt on the floor. You weren’t too worried about it, looking at him move and flex was making you all kinds of hot and bothered.

When he finished his helping, you both meet at the table next to the back door. A part of you was hyper-aware of everything around you, of his body getting closer and the predatory shadow in his eyes. He breathed deeply in front of you, his nostrils flaring when he caught your desire in the air. He growled softly, and you whined. You loved your lovers growly.

He launched to kiss you when you softly stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I- I have to warn you, though.”

He kissed your cheek, your forehead, your jaw… “About what?” He asked between kisses, his hands traveling up and down your back, a bit closer to your ass with each stroke. You were slowly losing your mind, but you needed to inform him first, before they appeared.

“The patron…” You started, and your voice broke when he sucked on your neck, his tusks caressing your skin in the most tantalizing way. “He likes to watch and participate,” you finished when your brain came back.

That made him stop. “What?”

“I’m just giving you a heads up, they can appear at any moment and they… they like to participate,” you let out the last part in a whisper. You weren’t sure how he was going to take it, some people left after she told them. Some of them stayed and had the best night of their lives.

You knew he would be one of the second. “Participate, huh?” His smirk and the innuendo in his tone made you shiver in anticipation.

“They are very… enthusiastic.” That was an understatement, but you preferred him to discover that in due time.

His voice lowered a couple octaves as he said: “Are they gonna help me drive you senseless?” And growled a little, making your knees give up under you. He grabbed your ass and sat you on the table, the perfect height for his dick to rub against your clothed pussy. You groaned out loud and he chuckled.

“I don’t know, maybe.” But you knew they would, they had done it every time you dared to have sex at the bar. And if you were completely true to yourself, you’d accept that it was the main reason why you kept inviting some of the patrons to have sex after hours, so you could feel their tentacles over your body again.

“I’m in, I don’t mind sharing, especially if it’s a morsel such as yourself, so delectable.” As he talked he reached to touch your body, his hands finding the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath and touching your soft skin. Your skin was electrified, sending tiny sparks his way, making him shiver in response. “I fucking love sex with warlocks,” he said as he groped your boob, approaching your body and kissing your neck. You send another wave of electricity down his body, making him growl again as you giggled.

“I’m not the first, then?” You joked, not bothered at all by whatever his response might be as you pulled at his shirt and your mouths met. It was exhilarating, to have such a big monster over you, next to you. His green hands traveling over your body like you were a treasure. It was wonderful.

Things got heated pretty quick after that, both of you naked and grinding against each other between frantic kisses when you felt them. It was a tentacle across your ankle, but it rapidly ascended and joined your grinding, wrapping themselves around your orc’s dick and adding texture to it.

Such good sluts for me, the voice of your patron sounded inside your brain, and by the gasp your lover emitted, inside his, too. You two look great all needy grinding against each other, I love to watch that.

You both groaned as the tentacle squeezed his dick and rubbed the suckers against your dripping pussy. Another tentacle joined over the orc’s shoulder, closing around your neck as you gasped for air and parted the kiss. You threw your head back when a third and fourth tentacle groped your tits.

Look at these tits, so perfect to grope, I bet you’d love to be groped in the middle of a service. Yeah, you would… Maybe next time I would just fuck you when everyone is here. You’d like that? Their voice inside your brain was rough and condescending, sending shivers down your body as they kept talking. Of course you’d like that, you are a slut. And our orc friend here… He’s a slut, too. Your orc companion groaned loudly. Look at him all dark green, flustered because a tentacle monster is playing with him.

You looked at him just in time to see some tentacles caressing his body as you watched mesmerized. It was such a turn on to be at the mercy of a powerful tentacle monster… As you got fucked by anther monster, your body was vibrating with pent up energy as hands and tentacles touched you everywhere.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” You chanted as your orc companion groaned, his head thrown back as he was caressed by tentacles.

“Yes. Yes,” he was having problems of his own trying to align his dick with your pussy, the tentacles holding his hands away and sucking on his nipples. He cried out so loud you were worried someone could hear him from the outside, but a part of you found that even hotter. You tried to reach for his cock to do it yourself, but the tentacles stopped you, too.

You two are mine to play, you can’t decide when you do anything.

You were completely at their mercy, both of you were. You felt a tentacle caressing your asshole, probing and pushing lightly, making you moan loudly. Your orc lover wasn’t far behind, probably some tentacles doing the same to him. It was exhilarating to know he was also being fucked, that you two were nothing but toys. And judging by his moans, he thought so, too.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… I’ve never- Nobody ever…” He tried, but his voice kept breaking with loud groans. By the time the tentacle breached your asshole, you had half of a brain-cell left. Your body melting against the table as the orc in front of you melted on top of you. His mouth was open in a silent cry as a tentacle breached him. “This is… this is… Oh, Goddess.”

Oh, they sound so good when they are virgins. Your patron chuckled inside your brain. Guess someone is going to discover the wonders of tentacle AND anal sex today.

You wanted to laugh, to agree with him, but you didn’t have time before you felt something against your pussy. The orc’s cock, but it wasn’t alone. The tentacle that was jerking him didn’t let go, it curled around him and helped him inside of you, adding girth and texture to his already huge dick. It broke into you with a pop, your opening accepting them like an offering from the gods.

Such a good slut taking everything I give you, everything we give to you. I love how slutty you get, how desperate when you are stuffed.

You felt everything. The suckers, the ridges, the huge tip of the orc’s cock against your G-spot right before the tentacle moved and latched a sucker there. You screamed so loud you felt your companions shiver inside of you. It was too much, too fast, too far, too tight. You felt fuller than ever, your asshole being fucked by a tentacle, and your pussy overflowing with the combination of your lovers, it was way better than anything you thought possible. It was way better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“I’m going- I’m gonna… Oh fuck!” His broken cry was accompanied by warm come inside of you, making you scream as you precipitated over the edge with him. It was a blinding orgasm, so powerful and intense that you felt your brain melting inside your brain and your body electrifying itself. “You are glowing, fuck, fuck, you are glowing.” His voice was harsh after screaming, and you realized he was right. Your magic surfacing in the weirdest way when you came, making you glow like a street lamp in the dim interior of the bar.

You came so hard you had to glow? Pathetic. I bet I can make you cry to look even more pathetic than you already are. Such a slut for some monster dick and tentacles… You wanted to answer them, to say something, but their words made you moan, humiliation making you hot all over. Your orc friend wasn’t better, groaning as they kept talking. And you? An orc whore who’ve never been fucked and now is pushing his ass back into my tentacles… ridiculous. But I bet I can make you cry, too. I love when they cry.

And then the tentacles started moving again. Moving his body and his dick, moving themselves inside your assholes. They were playing with you two like you were toys for their entertainment, and you two were powerless to stop them. It was intoxicating.

You came. And he came.

And it happened again. And again. And again.

By the time the tentacle monster decided they didn’t want to play with you two anymore, you were like rag dolls over the table, completely spent and tired, dried of all pleasure in your body. You didn’t even know how much it lasted, but you could hear some rooster far away. It was probably close to dawn… They fucked you two all night long, they squeezed every single drop of pleasure inside of you and left you there when they got bored…

Bar opens again in a couple hours, if I were you I would get dressed. But if you don’t… I guess you’d be the spectacle of the night.

You glowed again, your body responding to their threat as your orc companion got up on shaky legs and got dressed. He kissed your forehead before leaving, telling you he’d be back. You wanted to giggle at his soft whisper, your patron had that effect.

And you couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

You can find more info on individual commissions (here) and Patreon commissions (here). Also you can find all other commissioned work in this masterlist.

[halfvalid]

through the night

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: zoro comes to the reader's room during the night. sex ensues.

tags: smut, female reader, oral (receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, kissing (a lot of it), soft zoro, first time together, confessions (kinda), fluff, no use of "y/n", banter, pwp (lowkey).

author's note: consent is sexy and so is zoro

i have up to now only watched 2 episodes of OPLA and have never consumed any other type of one piece media. expect him to be ooc. also it's my first smut fic help

It was nighttime on the Going Merry, and the dull kiss of the setting horizon drifted lazily through the single window in your room. You were lying on your bed, leaning against the headboard as you flipped through a book you’d picked up the last time the ship had been docked. It wasn’t too interesting, but it was something to pass the time with, so you stifled a yawn and flipped to the next page.

There was a knock at your door, and you glanced up, watching as the shoddy metal hinges slowly creaked open. Zoro was standing in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out nearly all the light coming in from the hall. He was still dressed in his daywear, which reminded you that you needed to change—the loose shirt and trousers you wore were, although clean, nothing near sleepwear.

“Zoro?” you asked, watching as he started into the room. You clicked your tongue before he could step another foot inside, though— “If you’re going to come in, take your shoes off.”

Zoro scoffed but obeyed, pausing by the mouth of the room to slide his heavy boots off. He tread lightly to where you lay, climbing up to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Zoro answered. You moved aside to allow him some more room, centering yourself on the bed. Zoro didn’t move, though.

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s possible?”

He looked unimpressed, propping his arms under his head and leaning back so his head was splayed against your thighs. His three matching earrings glinted in the light. “Luffy and Nami are being loud. Your room’s the farthest away.”

“Your elbow is digging into my gut,” you said, turning back towards your book. Zoro rolled his eyes, but readjusted his position, pulling his arms down to instead lay folded atop his stomach. “Are you just going to nap there?”

Zoro shrugged, and you had to stifle a giggle, the sensation vaguely ticklish. He’d never been a man of many words, so you lowered your book again and went back to reading. The light in the room was dim, though; after a few minutes, the glow from the light at your bedside no longer sufficed, and you were too tired to strain your eyes to squint at the page. You could, of course, just turn on the cabin lights—but Zoro was asleep by now, and you hadn’t even liked the book that much anyway.

You set it on your nightstand, gazing down at the slumbering man in your lap. Despite the glare he so often sported, Zoro looked near-angelic in his sleep, his face all smooth planes and straight lines. Those dark eyes of his were hidden like this, black lashes splayed across his cheeks as shadows emphasized the hollows of his bone structure.

He really was beautiful, an ever-comforting presence within the Straw Hats that your eyes had always strayed to. There was a certain kind of fondness you held for him that none of the other crew members could quite compare to, although if you voiced those thoughts Luffy would probably end up giving you a lighthearted scolding. You could already imagine the teasing from the other members of the crew—Usopp and Sanji particularly—making fun of your little crush, which is why you kept your lips firmly sealed. A secret was a secret, and this was yours to keep.

You finally tore your eyes away, focusing instead on getting out of the position you’d gotten stuck in. Somewhere in the back of your mind you liked the idea of Zoro sleeping in your lap, but the clothes you wore were getting increasingly uncomfortable. You carefully slipped out from under him, cradling his head so as to support him as you gently lowered him to the mattress. Thankfully, he didn’t rouse, and you slipped to the other side of the room to open up your wardrobe, satisfied knowing you weren’t disturbing him.

You made deft work, first brushing through your hair and rinsing your face with some clean water before focusing your attention on changing your clothes. You removed your trousers, instead donning a pair of shorts. You were halfway through peeling off your blouse to replace it with a softer, silk one, when Zoro coughed from behind you.

You froze, daring to glance behind you whilst still topless. Zoro had awoken, eyes having lost all trace of sleep as he slowly sat up, staring at your figure across the room. He coughed again as soon as your eyes met, dropping his gaze. “Sorry,” he said very carefully, voice hoarse and grating.

“No, it’s okay,” you managed out, but you were still frozen. Your thoughts were on the dark look that’d been in his eyes the split-second before he’d looked away—surprised but sharp, cutting like just his gaze could pierce through your soul. Gooseflesh had prickled up along your arms.

“I’ll just… go,” Zoro muttered, already having gotten up as he started shuffling towards the door. You jolted into action, nearly dropping the shirt still in your hands as you turned towards him.

“No, you can—” your words softened, seeing his gaze flicker rapidly around your figure before finally landing on some spot by your cheek. “You can stay.” You paused, hoping your words weren’t too direct. “If you want.”

“You should put your shirt on,” Zoro said, almost choking on his words, like they were too big to fit in his mouth.

Your gaze dropped down before a steady blush started climbing up the sides of your face. “Right,” you started, but it was like you’d lost control of your hands. The shirt still hung limply from your grip.

“Or you could…” Zoro paused, lips parted as he sucked in a soft breath. Carefully, he moved back towards your bed, the only sound in the room a soft thump as he sat back on it. “Not.”

You swallowed. You could barely feel the lax of grip as your fingers released the shirt, letting it fall to the floor in one pathetic heap. You took a tentative step towards Zoro, and then another, until you were right in front of him. The soft night breeze through the window caused chills to erupt down your spine. Or maybe that was Zoro’s expression—nearly studious in his attentivity, eyes grazing across your chest and torso like he was taking in information for a new, particularly high-paying bounty.

“Zoro,” you started. He finally glanced up at your face, and you shuddered, biting down hard on your tongue. “I, um—hi.”

“Hey,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word on his tongue. Your gaze flickered down to his lips. He seemed to notice, but he didn’t say anything; rather, he raised one of his hands, pressing it against your side until his fingers tightened against your waist, a present, ever-pulsing rush of warmth. “I think my chest is bigger than yours.”

You flushed, a quick rush of crimson gracing your cheeks as you turned away. Zoro’s grip on your waist tightened, and a low laugh escaped the bottom of his throat. “That was mean,” you whined. Zoro’s other hand came up to your face, fingers pressing against the underside of your chin. He carefully angled your face down, so you couldn’t look anywhere but straight at him.

“It worked to calm you down, though,” he said easily. You were about to protest against the fact that you had been calm in the first place, but then Zoro was kissing you.

Zoro was a lot less aggressive than you’d originally expected, but as you sunk deeper into the kiss, it started to make sense. Zoro was all clean lines when he fought, practiced and perfect—no space for sloppy lines or scribbles. The way he kissed was similar; he applied pressure, but not too much pressure, and his thumb traced firm circles into the skin of your waist.

He angled your head with the hand firmly propped against your jaw, so you didn’t have to do a lot of the work—just press against his lips and move against the gentle rhythm he’d set. His teeth scraped carefully against your lower lip, and he tugged, letting a soft gasp out from your throat.

Zoro took the opportunity to pry your lips apart with his tongue, the fingers splayed against your chin coaxing your jaw open until he could slide his tongue against yours. You let out a soft whimper, hands scrambling to his shoulders and running along the muscles of his back. Of course you’d known he was well-built, but the firmness of his body forced another squeak out of you—one he was more than willing to swallow up.

Eventually, Zoro’s hand dropped from your jaw, skimming along your body line before coming to rest on the underside of one of your breasts. You gasped as he started to massage the skin with his thumb, accidentally biting down on his lower lip in the process. He groaned, the sound low as his rhythm sped up, the hand cupping your waist dropping down to your hip.

And then he was hoisting you up and onto his lap. “Oh my God,” you muttered, causing him to break away, eyes glinting with amusement.

“What?”

A heady rush had blossomed along your cheeks again. “Nothing. You.” Somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered how strong Zoro had to be to lift you off the ground so easily with only one arm—granted, it hadn’t been that far of a lift, but still. “Kiss me again.”

Zoro laughed but obeyed, his hand still working at your breast as the other dropped to your thigh. Your fingers interlaced with his short hair, tangling within the moss-green locks as his tongue ran along the ivories of your teeth. His teeth scraped against your lip as he moved away, lips instead following the line of your jaw and moving down to your neck.

You dropped your arm from his hair, hand pressing flat against his upper back. Zoro’s muscles flexed as he chased down your throat, and you sighed as he pressed gentle kisses along the line of your vein.

“Been—wanting to do this for a while,” Zoro panted between kisses, placing a final one kiss at the junction of your collarbone before glancing tentatively back up at you. You met his mouth in another kiss, a smile you hadn’t felt rising bright along your cheekbones.

“Me too,” you whispered, and a look of relief flashed across his face before he was ducking his head again to press more kisses along your neck. You let out a laugh—you could feel the rumble of his lips against the sound as it left your throat. Carefully, you ran your finger along his earrings, soft clinks filling the room at the action. “What was that? Did you think I didn’t?”

“Dunno,” Zoro muttered, and you laughed again before he nipped at your skin, teeth scratching in a gentle bite. At your chest, his hand squeezed your nipple, and you gasped.

“That was mean.”

“Mhm.” Zoro didn’t seem appeased, his kisses turning sloppier—open-mouthed, full of bite. He never pressed down hard enough to hurt, but your mouth was full of soft gasps and whines, and your hand had come down to clench against his bicep. God, his arms. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

You nudged him, meaning only for it to be a slight press. But Zoro let the action guide him, falling onto his back with you pressed against him, flat against the bed. He stilled, both hands dropping to your hips as he gaze lifted to drink you in.

You were certain you were a mess—blushing, lips probably swollen, bruise blossoms that would purple by morning scattered all along your neck. But the way he looked at you made it seem like you were all dolled up—like you were outfitted in a flowing gown, eyes sparkling and hair perfect instead of the mess it most undoubtedly was.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Actually, you were certain you weren’t supposed to hear it, because before you could respond, he was pulling you across him, fluidly rolling you onto your back. His forearm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in. Zoro seemed to like this angle, moving down your neck to your chest with more gentle kisses.

You were content to let him take what he wanted, eyes not moving from his face as you watched his lips brush over your breast. His tongue was hot against your skin, and you sucked in a tight breath as he swirled it along your nipple. Zoro steadied you with a firm grasp, hand pressing against your side before pushing up to attend to the breast that his mouth wasn’t. You squirmed, a soft pool of warmth sitting in your lower belly as he worked. A tight knot had formed somewhere inside, and you let out a breathy gasp.

Zoro’s gaze traced lower, hand leaving your breast in favor of skidding down your figure to rest at the hand of your shorts. He paused, eyes flickering upwards to meet yours. Hastily, you nodded, and his fingers dipped below the cloth, head lowering to press another kiss by your hip bone. Your hands clenched against the bed sheets as his fingers skimmed the rim of your shorts, coaxing them down inch by inch before they finally slid down to your knees. You kicked them off insistently, and Zoro laughed, one hand coming to stroke your thigh as if to make you stop moving.

Even though you’d partly expected it, you hadn’t been ready for the soft kiss he pressed against your inner thigh. His hand hooked around the side of your panties, dragging them down as he kissed up your skin, and you took in a sharp breath that he wholly and entirely ignored. His movements became more insistent as you squirmed, open-mouth and biting, tongue darting out from between his lips to languidly swipe up your thigh. Finally he reached the junction of your thigh and core, mouth pressing a feather-light kiss that dragged an entirely shameful sound out from your throat.

Zoro pushed your panties all the way off your hips, letting them sit by your knees even as you squirmed to kick them off. “Shh,” he murmured, and you stopped, heart pounding as the sound sunk deep into your bloodstream. The tight knot in your lower belly had only grown tighter, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched Zoro, his eyes flickering all around your exposed core.

He ran a finger along the side of your slit, and you shuddered, watching as he experimentally traced it across your folds. He lowered his head to your hips, pressing a kiss onto your clit. You were barely able to suppress the buck of your hips as Zoro’s hand came to rest on your thigh, pinning you down as his other hand worked along your core.

His finger found your vagina, carefully sinking between your folds as his tongue worked languid circles around your clit. You let out a moan, voice stuttering against your throat as his finger slipped deeper inside you. It only took him a few moments to push another one in, the soft scrape of his cut fingernails eliciting sparks that drew another breathy moan out of you.

“Isn’t it a little—unfair that I’m the only one not wearing anything?” you managed out between breaths, and Zoro stopped his motions, head lifting and eyes glancing up at you from under his lashes. One of his eyebrows arched in question, and his lips were glossy with your fluids, causing your core to squeeze around his fingers. Somehow, he didn’t even seem to notice the motion.

“Oh, that’s what you want to focus on right now?” he murmured, all low and throaty. He always spoke low-pitched, vocal chords all brash and grating from the back of his throat, but his voice hummed even deeper now, although that didn’t seem humanly possible. Your muscles clenched again, and Zoro’s gaze dipped down to where his fingers were still pushed inside of you. He fluidly pressed in deeper, fingers curling inside your body before pulling out and working back in. Your retort was lost as you moaned again, the tight feeling of your gut slowly unwinding as he moved back and forth inside of you.

His mouth lowered to lick at your clit again, and you cried out, barely suppressing a scream as his fingers dug, more insistent, inside of you. He pressed one final kiss against your clit, and then sat back, eyes fixed on working at your core instead. His fingers pumped in and out, steady and fluid. Your breaths came out breathy and broken, climbing closer and closer to your climax until he finally reached the summit inside of you.

“Come,” Zoro whispered, the hand not taking care of you running reassuringly along your thigh. You came suddenly, hips stuttering from where’d they’d lifted off the mattress, a cry ripping out of your throat. Zoro slowly slipped his fingers out of you, rubbing soothing circles into your inner thigh as you ran out your climax. Your breaths evened out, becoming less deep, less frantic; Zoro watched all the while, a glossy shine over his eyes and the faintest of smiles pressed along his lips.

You tilted your gaze down to his face, catching him just as he started to move again. The fingers drenched in your fluids came up to his mouth, and he licked them clean. Your stomach dropped, somehow already turning you on despite having come just mere seconds beforehand.

“My turn,” Zoro said softly, sitting up to start unbuttoning his shirt. You hoisted yourself up, hands skimming along the sheets beside him, uncertain of whether he wanted you to touch. You glimpsed a stiff tent in his pants as he sat up, and swallowed hard, eyeing the pull with apprehension.

“Do you want me to—” you tried gesturing down to his hips, but he caught your hand swiftly, pressing it against the buttons of his shirt. “What do you want?”

“Sex,” Zoro said. Nothing else. You held back the choke that dared to escape your throat, and a sheepish grin crossed his face. It was lopsided, nearly a smirk, if not for the genuine warmth glimmering at his eyes. “Sorry. That was vague.”

“It’s okay,” you assured, stifling a laugh. Your hands worked fastidiously at his buttons. It took far longer than you felt it should’ve, fingers all clumsy as you tugged them through their holes, unlooping them from where it fixed the cloth together. Soon enough, though, Zoro was stripping the last of the fabric off, tossing it carelessly across the room before pulling you into another kiss.

He was sloppier now that you’d come, more comfortable in his element—you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, and you let out a sigh, hands moving down his figure to work at his belt. He had to stop kissing you to tug at his pants, pushing them down his legs before finally kicking them off fully.

You ducked your head to press a kiss at his navel, eyes tracing the length that jutted out from his hips. Your breath caught, gaze fixed to a pale vein running up the line of his length. “Up,” Zoro murmured, and you glanced up. Zoro pressed a long kiss to your mouth, one hand skimming around your butt to pull you up by the headboard. He ran a hand over your core, as if to ascertain you were relaxed enough for him.

“Do you have anything for it?” he murmured, lips sending chills down your back as he pressed a soft kiss at your jaw.

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” you huffed out, arms winding around his torso. Zoro hummed his response, fingers running up and down your thigh as he adjusted, hips sliding against yours to meet your core.

You sucked in a breath, but he was gentle with it, pushing in slowly, hand running along your lower back and coaxing you still. The sensation sparked tingles all over your body; up your spine, along your hips, down your legs like Zoro was electricity himself. You let out a little sigh as he pushed up to his hilt into you, hips stuttering against his as you both paused for breath. He brushed a ghost of a kiss along your lips. “Okay?” Zoro murmured.

“Perfect,” you answered, arms clutching tighter around him, fingers digging into his back. You hoped it wasn’t too sharp, but considering how big Zoro was, it was likely he barely felt the pressure—the crescents of your fingernails were probably just pinpricks to him.

Zoro started moving, then, his actions soft and fluid at first, fingers pressing reassuring circles into your waist and hips. He was nearly tender with it, motions languid and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Your breaths came out easy, soft and just barely edging towards gasps.

He started thrusting with more insistence soon, though; Zoro’s hips bucked against yours, and your grip tightened along his shoulder blades as he pushed in and out of you. Soft gasps and whines left your throat, in stark contrast to the heavy groans and grunts that barely stuttered past Zoro’s lips.

“Like that,” you said, barely able to let out words of encouragement as he hit your sweet spot, buried deep inside of you. You let out a throaty moan as he moved faster and faster, thrusts becoming harder and more aggressive. You knocked your head back, one of your hands reaching to grab Zoro’s from where it propped him up by your head. He welcomed the invitation quickly, fingers interlacing with yours, coaxing your palm open into a kiss of your hands. His thrusts worked harder than ever, and you stopped chasing the friction, letting your hips buck up against his as he shoved into you.

A low groan erupted from his throat as he hit your spot again, mouth coming down to bite into your shoulder as he suppressed the cry that tore from his mouth. You swallowed, gasping hard for breath as you felt him come inside you, your walls clenching tight around him before you also felt the familiar burst of pressure. You let out a gasping moan, mind buzzing with sparks and tingles. Vaguely, you felt Zoro’s hand against your hip, moving up and down in calming strokes.

It took a moment for you both to recover, coming down from the blissful high after long seconds ticked by. Zoro removed his mouth from your shoulder, carefully prying his jaw off from your skin. He scrutinized the marks he’d left—crescents of teeth, undoubtedly—before lowering his head again to press an apologetic kiss to the bite. You laughed in surprise.

“I can be a gentleman,” Zoro protested lightly, though his words didn’t hold much of a fight as he carefully slid out of you. He did it slowly, inch by inch, leaving a hollow sensation in his wake when he eventually parted from you. “You okay?”

“Lovely,” you answered honestly, eyes grazing up his chest before meeting his. “You?”

“I’m good,” Zoro answered, a vague smile on his lips. It was soft, tender; maybe not as big as ones you’d seen when he was laughing with the crew, but special nonetheless. He studied you for a moment, and you took the opportunity to trace his face with your eyes. His pupils were blown, slowly receding back into small dots of shadow, and his lips were kissed red, swollen over and glossy with your saliva. “Want me to draw a bath?”

“No,” you said, content just to watch him like this. “We can clean up in the morning, it’s getting late.” You hesitated, suddenly uncertain, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “Unless… you want to go?”

Zoro snorted. “No, I think I like it here,” he decided. He sat up, reaching to pull the blankets over your figure so the gooseflesh you hadn’t even noticed on your skin would subside. “Too tired to move, anyway. Might stay here forever.”

“Dramatic ass,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around his wrist and tugging him closer to you. Zoro obeyed, sliding beside you, one arm moving to wrap around your waist. “Go to sleep, you big dummy.”

Zoro’s breath was light against the shell of your ear. “That was unwarranted.”

“Sleep,” you insisted, and Zoro huffed, reaching the arm that wasn’t around you to the nightstand. He flicked the lantern off, then turned back towards you, finally settling down. His lips pressed a soft kiss along your shoulder, and you smiled, your hand reaching down to meet where his was splayed along your belly.

“Good night,” you whispered.

