#but still the mild betrayal?

[incurable-bookkl3pt0]

...no but this would ACTUALLY be both equal parts funny, and sort of insensitive. Funny, as in, Floyd getting a cosmetic surgery to better fit his aesthetic of (sad wet kitten) emo boy is equal parts funny and dramatic. But at the same time, I guess a bit insensitive in the sense where it's a bit of a slap to the face to any troll who DIDN'T get a say in that deformity i.e. trolls (Branch) that have gone grey for extensive periods of time. But honestly, it's kind of the equivalent of people surgically getting their ears pointed so IDK, maybe it's not?

It's just that Floyd gives off Sad Boi Vibes with them ears (and general attitude but I guess given the circumstances of the movie understandable) so it's not a far off guess that he might have gone grey. Maybe he did for like a year or something, but it wasn't long enough to have a deformity, and he eventually just modified his ears? Or maybe he's just a dramatic hoe?

Either way, funny. Might not be for Branch though, if he ever found out, is all I'm saying.

Okay I know people love to headcanon that Floyd went grey but the way I know it was just for character design is killing me I swear, like- look at him he looks like the kind of dude that would modify his ears in Claries.

I totally headcanon that getting your ears modified would totally be like a trend for trolls to have that emo vibe and you can’t change my mind about it

[narwhalandchill]

spicy take incoming but i kinda wish ppl werent so desperately attached to and protective of this moniker of Great Big Brother 100% Perfect So True And Real when it comes to childe bc honestly. he really isnt (perfect or even that good at times) and to me acknowledging the ways both he and his family (for enabling him) are in some ways kinda just. doing teucer incredibly dirty in the long term but only with the best of intentions in the short term is so much more interesting than just pretending hes a flawless brother?? like it only adds to the drama and irony of it all man like theyre rly so dysfunctional as a family unit its great. even if hoyos likely never exploring that shit in its true depth it still lives rent free in my head for sure lol

like. you rly dont have to turn ajax into some sort of unfeeling uncaring monster of a shit brother to acknowledge that he does, in fact, repeatedly make incredibly reckless and selfish choices during his SQ with teucer and in general by choosing to obstruct the truth of who he is from lil bro so completely?

like this stuff can be nuanced and coexist with his absolutely 100% genuine commitment to protecting teucers bubble of a worldview (and w the theme of childlike dreams and wishes being so prevalent in general who knows what could be cooking w that one in particular) and his loyalty and love for his family without just having to whitewash the dumb shit he does lmao

like just bc hes capable of and willing to face the potentially grave repercussions of absolute bangers (🙄🙄) like teaching an actual fucking child to consider ruin machines fun besties and 100% insta ready to fuck himself up by protecting teucer at the cost of aggravating his still-unhealed injuries from the liyue AQ when dottores abandoned lab turns out to be more lively than expected doesnt. make that choice not a very irresponsible one yall im begging 💀

like. hes the adult here . the entire situation unfolding as dangerously as it does in the factory is Absolutely all on HIM for not being able and/or willing to disappoint teucer by just . Doing the mature thing and sending him away to safety because HES gotten too attached to this idea of being his lil siblings' loyal knight and perfect brother that Always finds a way to surpass the expectations no matter the cost its a role HE wants to keep playing despite the risk

like its So obviously a pride thing for him too and thats so fucking interesting because Of how flawed and questionable the logic is!! like yes he truly cares about teucer and ensuring he has a great unforgettable time during this impromptu escapade in liyue like thats not up to debate but the point im trying to make is that the choices he makes are Still very much intertwined with his ego and overconfidence and not really based all that much on Whats Actually The Best Approach Here. he improvises a way to give teucer the best mr cyclops outing he has ever seen bc HE wants to be the one offering him that experience and ends up biting off a bit more than he can chew and he can only blame himself for that one and This Isnt Fucking Sustainable

like i dont think that makes him evil but i do think it showcases his arrogance and flaws in a very concrete way and is a part of why calling him a perfect brother or at least one without an asterix just. rubs me off wrong lmao

like idk feel free to keep calling him that if its important to u and all if u want idc (and i do to some extent get why this defensive narrative of insisting hes great no issues at all emerged bc i remember 1.1 some ppl acting like hes childcare satan for how he treats teucer lol) but. at least like . Be willing to chip in to fund the therapy teucers going to need for those lifelong trust issues in the future man 💀

Bc Thats The Other Thing. now tonia and anthon i dont consider a part of this bc at least they Know hes in the fatui and hiding the gory details of ur harbinger job from ur baby sibs is like. fair enough and reasonable. but. crafting an Entire different AU version of yourself and feeding it to your baby brother as what constitutes actual reality surely is a choice of all times like ajax ily but genuinely . What the fuck if you were real id throttle you

AND HIS FAMILY ENABLING IT THE ENTIRE TIME ITS CRAZY LIKE. As a person with multiple siblings both older n younger with some similar age gap cohorts involved. God id snitch so fucking fast i dont think ppl rly stop and think much abt how objectively horrifying this shit is from teucers long term pov 😭 in the best way obviously given its fiction like its so scrumptiously awful and dysfunctional .

(& just in general man im just so obsessed with the way ajax 14 basically broke the eggshell of his past life and emerged to rise towards his destiny drowned in the guts and gore of the place and people and community he once called home unconditionally. Bro he fucked that town UP and now his family relations will never ever be the same its so fucking Delicious. those 3 days missing and what followed are just Actually a literal fucking horror movie when you stop blindly stanning our ginger menace, forget ajax' side and take the pov of his family and morepesok in general Why Are People Not Talking About This)

like. its not that i dont understand Why this is sth childe ended up doing as i said Thats The Point. its human. teucer is the only one in the family who wasnt there during that fateful 3 days/months . Like yea anthon and tonia were prolly sheltered from most of the carnage back then too but they still Know where he was sent when he became literally uncontrollable and almost killed the neighbors (everybody & their mom loves demonizing his parents as if his demon spawn ass left them a fucking choice JFEJSJSJSKDKS) . like its at least Known.

but then theres teucer.

And like. teucers the Only one with whom ajax can even pretend to have that delusion (ha) of normalcy and a family that hasnt seen him gaze into the abyss and stare back bloodied and grinning ear to ear . like. hes the only shot childe can have at even playacting some crude imitation of normalcy before Everything and even That comes with an expiration date hes fully aware of. so theres just lies after lies after lies and the fact that even his family just. if not actively partaking in the charade then at least silently allows the entirety of it to happen to teucer whos the Only fucking one out of the loop is just..... dude its not fair on him At All

Misleading teucer THIS much is just. its fucking horrible man but i GET it. thats why its so delicious man i GET it but god its just . imagine being teucer in this situation.... thats his entire fucking World shattered once the truth comes out. Everyone close to him has been lying to him his entire time. They all knew and they let him be misled. Like sure he might be happier Now with ajax dutifully protecting that childhood dream of his but after that. Just. sit on this for a bit. after everything do we Really think teucers just going to understand why it came to be and see it as worth it???? Will he really????

yet at the same time as awfully cruel it all is its just So human!!!!! Its so human of both ajax and his family to use the innocence of the only child that was spared the aftermath of worlds best/worst 3 month abyss training camp to indulge in this flawed false reality where their third son didnt walk into the void and come back hungry for More until only the fatui could take him and even then it only spurred him on further on that path. Like its all an act and a lie and its just. Not fucking fair on teucer but hes still doing it and theyre letting him even tho they Know it wont last theyre all looking teucer in the eye every day and letting him believe like man....

like in both the entire ruin factory sequence And in general hiding the truth from teucer as extensively as childe does hes being incredibly selfish but at the same time its selfishness only rly in the way all people are when it comes to Wanting to be seen a certain way by the ones they love and care about. and thats what makes it so interesting. bc as much as the choices he makes are dubious (or like. this decision makes sense to him. a morally bisexual total omnivore ethics-wise narwhalpilled since 14 who sees exclusively in abyss shrimp colors and acts accordingly) both they and the motivations behind them are also just. So very human ones . as terrible as the implications and eventual inevitable downfall of those choices can (will) be.

like. is it not that much more fascinating to consider all the ways that childe is neither a particularly exemplary nor an egregiously bad brother just one that. Happens to be wired weird in the head and proud and flawed and with a track record of heavily suspect decision-making but that also very much genuinely loves his family man. Like i can love that about him without dismissing the fact that theres parts to how hes treating teucer that 100% can and imo rly should backfire horrifically bc. It really just is that fucked up

hes not a good brother hes Worse AMD better than that and also not alone in this like. his family is an active fucking part of this . But like still . Is he trying his best with his abyss shrimp colored vision ? Yes. Is his love genuine? Absolutely. What are the marks? 3/10 meet me in the office after class mister youre just actually horrible (affectionate) 😭

A perfect brother? Not My Ajax man 🗣🗣 and like theres SO MUCH to explore in that it makes me so sad you just. Never see any of it p much in fanworks bc we all just call him best bro and whatever and thats that like its so sad. this family is terrible horrible awful and no good and they deserve it but also didnt deserve it it was misfortune it was fate it was inevitable . justice for teucer man i need to get him in therapy asap

[cry-ptidd]

So what does Laura think of Seras when she finally becomes a true vampire and Integra after she loses her eye? How do the dynamics between them change after millennium is defeated?

Laura : I don’t trust any of you. I’m here for my own gain. I don’t get attached to people.

Also Laura : Sir that’s my emotional support gay niece

[rawliverandgoronspice]

*me a couple of months ago writing litany of betrayal* : hmmm, so, when it comes to Serielle being a conversation opener about what I think subtextually permeates gerudo characterization and the way hylians look at them as both frighteningly destructive yet transgressively desireable objects.... is this a reach... is this anything... is this worth including......

*me right now, scrolling past all of the Amiibo Jar Jokes, very, very softly* : ........oh...no.........

[emmg]

He wrestles with a feverish appetite, this crude and uninvited urge that intrudes at its own whim—though, really, when would such thoughts be welcome? It is not refined, not proper, to sit opposite her and let his mind wander to the gloss of her lips, to wonder how she might taste, to wish that the mascarpone she savors so languidly were his own flesh, heavy and impatient. 

He despises himself for it—wants to be better, finer, something more than hunger in its basest form. And yet, he wants. Sweetness, yes; kindness, yes; love in all its quiet splendor—but also salt and sweat, the lush, slippery heat between her legs, his or hers or both, some mingled thing he might catch on his fingers, press back inside her, trace along her trembling thighs as he coaxes her to completion. 

But it is not only this. No, his disease is greater, more humiliating still. He thinks of grand, maudlin absurdities. Of flowers left on windowsills, of rings slipped onto fingers, of days spent making memories out of nothing. And it is this, not lust, that he fears might truly appall her. Because hunger, after all, is easy to satisfy. It is love, foolish and relentless, that tends to send people running. 

You mustn’t be so sentimental, someone had murmured that to him once. He can no longer summon the speaker’s face, nor their voice, nor even their gender, only the ghostly trace of the words themselves, breathed or sighed, said once or, more likely, many times.

It became, in those gauzy, amber-lit years of his youth, something of a running jest. An affectionate, exasperated refrain, volleyed at him with the regularity of a well-worn melody. 

"Don’t fucking propose to the waitress, Volkarin. She’s bringing you a beer, not subtly signaling that she wants to die in your arms," Johanna would mutter, leaning back against the sticky wood of some dimly lit tavern, where they debated spirits over spirits.

"They’re funding your research, Emmrich, not secretly applying to be the mother of your children."

"Your new assistant is very handsome. Try not to hyperventilate when he hands you a quill."

He laughed along. It was funny, after all. Until, inevitably, it wasn’t. Until the joke, fossilized through sheer, relentless overuse, lost its shape and became a dull thing, something to stub his patience against. Until his forced little chuckles gave way to eye-rolls, to abrupt departures, to a growing sense that he was, in fact, trapped in some long-running farce penned by a particularly untalented playwright.

They were all married now, every last one of them—the tireless jesters, the committee of mirth who, years later, still found delight in flogging the same long-dead horse. And he wasn’t. Not that he was alone, of course. He had his affairs, his amusements, his charming little entanglements. But still, from time to time, a most delicate and specific malice stirred in him. 

He wanted to dig up some particularly malicious little corpse, whisper something truly awful to it, and dispatch it to haunt them. Not in any grand, dramatic fashion. No moaning, no rattling of chains. Just a gentle, relentless nuisance. A ghost of mild inconvenience. A door that won’t quite shut. A draft they can’t find. A whisper when they’re shaving. A misplaced document on the morning of a big presentation. 

The sort of thing a petty man might dream up. And he has, after all, always been petty.

He tried, though. He tries still. To smooth the edges of his affections, to hush the operatic swell of his heart, to trade grand declarations for something gentler, something more palatable. Not entirely, of course—self-betrayal is a vulgar thing. But enough. Just enough to keep from frightening them, from scattering them like startled birds. 

For Rook, mostly. Because Rook is not like him. Rook does not do sentiment. Rook has the supreme, indifferent ease of someone born beautiful, the kind of beauty that turns heads and opens doors without so much as a sidelong glance of acknowledgment. Rook has never had to earn affection—it accumulates around her the way cigarette smoke clings to velvet. Rook rolls her eyes at poetry. Rook, with her lazy smirk and her miraculous ability to construct entire, fully functional sentences composed exclusively of obscenities.

He loves Rook very, very much. He suspects Rook loves him too, in her own peculiar way. She smiles, she laughs, she allows him his embarrassing little effusions, even kisses him for his trouble—then, with perfect timing, calls him a dweeb and steals the last sip of his drink. 

It’s fine. He’s learned to translate. In Rook’s private dialect, dweeb means yes, fine, I suppose you amuse me, a kiss means I would be inconvenienced by your untimely death, and drinking the last of his whiskey? That, of course, is a vow of eternal devotion. Or something like that.

It all collapses into a feverish, tangled catastrophe one evening. A breathless, ill-advised implosion of longing and lust and something dangerously adjacent to reverence. She is so, so beautiful, and he wants to touch her, of course, but also—he wants to read to her. Not the dull, airless sonnets, no, but the real poetry, the ones thick with scandal, with sin, the ones that might cajole that sharp little smirk from her lips. Maybe while his fingers are inside her. Maybe precisely then.

He wants to coax pleasure from her, whispering thick, illicit syllables against her skin, punctuating each lewd phrase with the curl of his knuckles, just to see how the two mingle, just to see which makes her gasp first. To see if she’ll arch into it, if she’ll moan, if she’ll laugh. Because of course she’ll laugh. She always does. Even when he licks his fingers clean, even when he settles between her thighs, even when he finds his own satisfaction in the aftermath of hers, she will be laughing. 

It happens like that, and yet, not like that at all. Because as he collapses against her, boneless and spent, something dreadful and unmistakable unfurls in his chest—too late, of course, always too late. His sentimentality, that incurable affliction, has caught up with him at last, threading itself through his ribs, pressing its damp, foolish hands against his throat. 

He bows his head to her chest, breathing her in, willing himself to contain it, to gather the wet, trembling edges of his absurd little heart and tuck them out of sight. Perhaps she will not notice. Perhaps she will feel only the smile he presses into her skin, as if that might smother the rest. 

A silence—brief, terrible, perceptive. 

"Oh no," she says, and he feels her fingers weave into his hair, loose and lazy and terribly knowing. "What the fuck did I do?" 

He shakes his head—not much, nothing at all, everything. Just a little.

"Nothing, my darling," he says, only slightly unsteady. "Nothing at all. I am—" a soft exhale, an almost-laugh, "—very happy." He swallows. Feels the first pangs of self-reproach begin to bloom, acid-sweet. "Only… allow me a moment to gather myself. It will pass." 

A brief caress at the base of his neck. Then, just as he begins to sink into it, she shifts, shoves, displaces him. He rolls onto his back, compliant, expectant, and she follows, settling astride him, her thighs bracketing his ribs, her cool hands framing his face. 

"Happy?" she confirms. 

"Yes, happy." 

"Hm." A small, satisfied noise. "Good. Happy and pretty. You’re so very pretty." 

She does not elaborate—she never does—but she kisses him. Thoroughly. His cheeks first, then his chin, the arch of his brow, the slow, methodical placement of lips upon skin, like affixing wax seals to letters never meant to be sent. His eyes, last. She drags a fingertip down, drawing his lids closed as if dimming a lamp. Then, the press of her mouth, warm, dry, familiar. And then—oh.

The flick of her tongue, feline and quick, slips between his lashes, parting what she has only just sealed, grazing the raw, unguarded wet beneath. He flinches; she giggles, breath skimming his cheek, unreasonably pleased with herself. 

She does it again, slower this time, the tip of her tongue tracing the curve of his eyelid. Then once more, lower now, across the ridge of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. A methodical, absentminded mapping—kisses pressed to skin with no particular urgency, a grazing of teeth when the impulse strikes her. He lies still beneath her, utterly at her mercy, though she is hardly in a hurry to exploit it. She seems content merely to taste him, her breath leaving damp traces that cool, then tighten, then disappear. 

Chocolate, yes, still lingering from earlier, something dark and rich that settles at the back of his throat just from breathing her in. Salt, too, a faint sting where sweat beads along the curve of her upper lip. 

Finally, an exhale. A minute adjustment of her weight as she lifts her head, pleased, apparently, with whatever inscrutable calculation she has been making. A kiss, light as a comma, stamped onto the very center of his mouth. 

“There you go,” she announces, stretching her arms overhead, yawning into her wrist, smiling that slow, pleased smile of hers. “All cleaned up. Not a tear in sight, since you seem to find your own emotions so mortifying.” 

"Thank you," he says, and, disastrously, feels like he might start crying again. 

"Mm-hm." A pause. Her fingers tapping absently against his cheek. "There’s a joke in here somewhere." 

"Is there?"

A frown, thoughtful, exaggerated, her brows knitting together in careful concentration before giving way to a terrible smile. "Yes." A beat. Then, the telltale flicker of something truly indecent behind her eyes. "Something about staying hydrated. Or maybe—" a pause, as if she is weighing her options "—eating out your third eye." 

He laughs then immediately chokes as she presses her hand to his throat for balance, the casual weight of it cutting off just enough air to send his body into brief, ungraceful revolt. 

"Never short on dreadful puns, I see." His voice, when it returns, is slightly hoarse. 

"Never," she agrees. Then, with a flourish of indulgence, she leans down again, kissing his eyelids one by one. “So you continue doing this—” kiss, kiss, kiss “—and I'll continue doing that.” 

Disgracefully, absurdly, he cries again, even as she laughs, even as her laughter spreads like ink in water, pulling him under, until the whole thing disintegrates into some ungovernable mixture of mirth and misery. He is laughing too—helplessly, wet-faced, ridiculous—and she, entirely unbothered by his descent into sentimentality, licks at the salt on his cheeks like a cat, or perhaps some particularly devoted dog, calling him pretty, pretty, pretty in that lazy, drawling way of hers, as if the word itself were a charm, a refrain, a verdict.

He wants to ask her why—why this word, why now, why, of all possible things, she has settled on this ludicrous, ill-fitting descriptor as he lies before her, blotchy and unsightly and utterly, embarrassingly undone. But she only snorts into his collarbone, her breath warm, unbothered, and the chant continues, pretty, pretty, pretty, until he is left with no choice but to accept it.

In the morning, his eyes are red. Lucanis notices. Davrin notices. The two, incapable of letting a thing be, set about turning his misfortune into sport, taking turns to see who can unearth the most appallingly indecent explanation.

He feels a migraine approaching. 

And then Rook arrives, deposits a cup of coffee into his hands, and, without so much as a glance at him, declares, “He snorted too much powder last night. Leave him alone.” 

Ah. 

Oh.

He sits there, staring at her, vaguely appalled, impossibly infatuated, hopelessly starry-eyed. Very well, then. She has let sentiment in—however unwittingly, however carelessly—and now she will drown in it. And then, once she is thoroughly waterlogged, he will buy her all the gold in Nevarra. 

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

𓉸⁺‧₊˚ AFFECTION ROTS 𓂃🦇

„⤵ MILD ANGST „⤵ 1 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Highschool sweethearts aren't meant to last, but Jason wants to change that, even after his ressurection.

After April 27th everything that once tasted sweet became bitter. Teenage romance is a ticking time bomb. It's a promise of flesh not made to last— meat rots over time, affection rots over time— and eventually, it all becomes rancid and sour.

Maybe that's what happened when Jason died. When your eyes met, a countdown began, ticking relentlessly toward its end. His time was always borrowed, and the clock, merciless as ever, simply ran out. The world the two of you shared stopped being his, and in the wake of it his memory became merely something to drive the day forward. Everything you couldn't be motivated to do was slapped with the statement "But Jason would've wanted you to" It was like a toxic parasocial relationship. His corpse dragged you in and out of pits of guilt and grief, while your body remained stagnant his ghost became restless inside of your head. Eventually, until you started to lose him in pieces.

Briefly, you would visit the box in your basement that contained some of his things. Hoodies and novels he read. You would smile at the annotations he made with sticky notes. Saving quotes that probably sounded deep and emotional to a teenage boy. A stuffed animal that smelled vaguely like him, or his cologne anyway. That box was where the memories of his existence stayed, buried under the blanket you had placed there. Admittedly sometimes you didn't want to think about him. It felt wrong to think of it that way. Grief is fatal to the mind. It's a disease. And maybe, on the worst days, it’s easier to let the infection run its course than to keep cutting into yourself trying to clean the wound.

You did a lot in the time between his last breath and now. life moved on, whether your sweet innocent Jason was beside you or not. After graduating high school, beginning your freshman year of college, and getting your first apartment it became easier. His cardboard grave sat there untouched, collecting dust, holding pieces of him you didn’t need anymore. Whatever you hadn’t already discarded, you packed away and left in the past.

yes, it still stung. Not like it used to—no longer sharp and unbearable. Instead, it lingered, dull and constant, a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. Jason became irrelevant, just another detail in your coming-of-age story. Dating other men still felt like cheating. Still felt like betrayal. He'd probably be jealous if he saw you at those college parties. He was the type of boy to fight for you until his knuckles bled. Maybe he didn't have enough time to get the words out, but the sentiment would have been there. Even in death, you were his.

Your room grew up with you. The calendar you'd gotten as a white elephant gift was months behind. Your bedsheets kept the theme you chose for your room years ago. You barely even slept in it properly. There were bookshelves full of classics and poetry that were untouched. It wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a mausoleum. More often than not you would leave empty fountain soda cups on your desk like ornaments of the slump you were in mentally. The only things you'd done in this place were sleep and stare at your phone screen.

You ordered food hours ago. You couldn't be bothered to go and collect it yourself, but your driver never arrived. You took that as a hint. You simply weren't meant to eat tonight. It hurt to know how little you were spending on your own needs and desires. But you could hardly complain when you were living off the kindness of strangers. Your bills were paid by societies focused on providing for low income students. This money didn't come from nowhere. So why did you spend it on fatty junk like fast food? Your appetite was gone by now. But as a heavy thump reverberated through the wooden door on your apartment you shot up in hope of fatty junk fast food. Your hopes fell quickly as soon as the sounds from behind the door faded into nonsense dance of shuffling and pacing. You turned off your lamp. Maybe it was some drunk who had the wrong address. he would obviously realize this wasn't the right crack house, even though the decor suggested otherwise, and he would leave. You were tired and ready to turn in.

You heard it again. It seemed louder this time. You got up, stepping up onto your toes to look through the peephole. You were only met with the chest of this unwelcome visitor. You unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open slowly. Whoever it was was clearly out of it and angry. They didn't wait around for you to greet them. They barreled past you, knocking you against the door frame. They crashed into the kitchen counter. Folded over like a crumpled rag doll, holding their ribs.

The figure was large. Tall. Male obviously. Uncanny.

Some kind of muscular walking frankenstein of a human form.

You reached for the house phone. Should you call 911?… was this some kind of botched break in? It didn't look like he had any weapons.. but he probably had enough surface area from the base of his palm to the tips of his fingers to cover the entirety of your neck.

Before you could move, a hand slammed itself onto the table and you flinched away. The stranger looked back into your eyes, the whites of them so bright they nearly glowed like headlights.. the pupils dilated and narrowed.

"Who are you?" you whispered, your throat sore and dry, "What do you want?" You couldn't make out his face in its shadow. But it looked like someone very familiar…. Someone you knew well but couldn't quite remember in your stupor. You shook your head slightly to clear the haze.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, dragging his massive body from the kitchen island to where you still stood, frozen in place, pinned against the doorframe. The wind whipped harshly behind you. He closed the door gently, no longer slamming it. No longer banging. His arm went around your shoulders as he pulled you close. His breath warmed your ear.

"You… grew up without me.. You got really pretty. Just like i thought you would.." He breathed out, his lips brushing your hairline. You were still. In shock, you didn't dare react at all. "…I missed you." His grip tightened.

You felt the skin on his fingertips pulling against your arms and shoulder. You were too terrified to make a noise. Almost too terrified.

"You're dead." You said, pushing against his familiar warmth, trying to escape whatever strange force held you there. It didn't budge. "This is a really fucked up dream.. Jason wasn't this tall- or strong-" You broke off, swallowing thickly. Tears blurred your vision. He squeezed you tighter. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not. You weren't sure you were awake. "Let go!" you cried out. He frowned.

"Please… let me have this. just for a minute." He pleaded. "It's been too fucking long.." you could hear him begin to sob. There must have been something in the air that made your stomach twist and churn unpleasantly, until you sighed shakily.. giving in and relaxing as best you could against him. You weren't sure what exactly was happening- this wasn't real, right? What were these feelings you were having? Fear? Regret? Anxiety?

As you allowed your head to rest atop of his chest, you stared at the floorboards beneath your feet. You tried to calm yourself down. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably.

It was clear. The affection he held for you had not withered. It was as fresh, as raw, as it had been back in March, before everything fell apart.

Jason couldn't rot. He wasn't meant to.

...

Haha I'm so evil. Comment + Reblog? Where should the story go from here?

[brynn-lear]

The Abduction of King (Y/n) [Yandere Mydei x Reader]

A/n: Here I go, an asexual trying to learn how to write smut, so bear with me as I start this journey. Also, note that this story presumably happens after the entire Amphoreus Quests, so I’m running under assumptions on how the story ends. I enjoyed writing this reader. It’s always refreshing to write nice people turned feral.

Unreliable Synopsis: The new Stellaron Hunter, King (Y/n), is always welcome to visit the Express. Life has a way of changing a person… And Mydei couldn't accept his beloved’s new “whatever will be, will be” attitude.

CW/Tags: female reader (“King” is your title), slight hurt/comfort, yandere!mydei, toxic relationship, heavily implied one-sided sunday/reader, mild violence, and dubcon elements 

To smell and taste pomegranate juice— such were your aspirations before living the life you have now. 

You are simultaneously at the lowest and highest point of your life.

Being falsely accused of "matricide" was an unpredictable way to achieve that wish, yet you are nonetheless grateful for the hand you dealt with. You'd dare say it's a blessing in disguise. Despite your retainer’s blatant “betrayal”, you were thankful he had ground your knees against gravel and harsh pebbles. If anything, he wrote you a lovely story.

(Y/n) was exposed to have “murdered” her mother, the King, in the Charmony Festival.

Former King (Y/n) originally fled her mysterious unknown planet.

Former King (Y/n) joined the Stellaron Hunters soon after.

Exciting, is it not? Crimes you hadn't committed weighed intolerably upon you. Your planet, Amphoreus, wouldn't dare open its mouth for a choir. No tears shall be collected in jars should you perish, instead, your funeral will be basked with laughter. Daidalos is not a forgiving nation. The Daidalosan Cathedrals would sooner strike a beloved saint’s statue down than a chord from your songs. 

You still vividly recall Kafka’s opaque stare through her tinted glasses. The playful yet empathetic smirk on her face served to entice you to her. She needn't use a whisper. Fate just had its way with you.

The Nameless get to shelter a wounded bird, while the Hunters take on a new apprentice.

As poetic as that sounds, your resolve isn't cruel and unfeeling. If it were, you doubt the Express would take kindly to your serene shenanigans.

You giggled. Truth be told, you were aware as to why March left in a hurry. 

You may hold yourself with sheer elegance and an astute gaze befitting of the crown, but behind it lies a mischievous streak that remains undetected. What can you say? Perhaps this sneakiness is an act of love. You do miss their company.

Several months ago, the Nameless went on a dangerous mission to Amphoreus. 

The unknown planet the galaxy you hailed from that the rest of the galaxy does not know?

That was Amphoreus.

 The very same planet you escaped from was the place Dan Heng and Stelle landed blindly.

Aside from Elio, only a single soul knows this one other dangerous fact: you cannot taste or smell anything— and fall victim to catatonic moods more capriciously than others. Your ailment does not terrify you more than Kafka’s lack of fear (ironically), Yingxing’s mara— and especially not more than Firefly’s syndrome. Just a scratch to your patchwork of problems. You had support. Your people once wholeheartedly gave you your flowers for the good you've done. And it pains you immensely how you cannot express genuine gratitude for it.

You may have been a great King, but Kephale never favored you. Unfortunately, you cannot resign to THEIR uneven-handedness much longer.

You are not a Chrysos Heir.

You are just an Amphoreus Tragedy.

It's no small wonder that you offered your life to Elio, hoping he'd one day pull out a feast that would satisfy your tastebuds. That day won't happen any time soon. Not that you mind.

Cause you'll get to see Stelle, Dan Heng, March, and Sunday suffer while drinking your horrendous drinks— if you're lucky, Himeko’s as well.

Ah, your seemingly earnest and just demeanor is truly a gift that keeps on giving. Your “friends” are gone. You stand on new ground, one that allows you to take the smallest things to heart.

Your mother’s “murder” is when you started noticing what matters in life.

Now, you enjoy the silence.

Listen deeply. The child in you that wasn’t allowed to. Let it heal.  

It’s what Kafka ordered you to do, and it was the best command a King could ever receive.

“Going somewhere?” 

You stopped walking and looked up from your phone. A familiar young boy standing by the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, despite barring the exit.

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

Given his clairvoyant abilities, you figured that to be true.

“My apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Elio,” you frowned. “I'm afraid I have grown more accustomed to your feline form.”

“No need for apologies.”

He handed you a machete.

Machetes are your weapon of choice, and quite frankly, no other steel fits like a glove. The lances of Daidalos do not compare to the satisfying momentum brandishing a machete elicits. Unpolished. Unkingly. Unsightly.

Personally? 

… You thought they were cute.

They remind you of someone.

They say never bring a weapon to a fistfight, but that little prince never minded.

You cleared your throat but stopped yourself when Elio raised his hand, disinterested in how you would inevitably pay him back in credits or an equivalent.

"I-I am most grateful, yet I must inquire— what purpose does this serve?" You inclined your head slightly, your gaze steady. "Is there an urgent expedition that demands my attention?"

“If there was an emergency, there would have been a contingency plan beforehand.” The boy giggled, fixing his bow tie with a smug smile. “But no, I just urge you to take this on your way to the Express. Just in case a small miracle triggers. Which, I doubt.”

Hmm, there must be a threat later then. Shame. 

Elio cautioned you. “You might also regret wearing that.”

“Wearing what?”

“Red.”

You assessed your appearance. At first, you thought nothing wrong about your flinty rings and maroon pantsuit. “Does it not look good on me?”

“One might say it’s too good on you,” Elio muttered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.”

“Understood.” You bowed.

“Lastly, King (Y/n)?” Elio shook his head. 

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do not bow for me,” he exhaled, mildly exasperated by your antics. “You are one of us. You are a Stellaron Hunter, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, my Lo—”

“None of that either!”

“Yes… Elio.”

“Better,” the young boy opened the exit.

Then, he opened his eyes. It's those piercing blue shades that make you both uncomfortably seen and relievedly accepted.  

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations.” Elio’s grin widened. “Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

No pomegranates? Become a Stellaron Hunter? What an odd choice of words— and aren't you already a hunter?

Does it even matter?

You can’t taste anything.

You laughed. Elio loves your laugh for it was always a whole, hearty, and joyous sound. A laugh befitting a king. 

“Much like my favorite bard, I do not understand a word out of you. However, do not worry—” You stepped out the door. 

“I am looking forward to it!”

“I'm ashamed I can't show you a better sight when you've been enthused to visit. What a pity. I cannot stand to present to you such weaklings.”

“Weaklings, you say.” You muttered. “Little prince, their rib cages are stretched open with limbs bleeding out. This torture you call training outmatches the way we Daidalosans treat prisoners.”

You picked up the tortured gladiator’s weapon.

It was a machete.

“Was it necessary to torture them…?”

“Δασκάλα μου (My teacher), they have insulted you and Daidalos. I cannot allow such slander to the former.”

You saw the intense sincerity in his eyes and turned away.

No matter how many times you have rejected his heart, he continues to court you in ways that disturb many.