“Night,” he mumbled back, the end of the word tapering off into a soft, tired breath. You could feel his chest move, up and down in a steady, soft rhythm. You buried your head into the crook of his arm, letting out a contented sigh before finally closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

© halfvalid 2023

[soulofapatrick]

A part of me is tethered to you - Azriel x female reader 

Summary: you can’t sleep and go to see out your best friends but end up going to Azriel

Warnings: none really; more fluff than anything 

Words: 4.3K

Y/N's POV

I toss and turn in bed, every position more uncomfortable than the last. My sheets are tangled around my legs, and no matter how many times I close my eyes, the restless feeling gnaws at me. Sleep refuses to come, my thoughts too loud and the remnants of my nightmare still clawing at the edges of my mind.

With a sigh, I sit up, running a hand through my hair. It’s no use—I won’t find peace tonight, not like this. Feyre or Cassian is probably still awake; they usually are, always up late. Maybe talking to one of them would help, at least enough to shake off this tension.

I slip out of bed and pull on my robe, the cool air of the House of Wind whispering over my skin as I step into the hallway. The house is quiet, its usual warmth a little muted in the dead of night. The stone beneath my feet feels grounding, steadying, but as I make my way down the corridor, something shifts inside me.

As I pass Azriel’s door, an invisible pull tugs at me, soft but insistent. I stop in my tracks, my heart suddenly beating faster in my chest. His door is closed, but the moment I’m near it, it’s as if something deep within me is drawn to it. A feeling I can’t quite explain—like I’m being called to him, to his presence, without words or reason.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

I’m supposed to be heading to Cassian’s, but my feet don’t move. Instead, I find myself staring at Azriel’s door, the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing against my chest. I’ve tried to keep them buried, tried to convince myself that what I feel for him is nothing more than friendship—admiration, respect for the way he carries himself, for the quiet strength he exudes. But I know it’s a lie.

It’s so much more than that.

The truth is, I’m drawn to him in ways I can’t even fully comprehend. There’s something about him that calls to me—his shadows, his silence, the way he moves through the world with such restraint, such quiet intensity. And then there are the rare moments when his gaze lingers on me just a second too long, when the soft brush of his hand against mine sends a shock of warmth through my entire body.

I’ve been fighting these feelings for too long, pretending I don’t care. But standing here now, the pull toward his room stronger than ever, I can’t deny it anymore.

My hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation prickling at the edges of my mind. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. He didn’t invite me in. But the draw is too strong to ignore, as if my heart knows something my mind doesn’t.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grip the handle and twist, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The door shuts behind me with a soft click, and I’m immediately enveloped by the warmth of his space. Shadows flicker lazily along the walls, but they seem calm, almost serene.

And then there’s his scent—cedarwood, smoke, and something distinctly him. It fills the room, wrapping around me like an embrace, and I find myself inhaling deeply, letting it seep into my skin. My heart races, but it’s not from fear or anxiety. It’s from something deeper, something that stirs in my chest every time I’m near him.

I step further into the room, my eyes falling on his bed. It’s perfectly made, the dark blankets smoothed out neatly. The pull tugs again, more insistent this time, urging me closer. My fingers graze the soft fabric, and a shiver runs through me. His bed looks so inviting, so warm, and without thinking, I let my hand glide over the blanket. I know I shouldn’t, but the temptation is too much.

Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling the covers back and slipping beneath them, sinking into the softness of his mattress. His scent is even stronger here, enveloping me completely, and I can’t help the way my body relaxes, every muscle softening as the warmth of the bed wraps around me.

It feels… right. Comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. As if being in his bed is exactly where I’m meant to be.

My head sinks into his pillow, and the overwhelming sensation of him makes my breath catch in my throat. My heart pounds in my chest, the awareness of what I’m doing—the intimacy of it—settling deep into my bones. It feels forbidden, like I’m crossing a line, but it also feels… so good. Like I’ve been craving this closeness, this connection, for longer than I want to admit.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his bed and the quiet of his room seep into me. There’s something about this space that makes me feel safe, something about him that makes the chaos in my mind go quiet. My feelings for Azriel—those hidden, aching feelings I’ve tried so hard to suppress—bubble to the surface, and for a moment, I let myself indulge in them.

What if… what if I didn’t have to hide them? What if he felt the same? The thought sends a thrill through me, but I push it aside, knowing it’s dangerous to hope for something like that.

Still, as I curl deeper into his bed, I can’t help but imagine him here, lying beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. I can almost feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body pressed close. It’s a fantasy I’ve had more times than I care to admit, but here, wrapped in the reality of his space, it feels closer than ever.

And as the scent of him and the softness of his bed lull me further into warmth, I let my eyes drift shut, letting the fantasy take over, letting myself believe—for just a little while—that this could be real.

Sleep comes easily this time, with Azriel in my thoughts, the pull on my heart finally settling as I drift into a dream.

The gentle caress of fingers across my cheek stirs me from sleep. It's soft, featherlight, and for a moment, I think I'm still dreaming. But then it comes again—a slow, deliberate brush of fingertips against my skin, followed by the feeling of someone smoothing my hair back from my face.

I blink, eyes fluttering open, the world still hazy with sleep. It takes a second to register where I am, but when I do, my heart lurches in my chest.

Azriel is sitting on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes watching me with an expression so soft, so tender, that it sends a wave of warmth rushing through me. His shadows curl around him, flitting in and out of the room’s dim light, but there’s something about the way they seem to reach for me—gentle, almost curious, as if they’re part of him, mirroring the way his hand is smoothing my hair back. His touch is delicate, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he presses too hard.

My breath catches in my throat. This isn’t a dream.

Azriel’s gaze is steady, his eyes full of something I can’t quite name—something that makes my chest tighten and my skin flush. There’s no anger, no judgment. Just a quiet intensity, like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here, in his bed, yet there’s no trace of displeasure in his expression. If anything, he looks… amused. Fond, even.

I can’t breathe. My mind scrambles, replaying every step that led me here, and embarrassment crashes over me like a tidal wave. I’m in Azriel’s bed. His bed. Without permission. Without an invitation. Oh gods, what was I thinking?

Heat floods my face, and before I can stop myself, I yank the duvet over my head, retreating beneath the heavy fabric as if it could somehow shield me from the mortification that’s burning through me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m sure my face must be crimson beneath the covers.

I hear a soft chuckle—low, barely audible—and it only makes my humiliation worse. Azriel, the Shadowsinger, deadly and unreadable, is laughing at me. Of course he is. I’m in his bed, hiding under his duvet like some child, utterly mortified by the fact that he found me here.

I can still feel his presence beside me, the warmth of him seeping through the blanket, his hand still resting lightly on top of the duvet where I know my head is hidden beneath. His fingers brush the fabric, a comforting gesture, as if to coax me out from my hiding place.

But I can’t. I can’t face him right now—not with my heart pounding like this, not with the knowledge that I’ve crossed a line I didn’t even realize I was crossing until it was too late.

His voice breaks the silence, soft and soothing. “You don’t have to hide.”

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my grip tightens on the duvet. He sounds so calm, so gentle, and I don’t understand how he can be so unbothered when I’m dying of embarrassment under his blanket.

“I—” I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. What can I even say? How do I explain that I felt drawn to his room, that the pull was so strong I couldn’t resist? That I didn’t mean to invade his space, that I was just so tired and somehow, being here, surrounded by his scent and his warmth, made everything feel right?

I squeeze my eyes shut beneath the blanket, heat still rising to my cheeks. This is a nightmare. But instead of running, he stays—quiet, patient. His shadows curl around me, and I can feel the gentle pulse of his presence, waiting for me to emerge. Waiting for me to face him.

I take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart, and slowly—hesitantly—I pull the duvet down just enough to peek out at him. He’s still there, his dark eyes fixed on mine, and the warmth in his gaze makes my stomach flip.

His lips curve into the slightest smile, and it takes everything in me not to hide again. But there’s no judgment in his eyes, no anger. Only that quiet, steady intensity that always seems to surround him, as if he’s seeing something in me that I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper, not knowing how to explain myself, not knowing how to make this less awkward. “I couldn’t sleep, and… I just…” I glance away, feeling the burn of my embarrassment all over again.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me, and then his hand moves again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch so tender it almost undoes me.

“You’re always welcome here,” he says softly, his voice like a whisper in the quiet room.

Azriel’s soft gaze lingers on me, and I can feel the warmth of it, steady and reassuring. I should feel more embarrassed than I already do, but there’s something about him—his presence, the way he’s just there—that soothes me. His hand is still gentle in my hair, smoothing it back in a rhythm that makes me want to close my eyes again and sink into it.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. It’s a tone he uses when he wants someone to open up, when he’s coaxing out a truth they’re too afraid to admit. His fingers pause in my hair, and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t want to lie. I can’t lie—not to him.

“I’ve… I’ve been having nightmares,” I admit, the words coming out in a rush. I shift under the duvet, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed. “I haven’t been able to sleep. But last night…” I glance up at him, the blush rising again in my cheeks. “Last night, I slept. In here. In your bed. It was peaceful. I don’t know why, but it was.”

Azriel’s expression softens further, something like understanding flickering across his features. He studies me for a moment, his shadows still swirling around us like they’re listening too, before he nods. He doesn’t ask why I didn’t come to him earlier, or why I kept it to myself. He just accepts it, the way he always does.

He stands slowly, his movements deliberate, and I realize for the first time that he’s still in his armour—his siphons gleaming faintly in the dim light. The realisation sends a fresh wave of heat over me. He must’ve been out, maybe just returned from one of his late-night missions, and here I am, taking over his bed. My guilt surges, but then I see the calm in his eyes, and it melts away.

Azriel starts unfastening his siphons, setting each one down with a practiced ease, and as I watch, something strange stirs in my chest—something that makes me feel both breathless and desperate to look away. But I don’t. I can’t.

He removes the last of his armour, and his hands move to the hem of his shirt. In one smooth motion, he tugs it over his head and tosses it aside. My heart stutters as my eyes take in the sight of him—his toned chest, the ripple of muscles beneath his skin, the faint scars that only seem to add to the raw power that radiates off him. My gaze moves lower, following the line of his stomach, and I feel my face burn as I realize how little space there is between us.

I should look away. I should turn around and give him some privacy, but I don’t move. I can’t. My body seems frozen in place, my breath hitching in my throat as he unbuttons his tight trousers and shimmies out of them, leaving him standing in just his black boxers.

He’s beautiful. Inhumanly beautiful. His wings unfurl slightly behind him, leathery and dark, casting long shadows across the room. They’re massive, strong, and powerful, but there’s something almost graceful about them, like they’re an extension of him in more ways than just physically.

A strange ache settles low in my stomach as I watch him. The air between us feels charged, and my heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. I feel that tug again, that invisible thread pulling me toward him, urging me closer.

Azriel’s eyes meet mine, and they’ve darkened—intense and unreadable, like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. His gaze seems to burn into me, the weight of it making my pulse race, and I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. But it’s impossible, especially when he moves closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps.

“Move over,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I blink up at him, my body too tense to react, but then his lips curve into the faintest smile, a soft nudge to break the tension. “Come on,” he says, softer now, his eyes never leaving mine.

I scootch over, making room for him, though my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. He slides into bed beside me, his body so close I can feel the heat radiating off him, and my breath catches again, the space between us suddenly feeling too small.

Azriel settles beside me, his wings curling slightly around us, cocooning us in a soft darkness. His presence is overwhelming in the best possible way, and as he lies there, inches from me, I can’t help but feel like the world has narrowed down to just us—this bed, this moment.

And I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

Azriel shifts closer, the bed dipping beneath his weight, and before I can react, his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him. My heart stumbles in my chest, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s so close—closer than I’ve ever been to him. His warmth seeps into me, the solidness of his body pressing against mine in a way that feels both comforting and electrifying at the same time.

I should pull away, should give him space. But instead, I melt into him, my body fitting against his as if we’ve done this a thousand times. The scent of him—night-chilled air, cedar, and something uniquely Azriel—fills my senses, grounding me and setting me alight all at once.

His breath is warm against my hair, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand. I’m not sure what to say, how to fill the space between us now that we’re like this, but then his voice breaks the silence, low and rough.

“You shouldn’t have to sleep alone if it’s that bad.” There’s a hint of something deeper in his words, something that sends a shiver down my spine. His thumb begins to trace slow circles along my waist, and I swear I can feel each stroke burning through the thin fabric of my clothes.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s not just the nightmares…” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t know why I said it—why I feel the need to bare the truth of what’s been gnawing at me. But now that the words are out, I can’t take them back.

He tenses slightly, his arm tightening around me. “What else is it, then?” His voice is softer now, but there’s a heaviness to it, like he’s afraid of the answer.

I hesitate, my pulse racing. The air between us seems to thrum with something unspoken, something that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long I don’t know how to let it out. But lying here, wrapped in his arms, with the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I feel braver than I have in a long time.

“I sleep better when I’m with you,” I whisper, the admission barely audible, but I know he hears it. I feel his breath catch, the shift in his body as my words sink in. “Last night… it was the first time in ages I didn’t wake up in a panic.” My heart is pounding now, and I can feel the flush spreading across my cheeks. “Being near you… it calms me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve said too much. If I’ve crossed a line. But then, slowly, Azriel moves, his fingers tilting my chin so I’m looking up at him.

His eyes are dark, swirling with emotions I can’t quite read, but there’s something there—something raw and intense that makes my breath hitch. His thumb brushes along my jaw, and I lean into the touch without thinking.

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. His thumb strokes my skin again, almost like he’s testing the waters, and I feel that ache in my chest grow sharper. “I didn’t know it was like that for you.”

I blink up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Azriel, I—” My voice falters, my throat tightening as the weight of what I’m feeling crashes over me. I’ve kept these feelings buried for so long, locked away because it never felt like the right time, because I didn’t think he’d ever see me like that. But now, with him holding me like this, the truth feels too close to keep hidden.

His hand moves to cup the side of my face, his touch so gentle it makes my heart ache. “You never have to hide from me,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability I’ve never seen before, and it takes my breath away.

My chest tightens, and I take a shaky breath, feeling the tug in my heart pulling me toward him, drawing me in. I don’t know if it’s his shadows or something deeper between us, but every part of me is screaming that this is where I’m supposed to be—here, with him.

That tug in my chest tightens, and suddenly, I know.

It’s not just attraction. It’s not just this bond between friends, or the warmth of being close to someone who understands me. It’s something more. Something I can’t deny anymore, no matter how hard I try.

“Azriel…” My voice is shaky as I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. “Do you feel that?”

His hand moves from my waist to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. He nods, his jaw clenched, as if he’s struggling to find the right words. “I’ve felt it for a while now,” he admits, his voice low, almost hoarse. “I just didn’t know if it was real. If it was possible.”

I swallow hard, my heart racing as the realization settles between us. It’s not just a pull, not just a bond forged in battle or friendship. It’s deeper than that. Stronger. My emotions have always been sharp around him, heightened in ways I couldn’t explain, and now I understand why.

We’re mates.

The thought crashes into me like a storm, and I see the same realization flicker in his eyes. His breath hitches, and for a moment, he looks at me like he’s afraid to believe it, afraid to hope. But I feel it—the undeniable truth, the connection between us that’s always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I didn’t want to push you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s always been there. That pull… every time I’m near you, I feel it. Like a part of me is tethered to you.”

My chest tightens, and I bite my lip, trying to steady my racing heart. “It’s the same for me,” I admit, my voice small but certain. “Whenever you’re close, I can feel it. Like you’re part of me.”

His thumb strokes my jaw again, and I shiver at the touch, my skin tingling under his gentle caress. “I thought I was imagining it,” he says quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. “But now… now I know.”

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against mine, and the warmth of him, the strength of him, floods through me. “We’re mates,” I whisper, the words heavy with meaning, and his grip on me tightens as he exhales shakily.

His eyes darken, and I see the raw emotion there—the longing, the need, the fear and hope all tangled together. “I never thought…” His voice breaks off, and he shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I never thought I’d be this lucky.”

I feel a soft tug in my chest, that same pull toward him, and without thinking, I press my lips to his cheek, just a gentle touch, barely there. His breath hitches, and before I can pull away, his hand slips to the back of my neck, gently pulling me back toward him.

His lips are on mine in an instant, and the world falls away.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if we’re testing the waters, but it deepens quickly, becoming something more. It’s not just a kiss—it’s the release of everything we’ve held back for so long, all the unspoken feelings, the quiet longing, the need to be close. His hand slides to my waist, pulling me tighter against him, and I can feel his heart beating wildly beneath my palm.

I melt into him, my body pressing against his as his wings flare behind him, cocooning us in shadow. His lips move against mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it, and I can’t help the soft sigh that escapes me as I kiss him back with everything I have.

It’s not enough. I want more. I need more.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, and I can see the same hunger in his eyes that I feel in my own chest. His forehead presses against mine, and his voice is a ragged whisper when he speaks.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along my lower lip. “Wanted you for so long.”

I close my eyes, my heart full to bursting, and I press my lips to his once more. “I’ve wanted you too,” I whisper back, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “I think… I think I’ve always known.”

Azriel pulls me closer, and I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. His wings wrap around us, sheltering us from the world, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel truly at peace. 

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[ovulationation]

Rivalry

Pairing: frat!Bucky x sorority!reader

Summary: You and Bucky have been academic rivals since the start of college. How will he react when you celebrate your accomplishment at his frat’s party?

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p-in-v (for the love of god just wear a condom), academic rivals, creampie, praise kink

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

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your breath hitches. He grins at you and lets out a chuckle.

“Fuck you, James.” You snarl.

“Would you, Doc?”

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

The first time you met James Barnes was move-in day to your Freshman dorm. He lived right next door to you, which means that you had to hear everything that happened. The parties when you were trying to study, the obnoxiously loud music during his morning showers, and the girls that he would bring home in the middle of the night.

Things got worse when you realized that you were both on the pre-med track.

The past three years have been filled with him basically 24/7. With both of you vying for the top of the class, the best teacher recommendations, and the best volunteering experiences to pile up your resumes.

Things got slightly better when you both moved out of the dorms your second year, but the competition returned quickly when you realized you now lived in fraternity and sorority houses directly across the street from each other.

By this year (your third year) you have become full blown academic rivals. Both of you fighting over the very limited summer spots to shadow some of the best doctors in the country at your college’s hospital.

Today, on the last day of finals, you had finally gotten the message that you got one of the spots. All of your work was paying off and you could finally relax before your intense summer started.

That’s how you ended up at the last party of the year. Your friends had dragged you out as a celebration, but they forgot to inform you that this year it was being hosted by none other than James Fucking Barnes’ fraternity. The fraternity that he was just elected the President of for the upcoming year.

Now you stared across the room at him as he lounged back on the couch pushed up against the wall. Something about just the sight of him made your stomach churn, it had since the moment you saw him, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what. His messy black stubble on his face, his shirt that obviously didn’t even fit right since the sleeves clung to his biceps, the way he spread his legs so casually, taking up more room than needed. That stupid smirk as he made eye contact with you across the room. You started towards him.

You wanted to slap that stupid look off of his stupid face.

You stopped in between his legs, glaring down at him. He cocked his head to the side as he looked up at you, that smirk still spread across his face.

“Congratulations, Doc.” His voice low and casual as he looks up at you with lidded eyes.

“Try not to sound too excited, James.” You roll your eyes.

“But I’m so excited, I get to see you every day this summer.” His eyes rake up your body, taking in your short skirt. You feel a shiver run over you as his eyes meet yours again.

“You got the other spot?” You scoff.

“Yep,” he grins up at you, leaning forward in his seat.

He reaches a hand out to rest against the side of your bare thigh, causing goosebumps to pop up along the flesh. Your knees feel weak.

“Maybe we should carpool?” His head tilts to the side as he looks at you under his lashes.

“I would rather walk barefoot on hot gravel,” you deadpan, despite the shudder that travels through your body as he starts to ghost his fingers over your skin.

You gesture towards the red cup in his other hand with your chin, “How many have you had, Bucky?”

His eyes light up at the nickname. “Just the one, gotta stay sharp.”

“The internship doesn’t start until next week.”

“Not talkin about the internship.”

Both of his hands slide to the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward and onto his lap. You let out a gasp, looking around at all of the people who are too drunk to pay any attention to the two of you.

His hands rest on top of your thighs, thumbs tracing lazy patterns on the skin.

“W-what are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“It’s too loud, I wanna be able to hear you better.” He leans back again, just staring at you. The start of a dull ache pulsing deep in your abdomen.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your breath hitches. He grins at you and lets out a chuckle.

“Fuck you, James.” You snarl.

“Would you, Doc?” He smirks and the ache gets stronger.

A beat passes with you staring at him in surprise before he lunges at you. His lips crashing against yours. You pull back in shock, taking in his red cheeks and his pupils blown wide. Then, without even thinking, you crash back into him.

He kisses you hungrily, taking advantage of the first gasp that leaves you to slip his tongue between your lips and explore your mouth eagerly. You feel him grow hard beneath you and you gasp again. You push yourself down against him, feeling his bulge hitting right where you need it.

He groans into the kiss, his hands flying up to grab onto your hips to still your motion, causing you to whine. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, “My room?” He asks breathlessly.

“Please.”

You jump off of his lap and he tangles his fingers with yours, pulling you through the sea of people and up the stairs to his bedroom.

His room is much cleaner than you would have ever expected. No navy sheets, no empty liquor bottles on the shelves, he even had multiple pillows. His desk had off of his notebooks neatly stacked on top of it.

Bucky shut the door and locked it, turning back to look at you, his cheeks flushed.

You didn’t even have to say anything before he was on you again. Pulling you back to his lap on the bed. This time kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

“Why?” You breathe out, trying to focus on anything besides his lips trailing down your neck.

He pulls back to look at your face, “Why what?”

“Why the sudden switch up?”

He stares at you with a bewildered look, “There wasn’t a switch up, I’ve always liked you.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, “But-“

You’re cut off by his lips reattaching to your skin, now nipping at a sensitive spot underneath your ear. You gasp.

“I thought you liked me too,” he mumbles against your skin. His hands grip your hips, using them to drag you against his clothed erection.

“But,” You’re interrupted by a moan escaping you as his zipper hits your clit through your panties. “You’ve always argued with me and competed against me in everything I did.” Your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I was flirting,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His hands push your skirt up to your waist, revealing your panties. His eyes never leave yours as he pushes them to the side and grazes his thumb over your clit.

“I probably shouldn’t have pushed your buttons as much as I did,” he says, his middle finger sliding down to your dripping core, teasing your entrance. “But you’re just so hot when you’re angry.”

You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he pushes his finger inside of you. His finger slowly working inside of you while his thumb rubbed lazy circles against your clit, his other hand still gripping your hip. He watched you like he was studying you, making sure he was hitting just the right spots. Trying to get you off like he was getting graded for it.

His other hand comes up and pulls your bottom lip out from between your teeth, “Wanna hear you, baby.”

You let out a whine as he pushes a second finger inside of you, curling them against that spot that makes you see stars.

“Bucky,” you whimper, feeling that cord inside of you wind tighter.

“I know, baby” He coos, his thumb speeding up its rhythm on your clit.

You clench around his fingers as you come undone, your forehead falling against his shoulder as you grind into his fingers.

Before you’ve completely recovered, you’re being laid onto the bed. Your back hitting the blankets while your legs are still twitching.

Bucky stands in front of you, pulling his shirt off, revealing his toned chest and arms. When could he possibly have the time to go to the gym?

You sit up quickly, reaching for his belt with shaky hands. He chuckles, looking down at you as you pull the front of his jeans open and push them down his legs. Now he’s just in his underwear, leaving nothing to the imagination as his hard cock strains against the fabric.

“You’re getting a little impatient” He smirks down at you.

You look up at him beneath your lashes, wanting to get that stupid smirk off of his face. You grab his waistband and pull it down, causing his cock to spring free.

He groans as you reach out to wrap your hand around his thick length. Your hand pumping him a few times, testing. His hand wraps around your wrist, stopping your movement. You look back into his eyes, now looking down at you like he could devour you whole.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes.” He growls.

You pull your shirt over your head and throw it to the floor, your nipples hardening as they hit the cool air. His breathing picks up as he takes in the sight, his eyes darting between each of your breasts.

You help him pull your skirt off, tearing your panties off with it. Now leaving you both bare. Your eyes raking over each other’s bodies.

He lowers himself to the bed and crawls his way up your body, stopping to plays stray kisses up from your navel, to each breast, and finally back to your lips. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him against you.

His hands ghost over your hips to grasp the backs of your thighs, pulling them apart. He pulls back to lift onto his knees, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and tapping it against your clit.

You gasp, gripping his arms as he slides through your folds.

“Bucky, stop teasing,” You whine, clutching at the sheets in frustration.

“What do you need?” He smirks down at you with that stupid face.

“Need you, please.” You whimper when the tip of his cock hitches into your entrance.

He pushes into you with a low groan. Your slick walls squeeze him tight as he bottoms out inside you. He pants above you, his eyes going back and forth between your face and where you’re connected. His fingers slip down and tease along your folds, collecting your slick. They move up to your sensitive nub and coat it in your juices, rubbing tight circles.

“F-fuck,” you gasp, throwing your head back into the mattress.

“Nuh uh,” Bucky scolds, stopping completely.

You whine and look back to his face. His free hand moves to grip your chin, making sure you’re looking into his eyes before starting his slow, deep thrusts again.

“Want to see your face, pretty girl.”

You nod and fight to keep your eyes from rolling back when the tip of his cock hits that spot inside you.

“I can feel you squeezing,” he groans, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “You gonna cum for me?”

“So close, Bucky.” You whimper, feeling that cord deep inside you about to snap.

His thrusts get faster, hitting that spot relentlessly over and over again. Soon your vision goes blank, moaning loudly as you gush over his cock. He never wavers, still thrusting into you at the same rhythm even as you clamp down around him.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He coos, angling himself down to capture your lips again.

You moan against his lips. He never gives you a chance to catch your breath after your orgasm, just keeps his unrelenting pace inside you.

His thrusts start to get sloppy as he groans into your mouth, “can I cum inside you?”

You moan at his desperate words, “yes, please Bucky.”

He thrusts a few more times before stilling deep inside you, spilling his cum against your cervix. The feeling of his hot seed spreading through you makes you whine. His face presses into your shoulder as he lazily thrusts into you, kissing a little trail up your neck.

After a few minutes of sloppy kisses and trying to catch your breath, Bucky slips out of you and rolls to lay beside you.

Your chest rises and falls quickly as you turn your head to face him. He’s already looking at you.

His stupid grin plastered back to his face as he leans in to give you a short but hungry kiss.

“This summer is gonna be fun, Doc.”