“You care too much about me. I hope you would spare such care for your gladiators instead.”

“And you care too little about yourself. This is precisely why your nation fears our military might, King (Y/n). Make no mistake, everyone suffers in their imagination more often than in reality.” He scoffed. “Even these soldiers.”

█████ laughed. To him, this is one of many days where no one remembered the fallen except for spectators such as yourself. █████ watched as your eyes batted over the strewn rubble where your grandfather’s soldiers once fought for the realm’s peace. He saw conflict in those (e/c) eyes. A dead silent remorse for faces you have never truly seen.

Even so, you smiled sadly. 

That smile was out of place in Prince █████'s Spoliarium.

“███, that may be your opinion, but our mind IS our reality. It may seem overdramatic and unreasonable to you, but the pain is not any less real.”

“We seriously need to master how to make coffee before (Y/n) gets here….”

“Don't worry so much, Dan Heng, we at least persuaded Himeko to visit Herta so that's one big bomb deactivated!”

“... should you be adding that much Halovian sugar? I believe that unhealthy proportions are against many culinary rules.”

“Rules? What rules, Sunday? Nah. These are guidelines.” 

“What— Stelle, NO!!!”

You snorted a sound that does not sound elegant in the slightest. Both Dan Heng and March 7th apprehended their callous friend. Sunday’s wings perked up upon hearing you, and a smile formed on his face before he even knew it. Meanwhile, the three only took notice of you when they successfully extracted the sugar from her hands.

You placed a hand on your mouth, hiding any impolite laughter.

“I've just arrived, and it sounds like an interesting conversation. Shame, I should've arrived moments prior.”

“(Y/n)! Nonsense, you came at a perfect time.” Sunday sauntered joyfully, standing up to usher you toward Shush’s counter. “There's a seat beside me, please come here.”

“Look at him, already making the moves,” March whispered to Stelle, snickering.

Stelle, a master of the stoic expression, only nodded. “Let him cook.”

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, ignoring the two.

“King (Y-”

“Just (Y/n), please.” You pouted. “You are all an equal to me.”

“... (Y/n).” Dan Heng scratched his neck. “About the brewing session…”

Your questions were lost in Dan Heng’s recitals of Himeko leaving for Herta’s Space Station, Stelle’s failed attempts at brewing her cup (it somehow turns into alcohol-like beverages), and the crew’s insistence that the next batch should follow online recipes. This made you laugh more than you thought you would. So, you decided to drop the idea altogether, to everyone’s relief.

“Instead, we can talk about our last journey instead, how about it?” Stelle offered.

Your smile stiffened.

“Ah, yes, I believe that was in…”

“Amphoreus!” March grinned. “The pictures Dan Heng and Stelle took were so nice. Here, let me get it—”

“There is no need for that.”

You spoke a little too quickly.

More perceptive than you thought, the crew noticed your sudden change.

“(Y/n)?” Sunday spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I know why.” Stelle pushed away from the table, upsetting her chair before theatrically balancing herself back. She then went on carelessly:

“It’s because she’s from Amphoreus.”

March’s eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

You looked away, sighing. “Shush, do you have a bottle of Retsina wine?”

“Wait, w-where did you get this information, Stelle?” Dan Heng shook her slightly. “I don’t recall hearing that—”

“She’s the former King of Daidalos, which is far away from Okhema. Honestly, I just saw it around stone tablets. Daidalos is a long-fallen land of artisans. People thought she died by execution because no one believed she did reach beyond the sky. They also say she’s the mentor and childhood crush of crown prince M—”

“You know a lot and you never thought to tell us about ANY this?!” March gawked. “What the heck Stelle!?!”

“I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“Yes, yes it is!!!”

While the three argued over details, Sunday took the bottle from Shush and poured you a glass. There’s a look of understanding in his eyes, and he won’t ask unless you want him to. You gave him a small smile, acknowledging his empathy.

“You look rather pale, have those Hunters done something to you?” Sunday inquired, his unease blatant. “Is it your mission? Have they been asking the impossible?”

“What? No. My workload is infinitely a lot less weighty than the crown.” You grinned, teasing. “It's all light work.”

He figured he had nothing else of value to add. Still, his eyes were skewed. Sunday won't be dropping the issue any time soon.

“Then why do you look kinda miserable?” Stelle asked.

“Steeeeelle! C’mon, watch your mouth. How do you always sound so offensive?” March whined.

You placed a hand on your head. “Hmm, I shall not lie, nightmares have been mostly a root cause for my unsightly and dim appearance as of late. Pathetic, I am aware—”

“Nightmares?” Dan Heng shifted his body forward, closer to you. “Like what?”

“I dream of an old… friend a lot more frequently.” You paused. Should you be saying this? “And more often than not, I'm being… chased… by him.”

Both Stelle and March looked at Dan Heng. He bit his bottom lip, thinking. 

“... Where is your new mission?”

“Elio has given me no command,” You sighed deeply. “He declared that the plans are already set in motion, and it falls upon me to rise to the occasion, whatever challenge it may be that calls upon me.”

“Oof. Good luck.” Stelle said, but the air of those words seems a little more knowing.

March chuckled nervously. “Yikes…”

Sunday had no comment. Instead, he also poured himself a drink.

“I'd be wary if I were you.” Dan Heng’s gaze was astutely focused on yours. “I've been through something similar. Nightmares, that is.”

"Is that so?" You murmured, swirling the coffee in your cup with an air of detached curiosity. "And what transpired thereafter?"

“...”

March 7th laughed, uneasy.

“Well, uh, it kinda came true?” March’s eyebrow furrowed, wearing a strained smile. “It's good though, Blade didn't actually kill him so…?”

“March.”

“I'm sorry, it was just too silent, I couldn't stand it!”

“... What were the dreams like? Can you elaborate?”

You paused at Sunday’s questions.

█████ towered over your chained form, clenching an open letter in his strong hands. His knuckles were white from the sheer anger he held them.

“Entertaining a love letter, are we?”

He sneered.

“How dare you consider suitors other than myself?”

█████ knelt down and harshly grabbed your chin.

“Shall I pluck his feathers out for you?”

“Cold.” 

You muttered. “Lacks warmth.”

Sunday has never been this tempted to get into someone’s mind.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chin. 

“Anything else? Like vivid smells or tastes?”

You laughed. “Are those things important?”

“Sorta?” March quipped.

“Is that so…” You wouldn’t know. Both senses eluded you.

…

…

Suddenly, you had willed your words into existence.

“!!!”

Someone uninvited has entered the Express.

An immediate tension gripped everyone’s lungs, and each heart in the vicinity quickened. A subtle shift, imperceptible yet undeniable, stirred them all. A silent warning. Eyes darted nervously, glances exchanged with no words. The Nameless knew that something was about to emerge. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon their shoulders, and though none dared speak it aloud, they could feel it— whatever was coming was drawing near.

The lights flickered and died out.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

Enshrouded by a ghost who trailed behind, you grabbed Sunday and jumped away. The sound of metal rang. None of you could see the other. Pompom’s screams, asking for what was happening, droned on inside the other car. 

You must’ve barely dodged that attack. Swiftly, you brandished your machete. Instincts that infiltrated each inch of your veins screamed that the intruder you faced was a familiar soul. Your body warmth congealed a hand’s breadth below the blade’s sharp rim. It’s been a while since you felt this threatened.

This excited.

You sported a boyish grin. Been a long long while since you had felt true risk— a real divergence from your tolerable comfort zone.

“Come and face me in the light, coward.”

The figure drew their already built frame taller to stiffen their pride.  You spun to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that tore through the air. Your instincts were sharp.

With a final joining of force and momentum, you swung your machete with half of your strength.

It met the shadow’s fists, causing an ear-bleeding stalemate of metal against metal.

Seconds passed, and it was clear that an impasse had been reached.

You both pulled away— and the figure ignited a fire within his palms.

As if your eyes were spiked with visions of red and yellow— you squinted at the strange man. His bare skin and intense eyes are enough to make the common man buckle his knees and tremble. 

But you know that face.

It's the one soul who knows your secrets.

You paled.

“... Dei?”

That face, though aged, belonged to the young boy you taught patiently. The same stubborn boy who wanted peace for his people even though the chances were slim. The only person who would vouch for your innocence. The kid who you secretly envied for his cursed immortality— for his status as a Chrysos Heir.

The little prince who wanted you beside HIS throne.

It was Dei himself. 

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos— the land of Daidalos’ “worst enemy”.

“Dei” grinned. He languidly raised his head, his gaze towering above you. A shadow clouded his face and settled in his eye.

You, who had reduced his name to one syllable on the day you met, was the first woman he had come to admire ardently.

Riotous pomegranate wines that hedonistically spill in white table cloths that adjoin themselves like countries on a map— saintly garbs donned by faces achieving a carnal state of euphoria— those were the images that describe Daidalos to the crown prince. Holy, but unrighteous. 

Yet, when the sky brightly illuminated your face at the outdoor picnic you extended the invite to, the Prince was royally smitten. Humbly, you were dressed only in a simple sundress. No accessories or cloaks to elevate yourself. In the seeded topsoils of the plains, you were the most natural beauty to behold.

Mydeimos had grown obsessed with the consistent air of absentminded integrity you carry as King. It was not an aura he had the privilege of carrying. But he will live that life vicariously through you.

“Δασκάλα μου. (My teacher.) Kαρδιά μου. (My heart.)” The prince scoffed an airy smirk. Not a word can describe his smug satisfaction. “Found you, at long last.”

Chrome, gold, and pomegranate red.

Those had always been his colors.

And that included the color of…

“You adorn yourself in every color but red, is there a reason why?”

“Red is more of your color, little prince.” You humored him. “And a King wearing red is an omen for war. The same is said for our flag.”

“I see.”

… blood and war. A color entirely suited for his calling.

You froze without breathing, struck dumb.

How did he leave Amphoreus?!

You greeted with a frown.

“... Hello, little prince.”

You can’t believe this.

Leaving took you centuries to perfect!

How did he do it?!

Mydei instantly detected within you an erosion of self-assurance.

Just talking to him felt no different from downing some of Kafka’s fancy wines. While you consider yourself above petty theft, this situation compels you to understand her deeply. You, too, would pocket Dreamjolt Hostelry’s alcohol to an amount you felt was just after talking to this prince.

He recklessly held your blade. The Chrysos Heir thrust your weapon’s handle against your palm whilst his own bled profusely.

It had always been difficult to challenge an opponent with no self-preservation.

“Has joining these intergalactic bandits stripped you of every bit of decorum, King (Y/n)?” He shook his head. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, the prince yanked the machete away, allowing it to pelt to the floor with a harsh thud. 

The prince leaned down to kiss your hand, but the sudden pause shocked both you and him.

“Where is it?” He spoke gravely with murderous rage.

You pursed your lips. “Where is what, Prince Mydeimos?”

“Your ring.” Mydei spoke. “The Daidalos King’s ring.”

A laugh escapes your lips. One without any semblance of humor.

“It is a ring that adorns only the hand of a King, does it not? Yet I, alas, no longer bear such a title. You may put those facts together to form your conclusion.” You answered, nose turned up snobbishly. 

He glared.

The prince threw what was assumed to be a warp device that formed a distortion that connected the Express to Amphorous. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to make eye contact with Stelle. 

You only had a second to think.

“CALL KAFKA!!!—”

“(Y/n)!!!”

But before they could reach and save you, you and the intruder disappeared.

Just as there was no consensus if the Nameless should involve themselves in this matter or not, no trailblazer had the same opinion of following suit aligned with their beliefs. Sunday desperately tried to have everyone on his side, whereas the wiser of the crowd had more sway with their stable voices. The three only had to watch and wait for Kafka to arrive. 

Until then, the express was silent.

Crown Prince Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, may not be the sharpest of men— but he lived a proud life.

“That Prince again, how many more of our King’s time shall he exhaust?!”

“I do not know myself, Aitherios, but he certainly does not mean well.”

“And we are to let that man linger in our castle?”

“I suppose so.”

“But Luminia!—”

He had never hid his true self. There, Mydei would stand, taking no more notice of them than they are of him. Though usually unrestrained, he would hold himself back for those who spat venom were your people. People you had loved and cherished for centuries longer than you’ve known him. 

And he is no one but a person you’d go to picnic with on a sunny day.

Despite his raging mind, he kept his mouth shut about your unpleasant servants. He’d bear the pain of every word. He’d even accept lashes and whips if it meant he could sit beside you in your favorite picnic spot another day.

He stays rooted in a field where he does not belong.

That was how much Mydei loves you.

"Alas, it is a sorrow that your visit is swift. Had it been under better circumstances, I would have bid you stay and witness an Epic with me thereafter." You sighed, placing the teacup under your lips. "The young lad, who once struggled to wield a greatsword, now holds the power to lay waste to my very castle at his will. How swiftly the years slip away..."

Mydei’s gaze softened. 

On his frequent idle days, he systematically fit visiting Daidalos in his schedule. This is all in hopes that someday, you’d see him beyond what nostalgia portrays.

Why can’t you see that he obsesses over you the way a man would to his woman?

Frustrating how YOUR visits became less warm and less frequent. Was it custom only that bound the two of you? That cannot be so. You refer to him beyond his station, as he does to you as well. 

Surely, you feel the same beating as he does?

There is no other possibility, is there?

The only thing that stands between you two and the altar must be the crowns you both will and have been carrying. If your people only loved him—- if both your people only cared for one another instead of a constant rivalry for Nikador’s gaze.

"It must be so. As it stands, the folk of Daidalos and Kremnos are far from sharing the civil discourse you and I enjoy." Mydei gently set his cup upon the blanket spread across the verdant earth. "In the quietest recesses of my heart, I wish for a day when my people might share a picnic with yours."

“Do you wish me to crayon a series of plans?” You teased.

“Do not mock me, King (Y/n).”

“The offer for a treaty stands.” You shrugged, your face turned solemn. “That is unless the brutal culture of Kremnos has a better idea of peace?” 

Mydei chuckled.

“How about an abduction?”

“H-Hah—”

His lips claim yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It's as if a dam has broken, all of his pent-up desire and longing pouring out at once. His calloused hands tighten around its grip, holding you close as he deepens the kiss— his tongue tastes you with the desperation he's not articulate enough to voice. You'll just have to take him as he is. Rogue and animalistic.

You punched his chest. As expected, he didn't falter. Instead, his gaze was tender and his breathing was more… pleased.

“Y-You look ravishing in red.” He smirked. "And to think that bird thought he could please you the way I do."

A husky, ragged moan sneaked out of his lips as he seemingly devoured and shared his heat with yours in unison. No escape. This was far from comfortable. Your back was pinned on the cold Spoliarium walls. You gasped as you felt the subtle and slow motion of his hips grind against your smaller frame. Mydei tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss.

The worst part? Both your eyes were open, for two reasons on the opposite side of the same spectrum.

He wants to watch his cornered prey, and you're his frozen fawn.

A few years ago, you had shown him mercy in hopes he’d do the same. His eyes were a murderer’s eyes, his hands were a murderer’s arms. But he is without sin. Mydei did not choose to have a murderer’s eyes and hands. And you had refused that he will be treated as such.

You should have.

Just when you felt your eyes fluttering shut at the immediate danger of passing out— the prince graciously pulled away. You saw a sliver of saliva disconnect between both your lips. Almost insane how this had your legs threatening to lay on the floor. The fact that you can barely stand from his intensity boosted a pride greater than a long spar in him. 

Then, the prince hoisted your thighs up and forced them to wrap around him. Your back hasn't had a single moment wherein it hasn't had contact with the wall. Your body hasn't had a single moment wherein you haven't had contact with his warm skin. Your gaze was pathetically unfocused.

“N-Not…” You couldn't help but jest, like old times. “H-How I expected to have my first kiss.”

You felt your spine shiver but had the strength to not make that undirected fear known. Nothing feels right about that place. His Spoliarium was too cold, too dusty, yet his hands were too hot like a forever sun in his palm.

Slowly, he cupped your cheek. Even that loving gesture was rough and intrusive.

Mydei scarcely had a definition for what romance is.

“The fault is your own for expecting gentleness from me.” Mydei brought his lips to your ear. You shivered as he leaned down and nibbled your neck.

Divine. 

You tasted divine. If only you could taste him too, then maybe you'd be more enthused for a “rougher” expression of intimacy. If he could take you now—

You shrank back, terrified. Mydei has been difficult to read on occasion, but tonight his thoughts are blatant and disturbing. You hope your instinct was wrong.

“T-Truth be told, I expect no intimacy from you. I-Is this a—” you panted, weakly gripping his muscular arm. No matter how much willpower you had, you couldn't stand upright. “—form of punishment? I-I wasn't aware Aglaea has e-employed you to guarantee my c-capture.”

“I came of my own volition.” Unbeknownst to you, Mydei’s glare was chilling. “How dare you assume I'd betray you.”

“How dare I, indeed…” You winced. “Why did you come here—”

Unfortunately, the prince was quick to forestall further questions. You helped from the sudden jolt of both pain and pleasure as he bit your neck harshly while he slowly rubbed his hips against you. Mydei was leaving too many marks in his wake. The heat was becoming unbearable.

You gripped a fistful of his hair, hoping to yank him off. “M-Mydei— in Kephale’s name, I command you to—”

“You wanted this.”

He pulled away, and you cursed yourself for feeling almost needy as he created a reasonable distance between you two.

“King— no, MY (Y/n).” Mydei took strands of your hair, kissing it innocently but his eyes were anything but. “I have desired you for too long as well.”

His hand slid under your shirt. You jolted as he squeezed your waist. 

There are times his replies slip so easily that it makes you question their sincerity. This was not one of them.

“I presume with that visage that you’re regularly, at the very least, 3 hours of obliterating sleep.” He pulled your shirt up. “May I know the names of the men who’d find themselves in my Spoliarium soon?”

You almost mentioned Elio in defense of the Hunters, but kept your mouth shut.

“Curse you, Mydeimos.”

He clicked his tongue, snaking his fingers around your neck.

“What dishonorable struggle. I never thought you would have cold feet.” Mydei lightly tightened his grip on your throat. “I offered an abduction, and you agreed.”

“W-What? What abduction?”

Cold feet?

"Reflect further. You possess wisdom far greater than mine."

Your eyebrows furrowed, remembering the conversation. “I only replied because I thought it was said in jest!”

“I am not a man who would jest about entering such a solemn union.” He growled. "You know well that I speak with the full gravity of truth in every word I say."

You paused.

…

Cold feet. Abduction…

Wait…

“Abductions, are they a ritual of sorts…?”

Mydei closed his eyes, huffing in mild amusement.

“...You did not understand that custom, did you?”

“N-No…”

He leaned his face closer, his breath touching your skin.

“Marriage.” His gaze softened. “It is a marriage custom in Kremnos. You have verbally agreed to marry me. And I shall reap what promise is owed to me.”

You felt your energy drain away. A sickening chill.  

Most of your life— it was spent on becoming a perfect ruler. You were chalk honed and clawed with lessons upon lessons upon lessons of strength and wit. Your family did not care if you were even made of a fragile core. But chalk is brittle. Chalk cannot withstand any more of this madness. This lack of human regard. This inhumane treatment. 

You do not love Dei.

You can never bring yourself to love the prince you thought of as a little brother.

“B-But I… I do not…”

“You do not love me. I have heard that lie from you several times.” He kissed your hand. “You have stabbed and buried me several times, yet I will continue to crawl back in your arms.”

Mydei chuckled.

“And tomorrow, we shall have our wedding despite it all.”

He saw how the despair dawned on you. You were shaking. Your breath was shallow and uneven, and he noticed the twitch in your hands, far too unlikely the steadiness of the former warrior King of Daidalos.

No one truly listens to the King.

You are more puppet than king, and everyone revered you for it. You only do what is required of you. What was needed of you. What was desired of you. 

No one truly hears what you wish for yourself. No one cared enough to know you were hungry for the true sensations of what tastes and smells truly are. No one asked you questions as to why you were obsessed with observing nature in the first place. Each person just approaches your throne in hopes they’ll take what they want. No one listens, except for…

This was the part he had anticipated— the fear, the panic, the realization that you were trapped. But instead, you did something... unexpected.

“... Hah… Haha!”

And then, slowly, something twisted inside. The edges of your lips curled upward— at first, just a flicker. You clutched at her chest as though trying to hold yourself together. Your laugh broke free, starting in a soft, broken sound that grew louder, more manic until it was a full-throated, deranged cackle.

Marriage? 

Right.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed. This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations. Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

Elio promised you a feast.

Who are you to say no?

You gave him a mugshot smile only a criminal with an enormous bounty would wear.

You were no longer King (Y/n) of Daidalos.

“Is that so?” You grinned wider.

You were (Y/n), the prodigal Stellaron Hunter.

If he haunted your dreams for so long,

you’ll just have to haunt him back.

You harshly grabbed him by his necklace, your breath fanning his face. A giggle escaped your lips at his shocked expression. You swerved and pushed him until your positions switched. With one hand, you clawed both his cheeks, staring at him with an empty glare while the other hand slowly uncloaked him...

"If that is the challenge you present, then I bid you bring forth your utmost strength, dear Husband."

Taglist: @naraven, @macaronilovingracoon, @notthefib987, @chryseis-lxve

Actor!au behind the scenes for this fic: Blooper 1, Interview with Sunday,

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , TELL YOU WHAT? , S.JY !

PAIRING: fiance ! jake × drunk ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: getting drunk in hopes to escape your engagement and the sadness that came with it—you turned to a stranger or maybe... your fiance. GENRE: fluff, drabble. WORD COUNT: 541. [LIBRARY]

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

You had thought sneaking out of your engagement party to get drunk in the garden was a brilliant idea. A freeing, rebellious decision. No one would notice, you had convinced yourself. But as usual, life had other plans—and so did Jake, your brand-new fiancé, who somehow found you curled up on the grass, your pristine dress now speckled with dirt.

“There you are,” he sighed, sitting down beside you with a mix of relief and mild exasperation. “You do realize there’s an entire party looking for you, right?”

You waved him off lazily, blinking up at the night sky. “The stars don’t judge,” you slurred, the alcohol working its magic, “unlike Aunt Minji and her ‘oh, so you’re the bride?’ looks.”

Jake chuckled softly, brushing a speck of grass off your shoulder. “Well, Aunt Minji doesn’t have to marry you. I do.”

You turned to him with a mock glare, your cheeks flushed—not just from the wine. “You don’t have to,” you said, hiccupping slightly. “But if you want to, you should know I have a secret.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in playfully. “Do tell, my mysterious fiancée.”

You sat up dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process. “I weigh over 45 kilograms!” you announced, as if it were the most shocking revelation in the world. “And—and,” you added, your voice dropping into a whisper, “my chest is still flat!”

Jake froze, caught somewhere between disbelief and laughter. But it was the way your bottom lip wobbled, your eyes welling up with tears of tragic sincerity, that pushed him over the edge. He burst out laughing.

“You’re laughing?!” you cried, your voice a mix of betrayal and drunken indignation. Tears spilled over as you sniffled. “You don’t have it either! How dare you judge me?”

That was it. Jake had to press his hand over his mouth to stop the laughter threatening to spill out, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Okay, okay,” he said, scooting closer as you dramatically flopped backward onto the grass, staring up at the sky like a tragic heroine in a period drama. “You’re right. I don’t have it either. We’re even.”

You sniffled again, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your very expensive dress. “We’re both... flat,” you mumbled, your voice quivering. “What a sad couple we make.”

Jake sighed, leaning over you, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Hey, it’s not sad,” he said, his voice gentle but laced with amusement. “It’s… balanced. And you’re perfect, even if you’re drunk out of your mind right now.”

You squinted up at him, your lips curling into a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”

Jake smirked, offering you his hand. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m saying it because you’re the funniest drunk I’ve ever met. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up before Aunt Minji sends a search party.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you up, leaning against him as you stumbled. “Fine,” you muttered. “But only because you admitted you’re flat too.”

Jake laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. “Deal. Now let’s get back before you decide to share any more of our secrets with the stars.”

© senascoop | tumblr

[blackynsupremacy]

ARE WE STILL

FRIENDS?

pairing: smallville!clark kent x black!fem!reader

fandom: smallville (2001-2011)

summary: as a junior at smallville high, you’re known as many things: captain of the girl’s basketball team, straight a-student, a bit of a tomboy, and the younger sister of pete ross by three minutes. as twins, you share many things, including your childhood best friend, clark kent. prom is nearing soon and you’re both dateless, so you and clark agree to arrive together as friends. after the view of a yellow dress, a slow dance, and a moment in the photo booth, you start to doubt if you’ll both leave the same way you came.

a/n: you can imagine jeremy as whoever you want.

contains: lots of words. fluff, brother’s best friend trope, reader is pete’s twin sister, reader knows, angst, mild swearing, arguing, friends to lovers, kissing/making out, hurt/comfort, love confession, clana is broken up, jealousy, betrayal.

a/n: finally another clark fic! anybody got ideas for tsay chapter 5? i want it to be action packed fr.

taglist: @afrogirl3005 @rosiestalez @paisholotus @sabrinasopposite @stereotypicalbarbie @ellethespaceunicorn @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @thabiddie23 @sheydnni @tryingtograspctrl @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @camiesully @supaprettyg

“come on, kent! is that all you got?”

you were taunting him as he tried to guard you from making the winning shot of your one v. one basketball game on kent farm. clark kent may have been six-foot-four with a strapping athletic build, but he wasn’t the captain of smallville high’s lady crows basketball team. due to your skill, leadership, and strategy, your girls have had an undefeated season so far. you continue to dribble and swiftly turn around to catch clark off guard before you jump to shoot the basketball which dove perfectly within the net. clark exasperatedly chuckles while you break down into an enthusiastic shimmy of a victory dance. your twin brother, pete ross, shook his head with a smirk after observing clark’s defeat. you both knew that for an exceptional farm boy that hailed from another planet couldn’t even school you on the court, had to mean something was off. in these playful competitions, you’ve had your fair share of wins with clark, but also definitely some losses. with a slow clap of his hands, pete approached clark to pat him on the back in playful sympathy,

“damn. it looks like you’ve lost your mojo, clark.” he quipped.

you and clark playfully roll your eyes. you sauntered to your brother and flick him in the forehead before you sassily chimed in,

“boy, shut up! you do realize that even clark can lose to me, right?”

“hey—ow! i’m just saying. clark, could’ve super sped around you and easily taken that shot.” he yelped in pain. clark chuckled before contributing to the conversation,

“first of all, pete, that would be cheating. second, my focus has been everywhere with prom coming up this weekend. you’re still going with me, aren’t you, pete?”

clark stretched his arms and you didn’t miss the slight flex of the bulging biceps he possessed. you always thought he was attractive, smart, and overall the perfect candidate for a boyfriend, but there was already so many complications entailed in that. first, there was the principle that he was your friend and your brother’s best friend. you basically grew up together, so you always thought lines like that should never be crossed no matter how much your heart desired for him at times. second, there was lana lang, clark’s first love. lana and clark’s relationship was complicated as well. one minute they’re together in perfect loving bliss, then the next, it’s back to being friends. this time, they were back to friend zone for a long while. lana was a friend of yours along with chloe. it was odd being tight with girls you knew had feelings for the same guy as you, but somehow, you try not to let that cause a rift between you. plus, you’re starting to develop a new crush on this guy named, jeremy ford. he was a senior and the captain of the boy’s basketball team. you’ve had opportunities where you would practice with him one on one after school and hang out at the talon occasionally to share strategies to help out your teams. he was handsome, athletic, funny, popular, and a scholar, so you’ve figured that he would be perfect as your date to the prom. when you get the chance this week, you were finally going to ask him. lastly, there was the fact that you knew clark’s secret along with your brother.

you’ve never forgotten that shift in your friendship with clark after finding that ship in his shed. it all made sense on how he was able to get to places so fast and subdue the people who were powered by those damned green rocks. pete already had to deal with clark having the attention of chloe and him being friends with their long-time family enemy, lex luthor. it was such a shock to you, but unlike those others who had powers and abused them, you knew that clark only wanted to use his abilities for good. to clark’s relief, you were quicker to forgive and swear to secrecy than your brother who eventually came around.

“thanks, y/n. i knew i could count on you to understand.” clark said when you visited him in loft the night after finding out. “at least you can consider yourself the first girl to know—besides my mom, of course!” he’d joke and for some reason that made you feel special.

now, your bond was stronger as you had to show that he was still the boy you called a good friend whose ass you’d occasionally kick in some hoops, but another part of you knew that things could be riskier than before with all of the bizarre occurrences of smallville.

“about that—” pete hesitantly stated, rubbing the back of his neck. “teresa campbell asked me last week, man. i know that ever since you and lana split, we’d make it a stag night, but we can all still go as a group. as far as i know, it could be me, you, teresa, and y/n.” he explained cringing a bit at the look of slight disappointment on clark’s face. you were a bit peeved that pete had sideswiped clark like that and that he assumed you were dateless. well, you were, but just because you were twins didn’t mean he fully knew you and your plans.

“it’s no worries, man. we can all still have a great time. right, y/n?” clark inquired, shifting his blue eyes on figure and he bounced the basketball in your direction.

“yeah, but, whose to say i didn’t already have a date, pete? we may be twins, but i don’t have to tell you everything.” you rebutted with a sharp glare towards your brother, catching the ball and placing it on your hip. pete threw his hands up in surrender,

“now, hold up, n/n. the last time i checked you never mentioned him, okay? look, i’m sorry for assuming. who’d you have in mind?”

your bashfully shift your eyes between the two awaiting males before you answer,

“uh,— jeremy ford.”

you were a bit shocked as there was a pause of silence. like there was something you didn’t know. you sighed ready for whatever was about to come,

“what is it now?”

clark held onto your shoulders and turned you to face him to deliver the news in the most gentle, but direct manner possible.

“y/n, lana is going to prom with jeremy.”

you stood there in silence, trying to register the words that were spoken to you. maybe this was sick prank the guys were playing on you to hurt your already bruised ego.

“what? psh, no way. lana would’ve told me.” you deny, dismissing what you thought was a ludacris claim.

pete shook his head and crossed his arms before serving the explanation of the knowledge. given the fact they lived together, lana had told chloe that jeremy had been hanging around late at the talon after you’d leave. eventually, he and lana got to know each other and before they knew it, lana agreed to jeremy’s proposal of prom. then chloe passed the news on to clark and pete. as an aspiring journalist, chloe was going to get it straight from a reliable source, so it all had to be true.

chloe and lana knew for a fact that you had a crush on him and they’d tease you to just go for it, but you’d always dismiss them with the excuse of focusing on your studies to achieve a full-ride athletic scholarship. plus, you’ve never really had that much dating experience to begin with, so it was all a bit of a mess. pete and clark could see the dark cloud of hurt loom over your face. there was a stabbing, tingling pain within your gut. you thought that you and jeremy would be the perfect match. you both shared the same goals and interests, how could you have missed the signs of lost chances? what else were you expecting? lana had already dated clark, but no human nor alien had control over their feelings. it would’ve hurt a little less if lana gave you a head’s up. possibly she was afraid of how you would’ve react or affected your friendship. you never wanted to be the type of girl to end friendships over a crush anyway.

“n/n, say something. are you oka—” clark began to question, but you sharply cut him off.

“i’m fine, clark. lana and jeremy can do what they want, it’s not like he was my boyfriend or anything. what about you? lana is your ex.” clark watched in silence as you tried to play it off so cool, but it didn’t take his x-ray vision to see that you were crushed on the inside. he believed you didn’t deserve this at all. you’ve always been a great friend to him and lana. sometimes, you’d give him advice or a listening ear whenever there was a conflict weighing on him. you were the type of person that gave their all. you gave your all in your sport, teammates, academics, family, and friends. who was giving something back to you?

without another word, you looked at your watch and turned to your brother,

“it’s about time we head home, pete. mom will be calling if we don’t make it in time for dinner.— see you at school, clark?” you bid him a goodbye with a tight lipped smile and a side hug before placing the basketball back in his arms. you cross your arms and make your way into the passenger seat of pete’s car. the boys give each other a silent knowing glance and a casual dap of farewell before pete follows suit to drive you both back home. during dinner, your parents, abigail and bill ross, noticed that you weren’t your usual talkative self due to your obvious lack of appetite and dry responses to their questions about your day. when your mother mentioned the prom, you promptly asked to be excused to your bedroom, so that you could “study”. you wrapped up your plate, placed it in the fridge, and took your leave. once in your room, you didn’t waste time in plopping yourself into your bed. you bury your face into your pillow to muffle your sobs of agony. romance looked so good in the movies you’ve watched, but why did it have to hurt so bad in reality?

you lay on your side, facing the large, purple stuffed bear that sat on your other pillow. you sat up and smiled at it fondly. you picked it up and gave it a tight squeeze. clark had won it for you at the smallville harvest festival during your freshman year. it was one of those carnival games where you had to get three basketball shots in a row. you were just a rookie on the team and you were struggling because you wanted that bear so badly. clark happened to be there to watch the whole thing and like a superboy, he swooped in and made those three shots. there was a jovial glint within his baby blue eyes as he observed you spinning with the bear in your arms like a little child. you were so happy that you thought you could kiss him that day. clark simply saw you in a jam and was kind enough to help. that was when you started developing feelings. even though he was your brother’s best friend, you’d grown to see him as a prince charming of sorts. he had his flaws, but he always found a way to make it up somehow. your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. it was his voice.

“there’s that smile i like to see.” you quickly wiped away your tears and whipped your head in his direction. there was clark kent, casually leaning against your door frame

“clark! uh, hey. what are you doing here? look, if you need to see pete, i think he’s in the den playing that game—” you try to explain, but he interrupted as he took his body away from the door and approached closer to your bed.

“actually, i came by to see you, y/n. may i?” you nod, acknowledging his request to sit on your bed. you nod, scooting over to make room and he proceeds to sit at your side. you gaze at his side profile. his perfectly fine nose, sculpted jawline, and who could miss the subtle pout in his naturally pink lips. now, his eyes met yours. the melanated skin of your cheeks begin to heat up the longer he held eye contact. there was an air of silence in the room. you were both deciding who should be the first to speak amidst this high school prom drama. clark then glanced at the stuffed bear in your arms, he tried not to blush as he was surprised that you kept it all of these years. he noticed how you held onto it with such a tight grip as if someone were to take it away at any moment. how wholesome he found that to be. a lopsided smile played on his lips as he spoke,

“you still kept that bear after all these years?”

you sniffled with a bashful chuckle,

“yeah, it seems so embarrassing. i’m pushing eighteen, but it’s my favorite thing—well, besides my backstreet boys t-shirt.” you both fill the room with soft laughter, enjoying each other’s presence.

“no, no. not embarrassing. it’s humiliating, actually—hey, ahaha!” clark jokes in which that earns him a couple whacks in the head from your pillow. your stomach cramps as you dissolve into laughter again,

“god, you’re such an ass! you just love to ruin the moment.” you giggle, trying to catch your breath. you place the pillow to its original spot. clark flashes his pearly canines and leans back onto your bed.

“as long as i get to see you cry tears of joy instead of sadness, i’d gladly do it again.” he responds, gingerly reaching a hand towards your face to swipe a loose tear with his thumb. your cheeks heat up again as your stomach flips from his touch.

“i know today wasn’t exactly the greatest, but it’s good to hear you laugh, y/n.”

your own lopsided grin graces your features before you shift your gaze to the bear,

“i appreciate it, clark. you’re always swooping in to save the day, whether it’d be meteor freaks or teenage heartbreak.”

there was another beat of silence. before practically speeding to the ross house, clark couldn’t erase the image of your somber expression from his mind. this was everyone’s first prom and even though clark didn’t get the chance to go with lana, he didn’t want to experience it on a sour note. now that you were down in the dumps, he definitely didn’t want you to have that same feeling. he didn’t want you to look back on such a significant event with disdain, so he came over and took his chance.

“y/n, would you go to prom with me—as my date?”

upon hearing his question, you froze for a second before peering at the farm boy beside you. you were in a tough spot, sure, but you didn’t want to be his pity date, no matter how much you liked him.

“what?! clark—i know i seemed pretty tight about the jeremy thing, but i don’t want your pity. we can just go as a group of friends with pete and teresa. just like he planned.” you protested, but clark took ahold of your hands as the expression of sincerity etched on his face.

“y/n, please, just hear me out,” he urged, caressing his thumbs along your hands. “i promise you, it’s not pity. i genuinely want to spend time with you and i want us to enjoy our first prom.” you fell silent as your gaze softened while listening to his plea, “we could make it one of the best nights of our lives, even if it’s just for a little while—besides, who better to go to prom with than the best victory dancer i know?”

yet again, he flashed his contagious smile that you’ve silently adored for years as a twinkle danced within his eyes. you pondered on this impromptu proposal. clark had a point, this was going to be your first prom, an awaited moment in most teenaged girls lives that they would look back on in the future. you wanted to have a good time regardless of the jeremy situation. plus, if you accept, you’d have a date with your longtime crush! your brother’s best friend of all people. you were going as friends of course, but you couldn’t imagine this moment with anyone else. what could possibly go wrong? a smile you couldn’t contain plays on your full lips as your brown eyes matched his gaze before you finally said,

“you know what? i’d love to clark!”

“you would? really?”

“yes. we’ll come in together as friends, let loose, and bust a move or two.” you answer already envisioning the pleasant evening ahead. “why? do you want me to take back my answer?” you jokingly quiz with an arched brow.

“oh, n-no, no! i’m actually really glad you said yes.” he protested with relief washing over his features.

“then it’s a date, kent!” you take one of your hands to rest it on his shoulder before placing a brief kiss upon his cheek before you whisper, “you got super speed, so don’t i expect you to be late.”

clark’s cheeks flushed with the red shade of excitement from your touch. he surely didn’t expect that from you, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

“well, in that case, i’ll pick you up at seven, ross.”

clark bids you goodnight and you could hardly sleep with the knowledge of this upcoming weekend. the very next morning at the breakfast table, your parents are ecstatic to learn the news of your plans for prom, especially your mother. you both enthusiastically converse, conjuring up ideas of a dress, shoes, accessories, makeup, and hair. she helps to make the necessary appointments for the days leading up to it. while at school, you decided to stick around to clark, pete, or fly solo rather than you usually did with chloe and lana. you would be cordial when you see them in the hallway, but before they could talk about prom, you’d find a way to promptly excuse yourself. the last thing you wanted to hear was anything about lana and jeremy. you didn’t want to hear the conversation as if they didn’t know that you know.

“i gotta go. i have a meeting with my coach.”

“can’t. i don’t wanna be late for class!”

even when jeremy tried to catch you in the hallway. you’d gave him the same energy,

“i can’t go to the talon today, jere. i have an appointment after school.”

“i think i’ll just practice solo today.”

with each passing day after school, your mother had taken you shopping to find the dress that was perfectly made for you along with getting a well deserved mani-pedi and an eyebrow wax. she would just help with hair and makeup on the day of. your mother doted on you every step of the way. you couldn’t forget how you had to ask the dress shop employee for kleenex because she was going to burst into tears when saw you in the dress you’ve chosen. you were shocked because this was abigail ross, the no nonsense county judge of smallville that fights for justice with an iron fist. you weren’t really big on dresses in general, but for this occasion with clark, you wanted him to see that you were more than pete’s twin.

the early evening of prom makes its presence known. throughout the entire day, your stomach rumbles with an immense amount of anxiety and piquancy. you burst out into a song while taking your shower, a soft muffled hum fills the bathroom when you brush your teeth. as your mother helps you to get ready, she affirms your beauty with each dab and blend of the cosmetics applied to your face. her gifted hands gingerly work through the coiled tresses of your dark hair in the desired style that you’ve seen one of your favorite singers sport in a magazine. as if it were like a cinderella-esque transformation, your final look was completed once you’ve donned your dress, jewelry, and heels. it was finally time for one of the best nights of your life.

clark stands at the front door of the ross house. he’s not sure how many times he’s been fidgeting with his black bow tie or glancing down at the freshly arranged corsage within the plastic container, but he knows one thing for a fact.

he was nervous.

he’s been looking forward to this all week. it was a casual plan set up by two friends, but why did he feel like he was going to mess everything up? were things going to change between you and him like how it did with him and lana? or him and chloe? he was psyching himself out, but he needed to swallow whatever doubt he had and just enjoy this like a somewhat normal teenager would, especially with someone he enjoyed spending time with. with a steady hand, his knuckles raise to knock on the front door to which pete answers within seconds. they perform their casual greeting with a hello and a dap.

“hey, clark! you’re right on time. i see you styling with the corsage.” pete joked to which clark chuckled as he invited clark to step in the living room.

“i’d sure hate to disappoint your sister, so thanks! it’s still cool with you that she’s my date, right?” clark questioned, a trace of timidity within his voice. when he first told pete about being your date, he’d surely thought his friend would tell him off by crossing that boundary. to clark’s surprise, pete took the news well.

“yeah, man! she’s been looking forward to this all week. besides, you’re going as friends, so it’s not anything that i’m worried about. my mom’s up there with her now, so she should be down in a few.” pete replied, standing coolly with his hands tucked in his pockets.

they compliment each other on their respective ensembles before clark’s eyes peruses the room. his sensitive ears pick up on the sound of the bustling, grating voices of the other ross brothers who had came to visit to see the twins off for their first prom. mark, mike, and sam along with your father all hurry to the living room to greet clark with more daps and hugs as if clark were their own. it seemed that every ross had made an appearance, all except for you. abigail hurriedly came down the staircase. she frantically waved her hands to signal for the men to keep their voices down as you were about to make your grand entrance. she turns to clark with an elated expression,

“clark, i’m so glad you’ve made it. she’s all done and ready.” your mother pauses, turning her head up to the staircase to call out your name.

“honey, clark’s here! let’s see you, so you don’t be late!”

after a sixty second beat of silence, the sound of your heels reverberated through the air as you descended from the staircase. every head turned in your direction. clark’s soft blue gaze didn’t dare to pull away as you reached the bottom of the steps. you were front and center. you were the belle of the ball. he stared in awe with his mouth slightly agape as you wore a lemon, satin maxi dress that accentuated the warm toned glow of your brown skin. it had a heavy hearted cut in the front while it exposed the skin of your back like a halter top. the garment complimented your figure perfectly and matched with the golden hoop earrings your mother let you borrow. the soft makeup that was applied to your features made each of them stand out. the sleek mascara, shimmering eyeshadow and the luminous pink gloss painted on your pouty lips made you look like you’ve walked out of a magazine. even though you received the warm gazes and compliments of your parents and brothers, you were still awaiting for what clark had to say. he only stood there staring at you as if he were trying to silently analyze a piece in an art museum. he looked so dashing in the sleek, noir tux that he wore. his physique had grown to be bulkier over the years, so you certainly didn’t miss the toned outline of his body. you gave him your full attention as he softly called out your name. you spectated as he deliberately approached you. his adam’s apple bobbed within his throat and he gulped, so that he didn’t fumble over what he had to say because he meant the next words that escaped from his mouth,

“you’re so beautiful.” he proclaims, to which your family coos. he easily opens the plastic container that withheld the corsage and holds his palm out for you place your wrist in. there was a certain spark that you weren’t sure that both of you felt when his fingers brushed against your skin as he slid the floral accessory on your wrist. his soft grip on your wrist lingered as you know that he can hear your heart racing within your chest, but he’d never call you out because he didn’t want to embarrass you. with the widest smile you reply with a tone of gratitude,

“thank you, clark! you look handsome as always.” his expression matches yours and he thanks you for the compliment before your mother urges you both to pose for some pictures. after some photographs and a wise talk of safety, you all bid your family goodbye. pete had to leave to go pick up teresa in his car, so it was only fair that you’d ride with clark. with your hand wrapped around clark’s bicep, he leads you to the faithful, red pickup truck that you’ve ridden in on several occasions, but now you look at it as your awaiting chariot while clark opens the passenger side for you to sit and safely buckle in.

after a brisk ride of small talk, wise cracking, and car karaoke, he pulls into the student parking lot where students who were dressed to impress were flooding towards the entrance to get into the gym. you sat there hesitantly, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. at the sound, clark turns his eyes to the glowing profile of your fretting countenance. he can already tell that you’re internally freaking out. you haven’t really talked to lana nor jeremy all week and now what were you going to do if you ran into them? you couldn’t make too many excuses to avoid them in this situation. with a gentle hand, clark reaches over to intertwine your fingers together.

“hey—look at me.” his tenor voice softly urges. you reluctantly look at the signature benevolent, blue gaze of your best friend. you hate how weak it makes you when clark holds such intense eye contact, he means business.

“you’re going to have a great time, y/n. whatever worry is going on in your head right now, forget about it just for tonight. would you do that for me?”

“that’s not fair, clark. you know i’d do anything for you.” you both dissolve into a fit of laughter. when it dies down, you squeeze onto his hand and unbuckle your seatbelt before turning to him again, “what are you waiting for, kent? you said i was gonna have a great time, so show me a great time.”

with a grin of anticipation on his lips, he briefly releases your hand to exit the drivers’ seat and open the passenger in which your hand is instantly reunited with his. you both stroll together through the entrance, down the hallway, and into the wide, dark gym that was illuminated by colorful lights, the pumped up bass of the music playing through the stereo, and the multitude of conversations between your classmates. your brown eyes darted around the area. you see there was some tables, a couple of them were filled with concessions. there was even a line forming for what seemed to be a photo booth, in which you keep a mental note for it because you want a stab at it before you go.

most of their talking is ceased when they saw you two walking arm in arm, their eyes observed you two in awe the further you both stepped in. at first, you were starting to feel awkward under the several pairs of eyes on you. were these looks also varying in curiosity? admiration? envy? they expected clark to clean up well, but as for you, they were stunned to see the tomboyish basketball captain pop out as if she was tyra banks. although he didn’t want to seem too arrogant, clark experienced a mix of satisfaction and jealousy from the attention you were getting, especially from some of the guys. especially from jeremy, who was at first enthusiastically conversing with lana until he saw what all the commotion was about: you. piqued, jeremy peered at you from across the room as you were caught off guard when clark instinctively, yet smoothly snaked an arm around your waist to bring you closer.

“it’s okay. they’re just experiencing true beauty for the first time, it’s a very common reaction.” he wittily said with a cheeky smile. with a heated face, you looked at your friend, still convincing yourself of his status in your life, that just blatantly called you beautiful again. was this real life? he even clung to you as if one of these dudes would sweep you away. you were sure, he would instantly approach lana at the mere sight of her.

within a minute or two, pete and his date, teresa, meet you guys at the side of the dance floor. you instantly hit it off with your brother’s date as you two enthusiastically compliment each other on your dresses and engage in small girl talk. clark felt lucky that he had the prettiest girl on his arm tonight. he wasn’t sure why, but that was all he could he see you as right now. not the athlete, nor his best friend’s sister. he just saw you, y/n ross, in her element. the more he carried on in casual conversation with you, the more drawn in he seemed to be by your presence. it warmed his heart to be called your friend or — so he thought. it was all coming together when the upbeat tempo of the music shifted to something that presented an opportunity for you and clark to know each other better like you haven’t before.

the iconic opening notes of the piano from des’ree’s “kissing you” began to fill the room as couples swiftly gather together to the dance floor. when you listen to the songstress’ soprano voice, the butterflies in your stomach are frolicking when you see clark’s open palm before you. you loved this song. it was from the soundtrack of romeo + juliet, film about a forbidden love, a line crossed. why were you having these thoughts? you were just friends, it would just be a dance. nothing less, nothing more.

“may i have this dance? out of the many abilities i have, two left feet isn’t one of them, so i got you.” he lightly smiles, awaiting for your answer. he attentively watches as you rub your glossed lips together, a habit of your nervousness. you turn to him. in this moment, there was no thought of lana, nor jeremy. there was no thought of heartbreak, and certainly no inhibitions. without hesitation, you grasp his hand before meeting his gaze.

“you may, just don’t step on my toes. this pedicure wasn’t cheap!” you whisper with soft laughter following from you both before he leads you to the dance floor. when you find your place, his eyes don’t leave yours when he takes your hands to rest on his broad shoulders while his rest on your waist. his thumbs barely graze against the exposed skin of your back as his feet lead you both to sway so easily to the orchestral sound of the ballad. the world outside fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence. you find solace as you feel the soft press of his hands on your waist, the comforting weight of his fingers resting just above the curve of your hips. your fingers wrap a little tighter around his neck to the point where your fingertips graze against the nape where part of his dark curls flawlessly cascade. you’re not tripping, there’s an undeniable electricity between you when your bodies absentmindedly draw closer while you continue to engage in this “platonic” dance.

“you sure you can keep up?” clark teases, a playful glint in his eyes, breaking the silence as you sway together. the light catches his pearly smile, his pristine canines illuminating from the way he looks at you—as if you were more than what you’ve always seemed to be in his life. you giggle, feeling the deliberate rhythm pull you even closer.

“boy, please. if i can break your ankles on the court, i can have you twirling like a ballerina on this dance floor, trust.” you saucily yet softly quip, your heartbeat growing as the vocal riffs of des’ree grow more passionate. with each step on the floor, clark guides you effortlessly, his movements confident yet unhurried, as if savoring every moment like it’s the last dance of the night. more like the last night of your lives.

“alright, n/n, just don’t get too dizzy on me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you were sure he could feel the goosebumps forming on your skin. you’re so sprung in the sway of his words and the gentle pulse of the music, the outside world completely forgotten. he even takes the opportunity to release one of your hands from his shoulder to smoothly spin you around at the bridge. when you come back, your body is flush against his. you’re basically heart to heart at this point. you don’t even notice the speculating eyes that burned into you. you don’t even notice the look of realization that dawned upon clark, lana, and pete: you were obviously in love with clark kent and it wasn’t just now. it’s been brewing within your heart for years. the weight of reality seems to dissipate, leaving behind only the two of you and this connection beyond friendship that felt so real. his powder blue gaze locked on yours, an unspoken spark flickering between you.

“you know,” he begins, his voice lowers as if he just wanted you to hear what he had to say. like your own little secret, “i’d never thought that finding ourselves dancing like this would feel so—perfect. like out of a movie or something.”

you tilt your head slightly, the air between you shifted as you reply softly, “it really does, doesn’t it? plus, i love this song. it’s from one of my favorite movies.” his thumbs brush against your bare back, igniting a warmth that spreads through your absolute everything. he gulps, getting himself together for what he’s about to say next,

“between you and me—i’d either rewind to this part over and over, or i wouldn’t want the movie to end at all.”

the pale skin of clark’s face paint with a shade of crimson as you lose yourselves in each other’s eyes, the last notes of the song begin to fade. you find yourselves leaning in closer and closer. was this actually happening? in front of lana? in front of your brother? were you both going to—reality creeps back in, the echo of the final chord concludes this ethereal moment. yet, in that fleeting instant, it feels as if time has stood still—if only for a little while. as the final note lingers in the air. you pull back slightly, just enough to read the mixture of emotions in his eyes—surprise, contentment, and something deeper lurking beneath the surface. you clear your throat and join in the applause of the crowd of students when the music instantly reverts back to the vibe of something upbeat to rock with. you clark retire yourselves to sit at one of the empty tables as you were complaining about your feet hurting from the heels you’ve been wearing. being the gentleman that he was, he helps to release your ailing feet from the shoes before venturing off to use the restroom and get some refreshments from the concession table.

while you were occupied massaging your feet, you now feel the presence of two beings sit at each side of you. you just assume it’s your brother coming to rag on you.

“pete, if you’re here to rub in my face about how i shouldn’t have worn heels this high, i will literally bop you with one.” you sass, still looking down until hear familiar feminine chuckles.

“if that’s the case, then i wouldn’t dare to say a word!” you know that quick and precise wit to be none other than your friend, chloe sullivan. you froze and turn your head to see her sitting on your right with lana lang on your left. they both looked radiant in their evening gowns as if they were contestants in a beauty pageant, especially lana. your mood starts to shift once you remembered why you avoided them in the first place. you were praying to god that clark could use his kryptonian speed to rescue you from this awkward situation.

“hey, guys. long time, no see.” you neutrally greet as you place the heels back on.

“long time, no see indeed. it feels like you haven’t had the time to be around us lately—we miss you!” lana mentioned, placing a manicured hand on your knee. what gives her the right to touch you after what she’s done. you were gonna keep your cool because clark should be back any minute now.

“yeah, i’ve just been working to get this full-ride and trying to get ready for tonight. i never knew how much time that would take.” you quip, earning a chuckle from both of the girls.

“well, it looks like it all paid off— you look beautiful!” chloe says flashing her pearly smile, a twinkle within her green eyes as lana nods in agreement. although you were peeved with them, you couldn’t help, but to smile at her compliment.

“i appreciate it, guys. ya’ll look great, too.”

there was a few beats of silence, lana finally removes her hand from your knee and twiddles with her fingers. with the clearing of her throat, she addresses the elephant in the room,

“so—um, it looks like you came with clark tonight. how did your brother take that?” you shoot her a side glance and lean back within your seat, glancing at the corsage on your wrist.

“pete’s cool with it. clark and i just happened to be dateless and he asked me to go with him. we’re just here as friends, of course.” you shrug.

“oh really, now?” she further questioned.

after the slow dance, all three of you found it bit hard to believe when you brought that up. something in lana faltered when she heard that clark had asked you. there was that pressure weighing in her stomach and chest, when she swallowed it felt like there was a lump. her hands gripped onto the fabric of her dress as she was trying to keep her facial expression as normal as possible. you didn’t miss the trace of jealousy within her hazel gaze. if that’s how she wanted to do this, you were about to go in for the kill.

“mhm. sorta like how i’m cool with you going with jeremy ford.”

lana furrowed her brows in confusion at your statement.

“what’s that supposed to mean, y/n?”

“lana, let’s not play games. i’ve told you about my crush on him, you tell me that i should go for him, but then here you are, on his arm here tonight! what’s crazier is that i had to find out from clark and pete.” you comment cutting your gaze over at chloe, letting her know that she wasn’t out of the woods for her role in this disaster.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know that i had to tell you every single that happens in my life. especially in who i date. besides, he was the only one who asked me and i just went along with it because neither of you never made a move!” lana made a valid point, but the mystery was why didn’t she just give you a head’s up, so you still combatted her claim.

“lana. i don’t give a damn about who you date because obviously you didn’t when you and clark got together, knowing that chloe and i had feelings for him. it hurt us, yes, but you were decent enough to say it to our faces because our friendship mattered. i’m not even sure if that’s true now because this time, you just told chloe. i get that she’s roommate, but why? why couldn’t tell me—

“because i didn’t want you telling clark that i’ve moved on so quickly, okay? i’m not exactly over him and he didn’t ask me, so i felt that i didn’t have a choice.” the word vomit spews after she you cuts off. you all take a beat of silence before she continues,

“i’ve seen how close you two have been getting. i-i don’t know what it is, but suddenly he’s like an open book when he’s around you. even when we were together, on and off, he’d never be that way with me, so i guess i didn’t tell you because i was afraid you’d run off and tell him in a heartbeat. i-i guess i went out with jeremy and didn’t tell you because i was—”

it was now your turn to cut her off.

“jealous?”

conceding, lana silently nodded. it’s amazing how she was so quick to call clark a coward back in the past and pressure him for a truth she wasn’t sure she could even handle, but now look at her. being secretive all because of her obsession with clark exposing himself as who he truly is while they were together.

“wow, so i guess that dance really burned you up. didn’t it, lana? now you see what happens when you’re not completely honest with people who you claim to be their friend.” you sharply retort, venom in your tone.

“y/n, i’m—” she started to speak, but stopped as she did a double take to the male in question heading in your direction. speak of the devil—well, alien in your case. as if his timing weren’t perfect enough, clark had finally appeared with two cups of punch along with two decorated cupcakes. your favorite dessert.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting that long, y/n. there was a long line for the both bathroom and the snacks.” he chuckled as his eyes took notice of his friends, but he felt there was something that went down between you. there was a tension and the vibe wasn’t very pleasant.

“lana, chloe hey!” he cordially greets them both while handing you the refreshments. he grins as your facial expression softens in contentment at the sight of the delicacies, you thank him as you take it into your hands. he makes small talk with lana and chloe, asking them if they’re enjoying the event in which they respond with a “yes” and “mhm” as they nod. it was only a matter of time before what you were worrying about came to fruition. although you were glad at his presence, he could see that you were clearly uncomfortable with the girls sitting at your sides. clark kent guaranteed a good night for both of you, so he had to do what he had to do.

“i’d hate to intrude, but you guys mind if i sat with y/n? i believe i owe her some quality time back for being away for so long.” he requests, awaiting for the girls departure. as soon as lana and chloe heard the words, “quality time”, they instantly acknowledged that he wanted to sit with you, alone. after witnessing what happened, chloe saw it in their best interest if they did leave you and clark alone. no matter how much lana wanted to stay, she still had jeremy to entertain for the night.

“that’s no problem! we were actually just leaving.” with that, chloe stood and took lana’s arm, whisking them both to the other side of the gym before lana could say another word. clark took the seat that chloe had sat in, he peered over to see you happily, but silently indulging in the cupcake. although he didn’t want to ruin the vibe, he still had a hunch and questioned you about what happened previously in his absence.

“hey—are you okay? it looked like you wanted to get out of there.” it was sweet of him to check in on you so you just gave it to him straight.

“yeah, i’ll be fine, clark. lana and i had a fight. it was obviously about jeremy and—” you paused, gazing in his direction, “other things, but i don’t wanna talk about it now. i’m still gonna have a good night with you.” you glance over to the area where the photo-booth station is. “it looks like the line at the photo-booth is slowing down. let’s get a picture after i’m done.”

“yeah, sure! i’m up for that it’s gonna be fun.” he enthusiastically nods, agreeing to the next step.

“you gonna eat that?” you question gesturing to the cupcake that was still in his hand. you had this habit where he would have a morsel of food and you would always ask if he would finish it. no matter what, clark would always give it to you and this was no different. with a chuckle, he gave in. you didn’t notice that some icing had spread to the corner of your lip, but he did.

“hey, hold still. you got something right—” he paused, using his hand to guide your chin, so that you could be face to face. with a gentle swipe of his thumb, the icing disappears. “there.” he finishes, “don’t want anything to spoil our photo op, now would we?” you both erupt in giggles. after serving him a thank you, you both refresh with some punch and make your way to the short line of the photo booth. you two carry on in casual conversation as the first two couples go in, do their thing, and come out leaving with one strip of about five photos. it was now your turn to go in the rectangular booth. it was a bit of a squeeze. given clark’s tall stature. there was a bench, but it looked like it could only hold one person once clark sat down. you inwardly thought a “bless his heart” as his body almost took up the whole bench. still standing, you giggle when he’s about to push the “start” button and you both see a ten second countdown presented on the screen.

“clark! how are we supposed to take pictures when i can’t even sit down? now, i only have five seconds.”

he gazed at you and simply patted his leg, suggesting you’d sit there. you frantically shake your head, quickly declining his offer. you weren’t sure if you should cross that line in this tight space with the your brother’s best friend.

“i know it may look weird to you, but we literally don’t have time. i’m good with it, so c’mon!” he urges, laughing.

“clark, no!” you resist not containing your own chuckles. you’re hysterical as he grasps your wrist and pulls your body to his, so that you were sitting upon his leg. you both look at the direction of the screen count to one and then you hear the first click as it captured your giggling faces. another timer starts when you shift to a normal pose of you wrapping an arm around his shoulder and his around your waist. you both promptly smile for the second time. at the third click, he’s gazing at your profile smiling while you stick your tongue out while throwing up a peace sign. at the fourth, you look over at him to match the never ceasing eye contact which the camera captures. as the timer starts for the final photo, your head is spinning as your senses are all over the place. within these last ten seconds, you look down at his rose red lips while his arm pulls you in closer on his lap. you free hand goes on a journey to reach for his jawline where your fingers graze against the sharp edge of the bone before stopping to completely hold his face. clark leans forward, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. your awaiting lips barely ghosting over one another. both of your eyes shut as you pass the point of no return. at the final click, it captures the moment of you and clark kent, tenderly kissing each other for the first time. you’re both lost in the kiss between you lingers for a few more seconds before you open your eyes and the realization of what you’re doing dawns on you.

what the hell just happened?

as if you inherited kryptonian speed, you shoot up from your place on clark’s lap and hastily walk out of the gym towards the back exit. without wasting time, clark called out for you in protest snd was swift enough to collect your photo strip and jog in the direction of where you left. when you pushed open the door, you stood with your back against the brick wall as you let the hot tears cascade down your brown cheeks. you didn’t care if your mascara was running, what were you thinking? you loved the kiss, you loved clark. it was obvious that he was enjoying it as much as you did, but did it hold that same sentiment for him as it did for you? you cross your arms, scolding yourself for being such a hypocrite. you just told lana off for going out with a guy you liked while you, her trusted friend, kissed her ex-boyfriend. you weren’t having a good night and it all seemed so screwed up now.

you sob quietly and stop when you hear the door creak open to reveal clark. he softly calls your name and attempts to reach out to you, but you turn from him and wipe away at your face.

“clark, w-we shouldn’t have done that! we should not have done that.” you reiterate, and start to ramble after you turn to face him again, “clark, what about pete? what’s he gonna say if he finds out? it was already hard enough when you told us about your secret, but i don’t want you to lose him as a friend because of me. i don’t want to lose you because i love you and our friendship too much for that to happen.” silently, he looks down at and you pause, sobbing out your confession.

“you want to know why lana didn’t tell me about jeremy? she’s mad because of how close we’re getting. she’s mad because i know a part of you that she doesn’t, clark— and you know what? i love how close we’ve been getting. i love that you can be honest with me without holding back. i love that you can come to me about the issues with your family. i love that you use your abilities to help and protect others, including me. now i don’t blame her for getting jealous because—” you stop to take his hands within your own and stare straight into his eyes, finally mustering up the courage to say, “i love you, clark. i love you so much. alien or not, it’ll never change how i’ve felt about you. you may think it all you want, but you’re not a monster and you’re not a freak of nature. you’re you. that’s why i’ll always be there for you the best that i can, clark. whether you feel the same way or not.”

clark’s heart raced as he absorbed your words, the weight of your recent confession hanging thick in the air as you wait for an answer, any sign for how he felt. he felt a warmth spread through him, his mind trailing back through memories of late-night conversations, stolen glances, and moments filled with unspoken understanding between you two.

“i-i…don’t know what to say,” he finally uttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then show me, clark.” you softly urged with a firmness not daring to break eye contact, “you either stay or leave. you make the call.”

deep inside him, something stirred—a realization that had been hiding deep in the shadows of his heart that’s been there all along. as he looked into your brown eyes, the intensity of your gaze opened something within. so gingerly, he stepped closer, his breath hitching as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. “y/n, i—i want to stay. i want to give you the chance that you deserve because you’ve always been there for me and you just get me. you’re the only girl i can truly be myself with and when you said that you don’t see me as a freak, it only confirmed what i’ve been feeling.”

he gulped, his gaze softening upon your figure as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat before concluding his statement,

“what if i showed you—that i believe what we did in the photo-booth wasn’t a mistake?”

“oh, clark.” you sigh out in resolve before placing your hands on his shoulders, promptly leaning in, and finally closing the distance of your lips for the second time. the first time was gentle, magical, and tender. this kiss however, had more desperation and your movements more fervent. he backed himself up against the wall, naturally guiding you closer, so your bodies were connected. he snakes his arms securely around your waist while your lips move in sync with each other. you lean your head back, sighing as he holds your jaw to sensually entrap your full bottom lip within his. if you wanted to know the feeling of being drunk, this, right here, had to be the epitome of it when you took the bold step of swirling your tongue around his. a hum vibrates deep from his chest and into your mouth when he plays along. this was it—no more doubt, no more guarding your hearts against the unknowns of what you could be together.

while you were lost in each other, lana lang had wanted to find you so, she could hopefully talk things out with you after the confrontation. she left jeremy behind and stepped out of the gym, trying seeking you amidst the crowd before going outside and around to the back of the school. ever so stealthily, her steps faltered as she caught sight of you, her friend, and clark, her ex, caught in the rapture of the most passionate of kisses. she didn’t dare to utter a word nor spoil the moment with an outburst. she didn’t want to ruin things than they already were between you. feeling a mixed pang of hurt, anger, jealousy and defeat, the last thread of hope snapped inside her. with the sting of her watering hazel eyes, she turned back to quietly retreat and find chloe, so they could immediately go home. now, she was leaving behind the remnants of what could have been between her and clark, while you and him are unaware of the heartbreak left lingering in the night.

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: IN HER ORBIT PT.2

paige x azzi

warning: drinking, smoking, sexual content!!!

word count: 13.7

A/N: I’m so sorry this took me all night to post 😭 everything got turned around but here we are!! This is literally just for all you whores that requested a part 2. This is NEVER happening again so I hope yall enjoy it 😒. I combined a few different part 2 requests into this. Leave live reacts and comments if you can!!

—————————————————————————

The room was quiet, only the occasional murmur of voices and faint music coming from Paige’s phone filled the space. They were sprawled on her bed, the soft glow of sunlight spilling through the curtains. Azzi was lying across Paige’s chest, her head tucked beneath Paige’s chin as she scrolled aimlessly through social media. Paige held the phone just above them, tilting it slightly so they could both see the screen.

Every so often, Azzi would chime in with a comment or swipe her finger across the screen when Paige skipped something she wanted to see. Paige didn’t mind—for the most part. But Azzi’s habit of rewinding videos or insisting on watching long ones tested her patience.