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

I swear to god writing this felt like pulling teeth for some reason. It def doesn’t feel as good as my last one, but I wanted to try writing again and I was OBSESSED with the academic rivals to lovers trope so here ya go lol

[aduh0308]

i'll make you stay [huening kai]

kinktober 2024 !! summary: when a day on the beach with your friends turns into you getting stranded alone on an island, the last thing you expect is a fairy boy to come out of the shadows. genre: fairy au, smut warnings: fairy!hyuka, telepath!kai, dubcon (at times), corruption, dom!kai, sub!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, piv sex, unprotected sex, possessive breeding kink, masturbation (f. receiving), slight dumbification, lots of touching, he calls reader “darling”, “pretty” and “pretty girl”, reader’s shorter than him, they bathe together, cuddling, they fuck on the ground, fingering, slight overstim (f. receiving), dacryphilia, references to kai being some sort of immortal word count: 7.6k 🎧 — venice bitch (lana del rey) + I want to (rosenfeld) + aphrodite (RINI) + bambi (baekhyun) + sugar rush ride (txt) tagging: @stolasisyourparent @boba-beom @prince-jjae @yoseicour @wand3rlustm3

They told you to stay off that island. 

Everyone knew something was off about it— the ones who came back were never the same again, mumbling about an ominous “them” who hid in the woods on the island. No one knew who the victims were talking about, but it was enough to form urban legends that spread further than just the borders of your small coastal town. 

You didn’t believe the stories. It was just superstition, there was probably something there that people didn’t want found. 

And that belief is exactly how you find yourself stranded on that island.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Get on, loser!”

Your best friend grins at you from the front of a jet ski. It’s her beach house you’re at this summer— her family’s wealthy. Wealthy enough that they have four houses scattered across the country. 

You slide onto the back of the jet ski, and she speeds after the other four of your friend group. The rush of air flings your hair out of your face, the spray of the sea dotting your skin. You’ve always loved being at this house. It’s right on the shore, and the sound of the waves rolling against the sand is calming at night. Especially because sometimes, when it’s raining, it’s so loud that it drowns out the sound of two of your friends railing.

“Hey, Lila!” You shout in the ear of your best friend. “We should go to that island!”

She cocks her head to show she’s heard you. “Which one?” Her voice is almost lost to the wind but you manage to catch a faint whisper of her sentence.

“You know, the one.”

Lila turns around to smile at you. The look on her face is dangerous, and you grip her waist when she speeds up to pass the others. You can hear her yelling to them but choke on a mouthful of her long, sleek hair that she’s let down for once in her life.

You have no idea how your other friends can understand her when you’re right behind her and can barely hear what she’s saying, but soon, all three jet skis are skimming the water towards the island.

It certainly doesn’t look scary from here. It’s not a very big island, maybe a few square miles and thick with lush trees. As you get closer, you do notice that it seems devoid of any and all life. No noises of animals traipsing through the undergrowth, barely a rustle in the trees.

But other than that, it seems normal.

All six of you hop off the jet skis into knee-high water and step towards the island. You’re the least cautious of them all— Liam is in the very back, practically standing still. He rakes a hand through his red shock of hair. “I might stay here, guys… I’m not into getting abducted by whatever’s in there today.”

“It’s fine, let’s leave him here!” calls Julie, already ahead of you.

The sand slides between your toes as you pad up the length of the beach, and eventually it turns to leaves and twigs. Lila grips your arm, hissing in pain. “Fuck, maybe we should go back. I’m getting stabbed here.”

“You can go, I wanna find out what exactly scares people off this island…” You move to brush through a hanging curtain of branch, but an odd, buzzing noise in your ear stops you.

Everyone else around you stalls in their tracks. There’s no doubt; they hear it too, you know it.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if there’s a single breath in your ear, and a voice coos, “I’d listen to your friend, darling, I don’t think you’re ready to find us..~”

Behind you, Oliver, the designated stone man of the group, lets out an unearthly squeak and turns to run the other direction. 

Before you know it, you’re left all alone, sprinting back to the beach. You catch the tail end of your friends booking it back to the mainland.

And just like that, you’re alone.

With nothing. No phone— your one piece bathing suit and biker shorts didn’t allow anything bigger than car keys. Which are fucking useless now, there’s no way to get to your car.

You take a second to gather your bearings, sitting on a fallen tree near a small creek that winds its way into the ocean. This is fine. It’s fine! Your friends will tell someone you’re here and they’ll come and get you. You’ll be okay.

But as the sun goes down, your hopes go down with it.

It’s mid-July, the air should be warm and humid, not whatever this cold-plunge type weather is. Goosebumps pelt every inch of your skin that’s exposed. You’re seriously regretting not wearing your button down as a cover up.

You wrap your arms around yourself and lean back against a tall oak tree. The bark scratches your bare skin but that’s the least of your worries. If you’re here for longer than a day, without food or water, that’s not going to be good at all. 

But you trust your friends. They’ll come back! It’ll just take them a second. You can almost hear Lila chiding Liam for staying behind. 

A glance at your wristwatch lets you know that it’s almost 10 o’clock. At night.

Standing to walk inland is maybe not the best decision you’ve ever made. But you need to get warm, and moving is the only way to do that at this point. Each step causes dead leaves to crunch beneath your bare feet. The air is thick with the scent of decaying flora, must and dirt winding their way up your senses. It’s more than a little unexpected— you usually didn’t smell things like this until at least October.

One of your steps lands wrong. With a sharp gasp, your ankle rolls over a thick twig and you fall to the cold ground. Dirt clings to your skin in uncomfortable clumps. Brushing it off, you attempt to stand. Pain shoots up your lower leg, your heart pounding in your ears, and you’re not surprised when your limb buckles beneath you.

Well, this is just great. Stranded on an island with some weird telepathic creepo on it, you don’t have any supplies, and now you can’t even walk. You’re fucked.

And holy shit, your ankle really hurts. Sharp spikes of pain and you’re barely moving it.

A rustle in the bush behind you sends panic up your abdomen and you snap your head in the direction of the noise. Nothing comes into vision in the darkness your eyes have barely adjusted to. But once again, it’s as if someone’s taking a breath to speak in your ear, and the same voice from before projects itself into your mind.

“Darling, that ankle of yours looks bad… I can fix it, if you’d like. I promise I won’t hurt you...”

What the fuck? You must be making things up. There’s no way you’re hearing voices, that’s insane. Is this what happened to the people who came back from this place?

There’s a little chuckle in your ear and you whip your head around again.  “The ones you’re thinking of had bad run-ins with the rest of us. I am not going to hurt you. However, I can’t speak for the rest of them.”

The voice is almost… boyish. In a way. Not too deep, almost familiar, and you find yourself drawn to it in a way that is entirely unexpected.

But something prickles at the back of your mind. “The rest of them?” You speak aloud for the first time in what feels like ages.

“There are five of us, but only two of them are ones you really have to worry about. The rest… well, it all depends on you. If you let me take care of you, I swear to not let them touch you.”

A shiver runs course up your back. “You can… help me?”

“Even better. I can heal you. It’s kind of my specialty.”

You don’t want to accept help from this strange voice. But, even now, the pain is almost unbearable and there are spots swimming in your vision. “Please.”

“I’ll come and find you, darling. Stay put for me, alright?”

You scoff. “Like I can even move.”

There’s no response. After five minutes go by, you begin to believe you’d imagined the whole thing.

But a shadowy outline of a figure grows in the distance and your heart pounds in your throat. The silhouette is tall, broad, and fear creeps into your veins for the second time tonight. Big men are automatically scary— whether they actually are once they open their mouths depends on the individual.

But the boy who peeks between the branches of your hiding spot flashes you a small, genuine-seeming smile, and it calms your worries immediately. “Found you.”

His gaze drops to your swollen ankle. “May I..?” You nod quickly, and his hand meets the hot skin so gently you can barely feel the touch. Your skin grows warmer and warmer under his fingers, which are long and slender (not that you notice), and the throbbing of your ankle lessens the longer he’s touching you. Before it goes away entirely, he draws back.

“If I do any more, it won’t stay healed.” He stands and extends a hand to you. When he pulls you up to your full height, you notice that he’s even taller than he’d seemed from afar. At least 180 centimeters, he towers over you.

You put little weight on the ankle for fear of the pain returning, but the boy leads you farther into the woods and you’re forced to. Surprisingly so, it doesn’t hurt like before— not all the way better, no, but there’s barely anything there. 

“Who are you?” With the pain gone, your earlier skepticism is able to return. 

“My name’s Kai.” 

That’s all he offers, and if it weren’t for the fact that, deep down, you’re still a bit scared, you’d push him for more of an answer. But instead you dutifully follow him, hand still in his. His touch is warm, comfortable, with the tips of his slightly calloused fingers tracing soft circles on the back of your palm almost mindlessly.

“Where are you taking me?” You say after a few minutes of what seems like aimless wandering through the woods.

“To where we live. The others won’t be there, they’re out for right now. You have a few days before they come back, and hopefully you’ll be on your way by then.”

“You live in here?” It’s getting stranger the more you think about it. Five people, living in the middle of the woods on an island, who can do some sort of magic, and everyone who’s come back from meeting them has been so frazzled they could barely speak.

But Kai said he isn’t the problem, it’s the other four. And as long as you steer clear of them, you should be fine. In theory.

You step into a clearing. You don’t realize what it is at first— it’s too dark to see anything other than what’s right in front of you. But the ground underfoot changes from sticks and debris to soft, padded grass that only tickles the bottoms of your feet.

Kai stops and you stop too. “You can sleep here tonight. There’s enough room since the others are away. I’ll keep an eye on your ankle, okay?” His hand lingers on your waist for just a moment too long, and your cheeks grow hot.

Now that there’s light from the waxing moon above, you can see the boy standing next to you, and what you see makes your jaw go slack.

You’d been hoping he was at least a little bit attractive. It’d make this whole ‘rando-in-the-woods’ thing a lot easier. But he’s ridiculously hot. Messy brown hair he brushes out of his face with one big hand, a shoulder line that has you swallowing thickly, and a cute, slightly upturned nose with a little bump at the top.

You might not be so scared anymore.

You can only nod at his offer, heart going so fast that you can hear it in your ears. Kai leads you to a circle of hammocks tied between thick trees. “You get pretty crafty with nothing to do,” he laughs and holds one of them in a hand so you can get in.

It’s not as bad as the appearance suggests. Sure, the wound fibrous string that’s been woven together to form the shell of the hammock presses into your back. But it’s definitely better than nothing.

You fall asleep within seconds, acutely aware of how Kai’s gaze still rests on your form with a weight not at all uncomfortable. The extent of what exactly has happened in the past twenty-four hours doesn’t hit you until you wake. It’s early— with no blinds or curtains to block the sun’s rays, you’re up just after dawn.

Kai’s not there. 

You didn’t expect him to be, necessarily, but it would be nice to have some company. Especially because you can’t exactly go exploring in your current state.

Your stomach growls with a slight twist of hunger. You tamp down the feeling, but not having eaten since breakfast the day before typically has an effect on the human body. You wonder if Kai feels hunger like a normal person. He certainly looks regular. But regular people aren’t usually able to heal something with a single touch of a hand. And they definitely aren’t able to project their thoughts into your head.

A crack of a breaking twig behind you has anxiety curling in the pit of your stomach, right beside the emptiness that your lack of food has left behind. Kai had said that the only thing you really needed to worry about were the others like him, and you certainly haven’t heard a single sign of life during your brief time on the island.

You curl up in a ball as some sort of feeble protection. It doesn’t offer much. It doesn’t offer anything, really. But if you can’t see the impending threat, it’s less of a problem. (You’re being stupid.)

“What are you doing?” 

The voice comes from behind you and you sigh in relief at the familiarity. It’s not some sort of crazy being that Kai’s alluded to.

“Nothing. Did you break a stick?” You avoid looking at him. He’s barely wearing anything— shorts and a tattered sweater that doesn’t even close all the way. You can see hints of the lines of his body through the fabric.

“Yeah, on accident. I tripped a little.” The tips of his ears go red and you stifle a small giggle. “I brought breakfast.”

He empties the pockets of his shorts, and before you know it, there’s a pile of fresh berries sitting on the ground in front of you. You slide out of the hammock. “You didn’t have to…”

He shrugs. “You’re my guest. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Kai sits beside you and shifts to take a look at your ankle. The sugary sweetness of a strawberry melts on your tongue at the exact moment his fingers meet your skin, and the sudden assault on your senses has your cheeks growing hot. He’s warm— too warm. Almost fever-like, but you attribute it simply to the fact that he’d been scavenging for food only a few moments before.

You sit in silence, but it’s comfortable. You’ve never been able to do this with someone; there’s always been a need to be talking at all times, whether that was coming from you or one of your friends. But with Kai, it’s natural. Goosebumps form everywhere on your exposed skin that he’s not touching, and after a few minutes, he pulls away once more. “You’ll be fine after a few more days. Hopefully by then your friends will have sent someone looking for you.”

“Hopefully.” You pick at the dried mud on your elbow, and Kai notices your dirt-covered state.

“Would you like to clean yourself up? There’s a freshwater spring only about a three minute walk from here.”

The offer is too good to pass up. You shovel the last of the berries in your mouth in a manner that is both unladylike and embarrassing, but you couldn’t care less.

Kai’s hand makes its way to your waist when you stand, as if to steady you. You’re grateful for the support. Your ankle is most definitely not back to normal yet, and you’d rather not fall flat on your face in front of this fine-ass man. 

The wall of trees and bushes eventually thins back out to open air. You gape at the sight before you. A waterfall rushes down from an overhanging rock cliff about twenty feet overhead into a pool that’s surprisingly crystal-clear. It’s fucking beautiful.

He leads you to the edge of the water and turns automatically to allow you to strip your clothes off. You contemplate keeping your bathing suit on for a moment, but decide you’d rather not get a yeast infection from staying in it once it’s wet.

You wade into the water, enjoying the way gentle ripples circle away from you. Slipping beneath it, you’re surprised by the way the cold liquid covers you entirely despite the low turbidity. 

You let Kai know it’s okay to turn around, but his sudden request to join you sets off an unfamiliar ache between your thighs. You nod nonetheless, turning to give him privacy despite his assurance that you can look if you’d like.  

It’s not like you don’t want to. 

The little voice in your head surprises you. It’s not like how it is when Kai’s inside your mind, not at all. But the confession of your conscience has the blood rushing to a part of you that you’d rather not think about. Especially not in the presence of him.

You turn around once you hear a quiet splash of him entering the pool. His entire bare torso is exposed to you above the water, and you have to focus on not letting your eyes wander. A quick glance here and there is certainly acceptable, but outright staring is embarrassing.

You scrub at the dirt lining your arms from the previous night’s fall. Kai’s looking at you with a faint smile on his face. It’s borderline predatory, the way he’s watching you, but you convince yourself it must be a trick of the light.

He dips his head under the water, coming back up to fling his hair out of his face, and the water droplets catch the light so perfectly it’s like they’re sparkling. The sheen of water on his skin makes him almost look like he’s glowing from within, and you have to catch your breath, feigning disinterest, because he’s fucking beautiful.

“So,” you say. “How come you and your friends live here?”

Kai doesn’t respond. He only swims a little closer to you, close enough that your bare leg brushes his underwater. His eyes flick from yours, to your lips, then to the top of your exposed chest. It’s just a brief, momentary look and you could swear you’d imagined it because he’s back to normal in seconds.

He ignores your question, but raises an arm to gently touch your hairline. “You’ve got some dirt…”

The single touch sends tingles up your back and you try your best to ignore it. “Thanks,” you manage. Your voice comes out as a croak and you mentally curse yourself for becoming a mess in the presence of him.

He moves behind you to wash your hair as best he can, and the concentrated look on his face that you catch when you look back at him has you giggling internally. When he’s done, deeming his work good enough, he settles himself in front of you again, just looking at you. The lines of his body are on full display to you like this— you have to resist pressing a hand to the broad plane of his chest. The intimacy of it all hits you like a truck and you hunch your shoulders to preserve some sort of modesty.

Your time together in the pool ends a few moments later when you start shivering. Because fuck, the water is freezing. You press your lips together in frustration when you try to pull back on your bathing suit. It sticks to your skin like it’s made of latex, and no matter how much you try, you can’t hike it up and over your shoulders.

“Kai?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can you… come help me with this?”

You listen to the water sloshing as he gets out. There’s a rustling as he pulls back on his own clothes, and then he’s sidling up behind you. His hands meet your back, and once again, you’re in shock at how warm he is. He’s radiating heat off of him like the fireplace in your best friend’s house. He pulls the straps over each of your shoulders in turn, straightening out the fabric, and if it weren’t for how brief the touch was, you’d think that his hand grazing your tit was on purpose.

“Let’s go back?” He suggests, hand finding your waist once more. This time, however, it’s dangerously low, almost reaching the hem of your low-waist shorts.

You let him lead you back to the clearing, mind wandering to the way his skin against yours has you feeling. More than a little “hot under the collar”, the phrase Lila uses too much about her boyfriend. You’d never understood what that really meant until now.

You and Kai spend the rest of the day together, and the fact that he’s always touching you is exceedingly acute when he leans his head against your thigh while you eat dinner. He’d gotten a fire going, and the both of you are lying against a tree with the heat right in front of you. His hair tickles your exposed skin and you laugh a little bit, tentatively raking a hand through the silky strands. He only hums in approval and shifts so he’s facedown in your lap.

His new position has you freezing like a deer in headlights. Kai’s face is practically in your… lady bits, and your inner prude is shying away a little bit at the touch. At the same time, the touch is setting off something in your lower stomach that is insatiable. The same throb between your thighs from this morning is back, stronger than before, and you’re trying to tighten your legs around it without him noticing.

But Kai slips a hand between your thighs in a way that seems almost accidental, and it satiates the ache just a little bit. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his fingers press perfectly against your pussy. There, you said it. 

It’s not like you’ve never touched yourself before. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you at all. But you’ve never felt the need to, like this. It was more of a pastime, less of a desire. In fact, you’d never understood the meaning of desire until this moment right here.

There’s an expectation in the back of your mind that Kai will make a further move, but he doesn’t. Only rests there, eyes closed like he’s entirely unaware of what exactly his touch is doing to you.

But you pretend like you don’t feel it, focusing instead on the way the flickering light of the flame casts dancing shadows of the rises and falls of his face. Changing him into some sort of ghastly creature, but it’s still endearing all the same. 

The sun’s light has long since left you, and once again the threat of what lies in the dark seems daunting as ever. A shift of the hand between your legs draws you back to reality from your typical never-ending loop of overthinking. You’re just fine. This beautiful boy is settled between your legs, and he’s already said that nothing can hurt you while he’s here.

“Should we go to bed? You’re falling asleep here in my lap…” You laugh, looking down at him with a small smile.

He shakes his head, grip tightening on your inner thigh, and you laugh. You settle back against the tree once more with a sigh.

After about an hour, your watch tells you it’s midnight, and you coax Kai from his place on you. “It’s time. I’m tired, Kai.”

He reluctantly sits back on his heels, running a hand over his face, and helps you once more into the hammock. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper into the dark.

The response comes from inside your head, but it’s unmistakably him. 

“Good night, darling.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

There’s a rustle in the bushes and your attention snaps to it immediately. Through the darkness, you catch sight of something, and sweet, familiar panic crawls its way up your throat. Four shadowy figures move towards you in the dark in inhuman ways, twitching and writhing like they’re being possessed. As they get closer, their faces come into focus. They look familiar, but you can’t quite place it, only sitting, paralyzed, in your fear. Well, I guess this is how I die…

With a jolt, you snap out of your dream, chest heaving. You let out a shriek when you see that Kai’s sitting above you, but you calm almost immediately upon realizing it’s him. 

“I’m so sorry, pretty, would’ve gotten you out of there sooner if I’d realized…” He strokes the hair off of your forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

And all of a sudden, the sudden exit from your dream makes sense. He’d managed to take you out of your nightmare. And now he’s projecting some of your happiest moments to the forefront of your mind, to make up for the fear that the dream had caused. You’d forgotten he was telepathic. It still scares you just a little bit, to know he could see every one of your thoughts, but right now you just want to thank him. 

“Will you sleep with me?” You whisper, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“Of course.” His response is barely legible, just a quick exhale, and he slips behind you so fast it’s almost as if he’s been waiting for you to ask all night.

Kai’s hand rests on your hip to pull you closer to him, so close that you can feel the soft rise and fall of his torso when he breathes. 

“Will you tell me about your friends? The ones I have to worry about?” You place your hand on top of his, mindlessly guiding it a little higher, up and under the sweatshirt of his that he’s let you borrow. Woah— what the fuck has given you this sort of confidence? You’ve never been the type to come off this strong with someone you think is hot.

But if Kai notices your eagerness for his touch, he doesn’t show it. He only takes a deep breath and tells you. “Their names are Yeonjun, Soobin, Beomgyu, and Taehyun. They’re all older than I am, though I don’t think that matters much when you’re as old as we are. The ones you need to watch out for most are Beomgyu and Taehyun. Now, remember, that doesn’t mean that Yeonjun and Soobin are innocent. They’ve done their fair share of terrorizing. But the other two are different. They play mind games. It’s fun for them, to watch people slowly lose their sanity. They like to prove how fragile the human mind is. A little push here, a little nudge there, and now they’re ruined.” He noses along the line of your neck. “But you don’t have to worry about them. I won’t let them hurt you.”

You nod, falling to that line between sleep and consciousness. Somewhere in your foggy state you comprehend Kai’s hand moving to cup your tit, but you don’t have a response, only scooting closer to him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, you wake like that. Except for the fact that now his other hand is down the waistband of your pants. 

You don’t mind, you realize. You should be completely and utterly turned off by this, but every thought running through your mind is need for him. All you can hope is that he’s still sleeping and can’t hear your thoughts.

There’s no movement from him, just the sound of his soft breathing, and you relax again. Through the thin, tattered shirt that he’s wearing you can feel the slight ridges of muscle that lie beneath his skin. That, combined with the way Kai’s hand is parallel with your probably dripping cunt, is making your brain go fuzzy.

About twenty minutes later, he stirs behind you, a small ‘good morning’ falling from his lips. If he notices the way you’re shaking against him from holding back, it doesn’t show.

Kai only sits, retracting his hands, and slides off the hammock. “I’ll go get breakfast, and then we can go back to the pool?”

You agree, and he wanders his way off into the woods. He stays there for almost half an hour, and you busy yourself with pressing the palm of your hand against the ache between your legs. There’s a noise from behind you and you jump, pulling your hand back from underneath your pants. 

Kai doesn’t seem to see your flushed state, only gesturing for you to come over and sit beside him. Once again, breakfast is an assortment of berries, and you pop one in your mouth, leaning your head against his shoulder. You converse politely all throughout your meal— it seems as if the both of you are dancing around the topic of this morning’s waking position. 

He leads you to the edge of the pool just like the day before, hand on your waist despite his previous proclamation that your ankle is almost back to normal. Kai turns to allow you the modesty of privacy, and assures you once more that it’s perfectly fine if you want to look at him. 

This time, you almost take him up on his offer. 

You’re not perverted, no, you don’t dare look when he’s tugging his shorts down and off of his hips. But you do peek a little when he strips off his shirt, the muscles of his back flexing in a way that does nothing to quell the burn between your legs.

Your knees knock together when you turn to find him now halfway submerged underwater, torso on full display. Thoughts that you didn’t even know you were capable of thinking are dancing through your mind. You try and shove them down, because, fuck, you don’t want him knowing what you’re imagining doing together.

Kai splashes you with a little bit of water, and you laugh, returning the action. It eventually turns into a full-fledged water fight that ends with the both of you leaning against each other in fits of giggles.

You’d managed to distract yourself from the prospect of Kai’s skin against yours, but now that it is, and he’s looking at you the same way he did yesterday, with that animalistic glint in his eyes, you can’t tamp down your thoughts at all.

You should be smacking his hand away when it finds your thigh under the water, but you let it stay. Because it sure as hell feels good to be… wanted, maybe? It feels different. It’s always your friends who are deemed the prettiest, the ones worthy of the male gaze and the attention that follows. You never thought you were ugly. The opposite, actually. You had off days of course, days where you felt like you maybe were unworthy of the touch of the opposite sex. But for the most part, you felt at least pretty. But, you told yourself, there’s a difference between what you think and what your crush thinks. Now, however, it doesn’t matter, because here’s this hot guy right in front of you and he seems like he wants you.

Oh shit. You’d just had this whole inner monologue, and now Kai’s expression is nothing but cocky. He’s heard everything, you can tell. A little bit of panic bubbles up from your chest at the fact that if he heard that, now he knows how you’ve been thinking about him, how you’d do anything to have his lips on yours, skin against skin, and why the fuck are you thinking about it now that you know he’s inside your mind?

He smiles softly at your inner torment, noting the moment you manage to tune out all the thoughts you’d been thinking only seconds before. Only one remains, as if on purpose. I need him.

“Can you hear what I’m thinking?” you whisper, cheeks hot. 

“Darling… I can hear you loud and clear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s cute, how you’ve been looking all innocent, but every single one of your thoughts are so dirty. Is this how you usually are?”

He doesn’t even have to ask— he already knows that the answer is no. Because he knew it was all because of him. The touches that you had thought were accidental, the first few images in your head of how it’d be to have him inside you… He’d put those thoughts there, hoping your fragile mind would latch onto them and start the spiral of need that’s gotten you to where you are now. But you don’t need to know that. As far as you’re concerned, every bit of want for him is self-induced. 

Kai can feel your mind running wild when he presses his lips to yours. He’s never felt someone go this incoherent, like their brain is one big keyboard smash. You were one of the easier ones. Thank god he’d gotten to you and not one of the others, they’d have a hell of a time playing with you. 

His hand finds its way to the burn between your thighs, and the touch is little relief. You whine against his mouth, pulling away to whisper, “Make it go ‘way, please…”

Kai doesn’t have to ask what you mean. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the water, laying you down on the shirt of his that’s laid out on top of the warm rocks. He doesn’t want anything hurting you while he takes you all for himself.

The ache in the pit of your stomach is back and it’s insatiable. Desire winds up every inch of your trembling body, hot and hungry for more. Kai presses consoling kisses to your neck when you reach to drag him down to you. “Patience, darling. It’s no fun if I just take you now…”

You nod frantically, hand flying to your pussy, because if he won’t touch you, you have to. But your own touch does nothing to quench the craving for him that’s settled itself under your skin.

Kai’s looking down at you with that predatory look again, a smirk twitching the corners of his lips at the way you’re so desperate for the relief he’s not giving you. He’s convinced that he’ll let you struggle like this for a moment before helping you out— what’s the harm in playing with your food before you eat it? But a whimper of his name combined with the look of pure desperation on your face has him throwing his morals to the wind.

Slender fingers slipping between your gummy walls, his eyes blow out wide. “You’re fucking soaked, darling..” His voice is practically a whisper, like he’s too surprised to talk properly.

You cover your face in embarrassment. You feel so vulnerable, laid out before him like this. The sun-warmed rock beneath you soaks into your skin and fills you with a cozy feeling that grows at the touch of Kai on your body. His fingers press perfectly against the spots inside you that only you knew were there— the fact that he’s found them so quickly makes you go weak.

The writhing in the pit of your stomach only increases with his pace, and a begging mewl slips past your lips when his calloused fingertip meets your throbbing clit. Hips bucking up towards his hands, trying your best to chase your high, Kai allows it. Your face screws up in pleasure and your whole body quivers under him when you cum. Little squeaks of his name fall from your lips when he doesn’t stop, too lost in the way you look like this. So ruined under him already, and he’s barely even touched you.

“C-can’t, Kai, t’ much!” you gasp, tears of mixed pain and pleasure wetting your lashes.

“It’s okay darling, just give me one more, then you’ll be ready to take me, alright?” He presses a kiss to your hot cheek, eyes sparkling at the way you nod silently, eager to please him.

Your walls convulse around his digits once more, a whine slipping past the lips you have pressed tight together. Kai coos praises in your ear, free hand stroking the hair out of your face, and he finally relieves you of his fingers.

The loss of contact has you pouting, but the ache between your thighs is already back, and stronger than before. “Please, make it go away, hurts!”

He frowns mockingly down at you, tugging at his cock once. “It hurts, darling?” You nod quickly, and he nods back at you. “Alright, I’ll make it go away…”

The head of his cock grows your entrance and he lets out a hiss. Fuck, he hasn’t felt a pussy as good as yours in decades. You’re warm and tight around him, greedy walls sucking him in so perfectly. You feel like heaven.

He doesn’t notice your small whimper of pain until a moment later, and he looks down at you in concern. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“T’ big, can’t take it…” You look like you could cry. “‘M sorry, want to, want to so bad.”

Kai stops his movements entirely, kissing up your neck while he waits for you to get adjusted to the sheer size of him. He knows he’s big— most people who come to the island struggle to take him. So he has no qualms about letting you take a moment to ready yourself.

He feels the exact moment you relax against him. It’s as if your whole body lets out one big exhale of pleasure, and your jaw drops open in surprise at the fact that this can actually feel good. Better than good. He fills you up like nothing you’ve felt before. Even the toys you’ve tried before haven’t made you feel like this.

It’s like a new state of bliss washes over you, the sensation no longer painful at all. Kai smiles down at you when you manage to open your eyes, and his fingers trace hearts on your hips. “Back with me?”

A small jerk of a nod gives him all he needs to know, and he starts up a pace that at first comes across as sweet to you, but just becomes frustratingly little. You want more than this— you need more than this. You don’t dare voice your thoughts out loud, but Kai’s settled himself in your mind once more and answers without provocation.

His hips snap against yours with a new aggressiveness that makes your head spin, spots dancing across your vision. Nothing crosses your mind other than the thought of how good he’s making you feel. He fits inside you like he’s made for you, like a lock and a key.

Kai’s lips quirk at this thought. It’s not like he disagrees. No, not at all. In fact, your analogy has his own mind reeling. You look so perfect under him like this, tears streaking your cheeks and dripping off onto the rocks beneath you, he could keep you forever. And that’s not something he thinks often.

You’re not faring well with Kai inside you, and your ruined state only gets worse when he speeds up once more. Pace turning from quarter notes to eighth notes, his thrusts are rough and deep. You can feel his tip kissing your cervix with every forward rock of his hips, and that realization is enough to have you teetering on the edge of your orgasm for the third time.

“Don’t cum yet, pretty, barely been fucking you for five minutes…” he tsks at your pathetic behavior. You tighten desperately around him, a choked sob wrenching itself from your throat at his words. Because he’s telling you not to cum, yet he’s still fucking into you at such an brutal pace that you’re sure if there were any animals on this island, they’d all be scared away from the sound of his hips meeting yours.

Ragged breaths leave your lips and Kai is quick to reclaim them, mumbling against you with a smile, “Couldn't stay away from me, could you? Pretty girl's only been here for a few days and she's already tight around my dick..."

Hot shame winds up your neck and face and he notices the change to your thoughts, kissing you again, breath mixing with yours. “Didn’t mean it like that, love the way you need me s’ bad. Need you too, can’t you tell?”

You nod, head lolled back when he tugs your torso up towards his to get better access to your cunt. Something about your expression is going to haunt him, he can tell. Eyebrows furrowed together and upwards, mouth hanging open in a perpetual scream… Yeah, he won’t be forgetting you. 

Nor does he want to. You’re different from the other’s who have been here before— they’ve all had the same weakness as you, fragile bodies and even more fragile minds. But you do want him. That much has been obvious since you laid your eyes on him. The ones before needed a bit more persuasion before they threw themselves at him, but you… He barely had to give you anything for you to leech onto the idea of fucking him.

Your nails dig into his back and he welcomes the pain— anything to feel alive at this point. Your poor shaking form begs for the luxury of cumming, and Kai finally relents, cooing in your ear, “Go ‘head now, darling, let go for me, alright?”

The pure expression of ecstasy on your face is worth it, and your walls flutter helplessly around him as your orgasm hits you. He holds you throughout your high, pace of his hips never letting up. “Good girl, there we go, cumming on my cock… Making such a mess, aren’t you?”

There’s a sticky ring of white around the base of his dick, your cum and arousal mixed with his precum, and Kai laughs at the sight. He lays your back flush against the ground again, instead hiking your legs up and over his shoulders. “Gonna fill you with my cum, mkay pretty? Gonna make you mine…” Your eyes go wide and he worries for a moment that he’s gone too far, but the images flashing through your mind betray your obvious excitement at this proposal. Thoughts of the two of you, all alone on this fucking island until the end of your days.

You’re shaking under him again at the suggestion, and he laughs, leaving a gentle kiss to your top lip. “That’s it, that’s my good girl, you like that idea? Can’t help it, gonna make you mine forever, how’d you like that? Let me take care of you? Promise I’ll make you feel this good all the time, if you’d let me..~”

You’re nodding so fast that it’s almost comical, but Kai only kisses you again. Your tongue meets his for the first time and the taste of him on your lips sends you teetering into a dangerous state of mind. Your thoughts are practically just a chant of his name, over and over again, and Kai’s trembling above you at the realization that he’s fucked you so good that he’s literally all you can think of.

You cling to him when you feel him twitch inside you, warm cum painting your insides. It spills out from your cunt when his softening dick slips from between your gummy walls, and he’s transfixed on how pretty you look with him inside of you.

You’re catching your breath, still in a state of nothingness, and Kai slips inside your mind to make sure he hasn’t ruined you like the others. “Are you here with me, darling?” You nod, eyes still glassy with tears. “Good. Let’s do that again sometime, hm?”

Before you can respond, there’s a snap of a twig and you grip Kai’s hand in your own. If he’s here, and there’s no animals on this island… then what’s making that noise?

“Oh fuck,” Kai whispers, a panic rising in his throat. There’s no way to conceal you, none at all. He’s just going to have to let them see you.

Four tall forms step out one by one from the brush, and your jaw goes slack. It’s them. It has to be.

The one in the middle looks down at you with a glint in his eyes, and he flicks the brown hair out of his face with a pinky finger. 

There’s a breath in your ear and you can tell immediately that it’s not Kai this time. A deep voice coos in your mind, and when Kai flinches, you can tell he hears it too. “Well, what do we have here, Huening?

“Have you brought us a new toy to play with?”

[yannawayne]

iii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Gunshot wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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 ༻⊰───⋅

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

A wave of stunned stares passed around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He then turned the screen around for everyone to see. The headline on the screen read:

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. 

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

 ༻⊰───⋅

GOTHAM WAS BEAUTIFUL. The city's lights stretched out below you like a glittering sea, each pinprick of light a mesmerizing dance of color and shadow. The towering, sleek skyscrapers stood tall and proud, their glass facades reflecting a mosaic of neon hues and starlight. Between them, narrow alleys wove like dark veins through the city's heart, their secrets hidden from view. The flicker of billboards and the intermittent flash of police sirens were the rapid, erratic beats, sudden bursts that pierced the otherwise steady thrum of urban life.

Even from above, the city's heartbeat was loud, a living, breathing entity that pulsed with a desperate rhythm. No matter how one might describe it or what reasons one might offer, you found Gotham to be beautiful. Even now, despite the terror you felt in the moment.

From the shadows, Selina's gaze was sharp, her helmet reflecting the fragmented light of the city. She leaned casually against the metal railing, watching you carefully.

You took a deep breath, the cool, crisp air stinging your lungs and sharpening your senses. Every muscle in your body tensed as you focused on the edge of the building. The drop was dizzying, a thousand feet of dark emptiness that seemed to call out to you with both a thrilling invitation and a stark warning.

"All it takes is a leap of fate," Selina’s voice cut through the wind. 

Once you jumped, there was no turning back. It was a point of no return, a decision that would define the trajectory of your night and perhaps your life. 

"That's all it takes."

Her words echoed in your mind, mingling with the roar of the wind and the hum of the city. Slowly, you moved, your foot pressing forward until you were on the side of the building. The glass beneath you felt like a lifeline, each shift of your weight sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

A leap of fate.

With one final, steadying breath, you adjusted your stance, your legs bending in preparation.

And then, with the night sky as your backdrop and Gotham as your stage, you leaped. The glass shattered beneath your feet, a shower of fragments raining down as you soared into the void. The world below rushed up to meet you, the sensation of falling merging with the thrill of flight.

For a fleeting moment, you were suspended between sky and earth.

Then you reached out with a steady hand, launching your web into the night.

THWIP.

The web shot upward, a silken thread connecting you to the distant skyscraper. In an instant, you were soaring through the air, the rush of wind against your face and Gotham a blur of lights below.

You were flying. 

Swinging through the city, you rushed past streets and towering buildings. People looked up in awe, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights as they followed your form.

You shot up and soared past the metro tracks, the rhythmic clatter of trains below blending with the distant hum of the city. Each swing carried you further, higher, and faster, weaving through the urban landscape with the freedom of flight. 

Gotham unfolded before you, a sprawling playground, and for a brief, exhilarating moment, you were unstoppable.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 2:32PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

A Few Months Later.

Over the past few months, you had quickly settled into your role as Spidey. The initial buzz of your debut had faded, leaving you working in Gotham's shadows. You were recognized by locals and criminals but had yet to make a significant impact on the city's larger stage. The occasional mention in articles was nice, but it mostly felt like a footnote compared to Gotham's big-name heroes.

Headlines were dominated by the likes of Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin. They were the ones who made the news, while you were still working your way up from the minor leagues.

In the beginning, Damian—Robin—seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep tabs on you. You’d spotted him a few times, lurking in the shadows with those white lenses glaring at you like he was waiting for you to mess up. It was almost amusing, if not a bit intimidating. It felt like he was waiting for you to do something spectacularly dumb, just so he could swoop in.

But as time went on, it became clear you weren’t exactly shaking up Gotham’s chaos. Your focus was on street-level crimes, dealing with the petty crooks and local thugs who didn’t warrant much more than a scowl from the bigger players. Damian, realizing you were more of a nuisance than a game-changer, gradually eased off. It was like you’d been demoted from “potential problem” to “minor annoyance,” and with that realization, he redirected his attention to Gotham’s bigger, more pressing issues.

And well, it was fine. You played the part of the neighborhood’s friendly Spidey with ease, dishing out smiles and saving the day. On the surface, everything seemed under control. But beneath the mask, a different story brewed. Restlessness gnawed at you, a persistent itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

The city’s shadows felt darker these days, more oppressive. You’d heard the whispers and seen the signs—Black Mask was back, and he was even more violent than before. 

It was like he was putting on a show just for you, as if he was daring you to do something more, to be more. 

Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face Plenty of room at the Hotel California Any time of year (any time of year) You can find it here—

Your music is abruptly cut off when your earbuds are yanked from your ears. You groan and turn, only to find Morgan smirking at you, casually swinging your earbuds between her fingers.

Over the past few months, you and Morgan had grown incredibly close—best friends, if you would call it that. Morgan’s hair was now cropped into a short pixie cut, and her wardrobe seemed to be mirroring yours more and more. Whether this influence was good or not was still up for debate in your mind.

“Asshat, give those back!” you snarl, reaching for the earbuds.

Morgan just smirks and leans out of your reach. “Oh, come on. What’s got you so pissy today?”

You groan and slump into your seat, burying your face in your jacket. “Just a lot on my mind. Ugh. I want to go home.”

“You’ve been in a funk for days. What’s up? You’re acting like the world’s about to implode.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to look up. “It might as well. Things are getting insane out there.”

“It’s Gotham,” Morgan shrugs, tossing your earbuds back. You catch them with one hand and stuff them into your pocket. “Thought you’d be used to this crap by now.”

“I am used to it, but what’s that supposed to do, Starky?” You roll your eyes again, and Morgan grimaces at the nickname. “Am I just supposed to dance it away? Pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not?”

Morgan’s eyes narrow, and she gives you a hard stare. “Look, I get it. Shit’s messed up. But moping around isn’t gonna fix anything.”

You sigh and lean over your finished worksheet, erasing some of the leftover pencil scribbles. “It’s easy for you to say. You live in a penthouse with a view of the city. For you, it’s like Gotham’s just a playground.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping onto her face. “Well, if you’re so stressed, maybe you need a little pampering. I could always offer to be your sugar mommy.”

You snort, shaking your head with a small chuckle. “You'd go broke trying to pay for my therapy. Gotham’s therapists charge extra for dealing with our kind of crazy. Hell. One of them literally became a villain herself.”

“Oh, come on," Morgan’s grin widens as she leans closer. "You’ve already got a sugar daddy anyway, don’t you? Damian’s practically a walking trust fund.”

“Had to secure my future,” you grin back, leaning over her side of the table. You point to one problem on her worksheet, circling a mistake with your pencil. “By the way, you got that wrong.”

Morgan looks down, eyes widening in surprise. “Damn. I thought I had that down. You’re really good at this.”

“Weeks of practice and 3AM cramming sessions,” you say with a shrug, leaning back in your seat. “It’s nothing.”

Morgan seems to think for a moment before glancing back at you. “Speaking of securing your future, have you ever thought about applying for an internship? I know a spot at Stark Industries that’s opening up soon.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your tone. “Stark Industries? Your dad's company? Why would I want to go there? Isn’t that where all the corporate rivalries come into play?”

“Not all of them," Morgan laughs, shaking her head. "I get it, though. There’s definitely some bad blood between the Waynes and the Starks. But this internship could be a game-changer for you. You’d get real experience, and it’d look impressive on your CV.”

You hum, your fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t know. Damian might maul me.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and nudged you playfully. "Come on, just think about it. It's a great opportunity, and I'd be there to make sure you don't get lost in the corporate jungle. If you're going to be Damian's trophy wife, you need to get used to dealing with this stuff. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it."

You sigh, considering her offer. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But no promises. Things are a bit... chaotic right now.”

Morgan nods, clearly understanding. “Fair enough. Just keep it in mind. It could be a real game-changer for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it on the list,” you say, managing a small smile.

Class ends and you both gather your things, making your way into the hallway. The corridor is a chaotic swirl of students, their chatter and footsteps echoing off the lockers and tiled floors. Damian is leaning against your locker, his usual stony expression slightly marred by an air of impatience as he waits for you.

Morgan, walking beside you, suddenly reaches out and gives your ass a playful slap. You yelp in surprise, causing Damian to straighten up and cast a sharp, puzzled look at Morgan, who just grins mischievously.

“What the fuck,” you laugh, shoving Morgan lightly.

“Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t keep me waiting too long,” Morgan smirks. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, then shifts to Damian, who’s watching her with a fiery, barely disguised jealousy. She turns and strolls away, Damian glaring daggers into the back of her head like he’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“Later!” she calls over her shoulder with a wave, her grin as smug as a cat who’s just pissed in your shoe. 

You walk up towards Damian, moving a hand to squeeze at his bicep. “Dames, are you okay?”

“She’s quite forward, isn’t she?” he murmurs, placing a hand over yours.

“She’s my best friend. Just loves to mess with me,” you snort. Standing on your tiptoes, you lean in and press a quick, affectionate kiss against his cheek. “And don’t worry, I’m all yours—no matter how much she tries to steal me away.”

Damian’s scowl softens slightly, though a trace of irritation still lingers in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today."

He pushes himself off your locker with a subtle sigh. His gaze flickers with a hint of hesitation before he clears his throat and turns his full attention to you.

“Would you care to join my family for dinner tonight?” he asks, shifting on his feet. “I’m planning to take the night off from patrol. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time together. You could stay the weekend if you’d like.”

You hesitate, your mind occupied with your own plans. “Thanks for the offer, Damian, but I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. I’m really looking forward to a quiet night there.”

Home being the safehouse. Quiet being patrol. You wanted to kick some ass tonight.

Damian’s face visibly falls, his nose scrunching up in disappointment.

“Oh,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I see. I guess I should have expected that,” he adds, his attempt at indifference coming off as strained.

He shifts his stance, straightening as if to regain his composure, but a subtle downturn of his lips betrays his frustration. “Are you sure you can’t spare a moment? I thought we might enjoy some uninterrupted time together.”

You shake your head gently and smile as you smooth your hand through his hair, fixing the few stray strands that have gone askew. “I really have to go. There’s too much on my plate right now, and Mom wants me back early.”

Damian turns his head to the side, gently batting your hand away before reaching up to fix his own hair, running his fingers through it. His shoulders slump, and he clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hide his disappointment. “Fine. If you have to put other things ahead of spending time with me, I guess there’s nothing more to be said.”

You notice the strain in his posture and chuckle, reaching out to squeeze his arms. “I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

Damian’s eyes soften a little as you lean in and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His eyes close momentarily, long lashes brushing against his cheeks.

When you pull back, Damian’s gaze meets yours, a touch warmer than before.

“Very well,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more tender tone. “I’ll be waiting for your call tonight.”

You offer a reassuring smile, then turn and head off, feeling his gaze on you until you blend into the crowd. Damian watches you go, the tension in his posture easing as he takes a deep breath. With a frustrated huff, he reaches for his car keys and makes his way to the parking lot, grumbling to himself.

He'll make sure to lift extra hard tonight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:32PM - Personal Gym, Wayne Manor.

The gym at Wayne Manor is bathed in a subdued, moody light that stretches long shadows across the polished floors and sleek, high-tech equipment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat, mingling with the low hum of an overworked air conditioner trying—and failing—to keep up with the rising heat. 

Damian stands in front of the deadlift bar, wrapping straps around his wrists with a practiced grip. His rough hands pull the straps tight, the material digging into his skin as he secures them. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles.

Please could you stop the noise? I'm tryna get some rest From all the unborn chicken Voices in my head What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android) What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)

Music thunders through his headphones, creating a personal soundscape that drowns out the rest of the world. He's dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie, both soaked through with sweat. 

Bending down, he grips the bar, his knuckles turning white. With a powerful grunt, he starts the lift. The barbell, loaded with an impressive weight, rises steadily. Damian’s face contorts with the effort as he concentrates on keeping his breathing steady and controlled. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, and damp strands of hair fall over his molten eyes, clinging to his skin. Normally, Damian keeps his hair cut short, maintained to match his routine. But lately, his schedule has been packed, and his bangs have grown longer than usual. He grits his teeth, pushing through the lift, doing his best to ignore the annoying feel of hair brushing against his sweat-slicked face.

CLANG!

After a few seconds, Damian drops the bar with a resounding crash that echoes through the gym, the metal slamming against the floor and ringing off the walls. His headphones slip off his ears, falling onto the floor. With a sharp, frustrated snap, he flings his weight belt aside; the leather slaps the ground with a solid thud. Letting out an irritated scoff, he breathes heavily, his anger evident in each exhale.

In another corner of the gym, Tim is deep into his calisthenics routine, his body moving fluidly as he pulls himself up on the bar. His back muscles ripple with each movement, sweat glistening on his skin. He casts a curious glance toward Damian, his eyebrow arching at the loud crash.

“Not joining Bruce for patrol tonight?” Tim calls out.

Damian, clearly irked, casts a sidelong glance at Tim. “Grayson and Todd are out, as is Batwoman. They are more than capable of handling themselves. Unlike certain individuals I could name.”

Tim, ignoring the jab, looks at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I have a life outside of Robin,” Damian retorts. “Unlike you, who seems to think that withering in front of the Batcomputer is the epitome of existence.”

Tim, rolling his eyes, sneers, “You’re just being a jackass because you’re stuck here sulking. It’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Damian’s scowl deepens. “It’s about clearing my head. Sometimes pushing myself physically helps with... other stuff.”

For most of them, working out is just a way to blow off steam or handle their emotions. Damian’s go-to routines are cardio and weights—anything that lets him channel his inner rage and frustration into something productive. Tonight, though, he’s taking it to another level.

Tim heads over to the water dispenser, his footsteps light as he moves. As he passes Damian, he delivers a playful but firm punch to Damian’s arm—not hard enough to cause real pain, but definitely with some intent. Damian scowls, rubbing his arm and shooting Tim a sharp look.

“Whatever works, I guess,” Tim shrugs, taking a chug from his water bottle. His Adam's apple bobs with the effort as he swallows.

“Patrols have been a washout the past few days,” Damian murmurs, wrapping his knuckles as he prepares for a boxing session. “I doubt anything of importance is going to happen.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:04 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

"WOO!"

The night breeze rushes past you, a cool whisper against your face as you spin through the Gotham skyline. Below, the city sprawls in a chaotic mosaic of flickering lights and deep shadows. You glide through the air, the fabric of your suit rustling softly in the wind. Beneath you, the streets are a patchwork of cobblestones and cracked asphalt, each corner a reminder of where you’ve fought, protected, and survived.

Tonight is unusually slow. A surprise considering the area you patrol is a district near Crime Alley.

The vicinity around Queens in rundown Gotham, urbanized but not as bustling as the busier business districts, usually teems with activity. The area, close to the docks, is a maze of clustered buildings and the occasional factory, their smokestacks cutting dark silhouettes against the night sky.

The distant hum of machinery from the factories blends with the occasional sound of waves lapping against the docked ships. From your vantage point, you can see the bridge stretching out in the distance, its lights twinkling against the darkness.

Just as you start to think the night might pass without incident, you hear a distant commotion—a series of hollers and shouts echoing through the narrow streets. Your eyes narrow as you scan the area, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Then you spot her: a woman sprinting frantically down the street, her cries of terror slicing through the night air. Her short-cut hair whips around her face, and her wide eyes reflect sheer panic. Hot on her heels, a group of men give chase, their grotesque laughter bubbling up from their throats like a pack of pigs rooting through garbage.

Your heart skips a beat as recognition slams into you. 

It’s Morgan.

Wait—what the hell is she doing here?

Morgan, who has no business being anywhere near this part of town—especially not at this hour—stands out like a sore thumb. She lives miles away in the heart of the city, far removed from this grim neighborhood near Crime Alley. Queens Street feels like a different world compared to her usual haunts.

Without hesitation, you dive down from the rooftop, landing with a thud that cuts through the night’s tension like a knife. The sudden appearance of your figure causes an immediate hush.

"Hey, kid! Stay behind me," you call out, changing your voice to sound deeper. "I’ve got this covered."

Morgan, clearly relieved but still visibly shaken, nods and takes a step back, her trust in you evident despite the fear in her eyes. 

Cracking your knuckles, you address the would-be assailants.

"Gentlemen," you say, “Shall we resolve this quickly, or do you wanna continue your charade?"

One of them sneers, “Look who decided to crash the party. Here to play hero?”

You tilt your head, scratching at your neck. “Wow, I must be slacking if I’m getting an invite to parties like this. But hey, if you’re offering free entertainment, who am I to refuse?”

THWIP.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at one of the thugs, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying up to dangle from a nearby street lamp. He struggles and curses as he hangs there, the webbing holding him securely.

Another thug charges in, swinging a crude metal pipe. You leap over him effortlessly, grabbing the pipe mid-air and twirling it like a baton. “Wow, talk about a swing and a miss. I’d say better luck next time, but I’m not really into giving second chances.”

"Whoop!" You deliver a swift kick to his side, sending him sprawling into a nearby alley. He crashes into a heap of garbage with a muffled thud. 

The remaining thugs, now visibly annoyed, glance at each other, clearly weighing their options. One of them, the largest and most boisterous of the group, musters up some bravado. He cracks his knuckles and sneers, “You think you’re funny, huh? I’ll show you funny!”

You raise an eyebrow and sigh dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to have a nice chat?” You flick your wrist and a web shoots out, sticking over his mouth. “There you go! Now we can all enjoy some quiet time.”

He charges at you with a muffled, bull-like roar, but you easily sidestep, letting him stumble past. As he tries to regain his balance, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking him back and sending him crashing into a stack of wooden pallets. The crates topple over with a loud clatter, and he ends up sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

!!!

Your senses tingles just in time. Another thug lunges at you with a wild swing, and you catch his fist mid-air, twisting his arm with a practiced flick. Using his own momentum, you deliver a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling backward. He crashes against a nearby wall, dazed and disoriented. Quickly, you shoot a web at him, pinning him against the wall.

The last thug, now clearly outmatched, takes a step back, his form shaking. “You’re not worth it,” he mutters, raising his hands in surrender.

You laugh and walk over to him with a thumbs up. “That’s the best decision you’ve made all night.”

You shoot a web at his feet, pinning him in place. “Why don’t you just sit tight and enjoy the show? I’m sure the boys in blue will be along shortly.”

With the thugs now subdued and securely webbed up, you turn to Morgan, who’s watching with wide eyes. She lets out a shaky breath, clearly relieved.

“You know,” you say slowly, deepening your voice, “I didn’t expect to see Tony Stark’s daughter in a place like this. What’s the story?”

“Oh. Oh, you… know who I am,” Morgan says, catching her breath and chuckling weakly. “Well, I was just out for a... walk, and I made a wrong turn. Next thing I know, I’m being chased by a bunch of guys.”

"Uh-huh," you say, shaking your head with a hint of disbelief, the slits of your mask narrowing as you scrutinize her. "You’ve got a real knack for picking your strolls. Queens is kind of a crime magnet, you know. And you, being as famous as you are, might as well have a bullseye on your back. Just saying."

Morgan’s expression shifts to embarrassment, red flushing her cheeks. “Yeah, I know. I actually came here to meet someone about some tech. You know, to see if I could get my hands on something... a bit more... advanced.”

You raise an eyebrow, perplexed. “Advanced tech? You’re like... Tony Stark’s daughter. You have more tech at your disposal than most governments. Are you sure it's not drugs?”

"I am not a crackhead!" Morgan scowls and sends you a glare. “Sometimes, it’s not just about having access. It’s about finding unique pieces or... getting a better deal. Plus, sneaking out to do something on my own—well, it’s a bit of an adventure.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Teenage angst? Really?"

"Where’s the fun in having everything handed to you on a silver platter?" Morgan smirks. "A little thrill never hurt anyone.”

You just wave a hand at her, shaking your head again. “Fair point. Just please try not to make it a habit of going out at night alone. You uh... got a ride home?"

Morgan licks her lips, her expression thoughtful. "Guess... Guess I could call my dad."

You nod, giving her a thumbs up. "Good idea. And remember, if you ever find yourself in a pinch again, don’t hesitate to call for help. I patrol Queens. Just... don't make this a habit."

Morgan lets out a chuckle, her nerves easing. “I’ll do my best. Thanks for the rescue.”