"Seriously?" Paige groaned as Azzi scrolled back to replay a video. "This one’s like two minutes long. I don’t care about that stupid trend."

Azzi barely glanced up, muttering, "Shhh, it’s funny."

Paige rolled her eyes dramatically and, with a sigh, tossed her phone toward the foot of the bed. It landed with a soft thud against the blanket. "There. Problem solved."

Azzi gasped in betrayal, twisting to look at the abandoned phone. "Paige!"

"Too boring," Paige declared with a smirk, cutting off whatever protest Azzi was about to make by grabbing her hips and pulling her up so she was straddling Paige’s waist. "This is more entertaining."

Azzi laughed, her hands automatically finding balance against Paige’s stomach. "You’re annoying, you know that?"

Paige tilted her head, feigning offense. "That’s not what you were saying this morning."

Azzi groaned, her cheeks flushing faintly as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, my God. Can you not?" She leaned back slightly, preparing to climb off Paige to grab the phone, but Paige’s hands tightened on her hips, keeping her in place.

Azzi gave her a playful glare. "What?"

"You gotta give me a kiss for calling me annoying," Paige said matter-of-factly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Since when is that a rule?"

Paige grinned. "Since you started calling me annoying every two seconds. I gotta get something out of it."

Azzi shook her head, biting back a laugh. "You’re actually ridiculous." But there was no real protest in her voice as she leaned down, cupping Paige’s face with both hands. Her lips brushed softly against Paige’s, lingering for just a moment before she started to pull away.

Paige had other plans. Her arms wrapped tightly around Azzi’s waist, locking her in place and deepening the kiss before she could get too far. Azzi’s initial surprise melted quickly as she relaxed into it, her hands sliding from Paige’s cheeks to her shoulders. What started as teasing grew into something warmer, their breaths mingling as they fell into their familiar rhythm.

A sharp knock on the door broke the moment, making Azzi jolt slightly as she pulled back. She turned her head toward the sound, her hair brushing Paige’s face.

"Come in!" Paige called lazily, her arms still secure around Azzi.

Azzi gave her an incredulous look, her lips parting in disbelief. "Seriously? You didn’t even ask who it was."

Before Paige could respond, the door swung open, and Nika strolled in, completely unbothered by the scene in front of her. She plopped onto the bean bag in the corner of the room, stretching her legs out with a dramatic sigh.

"Y’all coming out tonight?" Nika asked casually, as if Paige and Azzi weren’t tangled up on the bed.

Paige arched an eyebrow, her head still pressed into the pillow. "Where?" she asked, glancing at Nika with mild curiosity.

"Football team’s throwing a party," Nika said, leaning her head back against the wall.

Paige tilted her chin up to look at Azzi, silently deferring to her. "What you think?" she asked, her hands still resting comfortably on Azzi's hips.

Azzi shrugged, clearly indifferent at first. "Who’s going?" she asked, looking to Nika for specifics.

"I think most of the team, to be honest," Nika replied, her tone nonchalant as she scrolled on her phone.

Azzi’s lips quirked into a small smile as she nodded. "Yeah I’m down."

Paige smirked, amused. "You’ve been into parties lately," she teased, her fingers lightly tracing circles on Azzi’s side.

Azzi shrugged again, her confidence now a natural part of her demeanor. "Maybe I just like them better now," she said, glancing at Paige with smile.

Nika groaned as she stood, arching her back like she’d been sitting for hours. "Man, I need to stretch more during the offseason," she complained, rubbing her shoulder.

Paige and Azzi both looked over and laughed as Nika shuffled toward the door.

"You two lovebirds better not bail," Nika added, pointing a finger at them before stepping out.

Paige let out a laugh, tightening her hold on Azzi. "Lovebirds, huh?" she teased.

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning down just enough to bump her forehead lightly against Paige’s. "She’s not wrong," she whispered.

Paige grinned, her eyes lighting up as she looked at her. "Well, guess we’re going to a party," she said, the excitement subtly creeping into her voice.

Azzi sat up a little, brushing her hair back as she glanced toward the door. "Guess we are," she agreed.

Paige, not liking the space between them, pulled Azzi back down for a kiss. Her hands found their way to Azzi’s waist, holding her securely as she deepened the kiss, her lips moving slowly in a way that made Azzi melt.

Azzi tangled her fingers in Paige’s hair as she shifted her weight, rolling her hips into Paige slowly. Paige let out a low hum of approval, her grip tightening just enough to show how much she was enjoying this.

Azzi let her lips trail down Paige’s jaw, leaving soft kisses along the way. Paige tipped her head back slightly, giving her better access, her breath hitching softly.

But just as things were heating up, Azzi stopped, sitting up and pulling away. Paige blinked at her, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "What the hell baby?" she protested, her voice almost a whine.

Azzi laughed as she slid off the bed. "If we’re going out, I need to go get ready," she said, throwing her hair into a messy bun as she grabbed one of Paige’s hoodies.

Paige propped herself up on her elbows, giving Azzi a look. "Why you gotta get ready? Just wear my clothes," she said, her tone half-serious.

Azzi wrinkled her nose playfully. "Your clothes have too much fabric," she shot back, smirking.

Paige narrowed her eyes at her, a grin spreading across her face. "Who you trying to show all that skin for, hm?" she asked teasing Azzi slightly.

Azzi leaned down, resting her hands on either side of Paige’s hips as she got close enough for their noses to almost touch. "My girlfriend," she murmured, her voice soft. She let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding with a smile, "Who will be drunk tonight."

Paige’s eyes lit up at Azzi’s comment, her grin growing wider. "Oh, really?" she asked, clearly liking the sound of it. She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flashing in her eyes. "What’s the occasion?"

Azzi paused for a moment, licking her lips as she leaned over Paige, her face just inches from hers. "Why does there need to be an occasion?" she replied smoothly.

Paige hummed softly, her response more of a distracted sound than actual words. Her gaze was fixed entirely on Azzi, completely captivated by the way her brown eyes seemed to glint and the way her lips curled into a confident smirk.

Azzi, reveling in the effect she had on Paige, let her smile grow. "I like when you’re drunk," she added, her tone carrying some playfulness.

Paige blinked, snapping out of her trance just enough to ask, "Why?"

Azzi shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though the real reason sat clearly in her mind. Drunk Paige was different—much bolder with her, less restrained. When she wasn’t drunk, Paige’s affection for her sometimes overshadowed her desire. She was sweet, loving, and almost careful, like Azzi was something fragile she needed to protect. But when Paige was drunk, there was no hesitation. She was confident, and completely unfiltered in showing it. Drunk Paige had no problem pulling her close in public, leaving lingering touches that sent sparks down Azzi’s spine, and when they got home...Well, Paige couldn’t keep her hands off her, and Azzi loved every second of it.

But she didn’t say any of that, instead she just leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s lips. It was just enough to leave her wanting more before Azzi pulled back, standing up straight.

"I’ll let you figure that one out pretty," Azzi teased, her smirk in place as she turned toward the door.

Paige laid there for a moment, her eyes wide as she watched Azzi head for the door. "You’re so annoying," she muttered under her breath, though there wasn’t even a hint of malice in her tone—only warmth.

Azzi glanced back over her shoulder, giving Paige a knowing look. "I love you too," she said, blowing Paige a playful kiss before slipping out of the room.

Paige exhaled deeply as the door clicked shut, her heart racing a little faster than before. A grin spread across her face as she stared at the ceiling, her mind already racing with thoughts of Azzi.

…

Later that day in their suite, Nika was perched in front of the mirror, carefully applying her makeup. Meanwhile, Paige was laid out on Nika’s bed, tossing a basketball into the air and catching it repeatedly. Her movements were lazy but precise, the ball spinning just enough to keep her entertained.

"Just so you know," Paige randomly said, her voice casual, "I’m definitely getting you back for keeping me up all night the other day."

Nika glanced at her through the mirror, an eyebrow raised as she laughed. "Yeah, right," she said dismissively, brushing some highlighter over her cheekbone.

Paige stopped mid-toss, the ball still in her hand as she sat up slightly, her eyes narrowing. She never liked when people implied she couldn’t do something. "Why you say that like I can’t?" she challenged, sitting up fully now, the ball forgotten as it rolled onto the bed beside her.

Nika turned to look at Paige, her smile growing. "I mean, Azzi’s loud, sure, but she’s not that loud," she said, waving her hand for emphasis. "She wouldn’t do all that."

Paige’s expression shifted her lips twitching into a smirk. "How much you wanna bet?" she asked.

At that, Nika’s ears perked up. There was nothing she loved more than a good bet, especially one she thought she could win. She spun her chair around to face Paige fully, crossing her arms. "You’re tryna bet?"

Paige leaned back on her hands. "Yeah. Let’s bet."

Nika squinted at her, skeptical but intrigued. Paige always had this unwavering confidence, and it annoyed Nika how often it paid off for her. But this time? She was sure she had it in the bag. Azzi, while always confident in herself these days, was way more reserved about their sex life than Paige. She wasn’t shy, exactly, but Nika just couldn’t imagine her being that carefree, especially with most of the team sharing the suite.

Nika grinned. "Alright, bet. What’s the wager?"

Paige thought for a moment before leaning forward. "$200."

Nika snorted. "Okay, fine. But if I win, you owe me double. You got deeper pockets."

Paige rolled her eyes but nodded. "Alright whatever."

They shook on it, and Nika leaned back with a grin. "This about to be the easiest bet I’ve ever won," she said, turning back to the mirror to finish her makeup.

Paige chuckled to herself, leaning back against the headboard, her arms crossed behind her head. "You're delusional," she said under her breath, already planning how she was going to make this bet easy for herself.

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how easy it would be to prove Nika wrong—because if there was one thing Paige knew, it was how to get Azzi to let go of her inhibitions.

…

When Nika was finally ready, the two of them headed out. Paige had decided not to put too much effort into her appearance, opting for the casual look she knew Azzi loved so much. She wore a black Nike tech—the sweatpants hanging slightly loose on purpose—and kept the jacket open to reveal the white t-shirt and her silver chain underneath. It was simple, but the way Paige carried herself made it anything but plain.

When they got to the party, the music was loud, and the room was packed. Paige’s eyes scanned the crowd, easily zeroing in on her girlfriend. She was standing near the makeshift bar in the kitchen, talking with a couple of their teammates, a drink in her hand. Paige couldn’t help but let her eyes linger over her body.

Azzi was effortlessly captivating. She wore short jean shorts that hugged her in all the right places, showing off her long toned legs; they were paired with a black long-sleeved crop top that showed her entire stomach, only falling low enough to cover her chest. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, small curly strands left out in the front that fell in front of her perfect face.

Paige crossed the room, slipping through the crowd until she was behind Azzi. She didn’t announce herself—didn’t really need to. Instead, she stepped up close, wrapping her arms around Azzi’s waist and pulling her back against her.

Azzi froze for a moment, her body stiffening at the unexpected touch being under the impression that Paige wasn’t there. But then she caught the familiar scent of Paige. Her muscles relaxed almost instantly, and she let out a soft laugh as she leaned back into Paige’s hold.

“Hey pretty,” Paige whispered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, glancing back at Paige. “Hi baby,” she murmured, her lips forming into a smile. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I move quiet when I want to,” Paige replied, her arms tightening briefly around Azzi before resting her chin on Azzi’s shoulder. She glanced down at what Azzi was wearing, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You look amazing.”

Azzi hummed, reaching a hand down to rest over Paige’s. “Mmm you don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased, leaning into Paige’s familiar presence.

From across the room, Aaliyah groaned loudly, making no effort to hide her exasperation. “God, can y’all not do this in public? Like, at least give the rest of us a chance to have fun without feeling single as hell!”

Paige turned her head slightly, grinning at Aaliyah. “Then stop looking,” she shot back, looking completely unbothered.

Azzi laughed softly, turning in Paige’s arms so she could face her. Her hands came up to rest lightly on Paige’s chest, her smile teasing but warm. “You’re mean sometimes, you know that?”

Paige grinned wider, her fingers tracing light patterns along Azzi’s sides. “No I’m not. Imma angel,” she countered smoothly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. “Yeah, yeah,” she said with a laugh, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Paige’s lips before pulling back and wiping her lip gloss off of her.

Paige shifted her hold on Azzi, her fingers trailing lazily along her sides as the party hummed around them. Leaning in closer, Paige tilted her head, her lips hovering just by Azzi’s ear. “So, how drunk are we getting tonight?” she asked.

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile, her gaze flicking to Paige’s before she licked her lips. “Drunk enough,” she answered simply.

Paige raised an eyebrow at that, her curiosity piqued. “Enough?” she repeated, leaning back slightly to study Azzi’s expression. “Why do I feel like you tryna get me drunk?”

Azzi tilted her head, her smile widening as she hooked her fingers around Paige’s wrists, guiding her hands to rest on the warm, exposed skin just above her hips. Paige smirked at the contact, her thumbs instinctively brushing over Azzi’s soft skin.

Azzi leaned in closer, her lips barely an inch from Paige’s as she spoke. “Because drunk Paige…” she started, pausing as her eyes darted to Paige’s lips before meeting her gaze again, “…is fun Paige.”

Paige’s jaw clenched slightly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as Azzi’s words settled over her. Her grip on Azzi’s waist tightened instinctively, her fingertips pressing into her skin. “Fun Paige, huh?” Paige echoed.

Azzi nodded slowly, her smile never faltering. “Mhm,” she murmured, tilting her head as her hands slid up Paige’s chest and rested lightly on her shoulders. “You’re usually so… composed,” she continued. “But when you’ve had a few drinks, you don’t hold back. You’re all over me—” her voice dipped, “—and I like that a lot.”

Paige’s lips parted, her gaze flicking between Azzi’s eyes and her mouth, her restraint already thinning as the heat between them grew. “You like that?” she murmured, her thumbs continuing their slow, strokes against Azzi’s skin.

Azzi hummed in agreement, her smile softening but never losing its edge. “I love it,” she corrected, her hands slipping down to cover Paige’s, keeping them firmly in place on her waist.

Paige leaned in further, her forehead almost touching Azzi’s, “Keep talking like that, and I won’t need a drink.”

Azzi smiled at Paige’s tone, but before she could respond, someone shouted nearby, pulling them out of their bubble. Paige groaned under her breath, resting her forehead briefly against Azzi’s shoulder before straightening up.

Azzi laughed softly, trailing her hands up and down Paige’s arms. “Patience, P,” she teased.

Paige huffed. “I’m not patient when it comes to you,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly as she pulled Azzi just a fraction closer.

Azzi’s smile softened, a knowing look crossing her face. “I know baby,” she said simply. Without giving Paige a chance to respond, Azzi leaned in and kissed her, her lips soft and warm, stealing away any remark Paige might’ve had.

Just as Paige was about to deepen the kiss, Azzi pulled back, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear as she murmured, “Stay right here.” She stepped away, and Paige’s hands reluctantly slipped from her waist.

Paige watched, her gaze glued to Azzi as she made her way to the drink table, her every move effortlessly commanding people's attention. Azzi grabbed two shot cups, filling them quickly before pouring a third. She returned moments later, pressing one of the cups into Paige’s hand while holding the other two herself.

“For me?” Paige asked, her eyebrow raised in playful suspicion as she glanced at the two cups Azzi held.

Azzi grinned, raising one in a small toast. “For both of us,” she said, tipping her head back and downing the first shot before Paige could reply.

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re crazy,” she muttered, lifting her own cup. They hit them together, Paige knocking hers back as Azzi took her second.

Azzi wiped her lips with finger and grabbed Paige’s hand, pulling her gently toward the crowd. “Come on,” she said, her smile carefree, her fingers lacing loosely with Paige’s.

Paige followed willingly, her body already buzzing—not just from the few shots she took before the party but from Azzi’s touch, her energy. "Lead the way," she said, her eyes fixed on Azzi like no one else existed.

…

Azzi and Paige spent the first half of the party with their team, fully immersed in the usual chaos of drinking games, jokes, and back and forth. Paige had her arm slung casually around Azzi’s waist or shoulders for most of it, but as the night wore on and the alcohol started to hit harder, the two of them began to drift into their own world—a familiar pattern by now.

The team noticed it too, exchanging knowing glances but not saying much. They’d seen this before and weren’t about to interfere. By unspoken agreement, they let the two go.

Paige, now drunk and far less reserved than usual, was doing exactly what Azzi thought she would. She was all over her—hands lingering on Azzi’s waist or hips, pulling her closer whenever she got the chance. Her lips hovered close to Azzi’s ear, murmuring things only Azzi could hear.

Azzi didn’t mind. In fact, she reveled in it. The way Paige was so unapologetically into her, even in front of everyone, made her feel a kind of warmth she hadn’t realized she craved. She leaned into Paige’s touch, letting herself be pulled into her orbit completely.

At one point, Paige brushed her knuckles lightly along Azzi’s jaw, her lips curving into a smirk. “You were right, y’know,” she whispered.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “About what?”

“About me when I’m drunk,” Paige murmured, leaning in so close that Azzi could feel her breath against her skin. “I really can’t keep my hands off you.”

Azzi laughed softly, her cheeks warming, and turned to face Paige fully. “I noticed,” she said, as she slid her hands up Paige’s chest, hooking her fingers lightly around Paige’s chain.

Paige tilted her head, her eyes dark as her hands rested firmly on Azzi’s waist. “What can I say? You make it hard to behave.”

Azzi shook her head, biting her lip as she laughed. “You’re ridiculous baby.” But there was no mistaking the way her eyes lingered on Paige, full of affection.

Paige grinned, leaning in again, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “You love it.”

And she did. She really, really did.

Right now, they were sitting on the couch, Azzi perched comfortably in Paige’s lap with her legs crossed. Azzi had one hand resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder, the other holding a half-empty cup, while Paige’s hands settled naturally on her waist. Paige leaned in closer as she mumbled in Azzi’s ear.

“I love when you wear your hair back like this,” Paige said.

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, tilting her head slightly as she turned to look at Paige. “Why?” she asked, though the corner of her lips twitched with a knowing smile.

Paige’s eyes flickered down to her neck, a smirk forming. “Because your neck is exposed,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “It’s so sexy.”

Azzi laughed again. “My neck is sexy?” she teased, arching an eyebrow at her girlfriend, though her cheeks were tinged with a faint blush.

“Mhm,” Paige hummed, leaning in to press a series of light kisses along the curve of Azzi’s neck. Her lips lingered just enough to make Azzi’s breath hitch as her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, leaning into the contact.

Azzi mumbled, her voice soft but with a slight edge of warning. “You need to behave.”

Paige chuckled, her breath warm against Azzi’s skin. “I am behaving baby,” she murmured, though her hands on Azzi’s waist tightened slightly, pulling her just a little closer.

“No, you’re not,” Azzi replied, her voice softer now, but her slight smile was still there. She leaned back slightly, just enough to look Paige in the eye.

Paige shrugged, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “I can’t help it. You’re just sitting here looking like that,” she said.

“Looking like what?” Azzi asked, tilting her head as she bit back a smile.

“Like you’re mine,” Paige replied smoothly, her words so confident and sincere that Azzi’s cheeks warmed more.

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear as she whispered, “I am yours.”

Paige hummed low in her throat, her eyes darkening as she trailed a finger up Azzi’s side. “Then let me kiss you properly,” Paige murmured, already leaning in to kiss Azzi’s neck again.

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, trying to regain her composure even as her resolve melted under Paige’s touch. “You’re being bad,” she whispered, though she didn’t move to stop Paige.

“You love it,” Paige shot back, grinning against Azzi’s skin as she planted another soft kiss.

Azzi tilted her head slightly to give Paige better access before she caught herself. “You’re going to get us caught,” she murmured, her voice a little weaker now.

Paige pulled back just slightly, her lips still close to Azzi’s ear. “I don’t care. Let them see how much I love you,” she whispered, her tone so sincere that Azzi couldn’t help but lean into her again.

Azzi melted a little more, her resolve slipping completely as she gave in to the moment. But before either of them could take it further, they were interrupted by one of their friends suddenly plopping down on the couch next to them, breaking the moment entirely.

Kayla plopped down on the couch, completely oblivious to the intensity of the moment she had interrupted. Azzi leaned back slightly, trying to put some space between her and Paige, but Paige groaned at the loss of closeness, her hands instinctively tightening on Azzi’s waist in protest.

Azzi, noticing the slight pout forming on Paige’s lips, leaned in to whisper something softly in her ear. Whatever it was, made Paige’s expression relax instantly, her grip loosening slightly, though her eyes still lingered on Azzi with obvious longing.

Kayla, entirely unaware, held up a j between her fingers, glancing between the two. “Y’all want in?” she offered casually. The team only really smoked here and there during the offseason.

Paige shook her head with a quick, “Nah, I’m good,” but she caught the way Azzi’s eyes lingered on it just a little too long.

Paige smiled, leaning back slightly to get a better look at Azzi. “You wanna try it?” she asked

Azzi hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know... How will it make me feel?”

Paige sat up, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she said, “It’ll make you feel euphoric baby.”

Her fingertip trailed slowly up and down Azzi’s leg, her movements featherlight, the alcohol clearly loosening her. “It’ll make touches like this,” Paige murmured, her voice a little husky, “feel... heightened.”

Azzi swallowed, her body stiffening slightly as Paige’s words sank in. “It slows everything down for you,” Paige continued, her fingertip never stopping its slow path along Azzi’s skin. “So you feel everything.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her throat dry as she tried to fight the way her body reacted to Paige’s touch. She uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs, shifting slightly in Paige’s lap as her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment.

Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Paige smiled at her, as she took the j from Kayla and handed it to Azzi, explaining to her how to hit it. Kayla watched the exchange with mild interest, still completely oblivious to the tension that was in the air.

Azzi took her first hit a little too strongly, her inexperience showing as she immediately broke into a coughing fit. Paige chuckled softly, her tone warm as she handed Azzi a water bottle. “Here, goofball,” she teased, her free hand rubbing gentle circles on Azzi’s back.

Kayla grinned at the scene, clearly amused. “Just shotgun it for her, P,” she suggested casually, leaning back on the couch.

Paige immediately smiled at the idea, her eyes flicking over to Azzi, whose brows furrowed slightly in confusion. Noticing Azzi’s puzzled look, Paige took the j from her hand. Her voice softened as she explained, “Just inhale softly when I get close to you.”

Azzi nodded, her lips parting slightly in anticipation, her confusion fading into curiosity. Paige brought the joint to her lips and took a slow, practiced pull, the motion smooth, her confidence making it clear she’d done this before. The way she ghosted the smoke, letting it curl out slightly before pulling it back in, had Azzi's stomach flipping, a subtle ache building between her legs.

Paige leaned in close, so close their lips were just a breath apart but didn’t quite touch. The faint scent of Paige’s cologne mingled with the smoke, and Azzi’s heart skipped a beat. Paige exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke toward Azzi’s lips in a controlled stream. Azzi inhaled instinctively, her movements guided by Paige’s confidence, and this time, it was much smoother.

When Paige finally pulled back, the distance between them still intimate, her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Good?” she asked.

Azzi’s gaze remained locked on Paige, a mix of awe and desire shining in her eyes. She nodded, unable to hide the faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “Yeah... good,” she murmured, her voice a little breathier than she intended.

Paige’s smirk deepened as she settled back into the couch, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s thigh. Azzi glanced away for a moment, trying to compose herself, but the slight grin tugging at her lips betrayed how much the moment had affected her.

Azzi and Paige shotgunned a few more times, each one pulling them further into a haze of euphoria. Both of their eyes were low now, their bodies relaxed and warm from the mix of alcohol and weed. Azzi leaned closer into Paige, her fingers lazily tracing up and down Paige’s chest and neck.

Paige’s lips quirked up as she watched Azzi, who was smiling at her in that slow, dreamy way that always managed to make Paige’s heart skip. The substances were starting to hit Paige fully now, her limbs heavy, her thoughts pleasantly fuzzy. She thought about how deeply relaxed she felt and realized that if she was feeling it, Azzi—who was less experienced—had to be feeling it even more.

Paige chuckled softly at Azzi, her tone affectionate. “Alright, you’re done, princess,” she said, gently taking Azzi’s drink from her hand and placing it on the table beside them.

Azzi immediately pouted, her lips forming an adorable frown as she protested. “What? Nooo, I’m fine,” she murmured, her words slightly slurred as she tried to reach for the drink again.

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused but firm, easily keeping the drink out of Azzi’s reach. “Mmhmm, sure you are,” Paige teased, brushing a strand of hair out of Azzi’s face. “But we’re not about to have you blacking out on me.”

Azzi huffed dramatically, crossing her arms but still leaning into Paige’s chest. “You’re no fun,” she mumbled, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Paige grinned, leaning down to kiss the top of Azzi’s head. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t embarrass yourself,” she teased.

Azzi tilted her head to look up at Paige, her eyes half-lidded but shining with fondness. “I wouldn’t embarrass myself,” she murmured, her fingers now tracing slow circles over Paige’s collarbone. “You’d take care of me, wouldn’t you?”

Paige’s heart softened at the vulnerability in Azzi’s voice, and she smiled, her hand sliding to rest gently on Azzi’s hip. “Always baby,” she said simply, her tone carrying a sincerity that made Azzi’s pout melt into a soft smile.

After some time, Kayla left Paige and Azzi to their own world again, sensing she was intruding. Now, Azzi was completely wrapped around Paige, sitting sideways in her lap so she had better access. Azzi’s lips trailed over Paige’s neck as she mumbled about how pretty Paige was.

Paige, the effects of the alcohol and weed softening all her inhibitions, leaned fully into the attention. Her hands roamed lazily across Azzi’s legs. “You’re sexy,” Paige murmured, as her fingers brushed the hem of Azzi’s shorts.

Azzi smiled against Paige’s skin, her lips finding a sweet spot just below her jaw. She began to suck gently, her tongue flicking over the sensitive area. Paige sighed, tilting her head to give Azzi more room, completely lost in the sensation.

“You’re so perfect,” Azzi whispered between kisses, her voice barely audible but enough to make Paige shiver.

Paige’s hands tightened on Azzi’s thighs, her grip tight, as she hummed, “Baby, you gotta stop.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear. “Why?” she mumbled.

Paige groaned softly, leaning her head back against the couch. “Feels too good.”

Azzi chuckled, as she placed another open-mouthed kiss on her neck. “Isn’t that a good thing?” she teased, her hands brushing up Paige’s sides.

Paige hummed again, her eyes fluttering shut. “It’s a great thing,” she said, her voice strained. “But not when all these people are around.”

Azzi laughed softly at that, pulling back just enough to look at Paige, her smile playful. “They’re wasted,” she said, gesturing subtly to the crowded room. “Ignore them.”

Paige glanced around, realizing Azzi was right. The party was packed, with most of the people in a haze of their own drunken bliss, paying no attention to anyone else. That thought didn’t stop the heat crawling up Paige’s neck, though.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Paige muttered.

Azzi smiled at that, leaning back in just enough to press her lips to Paige’s neck again. Her kisses were slow and deliberate, her mouth leaving small marks across Paige’s skin. She wasn’t shy about her affection, even on the couch in front of everyone.

Eventually, Paige let out a low groan and tilted her head, grabbing Azzi by the jaw and pulling her into a kiss. It was slow but deep, their lips moving together as if no one else was around. The kiss lingered, the party noise fading into the background for a moment, before they pulled back, their foreheads brushing.

Azzi’s fingers played with the hem of Paige’s shirt as her eyes drifted up to meet hers. “I want you so bad,” she murmured.

Paige hummed, leaning closer as her lips brushed Azzi’s ear. “Tell me more,” she teased, her tone encouraging, fully enjoying how Azzi clung to her words.

Azzi shifted in Paige’s lap, her body pressing closer as her hands wandered to Paige’s shoulders. “You drive me crazy, P,” she admitted softly. “You have no idea how hard it is to be around you and not...you know” She trailed off, biting her lip as her cheeks flushed slightly.

Paige smirked, her lips grazing Azzi’s jaw as she said, “I think I do.” Her hands slid up Azzi’s thighs, close enough to make Azzi exhale sharply.

They both knew nothing was going to happen until later, but the tension between them grew heavier with every second, the anticipation building with no outlet.

Just as Azzi leaned in to kiss her again, Paige’s body stiffened. Her arms instinctively wrapped tighter around Azzi’s waist, her playful expression dropping.

Azzi frowned, noticing the change in Paige’s energy. “What’s wrong baby?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Paige didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on someone across the room. Azzi followed her gaze and immediately spotted what—or rather who—had caught Paige’s attention.

Amber.

She was standing near the kitchen, laughing at something one of their teammates said, trying to ignore Paige’s sharp glare.

Azzi’s brows furrowed as she turned back to Paige. “It’s fine P” she said quietly, leaning in closer so only Paige could hear.

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to play it off, but the way her fingers dug slightly into Azzi’s waist gave her away. “She shouldn’t even be here,” Paige muttered.

Azzi cupped Paige’s cheek gently, forcing her to look away from Amber and back at her. “Hey,” she whispered. “She’s not worth it. I’m here with you, end of story.”

Paige exhaled, her body relaxing slightly under Azzi’s touch. “You’re right, I’m sorry” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

Azzi smiled softly, brushing her thumb against Paige’s cheek. “I always am,” she teased, earning a faint smile from Paige as she leaned in for a kiss.

Paige and Azzi slipped effortlessly back into their bubble, the rest of the room fading into irrelevance as Azzi coaxed Paige into the same haze she was in. Azzi’s hands were in Paige’s hair, guiding her as their lips moved lazily against each other.

Paige’s lips traveled down Azzi’s neck, pressing soft kisses to her exposed skin, her hands resting on Azzi’s thighs. Azzi let her head fall back slightly, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair as a faint hum escaped her lips.

It was at this moment that Amber decided to walk over, her presence interrupting them. “Azzi,” she called, her voice loud enough to cut through the haze. “Can I talk to you?”

Azzi opened her eyes, looking up slowly, and Amber was immediately struck by the expression on her face. It wasn’t just the alcohol or the weed—it was the clear desire Azzi held for Paige. The way her lips were swollen, her eyes half-lidded as she pushed Paige further into her, it was a sight that made Amber’s jaw clench tightly.

Paige, meanwhile, didn’t even glance up. She stayed exactly where she was, her lips still brushing over Azzi’s neck, her movements unbothered by Amber’s presence. Azzi didn’t stop her, one hand still in Paige’s hair as she looked at Amber.

“About what?” Azzi asked.

Amber’s discomfort was clear as she shifted on her feet. “You know… just about how we left things,” she said awkwardly, her eyes flickering between Azzi and Paige, who was still trailing kisses up Azzi’s neck.

Azzi stared at Amber for a moment, her expression unreadable, before finally gesturing to the empty space on the couch. “Go ahead.” she said calmly.

Amber hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with Paige’s presence, but she eventually sat down, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Paige finally paused her kisses, resting her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, her hooded eyes trailing over Amber with curiosity, sizing her up without much effort. A faint smirk tugged at Paige’s lips, and she leaned closer to Azzi, whispering, "You want me to go?"

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “No,” she murmured, sliding Paige’s hand higher on her thigh, her fingers intertwining over Paige’s for emphasis. The small action felt intimate. Then, Azzi turned back to Amber, her posture calm but clearly a little disinterested. “Go ahead,” she said.

Amber glanced between the two of them, her jaw tightening at the way Paige’s fingers lightly brushed against Azzi’s leg. Still, Amber pushed forward. “Look, Azzi, I just…” she started, her voice faltering. She sighed heavily before finding her words again. “I just want to apologize—for how I acted when we first got to UConn. I was... immature, and I didn’t treat you the way you deserved to be treated.”

Azzi nodded slightly, her expression unreadable.

Amber shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Azzi’s silence but continued. “I didn’t know how to handle things back then. I got caught up in my own insecurities, but I can see now that… you’re incredible. You always have been. I know I could’ve treated you better. And I just—I don’t want there to be bad blood between us.”

Azzi finally responded. “I appreciate the apology, Amber. I do,” she said, her eyes meeting Amber’s briefly before they flicked back to Paige, who had started idly playing with Azzi’s fingers as she scrolled on her phone. Azzi gently tugged Paige’s hand back, keeping her attention on her rather than her phone or anything else. “But it��s been a long time since then, and I’ve moved on from that. I’m not holding onto any resentment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Amber’s face softened slightly,m, but before she could say more, Azzi leaned back into Paige’s touch. “I’m glad you’re in a better place, though,” she added, the words polite but distant.

Amber hesitated, her gaze flickering between them again. “I just wanted you to know that I see you now. I see what I missed back then, and—”

Azzi cut her off gently but firmly. “Amber, I hear you,” she said, her hand absently tightening over Paige’s. “And I appreciate the effort. But like I said, I’ve moved on.” Her gaze shifted entirely to Paige, who was staring into space, for a second, her tone softening as if Paige were the only person in the room. “You good baby?”