With that, you turn and leap into the night, your form quickly vanishing into the darkness as you swing away. A sudden tingle on the back of your neck makes you glance back, but you see Morgan still standing there, her gaze fixed on where you disappeared. 

You brush off the feeling—must have been a false alarm.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 3:18 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

After a few hours, you decide it’s time to call it a night. Returning to your warehouse, you strip off your suit and slip into civilian clothes. Stepping out into the dimly lit streets, you keep your head low and your pace casual, blending seamlessly into the nocturnal cityscape. Gotham's alleys and shadows are no place for the spotlight, and drawing attention could be dangerous. Here, the key to staying safe is blending in—letting the city's dark corners swallow you up.

You pull out your phone and dial Damian’s number. Sure, you can handle yourself, but right now, you're out in your civilian identity. Better to play it safe.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na…Batman!

The Batman ringtone echoes softly in the alley, its familiar chime cutting through the muted sounds of the city. You can’t help but smile at the stupid thing—the Batman brand (made without Batman's permission) has become so popular that it’s practically a commercial empire. Bruce, of course, loathes it. He's filed at least twenty lawsuits trying to shut it down, but the brand keeps growing.

There’s even Robin merch, which you’ve collected obsessively over the years, much to Damian’s embarrassment. He’s never quite gotten used to his persona being reduced to a collectible item, but your enthusiasm for it is well-known.

After a few rings, Damian picks up, his voice steady and unmistakable. “Habibti?”

“Hey, Dames,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “Just checking in. How’s everything on your end?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or fabric in the background before he responds. “Everything’s fine. Just buried in homework. Why are you calling so late?”

You detect the edge of concern in his voice, and it makes you smile. “Oh, just heading home. Got a bit wrapped up with some errands. Didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Damian’s tone sharpens, his concern clearly growing. “Errands? At this hour? Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park after dark. Why are you out alone? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”

“I’m fine, Damian," you reply, sidestepping a wet puddle on the street. "Just a few things I needed to take care of. I’m heading home now, so no worries.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late, especially not alone,” he insists, his voice taking on that familiar stern tone. “Do you realize how many things can go wrong? You could be in grave danger..”

“I promise, I’m being careful," you assure him. "I’ll be home soon. Just wanted to check in and let you know I’m okay.”

Damian doesn’t relent. “Fine. But stay on the line until you’re home. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease lightly. “But okay, I’ll stay on the line.”

There’s a soft huff from him, as though he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Good. And, for the record, I’m not being dramatic. I’m being cautious.”

“Whatever you say,” you reply, your tone light. “By the way, are you free tomorrow? There’s this new comic shop I wanted to check out.”

Damian perks up at that. 

Finally.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the chance to enjoy a proper date. The usual routines—dinner out, a movie, or just hanging out—have been squeezed out by the demands of Gotham. Damian felt the lack more than he’d like to admit. He’s missed them—missed you. 

“Yes, I’m available," he says, almost too quickly. He doesn't want to seem overly eager, but the anticipation is hard to hide. "I’ll make time and pick you up. What time, beloved?"

“How about noon?” you suggest, swinging your keys lightly as you approach your apartment building. “That should give us plenty of time to explore the shop and maybe grab lunch afterward.”

You reach your apartment building and slip inside, the familiar creak of the door signaling your return. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching, you crouch and bound up the flight of stairs in quick, powerful jumps, reaching your floor in mere seconds.

Heading down the hallway, you adjust your phone and catch the end of Damian’s statement just in time.

“—I’ll be there at noon,” Damian confirms, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

“Great,” you smile as you fumble with the lock. The sound of the key turning in the door echoes softly in the quiet hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally open the door, stepping into the comforting familiarity of your home.

"I'm looking forward to it,” you continue, kicking off your shoes and setting them neatly by the door. “I’m home now, by the way! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the other end, Damian’s voice comes through the phone, warm and laced with the faintest hint of affection. “I shall see you then,” he replies, his care evident even through the small, digital speaker. “Goodnight, beloved.”

There’s a moment of silence as his words linger.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, letting the warmth of his voice settle before you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

You slip your phone into your pocket and step into your living room, where the soft glow of the television fills the room. A Filipino drama plays on the screen, its melodramatic dialogue and heartfelt scenes subtitled in English. The rest of the room is shrouded in dimness, with only the flickering light of the TV breaking through the darkness.

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you notice Selina perched on a bar stool at the counter. She’s cradling a steaming cup of coffee, its rich aroma wafting through the air. Her gaze lifts to meet yours as you enter, curiosity etched across her features.

“You’re home a lot later than usual, honey,” she comments.

You pour yourself a glass of water, the quiet clink of the glass against the faucet a small comfort. You sit down across from her, the chair creaking slightly under your weight. “Yeah, it’s been one of those nights. I wrapped up patrol and ended up dealing with some trouble. Nothing major, though. But I did run into someone.”

Selina takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Who?”

“Morgan,” you say with a grim look. “She was out in Queens on some sort of tech hunt. Had to give her a little lecture about roaming Gotham alone.”

 “The redhead? That’s definitely unusual. What was she after?”

“She was hunting for some tech—apparently, even with the best gadgets at her disposal, she thought Gotham had something special,” you explain.

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Typical Stark. Always chasing the next shiny thing. Did you know her dad’s been trying to worm his way with the Bats lately?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

Selina takes a sip of her coffee, her expression bemused. “He’s been throwing money at them, trying to fund their operations. He’s got this obsessive need to upgrade superhero tech. Batman’s been turning him down flat. I guess his ego took a hit.”

You laugh, taking a swig of your water. “Can you imagine Tony Stark trying to ‘help’ Batman?”

“If those two could ever check their egos long enough to actually collaborate, it’d be a miracle,” she scoffed. 

“Speaking of which,” you say, dumping your cup back into the sink, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Damian or Bruce would freak out if I accepted Morgan’s invitation for a Stark internship?”

Selina’s grin widens. “Oh, honey, that’s a show I’d pay to see. Damian would hit a 100 on the scale of overreaction. Bruce might be a bit more restrained, but he’d definitely hit an 11.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Lovely. Just what I need.”

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Remember when Bruce tried to offer you an internship? The look on his face when you turned him down was priceless.”

A twinge of awkwardness settles over you, and you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, that was... something. It’s like he had this whole script for how he wanted the conversation to go, and when it didn’t, he kind of just... froze.”

Selina’s gaze softens a bit. “He thinks of you like family. And with you and Damian getting serious, he’s probably bracing himself for the long haul.”

You groan as you push yourself off the sink and head toward your room. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:03 PM - Empire Comics, Gotham City.

RING.

The bell above the door jingles as you and Damian step into the bustling comic shop. The aroma of ink, paper, and coffee fills the air, blending with the hum of excited conversations and the occasional laugh.

You’re sporting a casual look: a red cap with a Robin symbol on it, jeans, a white Batman shirt, and Damian’s soccer jacket draped over your shoulders. Damian is clad in his usual fit—a dark turtleneck, crisp cream pants, and black boots. He looks every bit the model for a high-fashion magazine, even in a comic shop.

The walls are lined with shelves packed full of colorful comic books and graphic novels. Display cases highlight rare editions and collector’s items, their glass gleaming under the shop’s lights. You’re in your element, eyes wide as you scan the rows, your fingers brushing the spines of the comics. 

Grabbing one off the shelf, you flip it over with a grin, admiring the glossy cover. It’s an edition you’ve been eyeing for a while—a real gem.

“Do you want that?” Damian asks, his eyes flickering from the comic in your hands to your face. There’s a sharpness in his gaze, as if he's trying to dissect you with his eyes.

You nod, barely containing your excitement. “Definitely. It’s one of the limited editions I’ve been after.” You flip the comic over, eyes lingering on the price as you clutch it a little tighter.

Without a beat, Damian reaches for his wallet. “Let me handle it.”

A protest rises in your throat, but Damian cuts you off with a look that could freeze lava. His scowl deepens. “No arguments. It’s a treat for today.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Damian swiftly pulls the hood of your jacket over your eyes. “If you keep insisting on paying, I’ll just take back my jacket.”

“What?!” you hiss, instinctively clutching the jacket closer around you. “No way! You don’t even wear this.”

“Precisely. Which means I can reclaim it as a bargaining chip.” Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, smug satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now, if you don’t let me handle this, the jacket’s going back to my closet. I suggest you reconsider.”

It takes a few more minutes of his gentle but insistent threats, before you finally give up. As he heads to the counter, you glance around the shop, taking in the array of comics and collectibles.

A newspaper rack catches your attention. The headline boldly reads:

“Spidey Foils Attack on Morgan Stark: Hero Swings in to Save the Day”

Damian returns shortly after, handing you the paper bag with a triumphant smirk. You beam at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. Damian hums at your affection, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. 

Emerald eyes flick to the newspaper on the rack, his expression shifting slightly. 

“Stark was in an altercation?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. He leans closer, the scent of freshly printed ink mixing with the rich, smoky aroma of his cologne.

You glance at the newspaper, the pages rustling softly as you turn them to face him. “Looks like it. It’s been a while since I saw a headline like this. Spidey doesn’t get as much press as you guys do.”

“Speaking of Morgan,” you say slowly, deciding it’s time to rip off the bandage. You lean against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of your jacket. “I was actually thinking about applying for an internship at Stark Industries. It could be a great opportunity, you know? She’s offered me a spot.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Damian’s expression shifts from casual interest to a full-blown scowl. His lips curl back, revealing a flash of teeth, and the muscle of his jaw rolls beneath bronze skin.

“Wayne Industries is far superior.”

Rolling your eyes, you allow a hint of amusement to creep into your voice. “Oh. I know. But Morgan’s offering me a spot. And honestly, it could be a huge opportunity.”

Damian’s eyes narrow, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve offered you spots and programs at Wayne Industries before. Why accept hers but not mine?”

You deadpan. “I’m your girlfriend. They’d just see me as a nepotism hire.”

Damian grumbles in response, his expression darkening as he reaches for the newspaper. His fingers brush against the glossy paper with a soft rustle, and his gaze locks onto the photo of your vigilante form, captured mid-swing through the city. The image is dynamic, full of motion and energy, but Damian’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes it.

You shift on your feet, the squeak of your Converse against the floor drawing his attention. Trying to break the tension, you clear your throat. “So,” you begin, your tone light but with a hint of curiosity, “have you ever encountered Spidey on the job?”

Damian’s expression hardens at the mention. His lips thin into a line, and a look of disapproval settles over his features. 

“The Spider?” he scoffs “From what I’ve seen, they’re nothing more than an amateur.”

You feel a pang of offense at his harsh words but manage to keep your expression carefully neutral. “Really? I’ve heard they’ve done some impressive things.”

Damian’s emerald eyes lock onto yours, the frustration behind them clear as day. “Impressive?” he retorts, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “If you consider reckless behavior and a complete lack of tact impressive, then sure. But to me, it’s far from professional.”

Ouch. That was expected, but it still stung.

“Everyone has their own style,” you say, your eyes fixed on the floor as you run your tongue over your lips. “What might seem clumsy to one person could be strategic for someone else.”

“Strategic?” Damian spits out in a laugh. The newspaper crumples under his grip. “Their approach is more about spectacle than substance. They swing around like a circus act, with no real strategy. It’s a wonder they manage to accomplish anything at all.”

Frowning, you look back at Damian, who stands rigid, his shoulders tensed. “Maybe their methods look a bit rough, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t making a difference. They’ve managed to help a lot of people.”

“Helping people isn’t just about flashy moves and headlines,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He shoves the paper back onto its shelf, the paper crumpling from the force.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, struggling to control the anger rising within you. As much as you loved Damian, his insufferable egotism could be unbearable at times. Your eyes focus on the comic book display, the vibrant covers searing into your retinas.

“You’re one to talk,” you can’t help but snap. “Robin and Batman are practically on the front pages almost every week. And what, you’re saying their efforts are worthless just because they don’t meet your standards? That’s pretty unfair. Just because they deal with lesser threats doesn’t mean they’re any less of a hero than you guys are.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian hisses, his tone sharper than intended. The sting of your criticism and his bruised ego fuel his words.

Damian craves validation more than he likes to admit. His entire life has been a constant battle to prove himself—whether it’s measuring up to his father’s expectations, competing with his peers, or affirming his place within the shadow of his legacy. He’s used to being the one in control, the one whose actions are seen as perfect. When that perception is challenged, it’s not just his skills or methods that are questioned; it’s his very worth.

The irony, of course, is that your approval matters more to him than anyone else’s. Your opinion matters to him, and your criticism hits harder than any public scrutiny ever could.

“I’m saying that they’re trying to help!” you snap, your voice rising to match his. From behind the counter, the cashier gives you a wary glance. “They’re doing things that you guys can’t always do.”

Damian’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “What can’t we do?”

“Helping the little guys!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. You gesture toward the crumpled paper, your movements sharp and erratic. “Spidey—they stand for exactly what you stand for—the belief that everyone deserves protection and justice.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, his pride visibly wounded. “Maybe you should reconsider what you’re so willing to defend. It’s important to recognize when someone’s approach is flawed, even if it’s someone you admire.”

You shake your head, refusing to back down. “I’m not saying Spidey is perfect, but they’re out there trying. That counts for something.”

With a sigh of resignation, you tug his jacket off and shove it into his arms. Damian’s face scrunches up in hurt, the gesture cutting deeper than he lets on.

“I’m going home,” you say quietly, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

Damian watches as you slip out of the shop, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth from the argument. But as he catches a glimpse of the hurt in your eyes, his anger begins to dissolve into regret.

Without hesitation, he follows you, his footsteps quickening until he catches up. Gently, he grips your shoulder to stop you.

“Beloved,” he calls out softly, his tone now tender. His earnest gaze meets yours, regret pooling in his eyes. “I apologize.”

You stop and turn to face him. “Apologize for what, Damian?”

Damian hesitates, searching for the right words. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken feelings. 

You try to move past him, your steps feeling heavy. “I just need some space right now."

Damian doesn’t let go. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No. I need to walk and blow off some steam.”

With a final, apologetic look, Damian steps back, giving you the space you need. You turn and start to walk away, the heat of the sun only intensifying your already heated emotions. The city, bustling with life, seems to close in around you as you move deeper into its more crowded parts. The shops grow closer together, the crowds thicker, the noise louder, and the streets narrower with every step.

Lost in thought and simmering with frustration, you’re suddenly jolted back to reality by an alarming noise—a commotion coming from a nearby alleyway. The muffled voices and scuffling footsteps cut through the city’s din, pulling your attention.

A group of masked individuals are cornering someone in the alley. The victim, pinned against the wall, is desperately trying to fend off the assailants. The attackers are demanding valuables, their threats laced with violence. Despite the bustling city around them, no one seems willing to intervene. The crowd keeps a safe distance, choosing to look away rather than get involved.

You glance down at your civilian attire—a shirt and jeans, not exactly ideal for a fight.

But someone has to help, and if you’re the only one who will, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the alley.

“Hey!” you call out, trying to draw their attention away from the victim. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The muggers turn their attention toward you, and suddenly, their target comes into sharp focus. Tousled red hair spills out from beneath a white beanie, and thick black frames are crookedly perched on her nose.

Your eyes lock with hers, and you freeze—Morgan.

What is it with this girl and finding trouble?

Her eyes widen in sheer disbelief at the sight of you, practically screaming, Are you out of your damn mind? You can almost hear her thoughts. You flash a reassuring smile, throwing in a thumbs up that you hope translates to, “Relax, I’ve got this,” even though you’re pretty sure you’re both in deep shit right now.

Shaking your head, you refocus on the muggers. There are ten of them in total. Your goal is to keep their attention away from Morgan and buy time until help arrives—or if help arrives.

“Ten on one, huh? Not exactly fair, but hey, I’m feeling generous today,” you say, your voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. “Let’s make this interesting. If you take me on and win, I’ll buy you all a round of whatever you’re drinking. And if you lose”—you flash a cheeky grin—“well, let’s just say you’ll be spending the night in a cozy little cell, courtesy of the GCPD.”

The muggers burst into laughter, clearly entertained by the sight of an unathletic-looking eighteen-year-old in a Batman shirt stepping up to them with such bravado. You just grin, letting their amusement roll off you.

“Yeah, I get it,” you say with a shrug, rolling up your sleeves to your shoulders. “I might not look like much, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. So, who wants to take the first swing?”

The laughter fades as the muggers size you up. One of them, a lanky guy with a scruffy beard, steps forward, cracking his knuckles and sneering.

“Alright, girly,” he taunts, “unless you want to back out now, you’re about to get a taste of what we’re all about.”

Before he can react, you pull your arm back, focusing on the momentum. With a swift, forceful punch, you drive your knuckles straight into his jaw. The impact lands with a solid thud, sending him crashing into the alley wall, his head snapping to the side.

One.

The other muggers freeze. They exchange glances, their earlier laughter choked off. Morgan’s mouth falls open in shock.

“What the fuck,” she mouths at you. 

A grin stretches across your face as you size up the remaining muggers.

“So,” you whistle, “who’s next?”

One of them steps forward, but you’re ready. A brutal left hook catches him square on the cheekbone, and he staggers back, blood erupting from his nose. He collapses to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Two.

A woman with a wild, frizzy mop of hair barrels toward you, snarling menacingly. You sidestep her clumsy swing and deliver a powerful uppercut. Her head snaps back with a satisfying crack, and she crashes into the alley wall with a loud clang, blood streaming from her split lip and chin.

Three.

Before you can catch your breath, a wiry man with a rat-like face tries to dart around you, aiming for Morgan. But you’re quicker. You grab him by the collar, yank him close, and drive a vicious knee into his gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath, and you follow up with a hard right hook that sends him sprawling into a puddle of muck.

Four.

Adrenaline surges through your veins, and the earlier argument with Damian feels like a distant storm driving your fists. Each punch lands with a mix of frustration and resolve, the anger you’re trying to process fueling your strikes.

Two more muggers, a lanky guy with a snake tattoo and a burly man with a scarred face, charge at you simultaneously. You sidestep the lanky guy’s wild swing, then deliver a brutal, bone-crushing kick to his ribs. He crumples with a pained gasp, collapsing to the ground with a wheezing groan.

Five. 

You pivot to face the burly man, deflecting his punch with a forceful block. With a grunt, you slam an elbow into his gut, making him double over, gasping for air. Before he can recover, you drive a fierce knee into his face. He crashes into the alley wall, blood and sweat mingling as he slides to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Six.

That’s around half of them. You turn to face the rest.

“Last chance,” you blow a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Either you leave now or join your buddies in the hospital.”

The remaining muggers scramble, retreating as fast as they can down the alley. The noise of their hurried escape fades into the distance, leaving you and Morgan.

Breathing heavily, you survey the scene. The alley is littered with fallen muggers—some groaning in pain, others unconscious. Blood stains your hands and the ground, and your knuckles are bruised and swollen.

Morgan slowly rises from her crouched position, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and awe. Her gaze flickers over the scene—the battered muggers, the bloodstained ground, and you standing amidst the chaos, breathing heavily.

“That was…” she starts, shaking her head as if to clear the shock. “You’re something else. What the hell?! I didn’t know you could fight like that!”

You give a wry, tired smile. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Morgan steps closer, her expression softening from disbelief to something akin to admiration. “Seriously, though, that was insane. I thought we were done for, but you—”

DANGER.

Your instincts kick in with a jolt of alarm, making your hair stand on end. Everything slows to a crawl.

You see it: one of the muggers, still on the ground but moving, starts to stir. His fingers slip into his jacket, reaching for something concealed. Each movement seems to stretch out in excruciating detail, from the twitch of his fingers to the barely perceptible shift of his body. Morgan, still caught up in her surprise and relief, is too busy chatting to notice.

The mugger’s hand emerges from his jacket, revealing a glinting gun. You quickly fire a web, aiming to disarm him. The webbing sticks to the gun, but the mugger has already squeezed the trigger.

Without a second thought, you react instinctively. 

“Get down!” you shout, pushing her aside.

BANG!

The sharp crack of the gunshot reverberates through the alley, and you feel a searing pain in your ribs. A hot, burning sensation spreads through your side, intensifying with every heartbeat. Morgan’s scream pierces the air, her horror evident as she watches you stagger.

You stagger back, clutching your side. 

Well... shit.

“Motherfudger—” you grit your teeth, the pain in your side intensifying. You turn your focus to the mugger scrambling to flee, his gun now ensnared in your webbing. 

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot another web, pulling him toward you. As he comes within reach, you slam his head against the wall, the impact knocking him out cold.

Morgan rushes back to your side, her face pale. “Are you okay? Holy shit! Holy shit! You're shot.”

Her gaze then turns to the webs scattered across the alley, her eyes widening in realization.

“You’re—”

You hush her, slamming a hand over her mouth. “Quiet!”

She mumbles into your palm, eyes darting nervously. “Y-you’re Spidey!”

“Listen,” you say softly but firmly, removing your hand once you're sure she won’t start screaming, “we need to keep our voices down. I’m hurt, and we need to get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

Morgan bites her lip, running a hand through her frazzled hair, white beanie long discarded on the ground. “But you’re hurt, and the police—” She trails off, glancing around at the mess and the moaning muggers scattered on the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off. “We don’t need the police right now. Just help me get out of here.”

Morgan’s face twists but she nods. “I know where to go.”

Both of you soon find yourselves swinging through the alleys. You grit your teeth, pushing through the burning pain in your ribs and focusing on the task at hand. Ignoring the searing ache, you accelerate, swinging through the city with Morgan clinging to your side. You take the longer route, weaving through the shadows to avoid detection.

Finally, you drop down into an alley beside her penthouse building. Morgan’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of your shirt, a stark contrast against the white. She steps back, shock and concern etched across her face.

“Damn,” she curses. “You’re really hurt.”

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” you grunt, pressing a hand against the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Now, let’s get inside before I bleed out or pass out—whichever decides to happen first.”

Morgan doesn’t waste a second. She grabs your arm and pulls you toward the back door of her building. The heavy steel door creaks open, and she nearly shatters the elevator buttons with the force of her pressing.

You lean heavily against her as she steps into the elevator with you. The harsh fluorescent lights inside the elevator are glaringly bright, intensifying the pain in your ribs with their sterile, clinical glare. As the metal doors close with a soft, echoing thud, the outside world fades away. For a fleeting moment, you find some relief as the lift begins its ascent, the gentle hum of the machinery offering a small distraction from the throbbing ache in your side.

Morgan keeps glancing at you, nervously biting her lip. “Just hang in there. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

You manage a shrug, despite the discomfort. The pain isn’t as overwhelming as it might be for most, thanks to your spider abilities, but the real kicker is the identity reveal. 

"Did I at least look badass?"

"Oh my god. I literally hate you."

When the elevator finally dings open, Morgan practically drags you out, guiding you swiftly down the hall to her penthouse. The door swings open, and she ushers you inside.

You collapse onto the plush couch, wincing as you sink into its cushions. The pain in your ribs throbs with each breath, and as the adrenaline fades, you feel every ache more acutely.

Without wasting a second, Morgan strides across the room and shouts into the air, her voice echoing off the sleek, modern walls.

“PEPPER, I need you!”

You’re caught off guard as a series of robotic arms extend from sleek panels in the walls, their metallic surfaces catching the ambient light. The arms are intricate, equipped with various tools and sensors, whizzing towards you.

One of the arms reaches out, its end featuring a gentle, flexible grip. It carefully tugs at your shirt, and you reluctantly slip it off, exposing the wound on your side. The arm’s sensors begin to glow softly as it scans your injury.

The room fills with a soft, synthesized voice. “Scanning gunshot wound. Location: left lower rib, depth: 4 cm. Severe damage, high infection risk. Blood loss: 150 ml. No internal bleeding. Administering anesthesia. Cleaning and debridement soon.”

Tiny robotic tools emerge from compartments within the arm—sterilizing swabs, a precision scalpel, and a fine, retractable syringe. The anesthetic solution is applied gently, its cooling sensation numbing the pain.

“Uh, what the actual fuck is going on?” you blurt out.

Morgan watches with a stony expression, her focus fixed on a tablet in her hands as she monitors your vitals closely.

“Oh, that’s PEPPER. She’s a Stark Industries AI I’ve had integrated into the penthouse. She’s pretty good at this kind of thing. Coded her myself."

The robotic arm emits a soft beep before starting the process of removing the bullet. You feel a series of sharp, targeted tugs as the bullet is gradually extracted, each pull sending a brief jolt of pain through your side. The bullet clinks as it drops onto a metal tray.

“Isn’t... isn’t PEPPER your mom’s name? Damn, you actually coded this?” you ask, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Morgan gives a small, proud smile, her eyes meeting yours.

“I’m the next in line for Stark Industries, after all,” she says. “So yeah, I figured out how to make this kind of tech. And yep, Pepper’s named after my mom. She used to patch up my dad whenever he got into trouble.”

A fleeting, wistful look crosses her face, but she shakes it off quickly. “PEPPER stands for ‘Personal Emergency Protocol and Protective Emergency Response.’ It’s a tribute, and it’s supposed to handle everyday stuff and emergencies like this.”

The robotic arms continue their work, the AI’s voice providing updates. “Bullet extraction complete. Administering wound care and infection prevention. Proceeding with final checks.”

“Just hang tight,” Morgan says. “We’re almost done here.”

"This is—this is insane! It’s insane," you hiss at her, leaning back as the machine starts bandaging you. "Is this what rich people do? Build robots that can do fucking surgery?!"

Morgan chuckles softly, her eyes still focused on the tablet as she adjusts the settings. “When you have the resources, why not make the best use of them?”

The robotic arms complete the bandaging, applying a final layer of antiseptic and securing the bandages with a gentle press. The AI’s voice announces the end of the procedure with a soft chime. “Wound care complete. Vital signs stable. Patient recovery in progress.”

You let out a deep sigh of relief as the robotic arm finally withdraws. You stretch out your shoulders and take a moment to appreciate the absence of pain. “Well, thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one... or maybe a lot.”

Morgan’s smile is faint but warm, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “Well… you did save me today. And… on that night. I’d say we’re kinda even now.”

Suddenly, a new chime interrupts the moment. Morgan’s brows furrow as she glances at the tablet, her confusion giving way to awe.

“Whoa,” she breathes, eyes widening. “You’re healing at an insane rate... Your tissues are already regenerating. This is... freaky. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You wince slightly as the last of the bandages is applied. The robotic arms retract with a soft whir, leaving behind a faint, antiseptic scent. You manage a tired smile, though your face is still flushed from the pain and the adrenaline crash.

“It’s the spider stuff,” you explain. “Enhanced abilities. Healing and pain tolerance are part of the package.”

Morgan’s expression shifts from shock to a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “No shit. You treated that gunshot like it was just a scratch.”

The redhead places her tablet on a nearby table and takes a seat directly in front of you. Her demeanor is a blend of fascination and a newfound respect.  “So, you’re Spidey? I mean, I knew you were something special, but this...” She gestures to you with a grin. “This is next-level. 

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “You think I’m special?”

Morgan’s cheeks flush slightly as she stumbles over her words, clearly flustered.