Paige blinked a few times coming back to reality, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “I’m perfect.”

Azzi let out a quiet hum, her lips curling into a soft smile at Paige’s words. But before they could fully settle back into their bubble, Amber cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Azzi look,” Amber started, her tone hesitant but laced with a hint of hope. “I know I messed up before, and I don’t expect things to just go back to how they were. But… do you think maybe we could try again? Like, really try?”

Paige’s smile faltered, her expression hardening slightly as she subtly tightened her grip on Azzi’s thigh. Azzi, however, didn’t react much, her eyes locking on Amber.

“Amber,” Azzi said, her voice steady, “That’s not going to happen.”

Amber blinked, taken aback by the immediacy of Azzi’s response. “Why not? I mean it was almost three years…” She glanced at Paige, a slight edge creeping into her tone. “Are you and Paige even serious? Or is this just some… thing you’re doing?”

Paige raised an eyebrow at the question, her smirk returning. She leaned back slightly, letting Azzi handle it.

“What Paige and I have isn’t any of your business,” she said . “But even if she wasn’t in the picture, the answer would still be no. We’re not going back to that.”

Amber frowned, her jaw tightening. “I’ve changed,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t treat you the way I did before.”

“I’m sure you have,” Azzi replied. “But I’ve changed too. And what I want now? It’s not someone you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Amber looked like she wanted to argue, but she caught the way Azzi’s hand shifted to intertwine with Paige’s fingers, her thumb brushing lightly over Paige’s knuckles.

Amber exhaled sharply, standing up. “Right,” she muttered, avoiding their gazes. “Well, good luck with… whatever this is Azzi, I’m glad you were able to move on so fast.”

Paige let out a low chuckle as Amber walked away, her smirk growing. “Whatever this is, huh?” she teased, her voice amused.

Azzi turned back to Paige, her expression softening immediately as she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s lips.

…

A bit later Paige made her way back from the makeshift bar, two drinks in hand. As she weaved through the crowd, Amber bumped her shoulder—hard enough to make her notice what she would usually brush off at a party. Whether it was intentional or not wasn’t clear, but the look Amber gave her suggested it might have been.

Paige’s jaw tightened as she forced herself to keep walking. There was no point in starting something here—not with so many people watching, and definitely not with Azzi waiting for her.

When she finally reached Azzi, she handed her the drink with a tight smile before tilting her head back and downing her own in one go. Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused, watching Paige set the empty cup down.

“Oh?” Azzi said, a teasing tone in her voice. “What’s got you all fired up?”

Paige smirked, brushing it off. “I wanna dance.”

Azzi hummed, as she downed her own drink. She set her cup aside and slipped her fingers through Paige’s, tugging her toward the crowded part of the house.

“Come on, then,” Azzi said as she glanced over her shoulder at Paige.

Paige chuckled, the tension from earlier fading as she let Azzi pull her closer to the sound of the music and the crowd. It wasn’t long before their world narrowed again, the sway of their bodies and the energy between them overtaking everything else.

The music pulsed around them, but Paige and Azzi were completely absorbed in each other, their bodies moving in sync.

Paige hadn’t forgotten about her bet with Nika. Her mind worked as she danced, planting subtle seeds with every touch—her hands trailing just a little slower along Azzi’s hips, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear whenever she spoke. "You like this, don’t you?" Paige murmured, as her fingers skimmed Azzi’s waistline. “How close I’m keeping you?”

Azzi chuckled softly. "Don’t start something you can’t finish, P," Azzi replied, her voice equally as sultry, her eyes sparkling with challenge. But Azzi was leaving her own seeds. Her hands drifted over Paige’s back and slid up into her hair, nails grazing her scalp just enough to send a shiver down Paige’s spine.

“You’re doing it again,” Paige said with a smirk, leaning closer.

“Doing what?” Azzi’s lips brushed against Paige’s cheek, her fingers lightly tracing down the back of her neck.

“Trying to make me lose my mind,” Paige muttered.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to hold back tonight,” Azzi countered, tugging Paige’s face closer until their noses brushed. “So why are you holding back now?”

Paige raised a brow, her smirk deepening. "I’m not holding back. I’m planting seeds."

Azzi’s laugh was soft. “And what kind of seeds are you planting?”

“The kind that’ll have you begging later,” Paige whispered against Azzi’s ear.

Azzi smiled at this, leaning in to kiss Paige’s neck a few times.

At that moment, Paige’s eyes wandered over Azzi’s shoulder, locking with Amber’s across the room. Amber was leaning against a wall, her expression unreadable, though her gaze lingered a little too long.

Azzi noticed almost immediately. Her brow arched as she leaned in, her lips grazing Paige’s ear. “Why,” she murmured, “are you looking at my ex and not me?”

Paige’s lips quirked into a smirk as her eyes shifted back to Azzi’s. “She bumped into me earlier.”

Azzi tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile as she hummed thoughtfully. Her hand came up, fingers softly brushing along Paige’s jaw before sliding to her throat. She applied the lightest pressure, enough to make Paige’s breath hitch. “Hmm,” Azzi mused. “Sounds like she’s jealous.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi closed the distance between them, pulling her in for a kiss that was anything but subtle. Their tongues tangled immediately, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Paige gripped Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, while Azzi’s free hand found its way into Paige’s hair, her nails grazing her scalp.

The room around them blurred as they lost themselves in the kiss, the rest of the party fading into irrelevance. When they finally pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, Paige let out a soft chuckle.

Azzi’s smirk was playful, her lips still swollen from the kiss, “Feel better?”

Paige grinned, her eyes darkening as she leaned in closer, their lips nearly brushing again. “Mmm... not yet.”

In one swift motion, Paige turned them around, pressing Azzi’s back against the wall. Her fingers wrapped firmly around Azzi’s neck, not enough to hurt but enough to make Azzi’s breath hitch and her eyes widen in anticipation. Paige pulled her into a kiss, this one deeper, more aggressive. Azzi moaned softly into Paige’s mouth, her hands clutching at Paige’s hips as she melted into the moment.

When Paige finally pulled back, a smirk played on her lips, her hand still lingering lightly around Azzi’s throat. “I’m good now,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

Azzi, wasn’t done. Her eyes were completely dazed, a dreamy smile curling her lips as she bit down on her bottom lip, her teeth tugging at it. Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Azzi asked, her eyelashes fluttering innocently, though her tone and the slight pout of her lips gave away her bratty intentions.

Paige arched a brow, her smirk widening. “You know why.”

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “I want you to tell me,” she said. Her hands slid up under Paige’s shirt, her nails dragging lightly along Paige’s stomach in a way that made Paige’s muscles tense.

“Stop,” Paige said.

Azzi shook her head, her lips curling into a smug little smile. “No.” Her defiance was clear, the glint in her eyes showed she was testing Paige on purpose, fully aware of the effect she was having.

Paige exhaled sharply, her jaw tightening as she looked at Azzi. “Stop being a brat.”

Azzi fluttered her lashes again, leaning in closer as her lips brushed against Paige’s jaw. “Make me,” she whispered, her fingers now lightly tracing along the waistband of Paige’s sweats.

Paige’s eyes darkened, her hand tightening ever so slightly around Azzi’s neck as her other hand slid to Azzi’s hip, gripping it firmly. “Azzi,” she warned. Her smirk betrayed just how much she enjoyed the game Azzi was playing.

Azzi just grinned, her defiance still there as her hands rested under Paige’s shirt, her fingertips tracing teasing patterns against her skin. “Yes baby?” she murmured.

Paige tilted her head, her smirk growing as her thumb brushed against Azzi’s jawline. “Why you being a brat, princess?”

Azzi’s grin widened as she leaned in slightly, her lips almost brushing Paige’s. “Because you like it.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her grip on Azzi’s neck tightening just enough to make her gasp softly. “I do?”

Azzi nodded, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip before she bit it teasingly. “Mhm,” she hummed, her eyes half-lidded as she stared at Paige.

For a while, they didn’t say anything, the tension between them suffocating. Paige’s hand stayed firmly around Azzi’s neck, her thumb tracing slow circles along her throat, while Azzi’s fingers continued their lazy movements against Paige’s stomach.

Then Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing Paige’s ear as she whispered, “Take me home.”

And with that Paige was tugging Azzi out of the party.

…

As soon as they stepped into Paige’s room and the door clicked shut, Azzi was on her. Her hands found Paige’s face, pulling her into a deep, hungry kiss as though they hadn’t been in each other’s orbit all night. Within seconds, Azzi’s shirt was discarded, and her hands were tugging at Paige’s Nike tech zip-up, impatiently peeling it off her shoulders.

Paige chuckled against her lips, helping Azzi shove the jacket off her shoulders before Azzi’s fingers hooked under her white tee, yanking it over her head in one swift motion. Their lips crashed back together, the kiss desperate as they stumbled toward the bed, their bodies pressed tightly together.

They barely made it before Paige’s knees hit the mattress, and they tumbled onto it, Azzi landing on her back with Paige falling on top of her. Both of them burst into soft, breathless laughter, their foreheads resting together for a fleeting moment before Azzi’s hands slid up Paige’s bare back, pulling her closer.

“You’re eager,” Paige teased, as she leaned down, brushing her lips against Azzi’s again.

Azzi smiled against her lips, her nails lightly raking along Paige’s back. “You make me like this,” she murmured, before pulling Paige back into another kiss that left no room for words.

As their lips broke apart for a brief second, Paige brushed her thumb along Azzi’s jawline, her blue eyes lidded and dark with a mix of desire and the lingering effects of the night. Azzi gazed up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips swollen.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige murmured, her voice rough, barely above a whisper, before leaning down to kiss Azzi again, her lips lingering against hers.

Azzi let out a small hum, sliding her hands along Paige’s waist before tangling her fingers in her hair, tugging just enough to make Paige gasp softly into her mouth. “You talk too much,” Azzi teased against her lips, as her legs wrapped tighter around Paige’s waist.

Paige chuckled, her hand trailing down Azzi’s side as she pulled back just slightly to look at her. “You love it,” she whispered, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Azzi grinned but didn’t respond, instead pulling Paige back in for another kiss, this one deeper and slower, her nails lightly grazing the nape of Paige’s neck. After a moment, Azzi stilled, both her hands cupping Paige’s face, stopping her in her tracks. Paige froze, her breath coming out ragged as she stared down at Azzi.

Azzi’s dark brown eyes locked onto Paige’s, her gaze soft. She licked her lips, her voice low as she said, “Don’t hold back tonight.”

“I know, baby,” Paige replied softly, her voice strained.

But Azzi shook her head, her grip on Paige’s face tightening just slightly. “No,” she whispered, her tone more commanding this time. “Don’t stop and ask me how I am. Don’t ask me how I’m feeling, if I’m okay—none of it. Just don’t hold back.”

Paige clenched her jaw at Azzi’s words, the weight of her trust and permission sinking into her. Her hand slid up to Azzi’s cheek, her thumb brushing over her lips as she searched Azzi’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

Azzi nodded, pulling Paige’s face closer to hers, their foreheads nearly touching. “I promise I’ll be okay,” Azzi whispered.

Paige exhaled shakily, her restraint wavering as she nodded back. “Okay,” she murmured before Azzi tugged her down into a kiss that obliterated any remaining hesitation Paige had left.

They stayed tangled in each other's lips for a while, both of them breathless as Paige hovered over Azzi, her weight resting on her forearm as her free hand traced slow patterns over the bare skin of Azzi’s stomach. She dragged her fingers down, teasing the edge of Azzi’s waistband before moving back up, earning a sharp inhale from Azzi. Paige’s lips curled into a small smile as she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Azzi’s collarbone.

“I told you,” Paige murmured against her skin, “It’s different when you just let yourself feel it.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige’s lips trailed along her neck. Her body arched slightly beneath Paige, the heightened sensations amplified by the lingering effects of the alcohol and what she smoked. “Feels so good,” Azzi mumbled, her voice breathy, as she tilted her head to give Paige more access.

Paige chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Azzi’s skin. “I know it does,” she whispered into her ear.

Paige’s hand continued its exploration, her fingertips ghosting over Azzi’s sides and down her thighs, her touch so light it was almost maddening. She dragged her fingers up the inside of Azzi’s arm, across her ribs, and then back down to the curve of her hip, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy. Azzi squirmed, her breaths coming quicker as her hands fisted the sheets beneath her.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, her tone needy and frustrated.

“Mmm?” Paige hummed, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she spoke.

Azzi whimpered softly, her hands moving to grip Paige’s back, her nails lightly scratching at her skin. Paige smirked, kissing a slow path down Azzi’s neck to her shoulder, pausing to nip gently at her skin before soothing it with her tongue.

“You’re so sensitive right now,” Paige murmured. “Every little touch, every kiss... you feel it everywhere, don’t you?”

Azzi let out a shaky exhale, her head nodding slightly as her eyes fluttered shut. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Paige’s hand slid higher, her fingers tracing the outline of Azzi’s ribs before she pressed her palm flat against her sternum, feeling the rapid thrum of Azzi’s heartbeat. “You’re already worked up,” Paige said softly. “And I haven’t even really started yet.”

Azzi opened her eyes, her gaze hazy as she met Paige’s intense blue ones. She licked her lips, her voice trembling slightly as she said, “You’re so unfair.”

Paige grinned, dipping her head to capture Azzi’s lips in a slow, deep kiss that leaves her captivated.

Before Azzi’s thoughts can catch up Paige is sliding her hand in her shorts and pushing two fingers in her, making her jaw drop at the feeling. Paige smiles down at Azzi feeling how easy it is for her to move her fingers in and out mumbling, “Fuck baby this all for me?”

Azzi’s hips lift instinctively as she pushes herself further into Paige, her body reacting to the slow pace of Paige’s fingers. “Mhmm,” she hummed breathlessly, her voice shaky as she let her eyes flutter closed for a moment.

Paige clicked her tongue softly, her hand stalling as she pulls them out. “Use your words,” she said, as she looked at Azzi. “Tell me.”

Azzi let out a small whimper, forcing her eyes open to meet Paige’s gaze. “Yes fuck,” she breathed, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s all for you Paige.”

A pleased hum escaped Paige as she leaned down, brushing her lips against Azzi’s collarbone before kissing her way up to her jaw as she slides her fingers back in. “That’s my girl,” she murmured against her skin, her words sending a rush through Azzi.

Azzi squirmed beneath her, feeling like she felt Paige all over her skin. Everything felt so heightened and Azzi felt like she wouldn’t last long. Paige tilted her head, studying her like she was committing every little reaction to memory. “Tell me how it feels,” Paige demanded softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she spoke.

Azzi’s breath came in short gasps as she struggled to gather herself to speak, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her. A few shaky whimpers slipped past her lips before she finally managed to look Paige in the eyes again. “You always make me feel so good baby. I can never get enough,” Azzi whispered, her voice raw.

Paige smirks at this, her fingers moving a little faster in Azzi as she moved closer, “You’re so desperate for me aren’t you.”

Azzi gasped softly at the shift in Paige’s demeanor, her nails digging into Paige’s back. “Yes, fuck I—I am baby I want more. I need—” she started, but Paige didn’t let her finish as she adds a third finger making Azzi’s words falter.

Azzi’s lips parted, her breath hitching as she arched beneath Paige. “Fuck you’re so deep Paige,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly as she rocks against Paige basically riding her fingers as she grinds down on her.

Paige meets Azzi’s rhythm pushing herself in deeper. Azzi whimpered again, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Shit…oh my God,” her voice trembling.

A groan escapes Paige’s lips at the feeling of Azzi taking her so easily. She leans down to kiss her, their lips moving together sloppily as Azzi whines in Paige’s mouth at the feeling pooling between her legs.

As Paige’s lips moved against Azzi’s, she felt the soft, desperate murmurs slipping past Azzi’s mouth. “Paige... baby, I need more,” Azzi panted between kisses, her fingers digging into Paige’s shoulders at the feeling of her fingers curling inside of her.

Paige pulled back just slightly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she smirked down at her. “Whatchu need mama?” she asked, her blue eyes dark and locked on Azzi’s face filled with pleasure.

Azzi’s breathing hitched, her hips lifting slightly as her hands trailed down Paige’s arms. “More,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Fuck—I just need more.”

Paige chuckled softly, the sound a little rough as she tilted her head, her lips ghosting over Azzi’s jaw. “More of what, baby?” she pressed, her fingers dragging out of Azzi completely before pressing them back in, sending shivers through her. “You gotta tell me.”

Azzi’s head tipped back, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tried to form the words, her body practically vibrating beneath Paige. “I want your mouth baby—” she finally managed, her voice small but drenched in need.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her eyes glinting as she leaned in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear. “That’s all you had to say,” she murmured as she lowers herself down Azzi’s body stopping to kiss and suck here and there.

Paige pulls her fingers out making Azzi whine at the loss as she’s bringing them to her lips. “Clean them up for me, baby,” Paige murmured, pressing them gently against Azzi’s lips.

Azzi didn’t hesitate, parting her lips and taking Paige’s fingers in, her tongue brushing over each of them slowly cleaning everything up. Her eyes fluttered shut, a soft, satisfied hum escaping her throat. “Mhmm...”

Paige watched her intently, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. “You like the way you taste?” she asked, her thumb brushing along Azzi’s chin as she held her gaze.

Azzi nodded, her lips still wrapped around Paige’s fingers, her eyes heavy as they flicked up to meet hers. She pulled back just slightly, her breath warm against Paige’s fingers as she whispered, “I love it.”

Paige chuckled, her smirk growing as she used both hands to pull off Azzi’s shorts and underwear slowly. “Good girl,” she murmured.

Azzi whines when Paige blows on her center teasing her but it’s quickly replaced by a moan when Paige licks it slowly taking her sweet time. Paige laps at Azzi slowly a hum escaping her throat at the way Azzi tastes like.

The gentleness of it isn’t enough for Azzi who’s been worked up all night so she starts pushing her hips into Paige. Paige smirks up at her getting the hint as she presses her tongue more firmly against Azzi.

Azzi immediately throws her head back wrapping on of her legs around Paige to bring her closer as she moans out “Mmm just like that baby.”

Paige chuckles at this as she murmurs against Azzi, “Feels good pretty?”

Azzi immediately responds “Sshh be quiet just eat me baby feels to good,” using one of her hands to push Paige’s face closer into her so she can’t speak.

Paige immediately pushes herself back. Using both of her hands on Azzi’s hips

to separate her from Azzi’s center causing Azzi to whine. “Who the fuck are you talking to like that?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything she just desperately tries to push hips up but Paige’s hands are pressing them down into the mattress. “Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

Azzi locks eyes with Paige a small smirk on her lips, a deep contrast to her hazy low eyes. “I’m talking to you.”

Paige raises her eyebrows at this chuckling a little as she nods her head slowly. “Alright remember that.”

Paige lowers herself back down attaching her lips to Azzi who immediately hums at the feeling, not even thinking about the consequences she knew she was going to get later.

Paige works her tongue against Azzi perfectly. Switching between lapping at Azzi completely and sucking, knowing exactly how to get Azzi where she wants her. Azzi is completely lost in the way Paige is eating her as she tangles her hands in her hair “Oh fuck… oh my god baby just like that.”

Paige laps at Azzi faster and a high pitched moan falls from Azzi’s lips as she pushes her hips up to meet Paige each time she swirls her tongue. Not long after Azzi’s legs start to shake slightly, the feeling in her stomach getting tight as she looses the rhythm she had with Paige moaning out “Yes yes fuck I’m so close baby keep going…”

Hearing this Paige immediately uses both hands to push against Azzi’s hips separating them as she stands up. Azzi’s eyes snap open at this “Paige what the fuck?”

Paige doesn’t even look at her as she walks toward the closet. “Shut the fuck up and sit there and wait.”

Azzi propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes narrowing slightly. She wanted to be annoyed but the tone in Paige’s voice made any irritation she had give way to excitement

She bit her lip, shifting slightly on the bed as she watched Paige, unable to tear her eyes away from the way Paige moved.

Paige opened the closet, her back to Azzi, the muscles in her shoulders flexing as she reached inside. After a moment, she stepped back, holding the strap and

harness in her hands. She took off the rest of her clothes before stepping into it, pulling the straps tight with ease.

Azzi’s throat went dry, her fingers curling into the sheets as her gaze followed Paige’s every movement as she started to walk back towards the bed.

“Flip over,” Paige said, as she stopped at the edge of the bed.

Azzi blinked, her breath catching slightly. “What?” she asked, her tone tinged with surprise.

Paige’s jaw tightened, her blue eyes dark as she looked down at her. “You heard me,” Paige said sharply. “Don’t make me repeat myself Azzi.”

The authoritative edge in her voice made Azzi swallow a little harshly. But without hesitation, she obeyed, immediately flipping onto her stomach, her face pressing into the cool sheets as she adjusted herself beneath Paige’s gaze.

“That’s better,” Paige murmured, a smirk tugging at her lips as she let her hand trail down Azzi’s back, her fingers dragging over her spine. “You do listen when you want to, huh?”

Azzi hummed softly, her breath uneven. “Only for you.”

Paige let out a dry chuckle, her grip tight as she grabbed Azzi’s hip, pulling her up to get on all fours. Azzi followed without hesitation, her face burning as she pressed her palms into the mattress. Paige’s hand ran over the curve of her hip before giving it a sharp squeeze.

“So, why were you being a brat then?” Paige asked.

“I wasn’t,” Azzi said quickly, her voice soft, almost defensive.

Paige raised an eyebrow, scoffing as she pushed Azzi’s chest against the mattress.“Yes, you were,” Paige countered, her tone sharper now.

Azzi whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to, baby,” she murmured, her voice pleading.

Paige laughed. “Bullshit,” she said flatly, her hand gripping Azzi’s hip tighter as she rubs the strap against Azzi. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Azzi bit her lip, looking away, knowing there was no way out of this.

Azzi bit her lip harder as Paige continued to push the strap against Azzi spreading her wetness all over it. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, baby…”

Paige let out a chuckle. She leaned down, her breath hot against Azzi’s neck, and murmured, “I know you are now.”

Without another word, Paige reached up, her fingers working to undo Azzi’s ponytail. Azzi’s hair cascaded down, and Paige’s hands combed through her scalp briefly before wrapping her fingers into the curls. With a sharp tug, she pulled Azzi’s head back, forcing her deep into the arch.

A loud gasp leaves Azzi’s body as Paige slides the entire length into her.

"Oh shit," Paige says licking her lips as she watches the way Azzi takes it all. Azzi’s body immediately begins trembling considering it was already close to spilling over when Paige stopped abruptly.

Azzi whimpered, her voice breathless and trembling. "Paige... baby I’m not going to last long."

Paige’s smirk deepened as she tugged Azzi’s hair tighter, not moving her hips yet. Yes, you are."

Paige leaned closer, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear. "You’re about to work for it," Paige murmured.

Azzi shivered, her hands curling tighter into the sheets, her body already responding to Paige’s words. She swallowed hard, realizing she didn’t have an option—not with the way Paige was talking to her

“Ok, baby,” Azzi whispered.

“That’s what I thought,” Paige said, a grin spreading across her face as she released Azzi’s hair just long enough to let her reposition herself to grab it again. “Now, be a good girl and show me how much you want it.”

Azzi knows exactly what Paige means so she starts to move herself forward before pushing back against Paige.

Paige watches as Azzi does this over and over each time the toy comes out a little wetter making Paige groan.

Azzi glanced back over her shoulder, her lips parted as she continued throwing herself back against Paige. "You like that, baby?"

Paige's jaw tightened as her eyes stayed locked on Azzi’s movements, the desire in her gaze clear. She didn’t hesitate, her voice low. "I love it."

"Keep going," Paige murmured, loving the way Azzi felt pressed against her, "and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Azzi can see it all over Paige’s face. She wants this just as bad, if not more than Azzi does. This is enough to cause Azzi to tighten against the strap trying to keep herself quiet so Paige doesn’t realize she’s close. But Paige knows Azzi’s body, she can see the slight tremble in her legs, the tight grip she has on the sheets.

Paige pulls out completely, the wetness dripping on the sheets as Azzi whines loudly.

Azzi’s voice was desperate as she gasped, “Baby, please, you’re edging me.”

Paige smirked as she leaned in closer, her voice calm yet firm. “You’re not done until I give you permission.”

“Why?” Azzi whined, her hips shifting back in search of relief.

Paige tilted her head, her blue eyes dark. “You know why.”

Azzi whimpered, her resolve breaking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I told you to be quiet. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Paige shook her head. “Not good enough.” She pulled back, leaving Azzi desperately trying to press herself against her.

“Please, baby, I need you. I need you so bad,” Azzi breathed, her voice trembling.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You gotta beg for it.”

“I’m already begging,” Azzi protested, her voice cracking.

Paige shook her head again, her lips curling into a smile. “No, you’re not. You can do better than that, Azzi.”

Azzi, willing to do whatever it took to feel Paige again, broke. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything. Please,” she pleaded, her voice desperate.”

Paige observed Azzi. “I still don’t hear you begging.”

Azzi’s breaths came faster, and she let go of all her pride. “Please, I’m begging. Please fuck me baby. Please. I just wanna feel you.” Her voice cracked, raw with want.

Paige hummed at this, a satisfied smile creeping across her face. “That’s better,” she murmured. Paige pulls Azzi up from the sheets by her hair wrapping her other hand around Azzi’s torso before she’s murmuring “Imma fuck you so good baby. Imma have you screaming for me.”

Azzi bites her lip at this before Paige is pushing into her again harshly making her eyes roll back as she moans loudly. Paige lets go of Azzi’s hair pushing her back into the mattress as she grabs both of her arms pulling them to meet behind her back as she works into her aggressively.

“Baby fuck..oh my god—“ Azzi cries out her eyes watering at the feeling.

Paige groans her eyes rolling back a little at the way everything is pushing against her as she fucks Azzi.

One of Paige’s hands travels back up to Azzi’s hair, grabbing it harshly. "You’re taking my shit so well baby.”

“Mhmm..yes I’ll do anything for you Paige. It’s all yours baby.” Azzi says her voice trembling and breath gasping between her words.

"Such a good girl baby," Paige gasps, her own legs shaking slightly as she slams into Azzi. The sound of their skin slapping against each other filling the room.

"Oh my—, fuck, fuck, right there," Azzi gasp, as she throws herself back against Paige.

"You gonna cum for baby?"

"Yes, yes, fuck baby please don’t stop." Azzi is almost breathless now as her stomach begins to burn as Paige grips her hips tightly now

"Paige I can’t.. I’m about to—“

"Cum all over me baby." Paige says as her own desire threatens to spill over.

Those words are enough to send Azzi over the edge, her legs shaking as she spills out onto the shears. The room fills with the sounds of her high pitched moans as she continues rocking back against Paige.

Before Azzi knows what’s happening Paige is flipping her on her back putting her hand around her neck as she drives back into her.

"Oh my god!" Azzi screams out.

"I needa see your face baby. I’m close.” Paige moans, her eyelids low as she moves in and out of Azzi so roughly she has the girl under her seeing white spots.

Azzi smirked lazily, her eyes completely rolled back as she spoke breathlessly, “You need to see my face?”

Paige hummed, her hand tightening on Azzi’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off Azzi’s circulation a little. “Yeah, mama,” Paige whimpered, her voice still dripping with control. “I gotta see it.”

“Why?” Azzi rasped, her voice faltering slightly as Paige’s grip on her throat lingered.

Paige tilted her head, her blue eyes piercing as she leaned in closer leaning over Azzi now as she worked into her. Her hand tightened just a fraction more, cutting off Azzi’s circulation in a way that made her body buzz with heightened sensation as she got close to another orgasm.

“Gotta see how I make you feel,” Paige said.

“Makes me feel so good seeing your eyes roll back like that. Hearing how you scream for me,” Paige added, tone breathy as her thumb brushed Azzi’s jaw, her eyes never leaving her face that had tears streaming down it now from the way Paige was pushing into her.

"Baby, you’re in my stomach," Azzi cry’s out

"You taking it so well tho princess,"Paige says, as she keeps slamming her hips into Azzi. “I’m so fucking close Azzi baby."

Azzi’s hands start clawing at her shoulders leaving harsh red marks behind as scratches and digs at her shoulders. "Me too baby," Azzi whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut.

Paige starts to ramble the words falling out of her not making any sense as she works into Azzi trying not to finish yet. “Fuck— I’m so…shit baby—feels so good mama.”

Wetness is spilling out of both of them as it pools on the sheets beneath them.

Azzi’s lips parted as she gasped out desperately as more tears fell down her cheeks, "Paige baby—I’m about to cum baby.” Her nails digging into Paige’s back deeper. Paige lets out a sound of relief hearing this as it was getting too hard to stop her own orgasm.

Paige’s hand squeezes at Azzi’s neck tightly, completely cutting off circulation as she speaks into her neck,"Scream for me baby,” she gasped. “Let everybody hear that I got you like this.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate, her body arching as her voice rang out, screaming Paige’s name, the sound echoing through the room as both of them come undone together, Azzi gushing all over the sheets and Paige’s stomach as they both gasp Azzi shaking uncontrollably underneath Paige.

"Holy shit baby-" Paige moans out, in Azzi’s ear as she finishes. Paige collapsed onto Azzi, her body completely spent as the weight of exhaustion settled over them. Their skin is slick with sweat, and their chests rise and fall in sync, both desperate to catch their breaths. Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s neck as she lazily mumbled, “M’sorry, baby,” her voice soft and muffled.

Azzi let out a breathless laugh, her fingers gently brushing through Paige’s damp hair. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice light.

Paige smiled faintly, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s shoulder before whispering, “You’re too good to me.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers trailing down Paige’s back in soothing strokes. “You say that like you don’t deserve it.”

Paige hummed, nuzzling closer as the tension in her body finally eased.

Paige lifted herself slightly, her elbows braced on either side of Azzi as she brushed her fingers tenderly against Azzi’s flushed cheek. Her blue eyes softened as she murmured, “I’m sorry for making you cry, beautiful.”

Azzi chuckled lightly. “It’s okay, baby. I asked for it, remember?” she teased, her hand trailing lazily down Paige’s arm before resting on her wrist. “Besides, you’re the only one who could ever make me feel this way.”

Paige tilted her head, her lips quirking into a smile. “Good,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of Azzi’s nose. “Because I don’t plan on letting anyone else try.”

Azzi laughed at that, her hand sneaking up to trace along Paige’s jawline. “Possessive much?”

Paige grinned. “Always. You like it, though.”

Azzi’s laughter grew quieter, her gaze locking onto Paige’s. “I do,” she admitted. “I really do.”

Paige kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “I meant what I said earlier,” she whispered. “You’re mine, Azzi. Always.”

“And you’re mine.”

Paige stayed there for a moment longer, her gaze scanning Azzi’s face, committing every detail of this moment to memory.

Finally, she sighed standing up, her hand raking through her messy hair. “Meet me in the shower when you can walk again,” she teased, her lips curving into a smirk.

Azzi rolled her eyes, letting out a laugh. “You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled, but her body remained limp against the bed for a few more moments. Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she stood up and made her way to the bathroom quietly.

By the time Azzi finally joined her, still a little unsteady, they spent a quiet, moment under the warm water, the heat easing their muscles and calming their minds. Once they were out, Azzi grabbed a towel, carefully drying Paige off before helping her to the bed.

Now, Paige was sprawled on her stomach, her damp hair sticking to her skin as Azzi straddled her back. She gently squeezed Aquaphor onto her fingers, rubbing it into the harsh marks decorating Paige’s skin.

Paige let out a groan, her face buried in the pillow. “That hurts,” her voice muffled.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head as she smoothed her hands over another scratch. “You’re such a big baby,” she teased.

Paige twisted her neck slightly to glance back at her, her lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “I’m not a baby,” she protested, though her voice betrayed her whining. “It hurts!”

Azzi laughed again, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Paige’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you go from that to this.”

Paige huffed, turning her head back to rest against the pillow. “I got layers, baby,” she muttered.

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Shut up,” she said fondly, giving Paige’s head a light shove before crawling off of her. She moved across the room to turn off the light, plunging them into darkness.

Returning to the bed, Azzi slid under the covers, gently tugging Paige along with her. “Come here,” she murmured, pulling Paige onto her chest. Paige rests her head against Azzi’s collarbone, her body completely relaxed as Azzi’s hand lightly trailed up and down her back, careful not to disturb the Aquaphor.

“You know I need to let that stuff sit longer,” Azzi said softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she felt Paige’s breath even out against her skin.

Paige hummed, a sleepy smile tugging at her mouth. “You just like having me close,” she mumbled, her words already drowsy.

“Maybe,” Azzi admitted, her fingers stilling in Paige’s hair. “I don’t hear you complaining, though.”