“Uh, well, yeah. I mean, I think you’re really smart and capable—like, a genius. I mean, your skills with chemistry and science are incredible. The way you analyze problems and come up with solutions, it’s like you’ve got a grasp of things that usually takes years to master. And then there’s the tech you’ve built—it's insane. Seeing you in action like that? It’s next-level. I didn’t expect you to be, like, superhero-level special.”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by her enthusiastic praise. “Well… thanks,” you say, a wry grin spreading across your face.

Morgan, still flustered, clears her throat and tries to change the topic. “So, how long have you been doing this?”

You shrug, rubbing your eyes as the weight of the day settles in. “A while. It’s... been a lot. Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the bigger the threats get.”

“Huh,” Morgan leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “I guess I’m in it now, too.”

“Woah,” you laugh, raising a hand. “No, no. I see where this is going. I’ve read too many comics. I know what you’re about to say.”

Morgan’s gaze narrows. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You lean back with a groan, your head tilting back against the sofa. The action causes your chest to rise and fall more rapidly, sweat clinging to your skin. Your throat bobs with each breath, and the effort makes your neck arch slightly. 

Morgan’s eyes wander, taking in the sheen of sweat on your chest and the way your skin glistens. Her face flushes deeper as she stares.

You waggle a finger at her with a grin. “I know where this is headed,” you say, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ve seen the trope before. The whole ‘I’m in this now too’ speech. And trust me, it’s usually followed by—”

“By what?” Morgan blinks, snapping out of her daze. 

You give her a knowing look.

“Okay, fine, you got me,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “And before you say anything, I’m not just looking to tag along for the excitement. I genuinely want to contribute. I’ve got resources, skills, and—”

She gestures to the high-tech surroundings of her penthouse, where one of the robot arms gives a casual wave. “—I can do more than just sit on the sidelines.”

Pursing your lips, you nervously bite on your fingernails, glancing away. “See, this is where I’m supposed to give you the ‘I can’t put you in danger’ speech. The whole ‘this is too dangerous’ line. Normally, in a story like this, you’d be the love interest.”

Morgan slumps. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not just some bystander here.”

“Morga—”

The door creaks open, and a soft, synthesized voice echoes through the apartment, cutting you off.

“Welcome home, Tony.”

Both of you freeze.

The front door swings fully open, revealing Tony FUCKING Stark himself. 

His face is stony as he takes in the scene. His eyes dart from you—shirtless and in nothing but a bra, with bandages wrapped haphazardly around your torso—to Morgan, who looks flustered and disheveled.

You and Morgan stare right back, just as wide-eyed. There’s a beat of awkward silence as Tony’s brain catches up with the situation. He glances at you, then at Morgan, and back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, hey, Dad,” Morgan says, her voice hitting a pitch that could break glass. She scrambles to smooth her hair and adjust her clothes, her face a portrait of embarrassment.

Tony’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to piece together what he’s walked into. “Well, this is... unexpected. I didn’t realize I was interrupting... whatever this is.”

You, still sprawled on the couch, cross your arms over your chest, your face blazing red. “Um. Hello, Mr. Stark. This... looks exactly like it’s not what it seems.”

Tony’s gaze sharpens as he scrutinizes you. His eyes narrow, and he points a finger at you with a blend of suspicion and recognition. “Wait a second. Aren’t you that Wayne kid’s girlfriend? The youngest one. Darryl, right?”

“Damian,” you correct, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Yeah, him.” Tony squints. “So, what’s the deal? Am I looking at a tabloid scandal in the making here?”

Morgan’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, clearly mortified. “Dad!”

Tony’s expression shifts to one of mock seriousness as he holds up a hand, covering his eyes with exaggerated drama. “It’s okay! I’ll be in my workshop, pretending I didn’t see a thing. Just... try not to make any more headlines while I’m gone.”

“Sh—she’s not—!” you start to protest, but Morgan cuts you off with a rapid, high-pitched explanation.

“She’s the Stark intern I told you about!” Morgan lies straight through her teeth, sending you a look that screams, 'Go along with it!' “I was just showing her how some of the bots work!”

Tony squints at Morgan, then at you, and back at Morgan with a grimace. “For the love of tech, Morgan, next time you give your intern a hands-on demonstration, maybe keep it... less hands-on?”

Morgan sputters and gapes, but Tony is already turning on his heel and strutting out of the room. Over his shoulder, he adds with a shout, “Be who you are!”

The door swings shut behind Tony with a soft, final thud, leaving you and Morgan in an awkward silence. 

“Does this mean I actually have to become an intern for your dad's company now?”

“Yes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better excuse? Like, say, that I’m just a really good friend or something?”

Morgan rolls her eyes and flicks your ear. “Dude, chill. I can get you cool tech. I mean, who wouldn’t want access to Stark Industries’ gadgets? I can be the guy in the chair and all that cool Oracle stuff. Think of it as a tech upgrade for your superhero gig.”

“You want to be the guy in the chair? Seriously? I am not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

Morgan gasps in disbelief. “Why not?! I’m perfectly capable of providing a little tech support. And! I just showed you how I can help with your injuries.”

“I’m not sure if I want to gamble my safety on your ‘tech support.’”

“Come on, it’ll be fine!”

“I’m not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

“You’re just repeating yourself.”

“You keep pushing the ‘guy in the chair’ thing.”

“Well, you keep rejecting me.”

“Because you’re a civilian!"

"Am I?! Are you seriously doubting my tech skills?”

“More like your impulse control.”

Morgan huffs dramatically, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Ha, very funny. You’re one to talk! May I remind you who exactly got shot between us?”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing up your hands in defeat. “You win! You can be the guy in the chair!”

Morgan’s face lights up with a smirk as she pushes her glasses up with a satisfied flick of her fingers. “Perfect. But just so you know… I’m not planning on getting into any alleyway brawls.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Not like you could do anything with your spaghetti arms."

"Ass!"

“Also," you add. "You say that now, but I’ve seen how people get when they’re itching to help. You’re not allowed to step a foot into any of my alleys. You stay where it’s safe, understood?”

Morgan raises her hands in mock surrender. “Got it."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 8:12 PM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

The moon casts long, eerie shadows across the grimy streets of Crime Alley, its pale light barely penetrating the oppressive darkness. The night air is cool and sharp as you swing effortlessly between buildings.

Morgan clings tightly to your back, her grip firm. Her breath comes in quick, exhilarated bursts as the wind howls around you, whipping through her hair and making her voice rise with the rush of the night.

“This is incredible!” she shouts, her words lost momentarily in the roar of the wind. “I had no idea you were so… so agile! I’m practically flying!”

You chuckle, tightening your grip on her. “Glad you’re enjoying it. Just remember to keep this between us, okay? I already texted my mom, told her I was working late on an internship. She’d totally lose it if she knew the whole story. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know.”

Morgan nods enthusiastically, her laughter mingling with the wind. “Secret’s safe with me! Besides, this is way cooler than any boring internship!”

As you approach the warehouse, you swing gracefully from the rooftops, landing lightly on the building’s edge. You gently set Morgan down, her eyes wide with curiosity. You lead her to an open window, and together you step into the warehouse, emerging into the loft area that overlooks the cluttered first floor.

Tables cluttered with tools, spare parts, and old electronics fill one side of the warehouse. Shelves stacked with various gadgets, blueprints, and half-finished projects line the walls. A makeshift bed, complete with a thin mattress and a worn blanket, sits in a corner, flanked by a few of your personal touches like a small stack of comic books and a faded poster of a vintage comic.

“It’s a bit scrappy, but it gets the job done,” you explain, glancing around the space. “I’ve done a lot of work here over the past few months.”

Morgan sets her gear down on one of the tables, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She starts pulling out a few gadgets, laying them out with a smile. You watch her with interest as she reveals the basics for now: a comm device, a sleek laptop, and a set of earpieces.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” Morgan says, holding up the comm device. “This little beauty will keep us in touch no matter where we are. It’s got encryption and a few extra features that’ll come in handy for tracking and coordinating.”

She places it on the table and picks up the laptop, opening it to reveal a high-resolution screen. “This is my command center. Well... laptop. It’s loaded with security protocols and a few surprises. I’ll be able to monitor everything from here, plus it has advanced analytics.”

Finally, she holds up the earpieces with a grin. “And these are for communication and hearing everything clearly, even in the middle of a mess. They’re noise-canceling and have a range that can reach the entire country.”

You stare at her blankly.

"You are... oddly prepared for this."

Morgan shifts her weight and shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m really into heroes, okay?! Stark Industries has some pretty cool special projects.” She coughs lightly as she sets the equipment down, arranging it on one of the tables. “Just wait until you see what else I’ve got in store."

You shake your head with a smile, letting her dive into the setup. As she busies herself with the tech, you move to the corner of the warehouse where you’ve set up a small training area. You pull out a yoga mat, your muscles aching from the day’s activities and the previous night’s adrenaline rush.

Spreading the mat out on the floor, you begin a series of stretches and exercises to ease the tension in your body. The quiet hum of the warehouse is soothing until suddenly, your ringtone starts blaring through the speakers.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na… Batman!

You perk up, eyes wide, as the theme song fills the room. Morgan’s snort echoes through the space as she looks over at you, clicking something on her laptop.

“Nice fucking ringtone,” she laughs. “Damian’s calling.”

You squint at her, then glance at your phone, which is sitting a few inches away on the table. “Did you just hack my phone?”

“Hacked,” she corrects with a smirk. “You’d be surprised at what I can do with Bluetooth and a laptop.”

You roll your eyes and settle back down to squat on the floor. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the tech expert here.”

Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. “Consider it a skill I picked up. Besides, if you’re going to have me as your tech support, you need to get used to this kind of thing.”

The ringtone continues to ring, and Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you going to answer that, or do you want me to handle it for you too?”

You wince. “We had an argument.”

“Trouble in paradise,” she squints before pointing to the door of the warehouse. “Maybe you want some privacy?”

You glance at the screen, where Damian’s name is flashing. With a resigned sigh, you reach for the phone and press the end button. Morgan whistles and grimaces.

“Yikes.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the discomfort. “I’ll talk to him when I feel like it. Let me do my yoga in peace.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

"I'm sorry, this caller cannot be reached—"

With a sharp, irritated breath, Damian swipes the call away, the screen of his bike’s console dimming to black.

You didn’t want to answer? Fine. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

The bike’s engine roars to life with a deep, throaty growl, cutting through the night air like a predator on the hunt. Damian deftly navigates Gotham’s tangled mess of traffic, weaving between honking cars and startled pedestrians. The bike’s tires bite into the wet asphalt, the city lights reflecting off its sleek frame as he darts past another red light. 

Tonight’s patrol is anything but routine. High-profile cases, gang activity, and urgent calls stack up like a never-ending to-do list, and Damian can already feel the weight of the week ahead pressing down on him. Gotham’s underbelly churns with unease, as if the city itself is bracing for something darker on the horizon.

BUZZ!

Just as he begins to settle into the rhythm of the ride, the steady hum of the bike’s engine is interrupted by the sharp buzz of his comm link. He glances down at the small screen embedded in the bike’s console, his eyes narrowing.

“Robin? You there? I’ve got something I need you to check out. It’s near your location.”

The familiar voice of Oracle crackles through the earpiece, cool and composed, but with a hint of urgency that sparks Damian’s interest. A digital map flickers to life on the dashboard, zooming in on a narrow, dimly lit alleyway nestled deep within one of Gotham’s most rundown districts. 

“I’m picking up unusual activity,” she explains. “There’s a gang meet-up happening in that alleyway near Queens. From the chatter, it sounds like they’re discussing something big—possibly a new drug shipment or an upcoming operation. Get some eyes on them.”

“Understood. I’ll check it out,” he replies curtly. Damian’s grip tightens on the handlebars as he adjusts his course, the bike’s engine growling in response as he veers sharply toward the indicated location.

It only takes a few minutes before Damian pulls up to the alleyway. He slows the bike to a stop, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement before he parks it in a shadowed corner, blending in with the darkness. The engine’s deep rumble fades to a low, menacing purr before it finally falls silent.

Damian pulls off his helmet, his hair tousled from the ride. He shakes his head slightly, letting the cool night air ruffle through his dark locks. The city’s muted sounds reach his ears—the distant wail of sirens, the occasional shouts, the drip of water from a nearby pipe.

The alleyway ahead is cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a faulty streetlamp. Shadows stretch and twist along the grimy walls, creating an unsettling landscape.

He dismounts and approaches the entrance to the alley with silent steps. As he ventures deeper, the muffled sounds of voices become clearer. The air grows heavier, thick with the smell of smoke mingling with an acrid tang of something burning and the less pleasant odors of old beer and rotting food. 

Damian reaches into his earpiece and taps the control for his embedded mic. The small device activates with a soft, almost imperceptible beep and he begins recording.

“Did you hear about latest shipment?” One voice says, his accent thick and unmistakable, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy Russian lilt. “It’s stolen Stark Tech. Black Mask, he’s making big moves, yes? Big tech deals coming soon.”

Another voice, sharper and edged with a typical Gothamite drawl, chimes in. “Yeah, I heard. Looks like he’s tryin’ to offload some high-end stuff. Somethin’ to do with the Octavius project.”

A third voice, younger and nasally, adds, “Octavius? Isn’t he locked up in Blackgate? Why would he be involved in any of this?”

"Money," the Russian explains, "Black Mask, he uses connections, push deals forward. Octavius, he is in prison, yes, but influence, it is not gone. We get in on this... payout could be very big."

Damian’s eyes narrow as he tries to move closer, but something tugs at him from behind. He glances over his shoulder and freezes when he sees a thin, webbed strand clinging to the edge of his cape. It’s almost invisible in the dim light of the alley but stands out starkly against the dark fabric of his cape.

Spidersilk.

Scowling, Damian tugs at his cape, attempting to peel away the stubborn webbing. It clings tenaciously, resisting his efforts with an almost defiant grip. Frustration flares as he yanks harder, the strained fabric slapping against the nearby wall with a loud snap.

The voices in the alley fall silent, replaced by the shuffle of feet and urgent whispers. Damian curses under his breath

Damian curses under his breath. He quickly snaps off the cape, leaving it behind in the shadows, and just as he does, a gang member swings a crude metal pipe toward him. Damian reacts instinctively, raising his forearm to block the attack, the clang of metal echoing through the alley.

Snarling, Damian wrenches the pipe from the thug’s grip and drives it into the man’s ribs with brutal force. There’s a sickening crack as bone gives way, and the thug emits a sharp, agonized wail before crumpling to the ground, clutching his side in pain.

Standing tall, Damian slowly steps out of the shadows, the darkness sweeping across his face like a shroud. The white of his mask catches what little light there is, giving it an eerie, spectral glow. 

With a deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness, he draws his katana from its sheath. The blade catches and distorts the scant light, gleaming with a sinister, predatory sheen. As he spins the weapon with precise, practiced ease, the razor-sharp edge slices through the darkness, emitting a soft, chilling hiss.

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Damian sneers, his voice distorted into a menacing growl by his modulator. “You’re all out of your league. I suggest you leave now, before you make this any worse for yourselves.”

One of the gang members, either too reckless or too foolish to retreat, lunges at Damian with a rusty knife. The blade catches the scant light, its edge glinting menacingly as it arcs toward Damian’s side.

With a fluid, practiced motion, Damian sidesteps the attack, his hand shooting out to grasp the thug’s wrist and wrench it sharply. The knife clatters to the grimy ground as the thug lets out a pained cry. In a seamless follow-up, Damian flicks his katana, slicing across the thug’s torso with a precise cut that wounds but doesn’t kill.

Damian follows up with a brutal strike to the thug’s face, slamming him against the alley wall. Blood spatters onto the cracked pavement as Damian’s punch leaves the thug’s face a bruised, bloody mess.

“Had enough?” Damian growls, his voice a chilling rasp. The thug, dazed and barely able to stand, makes a feeble attempt to swing at Damian. 

Damian easily deflects the pitiful attack, then brings the hilt of his katana down with a sharp crack against the thug’s temple. The thug crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even hits the pavement.

“Let this be a lesson, Damian calls out to the other men. He twists his wrist, adjusting his grip on the katana, letting blood drip from the blade in a slow, deliberate descent. As he advances towards the remaining gang members, the metal scrapes against the ground with a harsh, grating sound.

“That next time, you won’t be so lucky,” he continues, his carved jade eyes darkened with flecks of shadow, swirling like wisps of smoke.

The thugs, now visibly terrified, back away slowly, their bravado gone. The oldest of them, a burly man with a scar that cuts through his rugged face, steps forward.

“Alright, alright, we’re done here,” he growls, his voice betraying a tremor of fear. “We’ll leave. Just... just don’t kill us.”

Damian flicks his sword back. “Smart choice. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”

The men scramble to their feet, their panicked retreat echoing off the narrow walls as they disappear into the shadows. The sound of their hurried footsteps gradually fades, leaving Damian alone in the quiet aftermath.

He sheaths his katana, the blade slipping into its scabbard with a soft, final click. His breathing is steady, but the adrenaline still buzzes beneath his skin. He scans the alley, taking in the mess left behind—smears of blood painting the pavement

His comm link crackles to life again, Oracle’s voice cutting through the silence. “Robin, report. What’s the status?”

“I recorded the conversation for you,” Damian replies, his voice steady as he turns. His boots crunch on the asphalt, the sound piercing the quiet as he kneels down to retrieve his discarded cape. He scowls at the stubborn webbing still clinging to his cape.

“That, and I’m starting a personal case,” he adds. He moves closer to examine the webbing, his gloved fingers deftly tearing away part of the fabric. The strands of webbing glint faintly in the dim light.

“A personal case?”

“Yes,” Damian confirms. He tugs his torn cape back into place, the frayed edges fluttering slightly as he smooths the fabric over his shoulders. He takes a moment to scan the alley one last time, the glinting remnants of webbing still catching his eye. 

“I'm going on a hunt."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you trudge up the creaky, worn stairs of your apartment building, your footsteps pounding against the wood. Your muscles protest with every step, body aching from the lack of sleep. 

Both you and Morgan were up all night setting up communication devices and sketching out possible upgrades for weapons and gadgets. Your mind is a foggy mess of blueprints and circuitry, making it hard to focus on anything but the thought of finally collapsing into your beloved bed.

Reaching your door, you fumble with the keys, and push the door open. The familiar scent of home—a mix of Selina's favorite lavender incense and the lingering aroma of last night's takeout—hits you, momentarily soothing your tired mind.

Inside, the windows are drawn open, and sunlight illuminates the living room, casting warm, golden beams across the worn-out furniture. Selina is sitting on the couch, engaged in an animated conversation with someone. You blink in confusion, your brain still foggy from sleep. Since when did you guys have guests?

You squint, then do a double-take.

Tony Stark. The Tony Stark is lounging on your couch, looking like he belonged there.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

You blink again, but he’s still there, looking impossibly real with his feet propped up and an easy smile on his face. It’s not a hallucination. This is real.

“Uh, Mom?” you manage to stammer out.

Selina turns and gives you a warm smile. “Look who finally decided to join us. Honey, you didn’t tell me you topped the rankings for their program!”

You… did?

“Uh, I did?” you ask, bewildered. You have no recollection of even applying for anything. The only time Tony knew about your existence was yesterday when you were literally shirtless at his apartment.

Tony chuckles, standing up and extending his hand. “You sure did, kid. Impressive work. I’ve been keeping an eye on the top candidates, and your projects really stood out. Thought I’d come by personally to congratulate you and talk about the next steps.”

You shake his hand, still in shock. His grip is firm, and his presence is undeniably magnetic. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’m… honored?”

“Honored, impressed—whatever you want to call it,” Tony says with a smirk, nodding at Selina before clapping a hand on your back. “Just know I’ve got big plans for you.”

Something feels off. 

Your spider senses are buzzing like a live wire, setting your nerves on edge. 

You force a smile, trying to mask the unease gnawing at you. The room feels too small, the air too thick. The sunlight streaming in from the window seems blindingly bright, almost as if it's glaring through a veil of distorted reality, making everything feel unreal.

As everything whirls into tunnel vision, the only thing you can focus on is Tony Stark, who seems too calm, too composed.

“Mom, would it be alright if I talked to Mr. Stark outside? We’ll be back,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

Without waiting for a response, you yank Tony toward the door. The latch clicks shut behind you with an ominous echo, and you steer him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The corridor feels tight and constricted, with the flickering lightbulbs casting uneven shadows that dance along the peeling wallpaper.

Once you reach the corner and are out of earshot, you turn to Tony. “Okay, what’s really going on?” you ask.

Tony raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that. I needed to talk to you about something important, and this seemed like the best way to get your attention without causing a scene.”

You furrow your brow, struggling to piece together what’s happening. “I don’t even remember applying for any program. Morgan just mentioned it to me. Are you sure you have the right person, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s expression turns serious as he pulls out his phone. With a few swipes, he activates a holographic screen. A video begins to play, and your heart sinks as you recognize the scene. 

The video shows you from months ago, in your Spidey suit, captured by a bystander's shaky phone camera. The camera focuses on the moment when a car, careening out of control, crashes through the guardrail of a bridge. A web is shot, the thread catching the car just before it plunged into the river below. There's a grunt from you as you strain to pull the car back onto the bridge, the muscles in your arms and shoulders visibly taut under the suit. Onlookers gasp and cheer when you succeed, landing lightly on the bridge beside the car. 

Tony’s eyes bore into yours. "That's you, isn't it?"

Your heart skips a beat. The hallway seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your back as you stammer, "What? I—I don't... No?"

Tony's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "Come on, kid. Don't try to play me. I know it's you. Holy shit. What a catch! 4,100 pounds?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," you lie and swallow hard. "That's probably fake you know right? It's probably some edit on Youtube."

"Oh, sure," Tony purses his lips and pulls up another screen. Your eyes scan it and you wince. "Guess this is fake too, huh?"

The screen displays medical records of your injury from yesterday—a gunshot wound that healed unusually fast. The data outlines the severity of the wound and highlights the rapid recovery process. Tony’s finger traces the timeline, pointing out the abnormal speed of your healing.

"Wowie," Tony gasps in mock-surprise. "Not exactly a normal recovery rate for a regular teenager, wouldn't you say? What the hell does your mom feed you, kid? Magic beans? And this—"

He pulls up another screen. It's a scan of your DNA. The image is a dense matrix of colorful strands and data points.

“Would you look at that,” Tony continues, crossing his arms. "You got some Spider DNA on you, kid. This is some next-level genetic crossover."

You exhale deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety. “Did Morgan tell you about this?”

Tony shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nope. I have access to the records and all data from the bot. Guess she forgot to clear it.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “And before you ask, I don’t just dig through people’s private stuff for fun.”

He points a finger at you, a self-assured smile growing on his face. "So. I’m right? You’re the... Spiderling. Crime-fighting Spider?"

"Spidey," you correct, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. "Look. Mr. Stark. What do you want?"

Tony adjusts his glasses, peering down at you with a look of genuine appreciation. "Well, first, I want to thank you for saving my girl. I owe you one for that."

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

"Second," Tony continues, his tone shifting to business, "I’m here with a proposition. I’ve seen what you can do, and let’s just say I’ve got some big plans that could use a spider-shaped wrench in the works. Plus, I’ve got some nifty gadgets to keep you happy.”

You wince and shake your head. “Mr. Stark, I’m not looking to upgrade.”

"Well, you’re in dire need of an upgrade," Tony says, pulling up a picture of you in your suit and making a gagging face. He adjusts his glasses with a look of disdain. "Systemic. Top to bottom."

You roll your eyes.

"But before we get into that," Tony adds, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful, "I’ve got to ask: why do this? Why play the hero? Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? Or just a really bad habit? What's your emo backstory, kid?"

You shift uncomfortably against the wall, the cool, rough surface pressing against your back. 

"It’s... complicated," you finally say, your voice low. "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t just stand by and act helpless."

"So, you’re playing the hero for the little guys, huh? Who else knows about this gig of yours?" Tony mutters

You exhale a heavy sigh, rolling your neck to ease the tension. "Morgan knows, and... Selina. And now, you."

Tony nods slowly, his fingers idly peeling back a section of wallpaper. "How’d would you like to spend a month at Stark Industries, kid?"

You sputter, "I can't just... What? Start living with you?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not exactly down to make the three-hour commute to your place."

"Okay, who said I was agreeing to this?"

"I did," Tony whistles and starts to move toward your apartment door. "Unless you want me to tell your ridiculously hot aunt that her kid got shot—"

THWIP.

Tony freezes, his foot now stuck as the sharp sound of the web echoes through the corridor. He looks down, eyes widening slightly as the web wraps around his ankle. 

You stand with your hand outstretched. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Tony raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “So, what’s it going to be? Make a decision now, or do I need to start spilling secrets to get your attention?”

You groan, your head thudding against the wall as you wrestle with the decision. After a moment, you exhale sharply, pushing the doubt aside. “Alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if we’re doing this, I need to be in the loop on everything. No surprises.”

Tony’s smirk widens as he extends his hand. 

“Deal. Welcome to Stark Industries. You’re going to fit right in.”

"..."

"Now. Can you... get me out of this?"

 ༻⊰───⋅

The dining room at Wayne Manor was unusually lively this morning, a rare and welcome shift from the usual quiet. Bruce, seated at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, was partially hidden behind the day’s newspaper, only the top of his head visible as he read. The rustle of paper was the only sound he made as Alfred moved around his chair, silently refilling his coffee cup with a fresh, steaming brew.

To Bruce’s right, Dick and Jason were engaged in conversation. Every so often, their banter would erupt into laughter, the sound warm and familiar. Tim sat across from them, his laptop balanced precariously beside his plate, its glow reflecting off the food he barely touched. His eyes darted between the screen and the table, more absorbed in whatever was on his laptop than the breakfast laid out in front of him. At the far end, Cass cradled her latte in both hands, taking slow, thoughtful sips as her gaze wandered out to the gardens, lost in some distant thought.

Amidst the calm, Damian was anything but. His face was locked in a deep scowl as he hacked away at his breakfast, the knife in his hand scraping harshly against the plate, leaving deep, jagged scratches. Each slice seemed to require more effort than the last, the grating sound of metal against porcelain cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you trying to eat your plate?"

"Die."

Bruce peered over the top of his newspaper, his brow furrowed in concern. The rustle of the paper paused as he glanced at his son, his gaze shifting from the newspaper to Damian. "Is something wrong, son?"

Damian’s grip tightened around his knife, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked like it might crack. "The burger is insufficiently cut."

Tim, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, barely looked up from the screen. He let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "He’s mad because his girlfriend hasn’t been replying to his messages."

Damian’s eyes shot a sharp glare at Tim, but the anger in his gaze softened just enough to betray the truth in his brother’s words. His jaw twitched as he tried to maintain his scowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow, his concern now tinged with curiosity.

"Damn," Jason said, pausing mid-bite of his eggs. He leaned back in his chair, waving his fork around with a smirk. "What did you do? Did she finally get tired of you?"

"Don’t start, Todd," Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Jason. "My relationship status is none of your concern."

Dick leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. "Busy, or just avoiding you? There’s a difference."

"She might just be busy," Tim chimed in, taking a leisurely sip from his coffee cup. He set it down with a deliberate clink and met Dick's gaze with a knowing look. "Did you know she topped the Stark Industries Young Innovators Program?"

The table fell silent for a moment, the hum of conversation abruptly cut off.

The newspaper, now forgotten, slipped from Bruce's fingers and landed on the table with a soft thud. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line, fighting to control the storm of emotions churning beneath his otherwise stoic facade. He looked as though he were struggling to choose between bursting into laughter, breaking down in tears, or punching a hole in the wall.

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

A wave of stunned stares passed around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He then turned the screen around for everyone to see. The headline on the screen read:

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. 

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown. 

“Of course, I had already known she was impressive,” Bruce said slowly, his voice dripping with a hint of petty resentment. “It’s just… wonderful to see someone finally acknowledging it. Stark finally catching up.”

“Looks like he’s stealing your kid,” Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who do you guys think is going to win the custody battle?"

“Tony,” Tim said with a laugh.

Bruce’s head snapped up, betrayed. “Tim—”

“Tony,” Tim repeated, scrolling through the article. “She accepted. She’ll be spending a month in Stark Tower’s living quarters. All expenses covered.”

“What.”

“Yep,” Tim said, not looking up from his screen. “All the perks of the job. Stark’s rolling out the red carpet.”

Damian’s scowl deepened, his frustration now entirely focused on his offending meal. He resumed his aggressive cutting, the knife scraping furiously against the porcelain, each slice resonating with his irritation.

Bruce slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a sharp clink.

“Stark,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with bitter resignation. “Of course, Stark.”

Stares and knowing grins were exchanged around the table. 

“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by that billionaire showboat,” Bruce grumbled. “Not a drop of responsibility in that man. How on earth is he going to handle being a… mentor to her? Stark’s idea of responsibility is throwing money at a problem and hoping it magically solves itself. He’ll probably just have her parading around his tech labs, showing off to his high-profile friends while she’s supposed to be learning. It’s all a game to him. He’s just going to pat her on the back and call her a genius while he takes all the credit.”

“Oh my god,” Dick grimaced, trying to stifle a laugh. “The adoption senses are tingling.”

Bruce shot him a withering glance but was interrupted by Alfred’s calm, yet pointed voice. “You’re taking this a bit personally,” Alfred said. “If I were you, I’d be congratulating the young miss for her accomplishment. It’s a remarkable achievement, and it reflects well on her character.”

Bruce’s scowl didn’t fade, but his expression softened slightly. “I’m not questioning her achievement,” he muttered, his tone begrudging.

“She’ll be fine. If she can handle you, she can handle Stark,” Alfred snapped.

Bruce gasped in offense.

Alfred continued to move around the table, placing a pitcher of water in the center. As he wiped his hands with a cloth, he hummed thoughtfully. “Young Miss Kyle is more than equipped to manage whatever Sir Stark throws at her. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate her success and perhaps focus less on the competition.”

He glanced at Bruce with a hint of a smile. “We can invite them for a celebratory dinner, Master Bruce. It would be a fitting way to honor her achievement and show our support.”

CLANG!

A sudden, explosive smash shattered the calm of the room, followed by a harsh metallic scrape. Damian’s knife came down with such violent force that the plate beneath it cracked audibly, sending shards skittering across the table.

Alfred’s weary sigh broke the tension, and he glided over to collect the shattered remnants of the plate, his practiced hands carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

“I hope you enjoy cereal, Master Damian."

༻⊰───⋅

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

im a hoe for comments/reblogs/asks/kudos

it fuels me <3 pls send more

[cedarmoonzz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a small continuing to your Ford fic? I really enjoyed it and tugged my heart strings. I love you work so much and if your able to do that without any issue, I'd love that!😭💜

yes! i love that six fingered cartoon dilf with every fiber of my being!

once more to see you •｡ꪆৎ ˚

continuation of: between the bars followed by: slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford x reader

content: angst, stanford's poor attempt at comfort lol

summary: when your fiancé’s episodes of paranoia spiral out of control, you come to a difficult realization.

You’ve always seen yourself as someone grounded in logic. Pragmatic to the bone, you’ve relied on reason and science to navigate life, finding comfort in facts and the concrete reality they bring. But lately, that sense of security has started to unravel. 

The cabin was frigid, its icy air wrapping around you like a shroud, seeping into your very bones despite your efforts to ward off the chill. The socks you wore—a secret purchase made without Stanford’s knowledge—offered little warmth, though they  greatly softened the sound of your steps as you quietly drifted from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the closet, nursing your third cup of coffee that night. Each breath you took was quick, shallow, as if the cold air was stealing it away. As you finally settled at the desolate kitchen table, a wry thought flickered in your mind: could the layers of plywood and fiberglass beneath you truly muffle the frantic beating of your heart, hiding it from your fiancé’s ever-watchful ear? In your own, the rhythm pounded, echoing like a circle of drums, impossibly loud in the oppressive stillness of the cabin.

Stanford’s paranoia didn’t burst into your lives all at once; it crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow growing longer at dusk. It all began when he developed a peculiar fascination with triangles—a simple, geometric shape that, in his hands, took on a life of its own. He transformed the cabin, once a place of warmth and refuge, into a gallery of trigonometric stained glass, each piece more elaborate, more intricate than the last. At first, you found it endearing, even charming, and you laughed it off as just another of his harmless quirks. You told yourself it was just Stanford being Stanford, his brilliant mind forever chasing new ideas.

But as the days turned into weeks, the triangles began to multiply. Their sharp, precise edges cast strange, fragmented light across your home, turning familiar spaces into something alien, almost unrecognizable. You began to notice how the once-welcoming cabin now felt distorted, its atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. And yet, you didn’t see it for what it was—not at first. You didn’t want to see it. You told yourself it was just the glass, just the way the light hit it, just the way Stanford was channeling his creativity. You ignored the way your stomach twisted with unease, dismissed the creeping dread that settled in your bones.

You shook your head, trying to banish the haunting thoughts that swirled in your mind. There was no time to dwell on what had already happened; what mattered now was moving forward. Rising from your seat, you made your way to the bedroom you and Ford once shared, a space now overshadowed by his office chair, which had become his sanctuary. You reached into the closet, your fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of your thick army jacket. The worn texture offered a rare comfort, a tangible reminder of a time before everything had shifted. As you fumbled through the pockets, your hand closed around a pack of cigarettes—an old habit you had left behind during your second year of graduate school. A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingled with regret for the time lost. You slipped the pack back into your pocket and donned the jacket, its sturdy fabric promising some semblance of protection against the biting night winds and the snow that still whirled outside the closed window.

Your gaze then fell upon your boots, left carelessly on the closet floor, caked in mud from past forest excursions with Stanford. You reached down, lifting them with a mixture of sentiment and practicality. With the boots in hand, you carefully descended the stairs, each step deliberate to avoid the creaking floorboards. At the kitchen door, you set the boots down and slipped them on, their familiar weight grounding you in the present. Quietly, you opened the door, the chill of the night air meeting you as you stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

You stood on the porch of your home, clad in baggy sweatpants, an oversized coat, and your old brown army boots. The cold night air wrapped around you, but the weight of the familiar clothing offered a small measure of comfort. You instinctively reached into your pocket, a gesture that felt oddly nostalgic, like reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been missing. Pulling out a cigarette, you brought it to your lips, and then you fumbled into your other pocket, searching for a long-abandoned lighter. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal as you hoped to find one still with fluid.

After a moment of fishing, you finally found it. With a deep breath, you shut your eyes, the cigarette resting between your fingers as you brought the lighter to your face. The small flame flickered to life, illuminating your face in the darkness as you lit your former vice. You’d given up smoking years ago, recognizing it as a bad coping mechanism, though it had always managed to calm your nerves better than any of the so-called remedies Stanford had suggested—yoga, green tea, or otherwise. Stanford had never missed an opportunity to chide you about it, yet in moments like these, when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain, the familiar warmth of the smoke provided a fleeting solace, a small rebellion against the chaos of your thoughts.

You couldn’t shake the image of your fiancé from your mind. The one person you had always relied on as your rock, your steadfast partner in all things logical and real, now seemed a stranger. He had become obsessed, shining a flashlight into your eyes, searching for something hidden in the depths of your pupils. Each time that harsh beam flickers across your eyes, it chips away at your sense of reality, leaving you to wonder if his strange behavior is a sign of something far darker lurking beneath the surface. The familiar comfort of the cigarette seemed almost to mock the confusion and dread that now defined your days, as if trying to find stability in a world that had become increasingly alien.

“[Y/n].” Ford’s voice sliced through your reverie, its suddenness filling you with an indescribable anxiety. The feeling was sharp and unsettling, a gnawing presence that you couldn't quite classify as rational or otherwise. It wrapped around you like a cold fog, clouding your thoughts and intensifying the sense of disorientation that had already taken root.

He stood behind you in the doorway, the light from behind casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around him. From this angle, you might have thought he looked perfect, a vision of calm and composure that seemed untouched by the chaos of your shared reality. The gentle halo of light made him appear almost otherworldly, a serene figure caught in a moment of stillness.

Yet, his appearance betrayed a different story. His hair was frantic and messy, a wild tangle of curls that seemed to reflect his inner turmoil. The bags under his eyes had deepened, etched by sleepless nights and relentless stress. Despite the disarray, there was a softness in his gaze, a look of tenderness you had missed with all your heart. It was a fleeting reminder of the warmth and affection that once defined your relationship, now overshadowed by the encroaching distance and disquiet that had come to dominate your lives.

You had tried so damn hard to stay quiet, to remain out of his way. You'd let him overwork himself to the bone if that’s what he wanted, even though it felt like a slow erosion of everything you once knew. You’d had the argument too many times to care by now, the words always seeming to fall on deaf ears. All you wanted was to avoid the inevitable confrontation, to give him space, even as his obsessive behavior grew ever more unsettling. 

"Stanford," was all you said in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. You lifted the cigarette from your lips, the smoke pooling around you like a hazy veil. As you exhaled, you cast a glance up the staircase, the familiar sight offering no answers, only a silent reminder of the space between you both.

“You’ve started smoking again,” he observed, his tone carrying a note of quiet surprise. The statement lingered in the air, the drifting smoke accentuating the distance between you. It was as if the sight of the cigarette in your hand was a reflection of the changes he could no longer ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

The cigarette met your lips once more. You took a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs as your eyes remained locked with his. In that moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving you both suspended in the delicate space between old familiarity and the evolving distance that now defined your relationship.

“Of course I would,” he said, his voice carrying a soft tinge of regret.

You dropped the cigarette into the snow, watching as it hissed and sizzled against the cold ground. With a decisive step, you crushed it underfoot, pressing it into the snow for good measure. The smoldering embers were quickly extinguished, leaving only a faint trace of smoke lingering in the frosty air.

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to utter, the word feeling woefully inadequate in the weight of the moment. It hung between you, a simple apology for the complexities that neither of you could fully address.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch your death out here,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of concern and weariness. He stepped aside from the doorway, making way for you with a gentle gesture. The warmth from inside seemed to beckon, a stark contrast to the frigid night air.

You looked into his eyes, and he stared back, the moment stretching between you as if everything else had come to a halt. The world outside faded into a blur as snapshots of your relationship flickered through your mind—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and fleeting happiness. With each memory, you found yourself questioning what had gone wrong, what could have been different, and what measures you might have taken to alter the course of events.

In the midst of that frozen silence, a question slipped from your lips before you could even stop yourself: “Ford, are you still in love with me?” The words hung in the air, unexpected and raw, their weight adding a new layer of complexity to the already tense moment.

His head snapped towards you, eyes widening with a shock that seemed to crystallize in the cold night air. His gaze pierced into yours with a fierce intensity, as if your question had struck a chord deep within him. His eyebrows knit together in a furrow of confusion and apprehension, while his mouth tightened into a thin, resolute line. The change in his demeanor was palpable; his posture straightened as though he were bracing himself for a storm.

With a determined stride, he marched to stand beside you in the snow, the door to the house slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed through the night. The two of you stood together, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow upon the snow, which reflected a bluish light that danced across the scene. The snow-covered ground sparkled faintly, but the surrounding darkness clung to you both like a shroud.

He stared down at you as you stared at your feet, standing only an arm's length away, the proximity intimate and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the soft shushing of dormant branches swaying in the wind, their gentle rustling mingling with the quiet stillness of the night. The cold air wrapped around you both, creating a palpable silence that stretched between you, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

His hand reached out, fingers closing gently around your chin. With a deliberate motion, he angled your gaze upward, drawing your eyes away from the snowy expanse at your feet and into his. The touch was firm yet tender, guiding your focus to the depth of his own eyes. It was just like he used to do moments before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your eyes met his, and in that brief, suspended moment, you saw the glistening, unshed tears pooling in his gaze. They shimmered in pale light of the moon, their potential to fall betraying the fragile veneer of his composure. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual facade, revealing a depth of sorrow and vulnerability that seemed to unravel the very essence of his being.

“Don’t you ever ask that again,” his voice cracked, the words trembling as they escaped his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours, the closeness both intimate and overwhelming. In that tender contact, you felt a deep ache, missing his touch more than you had admitted to yourself. The warmth of his skin against yours, the vulnerability that he seldom showed, was a poignant reminder of what you had longed for but also feared.

Your breath caught in your throat, the tightness nearly choking you as emotions surged within, rendering you on the brink of tears. Frustration twisted inside you, mingling with a deep-seated ache as you grappled with having surrendered so effortlessly to the solace of his presence. The warmth of Ford’s touch, so familiar and comforting, had shattered your defenses with an almost unbearable intimacy.

In that raw, exposed moment, you recognized a profound truth: you loved Ford with a depth that went beyond reason. You understood him completely, and you would remain steadfast by his side. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process, he would always draw you in. It was a certainty you could not escape.

[jobean12-blog]

Falling for the Forbidden

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!princess reader (Pedro Pascal Gladiator II)

Word Count: 1,574

Summary: Having to hide your love away is difficult and each day it becomes more so...especially when all eyes are on the General.

Author's Note: I swear I will stop...someday. He's too gorgeous and perfect and with the trailer today I nearly died. This is along the lines of my other two stories I've written for him, A Warrior's Heart and Forbidden. You do not need to read them with this one but they are all the same reader. Thank you all so much for enjoying with me! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 😍

PS If anyone has any ideas they want to throw my way, feel free. Thank you 😘 Also, I'm trying to do my research but if I make any historical mistakes, I apologize.

Warnings: there's always soft sweetness under it all, tension, semi-public sex (although at that time I don't think it mattered much haha) but they are sneaking around!

This gif below is NOT MINE it's from @a7estrellas and I've linked the post! Thank you for gifting us with such beautifulness!

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The streets of Rome are bustling with life. The market vendors’ loud voices ring out over all else and the smell of various wares fills your nostrils. Every time you walk by a stall the merchant shouts at you to buy something, shaking a fresh juicy fruit or something that catches the dying sun and sparkles like a diamond.

With a polite smile you decline and pull your hood higher up over your head, hoping to just slip through the crowd without notice.

Night dances along the horizon, casting long shadows onto the stone streets and filling the sky with pale pink and orange.

You pass by a fruit stand with baskets of sweet apples, red and shiny. Watching the vendor, you wait for a distraction and grab an apple, quickly stuffing it into the wide arm of your cloak.

Without a glance back you disappear into the darkness between the large stone pillars of a nearby building and press your back tightly to the wall. Your breathing stills and you wait.

Long minutes seem to pass in silence and just as you’re about to give up hope a large and strong hand closes around your wrist and yanks you away from the wall and down into the shadows of an alcove.

“Since when does the princess steal?”

His voice is smooth and deep, purring into your ear while he reaches inside your cloak to retrieve the apple.

You pluck it from his fingers and take a small bite, savoring the sweetness with a matching saccharine smile. A small trickle of juice slips from your mouth and down your chin. His dark eyes watch before he presses his lips to your skin and gently sucks the juice clean.

The apple drops from your hand and rolls further into the darkness, the sun nearly kissing the horizon and hiding you both away in the shadows.

His lips move to your ear and lightly graze the soft spot just below. You shudder at the contact, grabbing onto his biceps when his mouth continues and ghosts along the column of your neck.

“How many nights has it been?” he asks, running his hands under your toga and pressing his fingers between your legs, “since I last had you.”

Your eyes close and you sway into his embrace.

“Too many.”

Your low moan echoes in the emptiness of the hidden spot and he stops his movements.

“Far too many,” he whispers as he removes his hand and grabs your wrists between his large fingers.

He raises your hands above your head and leans down to capture your lips. You struggle weakly, needing to touch him, but he shakes his head and tightens his hold.

“We cannot do this here,” you gasp as he presses his hardness along your stomach.

His lips move down and across your collarbone and his free hand reaches down to slowly pull apart the fabric that covers your skin. He repeats the action until he reveals your bare breasts, hungrily licking his lips before he closes them around your nipple.

Your knees buckle slightly, and you moan out his name.

“Shhh princess,” he whispers against your skin.

“More Marcus. Please.”

He takes his time, teasing, licking, and sucking until your body is aching then he lifts you so you can wrap your legs around his waist.

Your hands immediately delve into his hair, roughly dragging his mouth down to yours as he presses your bodies together more firmly.

The sounds of a raucous and drunken mob grow louder, and you tense against him. You hold your breath and a long a long stretch of time passes before you meet his eyes.

“Marcus. We should not do this.”

You halfheartedly try to push him away, but he holds his ground.

“I cannot wait another moment,” he growls. “I cannot go another night without you.”

Your eyes hold his gaze, but you don’t answer.

“Please,” he murmurs.

Your fingers stroke his cheek, idly tracing the raised skin of a scar that lines his jaw.

“I can never seem to deny you.”

He lets one of your legs fall gently to the ground and his fingers ghost up your thigh. A low hiss escapes his mouth when he feels how wet you are.

“I do not think you ever want to my love,” he whispers into your neck.

With quick and quiet movements, he frees himself, hiking your leg higher around his waist before he pushes in deep.

Your simultaneous moans are lewd, and you hear the crowd growing closer. It makes him push into you harder.

He kisses you hard and fast then covers your mouth with his hand but keeps his eyes locked on yours as he draws himself all the way out. Your strangled sounds make him smile and he rewards you with a deep thrust.

You’re gasping and your fingers search for something to hold on to, every roll of his hips making your muffled moans louder.

His words are soft against your ear when he whispers, “do you feel how perfectly you fit around me? Nothing feels better than this.”

Your only answer is a nod of your head and when he moves harder and faster you silently beg for more.

“I want you to remember what you do to me. Tonight, when you’re alone in your chambers…and the next morning when you ache between your legs.”

His words have you teetering on the edge and now the intoxicated group is just on the other side of the wall. He lifts his hand from your mouth and covers it with his lips, swallowing your strained whimpers as your body tenses and tightens all over.

Your hands fall from his curls and grab his broad shoulders, holding tightly when his final thrusts stutter and slow. He spills his warmth inside you, and he opens his eyes, resting his forehead to yours.

The oblivious voices start to fade as they move away, and you catch your breath as the quiet blankets the night once again.

He reaches for your hand and lifts it between your bodies, delicately kissing your palm before turning it over and brushing his lips across your knuckles.

You inhale softly and whisper his name.

“I should like to see you reach the palace safely.”

Your expression softens even more, and you trace his lips with your fingertips.

“And I should like to have you in my bed every night.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, the gesture laced with pain, and carefully unwinds your leg from his waist and sets you down on unsteady feet.

The next day passes far too slowly, and your mind is constantly occupied by thoughts of last night. You’re jolted out of your reverie by a familiar voice.

“Princess,” General Acacius greets.

Turning, you catch a glimpse of him standing with a group of gladiators fresh from training. His chest is bare, and you follow the line of strong muscle to where a dark trail of hair disappears under his canvas loincloth.

When your eyes-finally- reach his face, your breath catches in your throat at the look in his eyes.

Then those eyes rake over every inch of you and even though you’re completely covered in your royal attire, you feel completely naked. His expression is as intense as his touch and you wonder, if he continues to stare in such a way, will your skin ignite?

You try to fix your face into something that camouflages that you’re mentally cataloging the way his chest heaves with his quickened breaths, the way his hands fist at his sides and cause the muscles in his forearms to flex and strain, and the way his neck and shoulders are tense as beads of sweat drip down his glistening skin.  

His tongue darts out to trace his lips and he quietly dismisses the others with a growled command. They walk off silently but not before throwing their covetous eyes your way.

The General draws his sword.

“I would not have you look at the princess in such a way…” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

They turn their eyes to him, narrowed and glaring before stomping away with quiet mutterings.

Once they’re out of sight he walks briskly down the hall, waiting in a shadowed recess until you follow.

He grabs you, spinning you out of sight until he has you caged against the cool stone wall. His breath is warm and heavy against your cheek.

“Marcus,” you gasp, fighting to control your own breathing. “Not here. And especially after that…what were you thinking?! It is too dangerous.”

His grip tightens and he bends slightly, kissing your lips softly.

“Then do not tempt me with a look like that again.”

Your hands reach for his shoulders, and you run your fingers across their broad width before tracing his chest and stomach.

“Then you should not tempt me with such…magnificence.”

His scoff is muffled against your skin, and he pulls away to take your face in his hands, softly brushing his thumb across your lips.

“Magnificence…my princess, there is nothing in this world to rival your beauty. You are…stunning.”

His name falls from your parted lips in a whisper, and he kisses you softly, gliding his nose along your cheek until he meets the soft shell of your ear.

“Have you thought of last night?”

You tilt your face and find his lips again. “With every step I take.”

@hiddles-rose @tripletstephaniescp @blackwidownat2814 @lizette50

[6esiree]

Sleazy Thoughts With Human Alastor

I can’t stop thinking about Alastor hastily pushing your front against the wall in the back of Mimzy’s club, bunching your dress up and pulling your panties aside. One hand’s clamped over your mouth, the other’s holding your leg open as he pushes past your folds with his cock, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his pleasured groan. It’s the dead of night but thankfully, the dim flickering streetlights do not illuminate the back of the building, your bodies obscured by the shadows.

Plus, the music and the distant sound of people laughing and chattering drown out the pats emanating from Alastor’s feverish thrusts, including the rude jingling of his belt. For a long time, you were a friend and nothing more, your advances always declined in the most gentle of ways. But tonight? He took somebody’s life, unable to shake off the adrenaline despite the amount of whiskey churning in his bloodstream.

“Now, now, you must hold in those pretty little sounds of yours,” Alastor lets go of your shoulder, his teeth etched onto your skin, the sight making his cock throb inside of you.

“I’m trying, Al,” You mewl from his palm, tossing your head back onto his heaving chest, your gaze riddled with pure, raw lust. “But your cock is just so big and—“

Alastor quickly replaces his hand with his mouth, his lips gliding against yours and swallowing whatever filthy words you had to offer him. You reach up and thread your fingers into his hair, your orgasm creeping up on you. You never thought he’d ever take you behind Mimzy’s club, the tall, handsome man always so proper and gentlemanly. But, Hell, you weren’t going to complain, glad to have his cock spoiling your cunt.

“Such filthy, whorish words coming out from a young lady such as yourself,” Alastor tsks as he pulls back from the kiss, his lips smeared with your lipstick and glasses fogged up from your labored breaths.

“But you like it, old man,” You move your hand to his jaw, thumb generously wiping away at the lipstick on his brown skin. “I can feel it deep inside of me,” You add sultrily, making him chuckle.

“I won’t argue against that,” Alastor thrusts up into your particularly hard, a rather loud moan escaping your throat at the unexpected act. “Now, be a good girl and keep that mouth of yours shut, do you hear me?”

You eagerly nod, teasingly fluttering your lashes at him before sinking your teeth into the inside of your cheek. That only earns you a smack on your ass, however, your cunt clenching around his cock in response. Rest assured that that won’t be the last time Alastor spontaneously takes you behind Mimzy’s club, filling your hole up till it’s squelching and his cum is trickling down your thighs, glad to have you to satiate him after a successful hunting.

[sunlightmurdock]

Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?”

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

[zephyrchama]

🌞

It was morning at Serenity Manor, the temporary human world home of the Seven Rulers of Hell. Despite having your own abode close by, it was nice to stay in the manor with them for a while. The building was far fancier and well-equipped than anything you could afford on your own, and it was reassuring to have your loved ones so close before the summer ended and they went back to the Devildom.

Birdsong outside the window woke you up unusually early. The sun was rising over the horizon, heralding the start of a beautiful new day. Despite the early hour, you didn’t feel tired at all. Rather, you felt content and at peace, ready to get up and see what the day had in store for you.

The house was silent as you plodded towards the kitchen in your pajamas. All of the hallway's identical doors were shut but you had already familiarized yourself with the manor’s layout, now only getting lost occasionally instead of constantly. You came upon the living room, where massive glass window panes gave you a nice view of the backyard and bathed the walls in the soft orange light of the rising sun.

You paused to admire it. Your admiration did not last long. It was interrupted by a strained “gyaaaaah!”

“Levi?” You peered over the couch expecting to see purple locks, only to be greeted by a shirtless Mammon staring vacantly up at the ceiling. “Oh. Morning, Mammon.”

His half-closed eyes flitted towards you as he lightly groaned. Beyond the couch, Leviathan and Belphegor were sprawled out on the floor. The third-born had an arm over his eyes and sounded like he was dying. The youngest was still fast asleep.

You walked around the couches and tables to get a better look at the scene. Empty chip bags, demonus bottles, and crumbs littered the floor. Cushions had been tossed to the ground, the tables slightly askew. There were three handheld game consoles flashing low battery warnings. An impromptu game night must have gone on for too long, causing its participants to fall asleep where they sat.

“Ahh, what is that?” Leviathan shuddered.

Literally nothing was happening. You observed in silence for a few seconds while Leviathan raised a shaky finger and pointed at nothing in particular. “Make it stooop. It burns.”

"You mean the sun?” you asked.

Still covering his eyes, Leviathan nodded.

”I can’t stop the sun.”

He let out a soft, garbled “aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh” and curled up into a ball, brushing his long bangs over his face.

Mammon moved his hand back and forth in the air next to the couch, as if beckoning you over. As you moved closer, he grabbed your wrist. The grip was loose, and slowly slid down your hand. He shut his eyes without saying anything, and you realized your shadow protected his face from the horrible light, providing slight relief from the sun’s rays.

You squatted down next to the couch, curious what would happen. Mammon’s grip tightened and he let out a tortured whine as the light hit his face again.

“Will you two shut up?” Belphegor groaned, stirred awake at last by the loud complaints.

“Morning, Belphie.”

“Oh, morning…” When speaking to you, his voice was much softer. Almost like speaking a lullaby. He smiled and turned his head to the side, pointing his shoulders away from the windows. ”Good night…”

"It's morning, though..."