“I’m not,” Paige whispered, her voice softer now.

After a beat of silence, she murmured, “I love you.”

Azzi’s heart swelled at the confession, and she tilted her head down just enough to kiss the top of Paige’s head. “I love you, too baby,” she whispered back.

…

The next morning, Paige and Azzi sat at the kitchen counter, eating the healthy breakfast Azzi had insisted on making Paige eat —scrambled eggs, avocado toast, and fresh fruit. Their voices were soft, the quiet hum of their conversation highlighted by occasional laughter as they shared little moments from the past week.

Just then, Nika emerged from her room, hair a mess and an irritated look on her face. Without saying a word, she walked up to the counter, grabbed a banana, and slapped $200 onto the counter in front of Paige.

Paige smirked. “Morning to you too sunshine,” she said, the smugness in her voice clear.

Nika didn’t respond at first, instead peeling her banana with a grumble. As she passed behind Paige, she clapped her hand against Paige’s shoulder harshly on purpose.

“Ah, shit—” Paige hissed, flinching as she jerked forward, her hand reflexively reaching for the sore spot.

Azzi’s head snapped up, her expression turning from amused to confused in an instant. “What’s going on?” she asked, her gaze shifting between Paige and Nika.

Paige winced but managed to keep her smile intact. Before she could answer, Nika chimed in, pointing a half-eaten banana at her. “That’s for losing the bet.”

Azzi frowned, her confusion evident. “What bet?”

Paige groaned softly, leaning back in her chair, but Nika was all too happy to explain. “Oh, Paige here thought she could make you scream for her. Bet me $200 she could pull it off.”

Azzi blinked, her cheeks instantly warming as her gaze darted back to Paige, whose sheepish grin was doing little to save her now. “Paige Madison Bueckers,” she said sharply, though her voice wavered somewhere between irritation and disbelief.

Paige shrugged, feigning innocence. “What? I knew I could do it. You know I hate being told what I can’t do baby.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped. “You bet on it?!”

Nika snorted. “Oh, she was real confident. Walked in my room before we left for the party and said, ‘Just have the cash ready in the morning.’”

Azzi shook her head, a mix of shock and amusement on her face. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Paige gave her a grin, leaning her elbow on the counter as she tilted her head. “Well, technically, I wasn’t wrong. Was I?”

Azzi let out a sharp laugh, nudging Paige’s leg with her knee under the table. “You’re such an idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to keep from laughing.

Paige leaned closer, her smirk softening into something more tender as she murmured, “Yeah, but you love me.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her coffee. “Unfortunately for me, I really do,” she muttered.

Nika, satisfied with her morning entertainment, waved them off. “Alright, I’m done. This was worth every penny,” she said, heading back to her room with her banana in hand.

Once she was gone, Paige turned back to Azzi, her grin as shameless as ever. “So... am I forgiven?”

Azzi gave her a long look before breaking into a grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, shaking her head as they returned to their breakfast.

[ju1cyfru1t]

rottmnt x reader || S/O who bites (out of love and affection obvi)

Rise! Donnie, Raph, Mikey, Leo x Reader (separately)

fluff? :D, gn reader, romantic (established relationship), BITING mmmm, mild swearing

Donnie

- the first time you bite him, he jumps and lets out a loud yelp, “ah! ow! what in the name of-“ then just stares at you in disbelief. absolutely incredulous. and has to take a while to process. why? why- HOW could you do this to him? after all he’s done for you?

- don’t play with him he HAS and WILL bite you back and NOT in a loving way

- he is ALWAYS on his guard

- you go in for a hug? you lean in to kiss him? you turn your head ever so slightly in his direction? his whole body tenses up. you’re giving this boy trust issues. he will physically, STILL GENTLY, push you away with his mechanical spider arm thingies…heaven forbid you bite those too….

- “Do. NOT. Bite me. Y/N.” “…”

- ^— “DO NOT. This is your last warning.”

- “Yes, Y/N. You’re very ferocious and vicious. Now STOP biting me.”

- “Sigh. That is NOT affection, Y/N.”

- “AH! Don’t bite me while I’m working, please…Don’t bite me ever!”

- “If you want to ‘show affection,’ you could just…I don’t know, hug me? or hold my hand? the biting is unnecessary.”

- NOT a fan of the biting at ALL

Raph

- The first time you bite him, “AHH!” he is confused. he does not understand. are you trying to attack him??? do you wanna throw hands??? what did he do to deserve that??? he does not want to throw hands with you

- he really does not see how biting is supposed to be showing your affection but whatever you say 😭

- his skin is pretty thick and rough. I mean you’d really have to sink your teeth in to hurt him so he just lets you. it actually lowkey tickles to him.

- “Careful. Ya don’t wanna bite my spikes.”

- it’s definitely not his favorite thing in the world but he doesn’t mind terribly if it really makes you happy and as long as it’s just you trying to show him love

- chooses to just take it as a sign that you want attention and/or some kind of affection

- would never bite you back tho

- however, I don’t suggest catching him off guard with a nibble cause he might start swingin 🤺 and would feel absolutely horrible abt it

Mikey

- the first time you bite him he’s offended. you’re gonna bite HIM? 🤨 yeah, ok buddy. he just squeaks in surprise and rubs where you bit him, looking at you like ‘😟’ before biting you back. he is taking it personally until you tell him you’re just showing affection cuz you love him soooooo much

- he’s perfectly ok with it then as long as you don’t bite him too hard

- LOVES to give and receive affection anyways so he makes it really easy to bite him when he’s clinging onto you all the time

- always giggles and squirms when you bite him

- returns your bites with kisses all over your face

Leo

- the fucking most dramatic ever

- the first time you bite him he acts like you just shot him

- “OWW!! OWIE! Ugh! Y/N! How COULD you?! BETRAYAL” while gripping where you bit his shoulder and whining like a toddler even though it did not hurt at all and you didn’t leave any sort of mark whatsoever.

- ^ drops the act completely when you tell him it was out of love

- now every time you do it he thinks you’re trying to flirt with him 🤞😔 and I mean I guess he’s sort of-ish right

- honestly he doesn’t really care but definitely teases you about it /ns

- “yeah? do I taste good, Y/N?” /ns!!

- “ow! ok, ok! not too hard!” while giggling

- “mhm…now kiss it better.” makes you kiss where you bit him every time.

——————————————————————————

now I know I ain’t the only one who bites like that 🤨

[yannawayne]

viii. a little death

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: MILD SMUT (will put indicators if people want to skip), Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Suggestive jokes, Doppelgangers AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

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The black of his suit bleeds seamlessly into the surrounding darkness, making him appear more phantom than man.

He looks like a living nightmare.

Damian lifts his head just in time to see Batman towering over you, his cape billowing ominously in the night breeze. A cold chill runs down Damian's spine as dread settles heavy in his chest. Of all people, his father was the last person he wanted to find him here like this—vulnerable, exposed, and with you.

Reacting on pure instinct, Damian scrambles to his feet, positioning himself firmly between you and the Dark Knight.

"Father." Damian’s voice is low but steady, though the weight of what’s happening lingers in every syllable. His mind races, knowing that Batman doesn’t recognize you in your vigilante form and likely believes he's cheating on you.

To Batman, this looks like betrayal.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 12:13 AM - Stark Tower, Gotham City.

The rhythmic clacking of a keyboard filled the room, a steady, almost hypnotic sound that gently tugged you from sleep. You stirred, the tangled sheets wrapping around you like a cozy cocoon. Damian’s strong arms were draped around your shoulders and waist, his warmth a comforting presence as he held you close.

As he shifted slightly, his fingers traced absentminded patterns along your back, a tender caress that sent a soft shiver of relaxation down your spine. You groaned softly, turning towards him and resting your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a soothing, rhythmic pulse, grounding you in the comfort of his embrace.

Across the room, Morgan was propped up at your desk, her messy hair pulled back with a headband, though a few stray tendrils had escaped and framed her face in an untidy halo. Her eyes were fixed intently on the laptop screen, where a Google document was open, filled with lines of text that seemed to flow endlessly. In her free hand, she cradled a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma wafting through the room and mingling with the faint scent of the morning air. 

After returning to the tower yesterday, you and Damian had practically slept through the entire morning—this one, however... 

You groaned, burying your cheek deeper into the pillow as you tried to block out the light from the laptop and her typing. 

“You bitch. Do you ever sleep?” you grumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Morgan gave you a lopsided grin, the steam from her coffee curling around her face like a comforting fog. “Sleep? What’s that?”

You rolled onto your back, stretching your limbs. “That’s usually my line.”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “I know. Just kinda hyper tonight,” she said, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she continued typing.

"By the way,” she hummed thoughtfully, “what kinks do you think Nightcrawler would have?"

"..."

You could feel Damian’s confusion even before he spoke. "Excuse me?" he blinked at her, squinting as if he’d misheard. “Why on earth would you ask that? And why now, of all times?” “I’m writing fanfic,” she replied matter-of-factly, still typing away. “Ooh! You’re her boyfriend. What kind of freaky stuff do you think her hero-sona would be into?”

You stifled a laugh, propping yourself up on one elbow to enjoy the show. “Choking kink.”

Damian, who had been leaning against the headboard, choked on his own spit. His eyes widened in shock, and his face turned a deep crimson. “What?!”

“Don’t play dumb,” you snickered, reveling in the way his skin turned redder by the second. “I know you knew this one.”

Morgan’s gaze flickered between you two, her expression momentarily blank, though a hint of something inscrutable flashed in her eyes before she quickly shook it off. She returned to her typing, the clacking of keys filling the room once more.

“That’s so basic,” she huffed, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Give me a better one. I need something with a little more flair.”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Bondage, then. Webs, remember?”

Damian's face turned an even deeper shade of red at the mention of webs, his mind clearly racing to process the suggestion. 

Morgan’s fingers paused mid-keystroke as she considered your suggestion. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. “Web bondage? Now that’s more like it,” she said, quickly typing it in. “I can work with that.”

“I’m surrounded by lunatics,” he muttered.

Morgan grinned wickedly. “Lunatics, maybe, but this is going to be one hell of a fic. And don’t worry, Dames, I’ll make sure Robin gets some action too.”

He shot her a glare. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“There are ships of us already?” you blink, surprised. 

Morgan coughs into her hand, an odd twist in her face. “There are ships of everyone these days. People have imaginations that just don’t quit. "

“I had no idea,” you said, blinking in surprise. “What do they call it? SpideyBird? WebWing?”

Damian looked genuinely disgusted. “Why do they even need a name for it? Why are people spending time on this?”

You patted Damian’s shoulder reassuringly, trying to lighten the mood. “At least they’re rooting for us to be together, right?”

Morgan just shrugged off Damian’s reaction and continued to write. “The fanfics of you are pretty fresh. Only around a hundred works so far, but the edits…” She trailed off, her fingers fumbling for her phone with a mischievous grin.

Groaning, you shut your eyes as Morgan’s grin widened. 

“Do not show me—” you began, but before you could finish, the audio started blaring from her phone.

Well, come and get it now Come and get it now Baby, show me what you're doing Come and turn around 'Cause it's not just a figure of speech You got me down on my knees It's getting harder to breathe out

“MORGAN!”

She looked up, grinning widely as if she’d been waiting for this exact reaction.

“What?” she laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment. “You can’t tell me this hot.”

Curiosity got the better of you, and despite your better judgment, you peeked at the screen. The video was a shaky close-up, showing you leaning against a car, your hair tousled and your armor cracked. You were breathing heavily, your head thrown back.

The camera zoomed in slowly, and the lyrics that accompanied it were dramatic and overly romantic, turning the entire scene into something far more intimate than it had ever been. You could almost understand why someone might find it “hot,” but that didn’t stop the wave of embarrassment from flooding through you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “That is horrible. I was literally on the brink of death. Was that from last night?” “Yeah,” Morgan nodded as she replayed the clip. “Your fans ate it up. Apparently, it’s going viral.”

Damian, who had been eerily silent throughout the entire exchange, finally broke his silence. “Where is that on?”

You immediately yanked your hands away from your face, your eyes wide with disbelief. “No. Don’t even think about it.”

“Tiktok,” Morgan answered casually, a hint of mischief in her tone. To your horror, Damian pulled out his phone

“Don’t you dare!” you warned, but it was too late. Damian was already typing your codename into the search bar. 

As the search results loaded, an edit began to play, and you felt your face flush with heat. The chosen song only seemed to amplify the humiliation. 

Touch me, yeah I want you to touch me there Make me feel like I am breathing Feel like I am human

Damian, smirked, liked the video, and saved it.

“STOP!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 8:06 AM - Gotham City.

"..."

"..."

"Why—"

"Don't—" you seethed, sinking deeper into the plush leather seat of Tony’s limousine. The soft leather creaked under your weight as you clenched the armrest, your knuckles turning white. "Don’t even say a word."

Damian pressed his lips together, suppressing a smirk. 

His gaze drifted over your outfit—no, the uniform you’d been practically forced into. The Stark Industries cap perched on your head was like a crown of corporate shame, its logo glaring down at you from the brim. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your torso, the bold emblem stretched so tightly across your chest it might as well have been tattooed on. Even your sneakers were branded with that obnoxious red logo.

You felt like a sellout.

“You look stunning,” Damian said, barely holding back a laugh as he glanced over at you from his seat across the limo. 

“Stunning?!” You shot him a scowl, the edges of your mouth twitching downward. “I look ridiculous!”

“Why didn’t you just wear—”

“I couldn’t!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at Morgan. “This fucking ginger goblin threw my clothes out! Now I’m stuck as a goddamn billboard!”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo," she mocked, turning to you from her spot in the limo, sprawled comfortably on the cushions. Her fingers casually brushed against the plush fabric as she spoke, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Dad’s idea, not mine. He wanted you to have a ‘fresh look.’”

You turned to Tony, who was lounging at the far edge of the limo, his dress shoes propped up against one of the seats. He was absorbed in his phone, mindlessly scrolling through this week’s gossip. Occasionally, he chuckled to himself, completely oblivious to the steam practically pouring out of your ears.

Fighting the urge to choke-slam him right then and there, you spoke up “What the hell is this all for, anyways?”

Tony peered up from his phone and grinned, “Oh, come on. It’s a marketing move. There’s going to be paparazzi and everything. We thought it’d be fun to put you in our new line of promotional gear.”

“Fun? You think this is fun?!”

“It’s not like we’re asking you to wear spandex,” Morgan snickered, her eyes drifting to meet Damian’s. He shot her a glare in response. “It’s just a little branding.”

“I’d almost rather be wearing spandex,” you grumble, pressing your cheek to the cool glass of the window. Your breath fogs up the surface, creating a clouded view of the city beyond.

Morgan whistles. "That's a sight I'd love to see."

You roll your eyes. The cityscape outside rushes by, a blur of towering buildings and streaks of light blending into a hazy, indistinct swirl. Outside, the world seems distant, almost unreal, as if you're moving too fast to truly grasp any of it.

“By the way, you’re going to hate me, but…” Morgan spoke up again, reaching into her bag. “I also brought a jacket.” She held out a sleek, branded jacket that perfectly matched the rest of the outfit.

You slammed your head into the glass and vowed to burn every Stark-branded item you owned.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 8:14 AM - Wayne Tower, Gotham City.

Bruce wondered if it was too late to file for unemployment.

He sat at the head of the conference table, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the middle-aged man droning on in a monotone voice. The man's garish mustard-yellow tie jerked awkwardly with each exaggerated gesture, as if trying to bring some life to the dull presentation. His glasses, too large for his face, inched down his nose with every movement, threatening to fall off completely.

“—as you've all been aware, we've been facing issues regarding our stolen drone flight technology due to criminal activity in the—”

The slides projected onto the screen, filled with graphs and charts, were melding into an endless stream of data that felt like it was slowly turning his brain into mush. Bruce barely registered them. Instead, his mind was a million miles away, lost in a fog. He let his attention drift to the ceiling tiles, idly counting the tiny imperfections as the briefing continued. 

TICK. TOK. TICK. TOK.

He glanced at his watch, stifling a groan as he saw only a few painful minutes had passed since he last checked. The meeting, as usual, felt like a slog, but today was particularly grueling. 

His thoughts kept drifting back to the text he received last night. Damian had invited him to your dress shop appointment today, telling him he would be covering the bill. Without a second thought, Bruce agreed and sent his card over—and if Alfred hadn’t intervened, he might have ended up buying out the entire boutique in his enthusiasm.

Could you blame him?

Much like Selina, you were stubbornly independent—always managing on your own, even when you needed support. It was a trait that made him proud, but it also left him wishing he could be more involved in your life.

If Bruce were a better man, less emotionally constipated as he often chastised himself, he might have reached out more. He might have asked if you needed to talk, offered his support more openly, and bridged the gap that seemed to widen with each passing year.

But he wasn’t that man. He was the one who held back, kept his feelings guarded, and let the distance grow because he didn’t know how to close it.

Adding salt to the wound, Stark would be there too, intruding on what should have been his time with you. 

An absolute diva. That man had a way of dominating any room, leaving little space for anything—or anyone—else. It wasn’t just Tony’s overwhelming presence that irked Bruce, but how effortlessly Stark seemed to connect with you.

In just a few months, Tony had managed to get closer to you than Bruce had in years. Where Bruce held back, Tony leaned in, closing the gap he couldn’t seem to bridge.

To make matters worse, Stark had already gotten a head start. Although Bruce would have loved to pick you up himself, he was stuck in this meeting he couldn’t cancel again—he’d already rescheduled it thirteen times.

Which is why, the moment the clock hit 12, he was already on his feet, pushing his chair back and making a beeline for the door.

"Sir, we still need to discuss—" mustard tie stuttered, but his protest was cut short as Bruce, without turning or breaking his stride, raised a hand and dismissed him with a flick of the wrist.

“Contact my secretary if you need anything,” Bruce called over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for debate. The matter was closed.

“I’ll handle whatever needs to be done tonight,” he said, shutting the door firmly behind him.

And he would. Bruce had already gathered a significant amount of data on Black Mask and the recent robberies plaguing Wayne Enterprises. Although the case had taken a backseat amid the chaos with the spider vigilante, it was time to refocus. The priority now was to tackle what truly needed his attention.

As he stormed through the hallways, the lens of a nearby CCTV camera tracked his movements.

The camera’s feed flickered momentarily. The image on the screen sputtered and glitched, revealing fleeting glimpses of different worlds—flashes of varying times and places. Colors bled into one another, shapes twisted and warped, and for a brief, disorienting moment, the image seemed to fracture, as if reality itself was breaking apart.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the glitching ceased. The feed stabilized, leaving only a faint trace of the anomaly that had briefly unsettled the surveillance system.

Bruce jabbed the button for the ground floor and slid into the elevator. 

The lens refocused, but he was already out of sight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

The vehicle glided to a stop in front of a gleaming marble building, and you all stepped out, heading toward the entrance. The interior was as opulent as the exterior promised. Marble floors gleamed underfoot, and glass walls reflected the polished attendants who moved gracefully in their sharp suits. Nearby, customers mingled and laughed, their designer outfits adding vibrant splashes of color to the sleek surroundings. 

Your attention was drawn to the sleek signage behind the lobby desk, where a name was displayed in elegant gold lettering.

“La Ouvere.”

French. Expensive. So luxurious it practically oozed excess. Because, of course, this was the place Tony chose.

Grumbling, you adjusted your cap to hide your face. 

You couldn’t believe he made you wear company merch to a place like this. 

CLAP.

You looked up just in time to see two rough hands slam together in a handshake, the sound sharp and echoing through the lobby like a gunshot. Tony and Bruce exchanged pleasantries, their faces stretched into wide, almost painfully forced grins.

"Bruce! Good to see you," Tony started, his voice oozing with practiced charm. "I’ve got to say, I am a huge fan of your recent striptease at the Iceberg Lounge."

"Ha." Bruce’s reply was tight-lipped. "Tony. Always a pleasure."

The handshake lingered a beat too long, both men gripping each other’s hands like they were trying to see who could squeeze the other’s bones into dust first, daring the other to flinch.

Bruce placed a hand on your shoulder with a fatherly air. “I’m glad you saw great potential in her. I’ve always known her to be quite the achiever from a young age.”

Tony wasn’t about to let that go uncontested. He quickly slid his other hand onto your shoulder,  “Well, if anyone’s been pushing the limits and achieving great things, it’s definitely been her.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And it’s all thanks to the support system. After all, it’s not just about talent but the environment that nurtures it.” He gave your shoulder a pat, adding, “Despite the struggles, her aunt raised her well—you just get to reap the benefits. Haha. Not everyone can rely on billion-dollar labs to get ahead.”

“Well, thanks to me,” Tony says, giving your shoulder a shake (again with the shoulders thing.) “I’d say she’s got plenty of both now.”

The testosterone in this room was so thick you could practically taste it.

“Alright,” you shake your head, gently removing their hands from your shoulders. “Lovely. Nice. Wow. Can we like, go inside now?”

Tony tossed you a quick glance and said, “Right. Lead the way.”

Bruce gave a curt nod. “Of course. After you.”

They both reached for the door handle at the same time, their fingers colliding in an awkward, fumbling dance. For a split second, they froze, locking eyes with a mutual glare.

Seconds dragged on, feeling like hours. Neither man budged. Their hands, now tangled together in a bizarre and clumsy struggle, seemed locked in an absurd standoff. Tony’s fingers began to subtly shift, attempting a stealthy maneuver to slip underneath Bruce’s grip. But Bruce wasn’t having any of it. With a deliberate twist of his wrist, he countered Tony’s advance, blocking the move with a firm slam.

Another minute stretched out, each second heavier than the last.

You couldn’t take it any longer.

“Are you two having a staring contest?”

"..."

"..."

Tony blinked first, cursing softly under his breath. Bruce’s smirk broadened, twice as smug than usual.

“Oh my god. Just move!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in frustration. “We’re here to shop, remember?”

The two men released the door handle simultaneously as if startled out of their petty contest. Tony stepped aside with a flourish, giving a dramatic sweep of his arm. “After you, mademoiselle.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

“These are the choices given to you by Mister Stark and Mister Wayne. Social event, oui?” the attendant says, her tone professionally neutral despite the clearly forced, fake French accent. She smooths down your black undershirt, ensuring it's perfectly straight before presenting the options.

She holds up the first suit: “Deep scarlet. Rich, saturated color—like fine wine. A luxurious wool blend. Two-piece. Tapered trousers, invisible stitching. Streamlined silhouette. French cuffs.”

Then she displays the second option: “Now, dark silk. Smooth, so smooth—like velvet in night. Classic sheen, very elegant. Three-piece. Also with tapered trousers, invisible stitching. Slim silhouette. Barrel cuffs.”

With a smile, she adds, “Both have their own magic, non? What shall you choose for the grand affair?”

���Uh,” you gape like the peasant you were, eyes darting between the two suits which seem nearly identical apart from their color. You barely caught onto the details the attendant pointed out.

As you wrestle with your decision, snippets of the conversation between the two men outside drift through the curtain.

“Sometimes, a classic black suit just gets the job done,” Bruce interjected. “It’s timeless and professional, never out of place.”

Tony retorted, “Oh, sure, blending into the background is so exciting. Why not go for red—loud, in-your-face, and impossible to ignore? It’s a damn statement.”

Bruce’s voice grew sharper. “I don’t know if you’re the right guy to make that call, considering the atrocity you dressed her in today,” he said, gesturing toward the Stark Industries merch discarded on the couch in the dressing room.

“Uh, says the guy who thinks monochrome is the pinnacle of fashion. Please, get real asshole. This is a hell of a lot better than your boring black blobs. Grow up.”

“You grow up,” Bruce shot back.

You roll your eyes and spot another suit hung up on a nearby wall—a deep emerald green. “What’s that one?”

The attendant perks up. “Ah, cette tenue! I apologize, it slipped my mind. This one was provided by the young gentleman with you. I should have mentioned it earlier.”

She holds the suit up to your chest, carefully examining the fit and adjusting the sleeve to ensure it drapes just right. 

“Three-piece suit with pattern. Jacket is single-breasted, notch lapels, welt pocket. The trousers are flat-front, slim fit, with sharp crease. The vest has five buttons, V-neckline, tailored fit. Very technical, very structured.”

You nod, satisfied. “This one. I like this.”

“Oh, magnifique! Excellent choice!” 

She quickly helps you into the suit. First, she slides on the vest, adjusting the straps at the back for a snug fit. Next, she drapes the jacket over your shoulders, smoothing out the fabric and aligning the lapels. Finally, she fastens the trousers, making sure the fit is right and the sharp crease is aligned.

You step out from behind the curtains, and every eye in the room locks onto you.

Morgan's face drops. “She chose the puke color.”

"Wow. Thanks. Really feeling the support here," you scoff, adjusting the sleeves. 

Turning to Damian, you raise an eyebrow, and it's only then that he truly registers what he's seeing. His expression softens gradually as he takes you in. The hard lines of his face are still there, but now they seem gentler, softened. 

You give him a small smile—nothing grand, just a subtle curve of your lips. But you know that even the smallest smile from you is enough to unravel him.

He watches, mesmerized, as you twirl slightly in front of the mirror. The suit hugs your figure perfectly, accentuating every curve.

“This was the boyfriend's pick," you say, flicking and straightening the lapels. Morgan's head snaps up. "I picked it because it matches his eyes, and honestly, I couldn't deal with your guys' arguing any longer.”

"Tt," Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, and he gestures for you to come closer. You step to his side, feeling the warmth of his hand as it rests gently over yours. With a subtle twist of your wrist, your fingers intertwine naturally, fitting together like they've always did.

Tony huffs, shaking his head. “Alright, well, whatever makes you happy. You look snug as a bug, kid.”

“Uh. Arachnid. Not a bug,” you correct him.

Bruce blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of the interaction, clearly missing the joke.

He shakes his head and gestures to a waiting attendant, who approaches with a tray holding three boxes. The attendant opens the first box, revealing a necklace that catches the light and glints brightly. They lift it out, its shine almost blinding, and place it carefully on the counter.

“If you'd like,” Bruce smiles, “I’ve also picked out some accessories for you.”

The attendant then moves to the next box, lifting the lid to reveal a set of matching earrings, which they arrange neatly on the counter. They proceed to the third box, opening it to reveal a bracelet that sparkles just as intensely as the necklace. The attendant sets everything out with careful movements, arranging the pieces in a neat row.

You hold the necklace up to the light, blinded. “This is... a lot of sparkle.”

Turning to the attendant, you ask, “What’s the damage?”

“The necklace is priced at $250,000,” they say with a smile that’s more tightrope than genuine. “The earrings are $150,000, and the bracelet is $300,000.”

You blink, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, the numbers swirling in your head.

“What the actual fuck?” you blurt out, carefully setting the necklace back in its box with the reverence of someone handling a live grenade. “That’s… definitely not in my budget.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just money. If the price is too much, I can always—”

Bruce cuts him off with a grunt. “No need. I already have the check ready.”

"What?!" You turn to Bruce, shaking your head. “No! No one is buying me more than the suit! I appreciate the gesture, but this is way too overboard.”

"It's not that much, beloved," Damian hums, reaching for the earrings and holding them up to your face. "The necklace I bought you for your 18th cost twice of these combined."

Your eye twitches in disbelief. “You... you told me it was of ‘reasonable price.’”

“It was.”

“How much did you pay?!”

Damian remains silent, avoiding your eyes.

“Damian. Thomas. Wayne—”

Before you can finish, Damian calls over one of the attendants with a casual wave. “Excuse me? We’ll take all of this.”

The attendant, looking a bit taken aback but eager to please, nodded quickly and began arranging the items. You stared at Damian, your eyes practically burning and searing a hole through his stupid undercut.

“You can’t be serious!” 

Damian simply smirked, leaning closer. “Consider it a small gesture for someone who’s worth every penny.”

As you continued bickering, Morgan’s gaze lingered on the scene, her chest tightening with an unsettling, heavy feeling. She could feel something bitter and heavy rising in her chest, and she turned her eyes away, hoping that if she didn’t see it, she could ignore the way it made her feel, that gnawing ache she wished she could forget.

But then she heard your voice, soft and inviting.

"Morgan?"

It was like a lifeline, pulling her back to the present. She turned to you, forcing herself to meet your gaze.

"Can you tell them that I do not need this?" you asked with a groan, your smile radiating warmth. It was the kind of smile that could light up any room, even as your eyes drifted to the glimmering jewelry with exasperation. “They’re completely insane.”

Morgan forced a small smile of her own, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and shrugged slightly. 

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I think they’re onto something. You’re worth every penny. More than any of this could ever show.”

The words came out easy enough, but underneath, she could feel the bittersweet edge of them, something she kept buried deep where no one could see.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 10:24 PM - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

Shot through the heart and you're to blame Darling, you give love a bad name An angel's smile is what you sell You promised me heaven, then put me through hell

Music played from her speakers. The lab was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of various screens and the occasional flicker of a monitoring light. Morgan sat at her workstation, the faint blue light of the holographic display casting a ghostly glow on her face. She was surrounded by a sea of tools, schematics, and half-finished projects, but her attention was miles away from the work at hand.

The thought of how you looked at Damian earlier haunts her deep into the night. 

Morgan’s fingers tapped absently on the console, her gaze distant and unfocused. She tried to lose herself in her work, hoping the details of her projects would distract her from the ache in her chest. But every time she glanced up at the screen, it felt as if her mind was dragging her back to that moment.

It didn't take a genius to see that she had feelings for you.

Woah, you're a loaded gun, yeah Oh, there's nowhere to run No one can save me, the damage is done

On the screen, the potency of the toxin you were exposed to a day ago was being processed. Ivy's old journal lay open in front of Morgan, serving as a reference for comparison.

As she scanned the data, a troubling pattern began to emerge. The readings were unstable, fluctuating wildly and suggesting incomplete or inconsistent results. Hours melted away as Morgan poured over the data, her eyes darting between the fluctuating graphs and the notes in the journal.

An odd, unknown element kept appearing in the results. It was an anomaly.

"This is not supposed to be here...?" Morgan mumbled, scratching at her head.

The journal’s pages fluttered as she flipped through them, desperately searching for any mention of similar anomalies or clues that might explain the glitch. Ivy’s notes were dense with technical jargon and cryptic observations, but none of it seemed to align with the strange data she was seeing on her screen.

BEEP.

Morgan’s head perked up, her attention snapping back to the screen. The familiar, rhythmic pulse of data had been interrupted by a sudden alert.

Element Detected: 𝑜̥̊⃝𝑠̥̊⃝𝑏̥̊⃝𝑜̥̊⃝𝑟̥̊⃝𝑛̥̊⃝

She squinted at the glitching display. The screen flickered and distorted, displaying an unfamiliar string of characters. The text was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The computer screen continued to flicker violently, lines of code merging into chaotic patterns. Cursing under her breath, Morgan fought to stabilize the screen. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, desperately trying to recalibrate the system.

After a tense few moments, she managed to clear the worst of the glitching. The flickering subsided, and the screen settled into a more manageable state.

Was that someone trying to hack in? The thought crossed her mind with a jolt.

She scrutinized the security logs, reviewed firewall activity, and cross-referenced access records, but found no concrete evidence of a breach. The logs were clear. Everything seemed normal—no unauthorized access, no signs of tampering.

But the unknown element was still there, stubbornly staring back at her from the screen.

Morgan ran her tongue over her teeth, a habit of hers when deep in thought. 

Alright. So. Every sci-fi movie warns against messing with unknown chemicals. And this is definitely one of those “don’t touch” moments. But what’s life without a little risk? Besides, it’s not like she hasn’t faced weird before. 

Problem was… the data on her screen right now was like trying to read a recipe from a cookbook that had been chewed up by a dog—completely useless. If she wanted answers, she’d have to get a closer look.

Morgan quickly set up a new data extraction protocol, isolating the unknown element. The process was slow and tense, but gradually, the substance began to take shape on the screen, its properties becoming clearer with each passing minute.

Once she had successfully isolated the element, she moved on to the next phase: synthesizing it into a serum. With a gloved hand, she carefully heated a glass flask on a burner and began adding the unknown element to the mix, watching as the contents started to react.

The silence was abruptly shattered by a sharp crack that split the air. Morgan’s eyes widened in shock as she saw thee glass flask on the burner shatter into jagged pieces. The once-clear liquid inside had turned into a dark, burned residue, and what was left was a blackened crust coating the inside of the flask.

"Great. Just great," Morgan muttered under her breath. She reached for the shattered glassware, cradling it gingerly in her hand. But as she did, something bizarre began to happen—the flask itself seemed to glitch.

The glass started to flicker and warp as if it were a malfunctioning image. It shimmered and pulsed with an otherworldly light, surface fading in and out of focus, struggling to maintain its form.

"What the fuck?" 

Her eyes stayed glued onto the flask. The constant flickering was starting to give her a headache, a dull throbbing that grew more intense with each passing second. She squinted, hoping to stabilize her vision, but the distortions only seemed to worsen.

Amid her growing confusion, she started to hear faint whispers—strange, disjointed voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The whispers were so low she could barely make out their words, but their presence added to the sense of disorientation that was creeping in.

An unexpected impulse tugged at her—a sudden, inexplicable urge to take the serum. Her hand trembled slightly as she considered the syringe lying on the nearby counter, a dark thought creeping into her mind. 

She stared at the flask, her gaze mad.

A part of her wanted to see what would happen if she followed through with the intrusive thought. 

Then, in a sudden, jarring shift, the erratic glitching reached a peak. The flask’s distortion became so intense that Morgan could barely make out its shape. She snapped back to reality, jolted by the sheer intensity of it all. Her senses were overwhelmed, the whispers louder now, almost shouting in her mind.

In shock, her hand lost its grip. The flask slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, the blackened remnants scattering across the lab.

CRASH!

The sudden noise of breaking glass cut through the disorienting haze, and Morgan’s breath came in ragged gasps as she stared at the mess before her. 

The strange impulse had vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

The glitching that had plagued the flask started to spread outward, expanding like a ripple through the air. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the distortion grew larger, forming a swirling vortex in the center of the lab. 

The portal-like disturbance expanded further, and out of it, a shadowy figure began to emerge. First, it was just a hand, reaching through the glitching void. It grasped at the air, solidifying into a more defined shape. Morgan's heart raced as the figure pulled itself further into the lab.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, as the figure's hand closed around her arm. The touch was cold and otherworldly, sending a shiver down her spine. She struggled against the grip, her heart pounding as she tried to pull away.

With a sudden, violent shove, the figure tossed her back. Morgan crashed into her workstation, slamming painfully into a shelf, sending tools and equipment clattering to the floor. 

Her eyes darted back to the figure, now fully emerging from the glitching portal. 

The intruder was clad in dark green armor, nearly black in the dim light, with a purple shawl draped over their shoulders and a hood shadowing their face. They wore goggles and a mask that concealed their features, lending them a menacing, almost robotic aura. Despite their height and build matching Morgan’s, there was a palpable strength in their movements, an unspoken threat in the way they stood.

The portal behind them flickered and closed, sealing off the strange rift from which they had emerged.

Morgan scrambled to her feet, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself as she faced the intruder.

“Who the fuck are you?!” she demanded. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stood her ground, ready to fight if she had to.

The masked figure remained silent, their gaze—hidden behind those reflective goggles—locked onto Morgan. They slowly tilted their head down, taking in the sight of the shattered remnants scattered across the lab floor. 

Morgan followed their gaze and noticed the scattered pieces of a hoverboard. She recognized it immediately from the fragmented components. The design was eerily similar to the one she had in development herself—a project that had been pushed to the back burner.

The intruder’s attention then shifted to the broken glass and the unknown element still displayed on her screen. A soft click of disapproval escaped from behind the mask as the figure nudged the broken hoverboard aside with a booted foot.

“Shame,” they murmured, their voice low and laced with something almost like regret. “I came a minute too early... You should have taken that serum first. You were supposed to. It would have made this easier for both of us.”

Morgan swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what they meant, but she didn’t want to find out. The figure took another step closer, closing the distance between them.

“Who are you?” Morgan pressed. “And how did you even know about that?”

The figure paused, considering her for a moment before answering. “Who I am isn’t important. What matters is what you could have been—what you were supposed to become.”

Morgan’s mind raced as she tried to make sense of the cryptic words. This wasn’t just about the serum—there was something bigger at play. She took a step back, trying to put more distance between herself and the intruder, but the figure only followed, matching her movements like a shadow.

“Don’t worry,” they said softly, almost mockingly. “I should know better than anyone that you would want answers.”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as the figure’s gloved hand slowly reached up to their mask. The tension in the room was suffocating, each second stretching out endlessly. The mask and goggles came loose with a soft click, and as they were removed, Morgan’s breath caught in her throat.

It was her.

Her own face stared back at her, a perfect reflection, yet not. There were differences—subtle but unmistakable. The other Morgan’s eyes held a cold, calculating gleam, their hair was longer and pin-straight compared to her short curls, and their lips curved into a smirk that sent a shiver down Morgan’s spine.

“I'm Morgan Stark,” the doppelgänger said, voice eerily familiar yet laced with something darker, something twisted. “But in my universe, they call me the Green Goblin.”

Morgan felt numb. The words didn’t make sense, and yet they explained everything. 

“What... what do you want?” Morgan’s voice was barely above a whisper, the shock of seeing her own face—so twisted and malevolent—making it hard to think straight.

The Other Morgan—the Green Goblin—tilted her head, studying Morgan with a mix of amusement and pity. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, taking a step closer. “I’m here to make things right. In my world, I perfected the serum. I became something more, something powerful. But in this universe, you... you were just about to throw it all away.”

Morgan shook her head, trying to process the flood of information. “This... this isn’t possible. How can you—”

“Exist?” the Other Morgan interrupted, a cruel smile curling on her lips. “Multiverse theory, sweetheart. Infinite versions of you, of me, of everyone. Even our beloved Spidey. In my universe, I figured it out. Became a goddamn genius... and a bit of a monster, too. Here though? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“I don’t care what I—you’ve done in your world!” Morgan’s voice shook with defiance. “You don’t belong here. You won’t get whatever it is you’re after.”

The Other Morgan smirked. “Oh, but I already have. I didn’t come here to take anything. I came to see what I could have been if I hadn’t chosen the path I did. And honestly,” they scoffed, flicking a piece of Morgan’s hair, “I’m disappointed.”

Morgan’s fists clenched at her sides. “Get out,” she spat, her fear giving way to anger. “Get out of my lab, out of my life. Now!”

But they just laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the small space. “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t come all this way just to walk away empty-handed. If you won’t take that serum, then...”

Before Morgan could react, her doppelgänger lunged toward the remnants of the shattered serum with blinding speed. Morgan scrambled to intercept, but her doppelgänger was faster. In a swift, brutal motion, they slammed Morgan down onto a nearby table, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

Morgan struggled against the hold, but her alternate self was stronger, pinning her down with ease. The twisted grin never left their face as they reached for a syringe. 

Morgan watched the charred solid remnants of the serum begin to twitch and quiver, as if responding to the presence of the syringe. To her horror, the blackened crust slowly liquefied, transforming back into a thick, dark fluid that oozed toward the tip of the needle.

"Shh," the Other Morgan cooed, voice dripping with mock tenderness as they drew the serum up into the syringe. The liquid swirled ominously inside, as if alive with a malevolent intent. “You’ll thank me for this in the future.”

Morgan thrashed, trying to break free, but her alternate self only tightened their grip, leaning in closer.

“Don’t worry,” the Other Morgan whispered, bringing the needle closer to Morgan’s skin. “This is a canon event, sweetheart. This is the part where you become more than just a bystander. This is where you become unstoppable.”

They leaned down, eyes glowing an eerie green. “This is where we kill Robin.”

“No!” Morgan's scream pierced the air as she slammed her knee into her doppelgängers gut, the sudden impact causing them to stumble back.

The Other Morgan staggered backward, clutching their midsection with a pained gasp. Morgan seized the moment, pushing herself off the ground and scrambling for any advantage. Her pulse raced as she darted towards a nearby workbench, grabbing a wrench and holding it defensively.

Scoffing, the Other Morgan recovered quickly, rising to their full height with their long hair cascading over their face, obscuring their features.

"First off, I’m not some fucking homewrecker," Morgan gasped, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as she took a defensive step back, wrench clutched tightly. "And second, you’re insane! Spider’s happy with him! Do you honestly think she’ll fall for you after everything you’ve become?"

“You think you can stop me?” Other Morgan snarled. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I know enough,” Morgan said through gritted teeth, trying to steady her trembling hands. “And I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

The Other Morgan’s lips curled into a smirk.

With a swift flick of their wrist, they threw a small device onto the floor. It hissed and released a dense cloud of smoke that quickly filled the room. Morgan’s vision blurred as she squinted, trying to make out the figure through the thickening haze.

Suddenly, a sharp, electric crackle pierced the smoke, followed by a powerful jolt that knocked Morgan off her feet. The room spun around her as she struggled to rise, her head throbbing from the shock.

Before she could fully recover, she felt a tightness around her wrist. She looked down to see a watch strapped onto her, its face glowing ominously. As she tried to make sense of it, a swirling portal began to materialize around her, its edges flickering with an eerie green light.

“Why don’t you take a trip to my universe for a bit?” the Other Morgan taunted, their voice dripping with malice. “I’ll handle things here while you’re gone.”

Morgan tried to protest, but the portal’s force was too strong. The edges of her world warped and twisted as she was yanked into the swirling void.

As she disappeared into the vortex, she heard a faint, mocking laugh. 

The portal closed with a swoosh, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

The Other Morgan turned their gaze to the workbench, their eyes locking onto a pair of scissors lying casually on the counter.

“Alright,” they said with a chilling smile, “first, a haircut.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

They say you’ll be bitten by spiders no less than 500 times in your lifetime, and you probably won’t even notice 95% of those bites.

Spiders might not affect most people that much.

Damian, however, would have a different opinion. He’d also like to punch those people in the face

Tonight, as Robin swings through the city, his gaze is locked onto you. You dart between skyscrapers with a grace that seems almost effortless. Your Starktech suit, still in for repairs, has you back in your old black kevlar—sturdy, reliable, and showing signs of wear.

Damian, out with you for what was supposed to be a routine patrol and sweep, is seeing your skills up close for the first time. He watches as you maneuver through the urban jungle with an ease that both impresses and frustrates him.

He finds himself pacing alongside your swings, trying to stay close—not just to keep an eye on you but because he’s half-expecting to be called into action at any moment. Watching you is like witnessing a high-wire act where the safety net has mysteriously vanished. Moments ago, you executed a daring twist and jump that had Damian’s heart lodged firmly in his throat. He was practically holding his breath, bracing himself for the sickening thud of a broken leg—or worse—only to see you land on your feet with a carefree laugh.

But then, without warning, you yelp and take a sharp turn, diving into the open air. The sudden change sends a jolt through Damian, and his heart skips a beat as he watches you fall fast.

“Nightcrawler!” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind. His grappling hook fires with a crack, and he rockets toward you, every muscle straining as he fights the pull of gravity.

Just as you’re about to hit the ground, Damian’s gloved hands wrap around your front, pulling you into his arms with a fierce grip. He tucks you close, bracing for impact. You slam against the wall of a nearby building with a jarring thud, Damian’s boots taking the brunt of the landing. The impact shakes him to his core, but he holds you tightly, shielding you from the collision.

Heaving, he immediately tucks a strong arm against your back, holding you against him. “Are you—”

You burst into laughter, your arms wrapping around his neck as you press your cheek against his. “Did you see that? I pulled off a perfect dive!”

Damian’s breath comes in sharp bursts as he steadies you both, his eyes scanning for any signs of injury. “You imbecile! What were you thinking? You could have broken your neck.”

You pout playfully, brushing a stray lock of hair from Damian’s mask. “I was having fun! Come on, I wasn’t actually going to fall.”

Damian shoots you a glare that borders on murderous. "Fun?! Fun isn’t worth risking your life."

His fingers dig into your hips as he continues to hold you tightly against him, his muscles tensed like a bowstring. "And you did fall—nearly landed on your face. If I hadn't been there, you'd be eating through a straw right now."

You tilt your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Uh. But you were there.”

Damian narrows his eyes, his tone dripping with frustration. "Do you get some perverse pleasure out of scaring me to death?"

"Maybe," you drawl with a teasing grin.

Even with his anxiety cranked up to eleven, he can’t help but feel a surge of warmth for you. The irritation in his eyes softens, revealing a flicker of affection.

“You talk and do too much,” he grumbles, though his actions speak louder than his words. As he starts to guide both of you up to a nearby rooftop, his grip remains firm and protective. 

He’s climbing with you in his arms, every muscle straining under the effort. You can’t help but whistle at the impressive display of strength, watching as his muscles ripple beneath his suit with each movement. 

“Tsk,” he scoffs as he hauls both of you up onto the rooftop, setting you down gently.

Once you’re safely on solid ground, Damian steps back, creating a respectful distance between you. As he stands against the backdrop of the city lights, his figure is dramatically framed by the glowing skyline. His cape flutters behind him like a dark, billowing flag, enhancing his imposing silhouette. Robin stands tall, masked, and cloaked in shadows—dark and lean.

You grin coyly at him, your arms tucked behind your back as you take a few steps closer. 

“My hero,” you tease playfully, your fingers trailing gently up his cape.

The gesture almost immediately disarms Damian, his irritation momentarily forgotten.

He snatches your hand away from the fabric, his fingers wrapping around yours in a firm grip. “Is this a joke to you? I am in no mood for your games tonight,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair as he turns his gaze to the city skyline. He bends down, squatting on the rooftop, the city lights shimmering below and casting a soft, ambient glow over the scene.

You follow him, bending down to wrap your arms around his shoulders and drape yourself across his back. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his jaw through your mask, the gentle touch warm against the cool night air.

Damian’s shoulders relax slightly under your embrace, and he closes his eyes momentarily, savoring the closeness. For a moment, he considers chastising you, but the feel of your body pressed against his back makes the words die on his lips.

Instead, he lets out a sigh and shifts his position, guiding you so that you slide down his back into his lap, your legs draped on either side of his hips.

“You know,” he murmurs, “you’re not making it easy to stay upset with you.”

“That’s the point,” you whisper, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, moving to stand and pulling you up with him. 

You giggle, your fingers trailing down his chest, light and teasing. Your claws graze over the contours of his suit, scratching at the armor that covers his chest and abs. The sensation is electric, sending shivers through both of you.

“Careful,” Damian rumbles, his voice a low growl as he grabs your hands once they reach his waist, his grip firm but not unkind. You’re getting a rise out of him, in more ways than one.

You lean in closer, wickedness dripping from your lips. “When have I ever been careful?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, the heat in his gaze intense as he draws his face inches from yours. "You never are. You are a reckless, impulsive, and downright idiotic woman." 

“Yeah,” you press your chest against his, your voice low and teasing. “I get that a lot.”

"And you just love proving them right, don’t you?" he says, his voice low and laden with both warning and something else.

“Is that a threat, Robin?” you whisper, your voice dripping with challenge. Flicking your wrist up, you web his chest and pull him down. 

He crashes into you, his body pressing against yours. His hands fly to your thighs, gripping the supple flesh there.

A smirk spreads across his face. "Merely a promise."

Without another word, Damian tugs your mask off and closes the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss. His mouth moves with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his tongue teasing yours as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between your bodies.

You feel the low rumble of his moan vibrating through your chest, a sound that only fuels the fire between you. As your hands tangle in his hair, you suddenly notice something that makes you pause—he’s smirking against your lips.

He’s smirking. The fucker is smirking.

Grinning against his lips, you pull back just enough to murmur, “So my Spidey thing turns you on? Or is it the webs?”

"Keep talking like that and I'll have to shut you up," he grunts, his voice rough with desire before he silences you with another kiss, this one deeper, more consuming. His grip tightens as he claims your mouth again, leaving no doubt about the effect you have on him.

He presses you back, and in the heat of the moment, you take a step backward with more force than intended. Your injured ankle lands awkwardly, sending a jolt of pain shooting up your leg. Despite being healed, it still ached every now and then, and this was one of those painful reminders.

You pull away with a sharp hiss, unable to stifle the reaction. 

Damian's concern for you immediately eclipses his previous frustrations. His hands find your hips, steadying you to prevent you from putting too much weight on the injured foot.

“What happened? Did I—”

“It’s just,” you wince, carefully adjusting your stance, “just my ankle. It’ll be fine.”

"I thought you said you were healed," he fusses.

"Guess I thought wrong."

"I wouldn’t have let you out with me tonight if I’d known you were still having trouble. You should have told me it was still bothering you." he scolds.

You frown, your voice softening as you look up at him. "I just... I just wanted to spend time with you. Are you mad?"

Damian’s expression softens with an almost pained look as he carefully gathers you in his arms, lifting the weight off your injured ankle. 

"Mad? No, I'm not mad," he hesitates then, his grip on you tightening slightly. "But I'm worried. I worry about you, and your actions tonight didn’t exactly ease my concerns."

He looks down at your ankle, gently tracing his fingers over the injury. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. If I hadn’t—Last night, if I’d just taken time to ask you—you wouldn’t be hurt in the first place,” he whispers, his voice barely audible as he brings his face close to yours. The apology is raw, and when he mutters it against your lips, his breath hitches in his throat, overwhelmed by the warmth in your eyes.

“You had your reasons; it’s okay,” you say with your usual forgiveness, the kindness in your voice a balm to his aching conscience. 

His fingers gently graze the back of your neck, the touch tender and almost reverent. 

“I should have been more careful,” he murmurs, thick with regret. “I’ve let my anger cloud my judgment.”

“Damian, it’s fine,” you said, running your fingers through his hair and gently swinging your legs. “I trust you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. We all have our moments, and it was just a bad time for both of us. I love you, and I trust you.”

Damian made a soft sound. Up close, in his arms, there was no space between you, and he seemed softer, more touchable.

“I love you too.”

You cupped his face gently as his other arm slid below your head, pulling you even closer. His strong arms enveloped you, holding you in a way that felt perfectly right—moving closer, exchanging breaths, and locking eyes to see everything there was to know about him.

 ༻⊰───⋅ smut begins

Whispering his name, you kissed him again, and he eagerly returned the gesture. 

He guided you into a shadowed corner, his kisses growing more urgent and insistent as he pressed you against a wall. The world around you began to dissolve into a swirling haze. The only sensations that mattered were the feel of your breath mingling with his, the whisper of your voice against his, and the way your hands tugged at his hair. 

You. You. You.

His tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking for entrance, which you granted immediately, opening your mouth and deepening the kiss. His hands roamed over your body, mapping the curves and contours like a blind man seeing the world for the first time.

You raised your knee and pressed it against him, eliciting a groan from Damian, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “Fuck…”

You teased softly, “That good?”

“As always, habibti.”

Damian’s words were swallowed by another kiss as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer, bodies pressing together in an intimate embrace.

His fingers roamed up your back, tracing the curve of your spine with the practiced touch of a man who knows you intimately.

Smirking wolfishly against your lips, Damian slowly dragged down the zipper on the back of your suit. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, amplifying every sensation as he worked his way down.

The heat between you two quickly spiraled into an unstoppable force that surged and twisted. 

His utility belt falls to the ground with a loud clang, the buckle hitting the asphalt. Fingers trembling with impatience, Damian tugs at his suit's zippers, each one loosening with a sharp hiss before he dives back in. 

Every touch, every movement, seemed to ignite a deeper craving within him. Each time you breathed his name, it was like a spark that fueled his losing control, pushing him further into the abyss of his desire.

He wanted more of you—every part of you, every inch of your skin, every breath you took.

He dips his head down, his mouth finding the pulse point on your neck. His tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, as he begins a trail of kisses down your collarbone that sears into your skin. 

"I need to feel you, sweet girl." Damian's words come out in a guttural moan, half-curse, half-plea. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as his mouth found your chest, and you arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Damian,” you gasped, your voice a low moan. “Please.”

A flurry of movements passes, and finally, he's pressing himself into you. Your body welcomes him like it was always meant to be, fitting together perfectly as if he was always meant to be a part of you.

His cape falls over you, enveloping you both in a cocoon of shadows and heat. 

The rhythmic movement of your bodies creates a slow, intense friction between you. The heat between you two was scorching, each touch and caress creating sparks of pleasure that shot through your body. Damian's teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck with a possessive fervor, leaving behind marks that would linger long after the night was over.

He could feel you pressed against him, your warmth melding with his. The taste of you lingered on his lips, the flavor of you lingering with every kiss. The sweet sounds of your pleasure, your moans and gasps, filled and echoed in his ears. The scent of your perfume, intoxicating and familiar, drifted in the air, consuming, overwhelming his senses and pulling him deeper into you.

It was all you. Everything was you.

It comes in waves, each one building and cresting until the final surge pulls you completely out of orbit. Your toes curl, your thighs lock, your heart seems to freeze, and a cry of his name escapes your lips, echoing in the space between you.

“Yes,” Damian pants out. “There you go, habibti. Just like that…” 

He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he follows you through the aftershocks. Gently, he guides you down from your peak, his hips rolling slowly against yours until the rhythm gradually subsides. He murmurs love confessions in Arabic, lips trailing loving kisses over every inch of exposed skin, soothing you as you twitch and tremble in his lap. 

As the aftershocks subside, Damian gently lifts you and tucks you against his chest. 

"You okay?" he asks, soft and filled with concern. He gently massages your lower back, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your skin.

He pulls his cape around you like a blanket, wrapping you in a layer of warmth. Even in the middle of the night on a secluded rooftop, he’s focused on making sure you're cared for and cozy.

Damian adjusts his suit and re-secures his utility belt. Taking a cloth from his belt, he begins to wipe you down, removing any lingering traces of the night’s events. Once you're clean, he carefully tugs your suit back on, smoothing out any wrinkles and zipping it up with steady hands. 

 ༻⊰───⋅ smut ends

“Thank you,” you rasp out, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Damian’s response is tender; he nuzzles his face into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin. His touch is warm and reassuring. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves your mask and hands it to you.

You tug it back on, but before you can pull it down completely, Damian leans in and kisses you. Smiling, you kiss him back, the mask only partially covering your face, leaving your lips and the lower part of your cheeks exposed.

!!!

You slowly push Damian back, a sense of alarm creeping into your consciousness.

!!!

A loud thud echoes in the distance.

DANGER.

Before you can process what’s happening, Damian is violently knocked away from you. He’s flung onto the ground with a forceful crash, the impact sending a shockwave through the rooftop. You watch, breathless, as he hits the surface hard, pain etched across his face.

Cursing, you try to move toward him, but a sudden, chilling presence makes you freeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, sweeping fabric of a cape fluttering through the air. Your heart skips a beat as you turn, dread coiling in your stomach.

Batman.

For a moment, the world narrows to the figure looming before you, the embodiment of shadow and fear. The distant hum of Gotham fades, leaving only the thudding of your pulse, loud and insistent in your ears. The scattered light from the city below creates jagged contrasts on Batman's armor, casting him in sharp highlight. The black of his suit bleeds seamlessly into the surrounding darkness, making him appear more phantom than man.

He looks like a living nightmare.

Damian lifts his head just in time to see Batman towering over you, his cape billowing ominously in the night breeze. A cold chill runs down Damian's spine as dread settles heavy in his chest. Of all people, his father was the last person he wanted to find him here like this—vulnerable, exposed, and with you.

Reacting on pure instinct, Damian scrambles to his feet, positioning himself firmly between you and the Dark Knight.

"Father." Damian’s voice is low but steady, though the weight of what’s happening lingers in every syllable. His mind races, knowing that Batman doesn’t recognize you in your vigilante form and likely believes he's cheating on you.

To Batman, this looks like betrayal.

Bruce's hurt gaze flickers briefly to Damian before settling on you, his eyes unreadable beneath the shadowed cowl. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, deep and gravelly. “Step aside, Robin.”

Damian doesn’t budge, his chin lifting in stubborn refusal. “No.”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Bruce warns, his tone colder, more commanding. “Move. Now.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps back, voice laced with urgency. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Bruce’s gaze hardens as it shifts back to you, scrutinizing every detail of your vigilante form. He’s searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue to your identity. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, your mind racing to assess the situation. Revealing your true identity isn't an option—not now, not like this. You adjust your stance, preparing yourself mentally for whatever comes next, but Damian's presence in front of you is a steadying comfort.

“She’s with me,” Damian states firmly. “That’s all you need to know.”

But Bruce isn’t swayed. He takes another step forward, his towering form casting a long, ominous shadow over both of you. The authority he exudes is almost suffocating, a force that demands obedience and submission. 

Bruce’s voice drops to a near growl, heavy with warning. “You’re making a mistake.”

Damian doesn’t waver, his stance firm, his resolve unshaken. “Maybe I am. But it’s my mistake to make. I’m not moving. Not until you understand—”

“Understand what?” Bruce’s voice, though controlled, cracks with an edge of hurt. “That you’re risking everything for—” His words catch in his throat, and his eyes, now seething, lock onto you with anger. The unspoken words hang in the air, heavy and accusing, as if he’s struggling to comprehend how Damian could make such a choice. 

“Father,” Damian tries again. “Just listen, please. I’m not—”

But Bruce cuts him off sharply. “I don’t want to hear it, Robin. Stand down. Now.”

Damian grits his teeth, his jaw clenching at the command. “I won’t. You want me to move, you're going to have to make me.”

Bruce growls and his posture shifts, his body tensing as he readies himself for combat, cape swirling with a sudden, sharp movement, the dark fabric creating a menacing silhouette against the night sky. Damian rolls his shoulders.

The silent acknowledgment of the fight to come is all that’s needed. 

The first move comes fast and brutal—a sweeping kick aimed at Damian’s legs. Damian barely manages to sidestep, but the force of the attack sends him stumbling slightly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce presses his advantage. He lunges forward, delivering a powerful punch to Damian’s jaw. The blow connects with a sickening thud, causing Damian to gasp and stagger backward. He tries to recover, swinging a fist toward his father, but Bruce is already moving, effortlessly deflecting the strike and countering with a sharp elbow to Damian’s ribs.

Before Damian can recover, Bruce is on him again. He grabs Damian by the collar and delivers a powerful knee to his abdomen. The impact sends Damian sprawling, crashing hard onto the rooftop. The concrete shudders beneath him, and he struggles to get to his feet, gasping for breath.

“You’ve forced my hand. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to,” Bruce seethes as he advances. His fists come down in a series of blows, each strike aimed at disabling rather than harming. Damian blocks and dodges where he can, but Bruce's assault is relentless, each hit pushing him further back.

THWIP

A web snares Bruce’s arm, halting his advance. His head swivels toward you, confusion and fury flashing in his eyes beneath the cowl. He struggles against the webbing, but you seize the opportunity to yank him off Damian, pulling him forcefully to the side of the rooftop. The webbing binds him tightly against the edge, restricting his movements.

Without wasting a second, you rush to Damian’s side. His breathing is ragged, masked cracked. blood runs down his lip You kneel beside him, gently pulling him up against you. Your arms wrap around him, providing a protective, comforting embrace.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ask urgently, voice trembling with fear.

Damian rasps out a laugh, his grin weak but defiant. “At least I know he’ll do the right thing if I ever do you wrong.”

SHLICK.

You look up to see Bruce cutting through your webbing with a knife. The webbing disintegrates under the assault, and you curse under your breath. Without your web-shooters, your organic webs are noticeably weaker—a reminder that you'd need to ask Morgan for new ones as soon as possible.

Bruce continued his advance, his gaze fixed on you this time.

You raised a hand, trying to signal a truce, your voice shaky but earnest. “I... I don’t want to fight,” you said, the exhaustion evident in every word. 

“Then take off the mask,” Bruce commanded, his voice cutting through the air with a harsh edge, leaving no room for negotiation.

The demand hung between you, making your heart pound louder. You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. Slowly, you lifted a trembling hand toward your mask, fingers grasping the edge.

But before you could fully uncover your face, Damian's hand shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking it away.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses, eyes flashing with desperation. He turns to Bruce, getting back onto his feet.

“Don’t come any closer,” Damian warns as he unsheathes his katana, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. “I have the utmost respect for you, Father, but if you take one more step, I will have to engage you properly this time.”

Despite the weight of your decision, there’s no other choice. Your sole aim is to end this confrontation swiftly and with as little harm as possible.

With a sharp breath, you square your shoulders and raise your head.

“Nobody’s going to do anything,” you say firmly as you start to tear off your mask. The fabric pulls away slowly, the cool night air brushing against your exposed skin.

As the mask comes free, you are left bare to the elements, your face now fully visible under the moonlight. You hold Bruce's gaze directly, hoping that this gesture will be enough to de-escalate the standoff.

"It's just me."

 ༻⊰───⋅

ruh oh

mmmmmmmm yes 3-4 chapters left

[killerplink]

I told y'all I got more Nightwing ones lined up. This one's just fluff but I NEED HIM.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: What was supposed to be a simple grocery run turns into a full-blown snack heist, with Dick pulling every trick in the book.

Words: 2,3k

CW: established relationship, fluff, humor, domestic shenanigans, grocery store chaos, snack heist, playful banter, mild tickling, slice of life, Dick being a menace, reader suffering (affectionately)

You should've known bringing Dick to the grocery store was a mistake. You should've known.

But when he offered to drive, flashing you that easy, boyish grin, promising he'd be good, you figured, what's the worst that could happen? A quick, responsible trip—grab the essentials, stick to the list, avoid distractions. Simple.

Except, somewhere deep in your soul, you knew. You knew better than to trust him in a place with this many snack aisles.

Your gut warned you. Your instincts screamed. You had years of experience dealing with this exact brand of nonsense, and still—you let him waltz through those automatic doors with zero supervision, like you weren't escorting a six-foot-tall toddler into a candy wonderland.

Really, this one's on you.

And yet, here you are, standing by the cart, listening to the unmistakable crinkle of plastic, feeling your eye twitch as you turn around—

Only to find Dick caught red-handed, a giant bag of sour gummy worms frozen mid-air, halfway to the cart, like he thought he could sneak them in undetected.

There's a fraction of a second where he looks genuinely offended at getting caught, like the audacity of your observational skills is the real crime here. You can see his soul leave his body as he freezes mid-action, standing so still it's almost admirable. Like a goddamn deer in headlights.

If you weren't so busy glaring at him, you'd be impressed.

"... Dick."

He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

Just stands there, completely still, as if that might somehow undo the fact that he was just caught trying to be sneaky. His hand is still half-stretched, and you can see his fingers twitch slightly, like he's debating whether to keep the bag or drop it and pretend it never happened.

His lips part slightly, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, desperately trying to figure out an escape plan. His eyes flick left, then right, like he's searching for an out, but when his gaze locks with yours, his expression falls back into the innocent act, lips curling into a soft, unconvincing smile.

And then—ever so slowly—he tries to place the bag in the cart anyway.

Oh, the audacity. He does it so carefully, so deliberately, like maybe—just maybe—you won't notice if he moves slow enough. Like he's testing some bullshit theory about your depth perception, just casually lowering the bag with all the grace of a malfunctioning vending machine.

And for a second—just a split second—you almost let him. Because honestly? The sheer commitment is impressive, but you snatch it before it even touches the groceries.

He gasps.

Like you just mortally wounded him. Like you personally reached into his chest and stole his soul. He clutches at his heart with both hands, his face the very picture of betrayal. "Baby!"

You narrow your eyes. "What is this?"

He blinks at you, the picture of innocence. "A necessary expense?"

You let out a slow, measured breath, trying to keep your patience intact. "We don't need this," you say, shaking the bag pointedly.

His face immediately shifts into the most exaggerated pout, eyes big and impossibly blue, practically dripping with fake heartbreak. "We do need them."

"Dick."

"Baby."

You don't break eye contact. Neither does he. But he's relentless—turning up the puppy-dog eyes, tilting his head just so, lips parting in that soft, pleading way that always, always makes you weak.

But not this time. You won't cave.

You exhale sharply, turning back to the shelves. "We're here for groceries. Real food. Not—"

Thump. Your head snaps around, and time slows. You swear you hear the sound of a judge slamming a gavel somewhere in the distance.

Dick—this absolute menace—has just placed a second bag of gummy worms in the cart like it's a normal transaction. Like it's a given that you'll just let it slide.

And the worst part? He looks proud of himself.

Your jaw drops. "Dick."

He grins, hands outstretched like he's just completed an Olympic feat. "Well, baby, you were distracted."

You snatch the second bag just as fast as the first. "No."

His hands go to his hips, his face twisting in mock offense. "You're so mean to me."

You roll your eyes. "We're shopping for food, not junk."

"Then why are we here?"

You fix him with a flat look, holding up the shopping list like it's evidence in court. "For the things on this very specific list."

He leans in, peering at it like it's some kind of ancient text, lips pressing together in deep, exaggerated concentration. "Hmmm. I don't see eggs."

You flip the list around, pointing directly at eggs.

"Oh," he hums. "I don't see—"

"Dick."

"Okay, fine," he grins, backing up toward the cart, hands raised in surrender. "I'll push."

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious.

That is not a selfless offer. That is strategy.

You know this game. You've played this game. This is not about "helping". This is about controlling the terrain. He's taken cart duty as a strategic advantage—gaining full possession of the moving target so he can execute his bullshit snack heist while you're distracted.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. You're dealing with a professional. But you let him, still eyeing him carefully as you push into the next aisle.

And for a little while, he behaves. He actually follows along, doesn't stray too far, occasionally even reaching for things that are actually on the list.

It almost makes you think you might've won this round. Until you hear it again.