At least one of them didn’t seem bothered by the sun. If he was, he hid his feelings and didn’t vocalize it. You sat and leaned your back against the sofa, resting your elbow on your thigh, and slowly swung your forearm in circles while a half-asleep Mammon held on and moaned about the sunlight.

Leviathan crawled like a zombie, grunting with his nose to the ground, over to your knee. He was too tired to even support his own weight. He grabbed your pajama bottoms and dug his face into your leg.

“Isn’t the human world gorgeous?” you asked, basking in the sunny rays. You felt so awake and refreshed. This was your element.

“No,” responded three fatigued demons with hardly enough energy to spit the word out.

[sprytesukii]

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present. Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough crappy carpet under your feet. You stood up shakily. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, scared the living hell out of you.

You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, he only stared, probably to drunk to realize it was his own daughter.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, disgusted by your sight, “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

You couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood there. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied through your teeth.

His eyes flared with rage, and he raised the bottle, ready to hit you. You tensed up, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, “Don’t hurt her.”

JJ’s plea just hung there, like this thin, fragile thread barely holding things together. For a second, your dad froze, his hand twitching, eyes darting between you and your brother.

And then, with this pissed-off roar, he chucked the bottle at the wall. It exploded into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the house, loud and final, like it was the last brutal note in this nightmare that felt way too real.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat.

Panic hit hard as his grip tightened around your throat, stealing your breath. You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but he was way too strong, too determined.

Dark spots started creeping into your vision. You gasped, fighting for air, but he only squeezed harder. The room blurred and started spinning, and just when you thought you were about to pass out, his face began to change, shifting right in front of you. You blinked, trying to clear your head, and when you opened your eyes again, it wasn’t your dad choking you anymore.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The fear was paralyzing, like ice-cold dread flooding through your veins.Your heart hammered against your chest, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout for help. His grip was solid, unbreakable, like he had no intention of letting go.

You struggled with everything you had, but it was like fighting through quicksand. Every move felt slow, heavy, like you were trapped in molasses.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

A wave of nausea hit you, your stomach twisting with disgust — at him, at yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the image of his hands around your throat fresh and terrifying, making it hard to process how he could sleep so soundly. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake him, and hurriedly grabbed your clothes, dressing in silence.

Standing in the cramped bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping it would wash away the nightmare. The coolness gave you a quick moment of clarity, but the dread still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You stared at yourself in the mirror — pale, tired, and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You needed to leave, clear your head, figure out what the hell to do next. Quietly, you slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed your keys from the nightstand, and took one last glance at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely clueless about the fear swirling inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and dead silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine down the hall. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit your skin like a slap of reality. It was like stepping out of one world and into another — the difference so harsh, it almost felt unreal.

You walked a few more steps, but suddenly everything started spinning. Your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded, your legs giving out as you slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong.

You couldn't fall apart now.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind. You were a dirty traitor.

The cold didn't couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't ignore the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you got closer to the entrance, you spotted him at the front desk. He looked a mess — worried, disheveled, like he’d just woken up and thrown on some shorts in a rush. His face was tight with tension as he talked to the front desk guy, hands moving wildly, gesturing around like he was freaking out. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The nightmare was still fresh.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic.

"Sir, I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself, "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. You should feel repulsed.

His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. And then, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think much of it. It was you or him.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what came next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your stupid actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing.

"You okay?"

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, he watched you carefully, as if he was afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any given moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. He was smart enough to read your bullshit, but he only took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Is this about last night?”

Your body froze instantly. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other. You couldn't be.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off. The vulnerability in his voice pierced your skin, a consequence of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you. You probably deserved it.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, even though you knew he didn't mean it.

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted quietly as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, "Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt so much frustration rising within you, "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, "I wanted you."

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. Why did it feel like this was going to crush you?

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent, for the second time that morning. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation became clear as day. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet without him was almost eerie. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down?

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence driving you up the walls. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him.

You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously, “What are you doing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot, “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, “Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from earlier.

“You need to sleep this off."

He nodded but didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

That night? It never happened. It felt like everything was happening all over again.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the hauntings of your past, blending into a tiring cycle of fear. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. He never asked for you help.

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant.

Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. Maybe you should've kept quiet, but his druken monologue was still very much killing you inside.

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, "How can you be so sure?" he murmured.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, “I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. That didn't matter anymore to him.

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. It was over. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The beauty of the scene did little to ease the anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face still void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat.

“Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

Not ever, that's what he meant.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

You didn't like it one bit.

“Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man announced, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the plan. Right? The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, Rafe moving to place himself between you and the older man, “Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves.

"Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You knew this had to be a trap.

"Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you couldn't think about what might happen to both of you if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling at that point.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. Oh hell no. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“Run.”

Before you could protest, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly.

Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight wasn't over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier.

He grabbed your arm like you were some kind of animal, “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to him, your heart pounding with relief. He was okay. You were okay.

His arms wrapped around your lower back tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching your face to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you.

It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain. No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you didn't want to scare him.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation.

You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was too much. The police and the traffickers were in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood. There was nowhere to run.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you.

"Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips, "Go."

Before you could tell him off, you felt hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient and hurried.

As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was nothing but a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't rest until you saw him again. Alive.

When the boat finally docked, paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down and a police officer approached you.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down again. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic, “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words.

Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him. Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt so helpless.

“I can't just leave him."

"We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, without another option, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the station and into a waiting car, you could only imagine him lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[azriels-human]

In Your Dreams: I ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Okay this is my first time writing in years but Az is Bringing me out of retirement. Opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Enjoyy😌

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: This is a smut series. MDNI

part II

Song inspo:

“Az, you’re back!” Cassian’s booming voice probably alerts everyone in The House of Wind of his arrival just as Azriel touches down on the balcony.

Az can’t help the small smile directed at his brother. After being away on a mission for days, he appreciated Cassian’s loudness, it means home, comfort, relaxation-

Or so he thought until his eyes land on you, lounging on a sofa, book in hand but your empty eyes set on his own.

His smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a displeased glance before turning away.

Azriel cannot stand you. The newest member, a pick pocket from the Hewn City turned spy pupil for The Night Court. A dark presence that made him physically ill.

It’s no surprise you’re sat in the far corner of the room. Azriel hasn’t seen you speak to anyone beside Rhysand since your arrival. Even then, it was only about the minuscule missions he’d been sending you on the last 3 months.

Azriel simply nods at Cassian and Nesta. Words failing him as that illness returns deep in the pit of his stomach.

He can feel your uncanny gaze still focused on him, despite his obvious distaste for you. He knows that is precisely why you do it too.

Gods, you are the bane of his existence.

With a slight twitch of the brow, Az makes his way toward Rhysand’s study ready to give him yet another ear full about you.

How Rhys had even given you a position is beyond Azriel considering you were a straight up criminal.

Azriel had been on a mission in the slums of the Hewn City, the worst part, in fact. A part so small and forgotten that crimes are a first nature.

He just found the information he’d been looking for and his mood was nothing less than happy knowing he’d be back home soon.

That was until a cloaked figure had bumped him and continued on their way.

Naturally being in a more poor part of the city, Azriel pats his left hip making sure none of his weapons or money had been swiped. But they hadn’t.

It isn’t until he brings his left hand to move his own cloak and double check that he realizes his siphon is gone.

“How the fuck…” Azriel hasn’t been caught off guard like this in a long while. How could they swipe a stone embedded in his leathers without him feeling a thing?

Azriel wasted no time looking over the crowd to find the grey tattered cloak gracefully zipping through the crowd.

He follows just a swiftly. His eyes glued to the figure as he maneuvers past on goers.

The thief, as if sensing him, looks back for half a second before darting through the crowd, ducking and jumping over items and people. Still managing to move past them without bumping into anyone.

Az mutters a breathy, “Asshole” when he takes note of that.

At this point Azriel begins to push past the crowd. He can’t let them leave with it. Something that valuable, not just on market but to himself personally, will not fall into some slick criminals hands.

Just as they are about to round the corner Azriel sends his shadows in a silent command to detain the culprit. The shadows weave through the crowd even more speedy and graceful, wrapping around the hooded figure and yanking them back.

Their back hits the ground with an ‘oomf’ before they quickly try freeing themselves from the shadows constraints.

Azriel grabs their collar in one hand, lifting them up and bringing them to his eye level. The other hand snatching back the hood of the cloak.

He nearly gasps upon laying eyes on you. The bewitching darkness in your eyes bore into his, reaching for his soul as if you’d take it right from him.

Taking advantage of his perplexed state you kicked him in the stomach causing him to let go and his shadows to withdraw.

Azriel groans holding his middle and coughing once, twice.

You don’t hesitate to run down the empty alley but Azriel is quick to snap back.

You don’t make it half way through when he winnows in front of you. You slam into his chest and fall again, mud splattering the two of you. Azriel’s shadows bind your wrists above your head as he straddles your thighs.

You thrash beneath him, growling and clawing. His hands scanning over your arms, sides and hips until he felt the bulge of it settled on your hip…beneath the waistband of your pants.

He looks up at you, amusement dancing behind your wicked eyes as if he were being tested, ‘a will he, won’t he?’

His eyes flicker from yours to your somewhat now exposed navel. He can’t just…reach in there.

But he can’t just let you have it. He wouldn’t be wrong to take back what is his.

He scoffs, reaching under your waistband and pulling up a belt with a pocket attached causing you shriek almost inaudibly.

Azriel pulls the dull blue siphon from the pocket and looks back at you. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half amused himself.

A strange girl from the slums of the Hewn City stealing his siphon and testing his honor as a male.

Though he is not crazy enough to indulge the amusement. You are a thief. Not just a common thief but a a thief able to pick a very valuable possession off of a very cautious male.

“What is your name?” Azriel asks still hovering over you.

You only glare back.

“I asked what your name is.” Azriel grows impatient above you but you do not respond.

It could have been over. He could have let you go and steal from some other fool who wouldn’t notice but…he didn’t want to. Perhaps your crime against him was too personal and punishment seemed fit.

“Get up.” Azriel roughly pulls you to your feet, shadows still binding your wrists. Your struggles are deemed futile when he whisks you away to his High Lord.

Azriel all but stomps into Rhys study, shutting the door behind him. “Your newest addition has a staring problem.”

Rhysand looks up from his notes to see his irritated brother throw himself into the seat across from him. “What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’?”

Azriel sighs. “Rhys.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “What harm is a bit of staring? Maybe she likes what she sees.”

“Please.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “She likes nothing and no one.”

Rhys shrugs. “She’s not so bad, Az. You’re just pissed she was able to pick something off of you.”

“I’m pissed that you gave her a job instead of consequences.”

“How couldn’t I? I’d rather have someone that can out sneak my spy master on my side.” Rhysand teases.

“She did not ‘out sneak’ me. Her methods were textbook. Not sneaky at all.” Azriel grumbles his blatant lies. He knows not just any theif, not even an exceptional one, could do what you did.

Rhysand chuckles. “Whatever you say, brother.” He clears his throat. “I assume you found the shop?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I did not but I heard rumors of where it will turn up next.”

Rhys had assigned him a rather odd case, a book of lethal potions stolen from a temple in the Hewn City by a traveling shop now supplying those lethal drugs. Reports saying it makes users hyper aware, a party drug when used correctly but as expected there are those who abuse it, turning them aggressive and eventually killing them when too much is consumed. Azriel has spent the last week trying to track the shop down with nothing to show for it until today.

“Where?”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Coincidentally, in two days it will be in the same part of town…she…is from.”

Rhys chuckles at his brother’s pettiness once again. “She must really get under your skin with her staring.”

Azriel shakes his head, “Rhys, I’m telling you there is something off about her.”

“She’s been here for 3 months without incident. What do you suppose she will do?” Rhy asks entertaining the idea purely for the amusement of seeing a riled up Azriel.

“Steal. Spy. Hells for all we know she could be plotting everyone’s death.”

“Well, then I guess I should fear for your life when she accompanies you on your assignment?” Rhysand lifts a brow in mock questioning.

“Absolutely not. She will not be accompanying me anywhere…ever.” Azriel laughs at the notion.

“She knows her way around, she is successful in her missions and you need to get over your bruised ego and get along with her. She is supposed to be your pupil.”

Azriel shakes his head but before he can deny his High Lord, Rhysand continues.

“You will be taking her with you to retrieve the book and shut it down. That’s final.” Rhysand crosses his arms.

Azriel hesitantes but ultimately nods, dreading the thought of having to spend any amount of time near you.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel is sat in the lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His eyes read over the page for the millionth time before he slams it shut and rubs his temple.

Sleep had evaded him, unable to stop thinking of this damned mission he has to take you on. At the fact that he must push away the alarms going off in his entire being when you are around.

Azriel knows something is wrong with you. It’s your expressionless gaze, the eerie aura that follows you and the stillness of your existence, even just standing around you’re still as a statue. You’re like a ghost. His own personal poltergeist.

As if on cue, he shadows curl up his neck whispering of your presence.

His stomach drops. He’d be damned if he had to endure you anymore than he has to.

Just as he retreats into the shadows in the corner of the den, you glide straight past the room entirely. Not even peaking into the only lit room of the house.

He knows it’s ridiculous but it irked him that you didn’t even look. Had you no curiosity either? And if you aren’t coming to the den, where are you going?

Regardless, he definitely isn’t going to find out. He has no intention of being anywhere near you. He wouldn’t subject himself to that.

…

But he wants to know. What if you had some secret hobby or routine? Something that made you…a person.

Why should that matter to him!? He doesn’t give two shits about what you do. His own curiosity only further proves how offbeat you are. He certainly will not follow you and he definitely won’t care what you are doing.

…

But what if you were up to no good? What if you were stealing from the High Lord every night after he goes to sleep?

Now that he can’t allow.

Azriel emerges from the shadows, peaking out from the door frame to find you at the end of the hallway. You enter the library and shut the door closed behind you.

He slips through the hallway and into the library, careful not to make a sound.

The empty library felt cold in your wake though there was no sign of you. You weren’t sitting on the sofas or searching for a book. There is only silence in his company.

Azriel strides through each row of bookcases lined throughout the room to no avail.

And now you’ve even disappeared like a ghost.

A beam of light enters at the back of the room earning his attention. The balcony.

Azriel stealthily crosses the room, concealing himself behind the bookcase closest to the balcony.

There you were. Sitting on the marble bench, staring up at the sky. Not causing any trouble.

Well, he has his answer, he can leave. He can go about his sleepless night.

But once again he did not want to, despite those alarms going off and the growing pit deep down. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

So he didn’t for a very long time.

He only watches your ominously still figure watching the sky. You do not look away or blink or breathe it seems. Not even a twitch of the fingers.

You just cannot be of this world.

“Azriel.” You call softly.

His heart drops into the swirling void in his stomach as chills sweep across his skin and the hairs of his arm stand.

You’d sensed him there. For how long? Though he doesn’t care what you think of him, he did not need you telling anyone he’s some stalker creep.

“You can come out.”

Azriel contemplates. He can leave as he should have done an hour ago but you already know he is here. Then again, maybe if he leaves you’ll think you were mistaken.

All of those options fly out of the door when you look back, directly at him.

He winces at his lack of options and being caught. How did you even know? He’s the fucking spy master and now he can’t even hide from you?

Azriel lets out a deep exhale, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath before coming out into your full view.

You look right into his eyes as he approaches you. Each step feels like a crushing weight as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“What are you doing out here?” Azriel asks firmly, not a shred of friendliness behind the words.

You only look back to the sky.

Were you ignoring him now? After telling him to come out?

Irritation begins to fill the void in him. The audacity. HE is the one ignoring YOU.

“What are you doing out here.” A command rather than question this time.

You subtly shrug.

Azriel rolls his eyes.

For a while the two of you are silent. What is he even supposed to say to you? You are the one that called him out here.

He isn’t surprised that you hardly speak but that doesn’t change the fact that it is annoying.

“You don’t speak much.” Azriel states plainly wanting to escape the awkward, silent tension.

“That’s your perception.” You match his blunt tone provoking his wonder. How could it be his perception when you don’t speak to anyone?

“I haven’t seen within 10 feet of anyone here.”

“That’s because you disappear anytime I’m in the same room as you.”

Azriel didn’t know what to make of your straight forwardness. Though he tends to speak directly himself, he’s not fond of such attitude. But coming from you, it seems fitting. “Perhaps I simply don’t enjoy your company.”

“Curious.” You look at him, standing up and making your way back into the library. “No male has ever complained about my company.”

Azriel follows close behind, watching your every poised step.

“As a matter of fact I’ve been told I’m quite the pleasure to be around.” You glance over your shoulder. That familiar sinister delight returning to your eyes, the same look you gave him when he realized where it is you held his siphon.

Azriel nearly trips on over his own two feet. The void beginning to whirl again. He cursed himself for needed to clear his throat. “Is that so?”

You stop abruptly and pivot on your feet, coming face to chest and tilting your head back to look up at him. His stomach leaps at the sudden proximity and your intense stare. He steps back.

“With my bright and bubbling personality, how could they not?” You raise a brow.

Azriel didn’t know if it was relief from the cut tension or the actual joke or both but he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Not to mention my breasts and ass.”

Azriel’s shock couldn’t have been anymore evident. His lips part unable to form a single word, not that his brain could form a single thought.

Azriel hadn’t thought of you in any way other than suspicion but now, standing before him, he can’t help but notice your deadly beauty. The enthralling darkness dancing behind your eyes and those plump pink lips. The thin strapped shirt clinging to your ample breasts. The outline of your peaked nipples. The perfect angle he has of your soft cleavage.

“That was also a joke.” You clarify and turn on your heel continuing towards the door. “Kind of.”

It most certainly was not a joke.

The loose shorts gripping your waist do nothing to hide the outline of your backside. Each step you take further away from him only giving him a better view of the swish of your hips and the bounce of your ass.

“Goodnight, Spy Master.” You bid farewell without so much as a glance back.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking of you, yet now it’s in whole different light. He would have never thought you to be so vulgar, in a cruel way maybe but not in a humorous way.

You’re so quiet and reserved and unsettling. He didn’t think you capable of making a joke, let alone a sexual one.

He couldn’t deny that it is a rather riveting piece of information. He should have known when you all but challenged him to reach into your pants a few month ago.

The memory of your tits sitting nice and pretty, your waist and full hips, your ass, all flood his mind.

Lying in his bed, Azriel turns onto his back, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He needs sleep. And he needs it now.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Exhaustion cannot begin to describe what Azriel felt. He needed not just to rest but recharge, and there is nothing better than laying down after a hard days work.

After what felt like forever he finally reaches his bedroom, twisting the nob and shutting the door behind him. He sighs, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the door.

“Azriel.” You call just as softly as you had earlier in the night.

Azriel whips around to find you sat on the center on his bed, feet under you and hands politely placed on your knees, as if you’d been waiting for him.

Azriel scans the room. Possibly a prank brought on by Rhysand but it’s only you in here.

“What are you doing in here?” Azriel hisses, sending a vicious sneer in your direction. And he thought ignoring him was the hight of your audacity but to enter his private quarters at such late hours?

“I haven’t been on my best behavior, have I.” You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence.

Azriel’s brow pinches. “What?”

“I’ve displeased you in some way.” You slowly stand from his bed. “I can’t have that.”

Azriel swallows hard as you inch closer with every word. “After all, I am a pleasure to be around.”

Azriel can only watch. Your shorts doing little to hide your exposed legs and soft thighs. That fucking shirt hiding your tight nipples.

You come to halt with only centimeters between you, looking up at him with that deceptively virtuous gaze.

He could smell you. An intoxicating scent of amber and jasmine. Like a garden in the fall.

Azriel’s heart thunders in his chest. Not fast but hard. He was sure not only you but everyone in the house could feel it. His whole being pulses with each thump as you reach for his chest.

“Let me be a pleasure.” Your delicate fingers just barely touches his chest, drawing a line down his chest. Then lower. And lower. And lower-

Azriels eyes widen as he snatches your hand in his. His chest heaving, trying to gulp down the air that slips away from him. You, however, seem un phased, eager, if anything. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

The scent of his own arousal permeates the air he desperately tries to breathe.

With half lidded eyes and a slight pout of your lips, you take your wrist from his loose grip and place your palm over the back of his hand, brining it up to your cheek and leaning into it.

Azriel’s blood turns cold at how tender your touch is, gentle as the embrace of death. Your skin warms his palm as you drag his hand down the side of your neck painfully slow, his thumb tracing the column of your throat.

Gods, he wanted to bite it. To latch himself onto that spot. If it was possible to envy one’s own hand, he’d turn green.

“I see how you look at me.” Your voice low and sultry. “You despise me.”

You move his hand down your collar bone, to your chest, settling between your breast. Something deep inside Azriel twists and knots, his cold blood turns hot as it rushes into his pants.

“Let me fix it.” You groan, trailing his hand further down to your stomach. “Let me show you…”

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own sounds at bay. His brows pinch together at the sight of you. The rise and fall of your swollen, flushed breasts. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and the look of pure carnal desire.

“…just how much of a pleasure I can be.” You whisper breathlessly when you lead his scared hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Azriel chokes back a guttural groan when his fingers reach the slick folds of your cunt. Looking into his eyes with a feral hunger, you guide his fingers in sensual circles around your most sensitive spot. Hushed whines hum from your chest, purring at his governed touch.

His middle finger twitches against your clit, testing for himself. You respond with a low moan.

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut trying to reason with himself.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Azriel can’t even stand the sight of you yet here he is with his hands down your pants for the second time, and he felt just as he had the first time, he wanted to ruin you.

Another flick of his fingers causes you to throw your head back.

Azriel growls. A fire ignites in his chest, coursing through every nerve of his body as he gives in to you.

His fingers take a course of their own, rubbing your center with fervor. A noise somewhere between a yelp and moan escape your parted lips. You grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as pleasure over takes you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” Azriel leans forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickling your skin as he asks, “Who made you this wet?”

You only moan, digging your hands into his bicep.

Still massaging your clit, he brings his free hand to strike the fat of your ass earning a very loud moan.

“Tell me.”

“You!” The stinging sensation mixes with your pleasure, encouraging you further. “You made me this fucking wet.”

Azriel hums, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. “Mhm. Keep being a good girl and I’ll forgive you.”

His attacks your neck, teeth clamping down hard in what he knows will scar but he didn’t care. He wanted you marked. Proof that he could take control, even over someone with such a silent attitude as yours.

You hold back a scream. As much as it hurt, he knows you like it. “Dont hold back. I want to hear the pretty noises you make.”

Azriel’s tongue laps at the column of your throat, finally nipping at the spot he craved minutes ago. Your moans vibrate against his lips.

He pulls away to look at you. Eyes shut and jaw hung in ecstasy. His cock twitches in pants at how good he can make you feel.

The sight was anything but dark. Dare he say heavenly.

Suddenly, your eyes open, fixating on his. Lust and desperation laced in your stare as you plead, “I want your fingers in me. Please, Az.”

Azriel smirks down at you arrogantly. “Yeah?” You nod frantically, your moans and pants driving him absolutely wild.

“Whatever you want.” Azriel pulls away from you, sitting at the edge on his bed, knees spread as he pats his lap. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You stand between his legs but before you could straddle him, he grabs your wrist, roughly turning your back to him.

His textured hands glide down your back, feeling every curve until he reaches your shorts, yanking them down in one swift motion and leaving your rear exposed for his viewing enjoyment.

He gathers as much of your ass in his hands as he can, squeezing, caressing and parting for an even better view. Your slit and inner thighs glistening from your wetness.

He does dare to say heavenly.

“So fucking pretty.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your ass cheek and quickly slapping it right on top.

You jerk forward with an amused hum.

Azriel grabs your hip and brings you down to him. Your full weight falls onto his solid cock, strained in his leathers. He moans at the impact.

Azriel’s hands trail up from your hips, over your stomach and under your shirt and to your breasts. You whimper as his fingers lightly trace over your firm nipples and kneed at your breasts.

He should stop. Should have never even started when he hates so much but Azriel revels in it. The way you feel, the way he makes you feel. His lips latch to your neck sucking as he rolls your buds between his fingers.

“Azriel, please.” You breathe, writhing against him.

He groans, flicking your nipple harshly and immediately finding your center. The tip of his middle finger sliding up and down, toying with your hole.

“Please! Please put it in.” You whine, reaching up to tug at his dark locks. The sensation pushing him over the edge.

Promptly, his middle finger plunges into your cunt, pumping at a hungry pace.

“Oh, fuck! Azriel, yes!” You grip his hair stronger, receiving another painful bite and a slap on your tits in return.

Azriel adds another finger and you clench around them. “So fucking tight, angel. I bet you’ve never been fucked so full with two fingers, have you?”

You shake your head and throw it back over his shoulder when his fingers disappear in you to the knuckle.

“One more for me.” Azriel hums, a warning rather than a request as he teases a third finger against you.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate.

Azriel guides you to look at him, your face inches from his. His brows pinch and with a slightly patronizing pout he nods. “You can take it. Don’t you like how full I make you feel?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He breathes with a smug expression. Azriel can’t get enough of you like this. Pleading. Submissive to his every whim. The satisfaction of seeing that stoic demeanor dissolve because of him.

Azriel slides a third finger in slowly. Hells, you’re so fucking tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

You release a long, aching moan and arch your back against him.

Azriel gasps at the sudden movement against his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to make him explode. “F-fuck, y/n. Keep doing that.”

You grind in his lap, feeling his length throb beneath you. “Like this, Az?”

“Gods.” Azriel’s fingers sink into your cunt, over and over. Your screams of pleasure blend with the sopping sounds of your wet pussy.

Azriel was absolutely sure this was heaven.

“I’m so close! Mm, you gonna make a fucking mess out of me?” You rut against his cock.

“Fuck yes.” Azriel’s free arm wraps around you pressing you further into him and he fucks you with his fingers. “C’mon. Make a mess for me, Angel.”

“Azriel!” That’s all it took for you to crumble in his lap. Your entire body trembles and euphoria seizes control of your body. Your screams informing all of Veleris of who made you cum so fucking good.

As you ride out your orgasm, Azriel lifts his own stuttering hips to grind against yours. The full weight of you quivering and fidgeting against him builds a blissful tension deep within him. And with the string of his name still being sung from your lips, the coiling pressure couldn’t hold anymore.

“I’m gonna-”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel shoots straight up out of his bed and on to his feet, panting and looking around his room, illuminated with the first light of day.

But there was no one. No you.

Azriel blinks and wipes his eyes. It was a dream?

He looks around once more.

It couldn’t have been a dream. He’s dreamt of many females but never anything so…real.

He could still feel the weight of your body flushed against him. He could still feel the blissful aftermath of an orgasm.

Azriel looks down at his stained tented pants. His half hard cock still dripping on his thigh.

What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would he dream of that? Of you.

Mor? Sure. Elain? Once or twice, but you? Someone he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with?

Azriel huffs and makes his way to his bathroom to clean up, angry with himself and his deplorable dream. A nightmare, he decides, considering it involved you.