That quiet, telltale rustle of plastic, and you whip around so fast you almost knock over a display.

Oh, no you don't. Not again. You snap your head so fast it's a miracle you don't get whiplash, fully prepared to catch him in the act—

And sure enough—

There he is. Mid-drop.

Your grown ass boyfriend—fully aware of his actions—has paused in real time, two chocolate bars hovering over the cart like he's conducting a goddamn séance.

Your eyes widen. "Richard."

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then? He gasps, deeply scandalized, like you just hurt his feelings. "You never call me that unless I'm in trouble."

"Oh, you are," you mutter. You snatch the candy from his hands before he can even think about dropping them in the cart. "No snacks."

His shoulders slump like a petulant child. "No fun."

"I heard that."

"Good."

He sticks his tongue out for good measure, crossing his arms over his chest like a grumpy kid who just got his recess privileges revoked. It's so ridiculously dramatic that you have to physically stop yourself from laughing.

You shake your head, exhaling through your nose, and for a little while, he actually seems to accept defeat. Until you make the mistake of looking away for five fucking seconds. You're focused on checking labels, making sure you grab the right thing, and when you finally turn back—

Your cart is filled with snacks. Not just one or two things, but an entire stash. Oh, this is premeditated. This is organized crime.

He didn't just grab things—he curated this stash. The items are neatly arranged in a ridiculously methodical way: sweet snacks in one corner, salty snacks in another, a fucking theme emerging like he's opening a concession stand.

Like he actually took the time to plan this.

The worst part? You don't know when the fuck it happened. How long was your back turned? Ten seconds? Fifteen? That's all he needed?

"Dick!"

"What?" he says, all casual, as if he's not standing there like a gremlin who just pulled off a successful heist.

You gesture wildly at the cart. "What the fuck is all this?"

"Uhm... necessities?"

You groan, rubbing your temples. "We are not here for snacks!"

"Why not?"

"Because—" you let out another exasperated sigh. "Because we don't need them!"

He raises an eyebrow, smug. "Don't we?"

"DICK."

"Okay, okay," he laughs, leaning in to press a sweet little kiss to your temple, like that's going to magically make you forget he's being a total pain in the ass. "C'mon, baby. Just a few things? A little treat for your handsome, hardworking boyfriend?"

Your lips press together. Damn it. Your shoulders slump, and the second you sigh, his entire face lights up because he knows he's got you right where he wants you.

"Fine," you sigh, holding up one finger. "One."

His brows shoot up. "One type of snack?"

"One thing of snacks."

"Oh, baby." His grin stretches impossibly wide. "That's a challenge. Not for me, though."

And somehow, you already know what's coming. Sure enough—he takes full advantage of the loophole, grabbing a huge box of mixed candies, one of those ridiculous variety packs with every type of chocolate, and a party-size bag of chips—

All in one. All technically counting as one item. You look at the absurdly large variety pack sitting in the cart, then back at Dick.

He is positively beaming. Like he just won something. Like he calculated the loophole the second you gave in and set you up for this outcome, smiling so sweetly as if he didn't just blatantly manipulate the terms of the agreement.

This was a heist from the beginning.

You close your eyes, inhale slow, and mutter under your breath—

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." His grin is positively criminal, fully unbothered as he drops the massive box into the cart. "Besides, I followed the rules."

"You're unbelievable," you sigh, placing some pasta in the cart.

"I love you," he says with the most boyish grin he can muster, all sweet and soft and giggly.

"You are so annoying."

"And handsome," he adds, stealing another kiss as he proudly wheels the cart toward checkout, so pleased with himself.

You huff, shaking your head, but you don't argue. Because, yeah, he's an absolute menace. But he's your menace, and honestly? You wouldn't trade him for the world.

Later, you're curled up against his chest on the couch, munching on one of his snacks—he'd left them out, after all. You're doing nothing wrong.

He notices and suddenly sits up straight, eyes narrowing. "You've got to be kidding me."

You innocently glance at him, chips still in hand. "What?" you ask, playing dumb, your lip jutting out in the softest of pouts.

He leans back, crossing his arms. "You're really gonna just steal my snacks now? After all that?"

"Steal? I'm just... sharing in your success," you reply, smiling sweetly as you pop another chip in your mouth.

Dick's eyes narrow as if he's sizing you up, the moment of triumph slipping away from him. He reaches for the bag, but you pull it closer, feigning innocence.

"What's wrong, baby? Are you gonna deny me the pleasure of your snacks?"

You raise an eyebrow, letting your fingers hover over the chip bag like you're waiting for permission.

He grumbles, leaning forward, his hand still hovering over the bag like he's ready to strike. "That's my snack, sweetheart."

You give him a look, matching his smirk as you dramatically look at the chip in your hand and back at him. "What snack? This one?"

You take another one, slowly, teasing him as if you weren't completely aware of how worked up he's getting.

You yelp and pull the bag back, holding it over your head like a goddamn champion. "Nope, too slow!"

He groans, flopping back against the couch with a defeated sigh. "You're so evil."

You grin, sitting up a little to settle back into your spot on his chest, casually enjoying his chips. "You started it," you tease, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, I'm just following the rules."

His lips curl into an exaggerated frown, but there's a gleam in his eye as he lets out a quiet chuckle. "You're lucky you're cute. But just wait. I'll get them back."

"Maybe," you reply, pulling another chip from the bag, "but I've got the high ground."

You settle back into your comfy position, leaning into him. For now, it's your turn to be the snack thief—and you'll enjoy every minute of it. Or so you think.

One second, you're smugly crunching on a chip, reveling in your stolen prize, and the next—Dick moves.

Fast.

Before you can react, his hands are on you, fingers digging into your sides in a ruthless, practiced attack. A shriek bursts from your lips as you're ambushed, his laughter mixing with yours as you squirm, trying and failing to escape his grip.

"NO—DICK—" you gasp between giggles, thrashing as he mercilessly tickles your ribs.

"Thought you could just steal my snacks and get away with it, huh?"

His voice is smug, teasing, as he effortlessly pries the bag from your grasp and tosses it onto the coffee table.

You let out an exaggerated gasp, scandalized. "How dare you."

"How dare you," he counters, grinning as he shifts above you, effortlessly pinning you against the couch. His hands settle on either side of your head, his weight warm and solid as he hovers over you.

You blink up at him, breathless from laughter, your heart racing for a very different reason now. His smile softens, that playful glint in his eyes melting into something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

"You're a menace," you huff, but there's no real bite to it.

Before you can argue—not that you were going to—he closes the space between you. His lips press against yours, slow and deliberate, his weight keeping you deliciously trapped beneath him.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, deepening it just enough to make your toes curl, his hand slipping up to cup your cheek.

And just like that, any thoughts of revenge, of stolen snacks, of anything that isn't him—disappear.

When he finally pulls away, his lips are still curved in a smirk, his forehead resting against yours.

"Mine," he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Both the snacks and you."

"Fine," you sigh dramatically. "But I'm still stealing your fries next time."

He groans, flopping onto you with a laugh. "Baby, no—"

But you just grin, wrapping your arms around him. Because, honestly? You've already won.

[pricetagged]

that death is a very stable job

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

-----------------

What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

----------------

Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

----------------

Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

------------------

"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.  

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the  room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

-------------------------

'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury.  As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

-------------

Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

[aventurineswife]

Hii! I hope you're having a nice day :D

Can I please request SAHRS being able to listen to Reader simping over them during gameplay? How would they react to their creator swooning over them?

Anyways, remember to drink water and eat something if you haven't yet! I love your writing style <3

My back... 😔🙏

It starts as a normal day. The Museum of Divinity is quiet, the stars shine as usual, and the characters go about their routines.

And then—

"OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THEM. THEY'RE SO FINE."

A pause.

Everyone stops moving.

Wait.

Was that… you?

The divine, all-powerful Creator… SIMPING???

Chaos erupts.

Welt: Drops his pen. Adjusts his glasses like he misheard something.

Himeko: Chokes on her coffee.

Himeko's smirk is IMMEDIATE. "Oh? You have favorites, dear Creator?"

Welt tries to act composed. But his ears are red.

They both pretend to be unaffected, but inside? SCREAMING.

Blade STOPS FUNCTIONING.

"Did… did they just call me fine?"

He won't admit it, but his grip on his sword tightens.

Dan Heng freezes mid-action.

If you’re swooning over him, his face is burning.

If you’re swooning over Blade, he glances at him with mild betrayal.

They don’t speak about it. But they think about it. A lot.

Aventurine? Smug. So smug.

"Well, well, well… seems like our Creator has excellent taste."

Sunday? LIVING FOR IT.

"Oh? You adore me so? Say more, divine one."

Sunday basks in your words. Aventurine teases relentlessly.

If you simp for someone else?

Aventurine: "A shame. You could have had me, dear Painter."

Sunday: "A tragic oversight, truly. But worry not! You may still admire me."

They’re never letting you live this down.

Kafka smirks immediately.

"Oh, how cute. Do go on, dear."

Black Swan tilts her head, thinking deeply.

"A divine being… capable of adoration? Fascinating."

They start analyzing every word.

How often do you compliment them?

Which characters do you favor the most?

What tone do you use? Flustered? Playful? Devoted?

Kafka savors every second.

Black Swan tries to understand why your affection feels so… real.

Luocha bows slightly. "A rare honor to be admired by divinity."

He’s calm outside. Internally? He’s thinking about it too much.

Jing Yuan chuckles. "You wound me, dear Creator. I had no idea you held such affections."

Lazy smirk, but his heart skips a beat.

If you simp for someone else?

Jing Yuan: "Truly a shame. I thought I was the favorite."

Luocha: "Ah… I see. A tragic fate, indeed."

They’re too smooth about it, but deep down? They’re blushing.

March 7th: SHRIEKS.

"OMG, SAME."

Sparkle: LOSES HER MIND.

"Finally! The Creator speaks the truth!"

They immediately gossip.

If you simp for Jing Yuan? → "I KNEW HE WAS A CREATOR FAVORITE!"

If you simp for Blade? → "Oooo, the dark and broody type, huh?"

They’re so entertained by your reactions. They start listening in more often.

EVERYONE starts listening more carefully.

Characters start acting up more in battle, hoping you’ll say something again.

Some get competitive. ("You called THEM fine? What about me?")

Some get smug. ("You’re completely obsessed with me, aren’t you?")

Some get flustered and pretend they didn’t hear it.

No matter what—

You can NEVER take it back.

Okay guys, no more SAHSRAU anymore. It was fun knowing everyone of you. We shall meet next year 🥰💖

[semischarmed]

Hunter, Part 2

In the past few days, you’ve turned your neighbor into your own hedonistic puppet. Hunter’s major life changes were a shock to friends and family alike, but they were ultimately supportive as they helped you, his “new boyfriend”, move into your new apartment together. It only turned you on even more to see them cheer and congratulate Hunter, when you maneuvered his body into leaning over to kiss you sensually while your hand cups his right ass cheek possessively. You drew that particular kiss out, partially because he just tasted that good, and partially to goad Hunter.

Next came everything else- bank accounts, social media, Hunter made you a piece of all of it. 

“You’re not gonna get awa-w….” Hunter’s body shudders before it lick’s its lips, laying a seductive stare on you. “Coming to bed, babe?” You knew that part always killed him. You make him watch as you don his recently used gym clothes, still reeking of his sweat and warm with his latest session. You take a quick whiff, enjoying the feeling of his sweat glide across your flesh and his scent permeate into you. 

The raw, sharp stench of his used compression clothing hung heavy in the room but it wasn’t like Hunter was any better. These past few days were some of the most tiring for him- you loved making his flesh work out, loved the scents and grime he caked himself with, and ultimately decided to keep his body from showering. Hunter probably reeked to everyone else, but he smelled perfect to the only person allowed to matter in his life.

You slide up to him in bed, forcing him to wrap tone arms and legs around you like a warm blanket of flesh. He holds his phone up to your face, letting it unlock as he loads up his Instagram. Hunter was still somewhat connected to his University’s frat, so you had many options.

You make him lick your cheek seductively. You shuddered. “I wanna know what it feels like… To take one of my bros, to watch the betrayal in their eyes while I jam them full of our seed.” Immediately, Hunter wrestles back control, only managing to whimper. Inside him, you can feel your joint seed- the worms you initially used to infect him writhe and wriggle in pleasure. 

You grab the phone, turning to the side as you continue to scroll through his Instagram. Meanwhile, you make Hunter touch himself, self-pleasuring until he reaches climax. You squirm in pleasure as he releases, feeling his body’s pleasure as an extension of yourself. His cum instantly solidifies. Instead of worms, your slithering offspring together expand in size, taking on a more snake-like appearance. You let one flow into your mouth, intending to let it settle in your body like a spring-loaded trap in case you needed a new puppet. You savor the flavor of the singular snake while forcing Hunter to swallow the rest of the serpents. Mmmmm. Tastes just like Hunter.

Hunter convulses as your offspring together reintegrate into his being. Without acknowledging his spasming form, you pull up one of the current members of his old frat. 

“Jake. Junior. Sports Medicine. ATO… Looks like he has a personal training course. What do you think?” You ask the shaking Hunter. You see the veins on his temples enlarge in struggle and his face flush red.

“F-F…. Fuck Yeah”.

- - - - -

“Hey man. You sure you wanna do this in the forest?” Jake asked. So far, that only emotion you've seen come across his face is mild disinterest.

“Yeah…” you reply coolly through Hunter. God it turned you on just hearing his voice relay your thoughts. Hunter gagged internally. He stewed in disgust at feeling his own body act so naturally despite your impure intentions.

You can tell from Jake’s willingness to accommodate, you must have been one of his first clients. It was pretty clear why. Though popular, he wasn’t particularly charismatic. He’s posted at least one or two others- members of his own frat, but you wonder how many other actual clients he had. It was likely not much, considering how easy it was to convince him to agree to start the session the middle of the forest. 

You readjusted in your seat, trying to hide your growing boner. Corrupting Hunter’s own secret spot into a trap laid out for Jake brought its own unique pleasure, but having to force his body to drive made it difficult to keep your own emotions at bay. You internally thank how little of your actual intention leaked. Hunter’s sincerity was one of his best traits, and you readily dispensed it at will, turning it into your own personal weapon.

Deeper and deeper, you drive Hunter to guide your party into the woods. Getting to the remote location felt even longer than before, perhaps due to your excitement. You look at your phone in glee as signal slowly dwindles. Eventually, your party stops at the water’s edge. You admire your handiwork as you look in satisfaction at the sheer stillness in Hunter’s Lake. 

“Uh, so you’re actually already pretty built but we can still work on bulking you up.” His lips follow a flat smile, but his eyes betray his lack of interest. “You said you wanted to get jacked? What about your friend over there?” You smile a little at his nonchalance. It was almost cute seeing him try to secure another client. Oh Jake, I can’t wait to use that tight bod to get ourselves some more ‘clients’.

“My boyfriend”, you correct him through Hunter. “Is just here to watch... I l-like it when he watches”. You anticipate Jake’s reaction to this bizarre response, but the only change in his somewhat bored expression is a slight raise in his eyebrows. Hunter’s face is forced to mimic your sinister glee. Too easy. 

“Sure bro, whatever floats your boat…” he relays back with a tone that feels like an eye roll. “Just saying, he could probably really benefit from this program.” Bored eyes survey your main body up and down. “I can make you strong, bro”. That brings a filthy smile to your face. 

“You’re about to”, you moan.

Jake looks slightly confused for second, but his attention immediately focuses on Hunter’s approaching form, hands placed across his flesh, raking every piece of himself in pleasure. 

“W-“ Jake is cut short as he is pushed several feet back into the lake water below. Amusement paints your face. Evidently, you underestimated the strength bound in Hunter’s body. 

In more emotion than you’ve ever seen him have, the frat bro seizes at the sharp drop in temperature, yelping before he feels his heart drop and face turn pale. Slithering. All over him. He looks around in shock at a mass of serpents, coiling and writhing beneath the once-still water. You could tell he had a sixth sense for their unnatural nature. Too little too late. 

Water splashes everywhere as Jake makes a beeline for shore. He chokes on the lake water a little and stumbles out but he does make it. Jake continues running inland despite being covered in snakes, hoping to flee into the forest. He slowly trudges to a halt, pinned upright as your snakes continue swirling around him.

True to Hunter’s name, you had booby-trapped the water during a previous visit, forcing his body to the brink as it deposited wave after wave of your joined semen. As soon as his seed left his warm flesh, it instantly solidified together, forming sizable serpents. Quite the upgrade from those worms.

Even now, you continue through Hunter, forcing him to pump his dick and blow out another load of your serpentine offspring. His eyes go glassy as they combine into larger forms. This time, they slither around Hunter’s flesh. His eyes fall on the helpless Jake, blinking once in sincere dread before you moan. As you do, his face twitches in discomfort until he is forced to moan as well, bringing a shaking hand back over his dick to pump out another load. And another still. Wave after tireless wave of snakes. Each wave adds to the one before, growing your snake larger and larger, until one several feet long is coiling itself around Hunter. 

You were up to your fifth wave of offspring now. Jake is staring in horror, trying to escape the writhing clutches of your previous trap. Hunter’s body is past its limits. He’s slack-jawed, mouth agape and chest coated in waves of drool. He exudes a thick, pungent sheen of sweat. Your eyes lazily fall back on the personal trainer. 

Jake too is drenched in sweat and struggle and slick with the hybrid cum of you and your previous hunt. He continues to look in fear at the barely conscious, tired beyond measure Hunter. Hunter is still reeling from what his body was just puppetted into doing. In this state, there’s no fight left in your “boyfriend’s” mind. He was only strung up into lucidity by the web of your cells in folds of his brain. 

You will your own body unconscious, feeding the full stream of your thoughts into your hot neighbor. Despite the refinement in control, you still feel the slightest lag, slight delay in each movement. But with this new level of control, you feel blood rushing into his sore dick. His height alone was already a shift from your previous body. Longer, stronger limbs at your beckoning. You feel them brimming with power. Every sensation, every breath through his lungs felt grounding. Without Hunter inside wrestling for control, every movement felt more precise, every sense more vibrant. Hunter’s body resonates with your mind, feeling more like an extension of yourself. You strip yourself, taking your time to enjoy the new sensations.

You blink through Hunter’s tired eyes, boring his hazel irises into Jake’s, and smirk. “Don’t worry. You’re so big… I bet you can take all of us.” You drop to your knees, laying the large serpent into the ground. 

You give Jake a show, starting to hump the air. With each thrust, your serpentine offspring begin to coil further and further around the whimpering Jake. “Please!” He screams. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you anything, bro!” He shouts as he tries to shake off the snakes. “I-I don’t wanna die” he states in panic. 

You walk up and lean Hunter’s face up to his cheek, your puppet’s warmth like a blanket over his body. You breathe out hot damp air through Hunter lungs. Jake slightly winces at your proximity. “You’re not gonna fucking die, bro”. You lick the side of his face. Salty. “Would be such a waste of that delectable bod”. You can feel Hunter’s consciousness begin to reemerge. He tries to wriggle back control, his disgust apparent. He’s revolted at what’s become of him. Once kind. Once normal. Now depraved. Now yours. You wield him with little care. With a cockiness and a cruelty that paid no respect to the man he once was. “Look at this fucking hunk. This puppet. This meatsuit.” You let your Hunter-bound dick gently graze Jack’s abdomen while moaning out through his deep voice. “Does he look dead to you?”

“No, You’re gonna live. And I’m gonna live. With you… In you. Through. You.” With that, you position Hunter out of the way as your largest offspring slithers its way into the convulsing Jake.

Jake starts hyperventilating as it inches closer and closer into his bound form. You ball your Hunter’s hand into a fist. The snakes already surrounding his flesh tighten even further. He gasps as the first cum-drenched serpent pokes at his ass. He looks back as you start to feed it in, shaking as he tries to control his pleasure when it rushes past his prostate.  

With his mouth slightly open, you feed foot upon foot of yourself. He tries to retch, but that only gives more space for the snake to slip even further into him. 

Once half of the large serpent is comfortably inside, you will the rest of the snakes up his asshole. Jake shudders, unable to fully vocalize his screams. He falls to the ground in a dull thud, convulsing while his body is forced to accommodate the extra mass of your offspring. You hear creaks and groans in his flesh, chest and stomach distended and writhing with your offspring.

Jake is reduced to soft squelching noises when the last of the large serpent slips in, sealing his fate. His shaking hands grip his neck as he tries to fight off the intrusion. He’s far too late, however. He thrashes in the ground, kicking dirt as two snakes slip between his muscle fibers. You entrench yourself into the man, willing more serpents into the folds of his extremities before making them burst back into Hunter-enhanced cum. 

He whimpers, back arching in unnatural angles as you weave the largest serpent into the deepest parts of his body. He eventually quiets into stillness. Unable to move out of fear. It’s only for a moment, however. A splashing sound is heard from deep within his flesh as you explode the snake and coat most of his insides with your seed. You feel your cells begin to hijack his, merging and imposing you into his body. 

You feel your main body stir to life, panting. Hunter’s naked body immediately drops to the ground, unconscious. Controlling these snakes seems to take a lot out of you. You look back at Jake. You still lack fine control of his body. This body is strong too. You feel his muscle fibers fight you, defying your commands through sheer force of will. You lick your lips, causing the sleeping Hunter to do the same. Manipulating both bodies felt like its own workout, especially when they resist. You instead focus more attention on your latest capture.

You wrap one snake around one of his vocal cords and bite. A strand of drool escapes slightly parted lips as his mouth moves with sluggish rigidity. With other bits of control. you clumsily force him to strip. Veins pop around his neck and his face contorts in pain. As you wrap another snake around more of his vocal cords, he relents his voice to you. “I can already tell this body’s a fuckin alpha.” God it felt good to puppet Jake. He twitches in struggle and then pats his abs. They don’t move at all from his hand but they ripple intensely with the writhing of the flesh you lodged inside him. His lips quiver but he is eventually forced to smile- and then a cocky flex. It feels entirely foreign coming out of him. 

A few of your serpents slip into his balls, coiling and coating them with the mix of Hunter’s seed and your own. Hunter already had potency, but you could tell Jake was on another level. You wanted it. All of it. All of him. You inject yourself into every piece of his seed factory, and Jake seizes as he feels his future surrender to you. He feels a wrongness to his core, as you root into his very essence, his potential legacy. Jake sticks his tongue out in your delirious pleasure. He pulls up to your main body, grinding into you while smearing testosterone laden sweat all over your body. “That’s fuckin right. Get in me. All of it. This body- my baby batter’s yours. Inject us into my friends. My family…” He moans. 

Another snake wedges into the folds of his brain before biting. A mix of your cum and Hunter’s floods his mind. Jake grips his head in pain as he’s forced to surrender every thought, feeling, dream he’s ever had. You move your offspring in sync to perfectly imitate Jake. He starts to strip, letting you witness the full glory of his drenched body. ”I’ve always wanted kids. Your kids- Our kids are gonna be so fucking strong. Daddy Jake will make them strong”. He taunts himself as he feels his own body up. “I’m fucking delicious”. With your increased focus, he’s a bit easier to handle. A bead of sweat falls on your main body. Still fucking hard to pilot. “Cmon bro, this all you got?” You make him say to himself. Jake blinks away tears, betrayed by his own flesh and muscle. 

Suddenly, you see a tired Hunter wake, sickened to his core, but free. You instantly try to flex the pieces of yourself still embedded inside him but he resists. Your main body falls into sleep again to solidify your control over Jake’s body. The worn Hunter starts to scramble away before you rush him with Jake’s body, pinning him with your new strengthened biceps. Power. Hunter had good qualities, but Jake was a powerhouse. Raw, muscled power. He was brimming with it, body soaked in the stuff. And it was now yours. Jake’s face animates with your delight. “Oh Hunter…” you coo. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? I don’t think you’re fighting your way out of this one,” You sake with Jake’s virile voice, opening your mouth so he can see a resolidified snake. It was larger this time, more menacing. You close Jake’s mouth again as his face is pulled into your smile. 

“Here, have a taste”, you make him say, as you pull Hunter into a savage kiss. You fashion your new mouth into a wide smile regurgitating the newly thickened snake. Hunter chokes on your serpent, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The new offspring you’ve forced out of Jake and Hunter’s genetic material is mighty. Dominant. Hunter’s throat expands to allow the intrusion. He’s still weary from the past few days and newfound freedom, and you feel just one of these snakes are enough for full control. Permanent control. The enhanced piece of you begins dissolving and weaving itself into Hunter’s flesh. "You're mine". You hold him in place as he jolts, body twisting and contorting to try in vain to fight it. As his trembling slowly subsides, you watch in glee as his sullen face slowly rise to meet Jake’s eyes, growing smirk on his face mirroring yours.

Your control slowly wanes when your main body rises out of its sleep. You bring Hunter into a deep, wet kiss, before placing your attention back on Jake. Hunter’s flesh moves to your command, just like before, but this time, any resistance is tamped down by your new Jake-enhanced cum. You are still slightly out of breath from controlling his body, but with nowhere near the difficulty you had before.

The triple vision causes you to stagger, but you quickly get used to puppetting two bodies at once. This time, it was Jake’s turn to form a resistance. His body jerks as he tries to brute force command of his own body back. You wrestle it back, forcing a shaking hand to grab his dick and start pumping. You bring Hunter’s hand over, supporting. Your two hands are coarse, and your control over them is somewhat rough. Regardless, you quicken to a breakneck speed, barely leaving time for Jake’s body to gasp.

Jake’s dick releases in a torrent of cum. It coats Hunter’s body, but with your control, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he moans, scooping it into his hands and bringing it up to your Jake body’s mouth. You make your frat bro slurp the mixture own seed, Hunter, and yours. Jake’s fighting the urge to vomit, but to you it tastes divine. You make him swirl his tongue inside his mouth, corralling every last piece of it deeper inside. 

Making Jake reinfect himself made all three of your bodies hard. Jake squirms in and out of control. He’s forced to grope his own muscles while he feels himself saturate with you, his own Adonis bod reduced into an avatar of your pleasure. He’s ready. You bring your newly infested puppet close. His deep chest heaves for you. Voice dripping with your perversion, “I’ll make you strong bro” you make Jake say in a corruption of his own catchphrase. “This is peak performance”. You can practically feel him fight with every fiber of his being. His bulging musculature spams. You drool with anticipation, pinning his body and yours to a tree with Hunter’s gyrating flash. ”Be one with me” you sing in Hunter’s voice. “O..On..with…. me“, you start to be able to reply back as Jake. “O-o-one…” His head shakes side to side, fighting you intrusion. You pinpoint your mind, like a hypodermic needle to his psyche. “One with me,” He gasps in ecstasy. 

“You fuckin freak….” Jake’s face pulls in a deep smile as he moans. You already have him acting atypically, it borders on unnatural as his lips pull into a smile wider than he’s ever made in his life. He now faces your main body, face closer than you ever would have dared to have it before. “Sin in my body….” He winces in one last bit of resistance, a small tear pooling in his eye. “Let’s make my parent’s cry…” He leans down to you for a kiss, letting you taste every piece of him with your main body for the first time. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he’s forced to suck out the snake you swallowed a few days ago. He gurgles a little before sending a Jake-imbued serpent, drenched in his testosterone and musk, down your throat. You make him pull back, looking at you with his signature bored expression, now tainted with your lust. “Own me”. His hand grabs yours, pulling it over his ass cheek and forcing a squeeze. “From now on… I am yours” 

- - - - - 

It took a few hours to make your way back but you finally manage. This time, Jake drove back. Drawing on the sleeping Hunter's knowledge. His car and the route back are second nature.

Jake places a hand on your inner thigh and smiles. Before long, your back in town and you send the aspiring personal trainer on his way.

You lay back in bed, curling up to your Hunter body. He still reeks but you can’t wait to start concocting your own concentrated Jake-flavored scent. You sigh contentedly, satisfied with your newest acquisition.

Doesn’t hurt to have a little test drive. 

Your two bodies peacefully lull into slumber as you flood the full force of your consciousness into Jake’s body. His face flashes in a split-second resistance before settling back. You fit the shape of your psyche to match his brain, slowly sliding into a deepened control. He has been carrying on as normal, so when you open his eyes as your own for the first time and gasp you first Jake-breath, you immediately adapt to his nonchalance. You survey your new surroundings.

He’s at the school gym, with what looks like one of his ATO brothers. It’s quite empty, probably due to how late it was. You pull one of his half-smiles. You couldn’t believe your luck at the fine man before you. You extract information from Jake’s mind.

A model, at least part time. Smart. Charismatic. “He’s cute, too,” You taunt Jake. “Thanks for the bro, bro”.

One of the snakes you have in his body coils in excitement, but you will it to be still. Might as well finish his routine. You can’t help but push Jake’s body past its limit as you barrel your way through his sets. 

You had a glimpse of his raw power previously, but it paled in comparison to this. As you smash through set after set in his body, you feel deeply in tune with Jake. His heart pumps mightly. Your cells already course through his bloodstream, so the action squeezes you into him further and only solidifies your bond together. His lungs are like engines, you’ve never felt so much energy inside you. You want to keep the charade of his normal personality up, but you can’t help but giggle. So good. So fucking good.

Hunter was dependable, and it felt amazing fully wearing his mind, but Jake was another beast entirely. You feel drunk in his body, in his vitality, in feeling his muscles conform to your thoughts. Your two bodies in Hunter’s apartment start squirming, leaking a bit of precum. Your mind is twisted and slotted into every piece of Jake's. His inner self winces as your very being, very sense of self leeches out of every crevice in his, neurons force-fed your commands. Your Jake-flavored thoughts course through his body, the perfect housing to your newly added self. This was truly being Jake. Wearing him in all senses but physical. And being Jake is a fuckin party.

It wasn’t just sensation. Thoughts themselves felt euphoric. Through his eyes, the world seems just a bit brighter. His mouth is intimately aware of the flavor of his own saliva. And his nose... you take a deep whiff of the perspiration caking his armpits, drenched in his musk. Divine. A moan escapes your mouth, prompting a quick turn from Dylan. God, we even sound good when we moan together. Jake’s face immediately reverts to its normal, dull demeanor. You raise your eyebrows slightly, just like Jake does, as you catch his eyeline, arousing no suspicion. Dylan promptly returns to his exercises, unaware of the danger wearing his best friend. You put Jake in the forefront, only for a moment, relishing in his sense of freedom before immediately straddling his psyche. You ride it as he is forced to bring trembling fingers up to his nipples. You give them a good rub. Oh my god. Another moan, but Dylan ignores it this time. That gets the two of you even harder.

You continue to straddle Jake’s inner sense of self as you work through his last set. It felt good to have him around, to witness how much more powerful he was when you were puppetting his bod. “We’re so fucking strong together,” you grunt in a proud aggression. Jake’s emotions felt far more raw than Hunter’s so it was difficult reining them in. 

Large dumbbells fall to the ground in a loud thunk. Jake’s body- your body is spent. His flesh cries in pain and soreness, but even that felt amazing through his bod. You are intimately aware of his tired flesh. It’s tender, but not for long. You feel the fibers of his being, coated in your conjoined seed getting buried in the folds of his growing muscles. Like all bodies after a workout, his body courses with growth hormones. Mass. His flesh condenses, builds itself stronger, unwillingly with you inlaid deep within them. You whimper in ecstacy. This is yours. He is yours. All yours. Irreversibly yours.

You roar, proud of Jake, of the new branch of your being. You will his tired form upright. He drools as his body whines in soreness. You lap it up, his face filling with determination as you prepare for your next hunt.

Your body is soaked, oozing with Jake’s sweat and scent. You pay no mind as you slowly walk towards Dylan, who had just finished his last set. You can barely mask your excitement through Jake’s normal demeanor. God you look even better up close. Your muscled hand reaches out, offering to pull him up. You ‘accidentally’ pull him too hard and into your awaiting hug. You laugh it off but you can tell that emotion alone was already offputting to Dylan. Fuck it, let’s be one already.

You waste no time, wrapping Dylan with your larger frame. Your ATO bro flails, trying to escape your clutches. He's far too weak to resist, post-workout. Instead you pull his head, up to your nose for a quick whiff of your future scent. Your eyelids flutter a little. He smells fancy.

You tug on Jake’s memories, “Bro, it was so fun getting to know you this semester. Gets me so hard just thinking about that tight little ass of yours.” You start grinding Jake’s body into Dylan. Letting him feel Jake’s hard on.

Dylan is stammering, clearly worried at the hybrid personality of Jake and your perversion. This person in front of him is Jake. It’s undeniably Jake, but it feels so wrong. Your muscled hand grips his chin, turning it from one side to another. “We’re gonna be more than bros, Dylan.” That causes him to struggle more. “You got the cutest face in ATO. Can’t fucking wait to wear it. Ready to be one?”

Dylan starts tossing himself around, as he sees the large snake slowly rising from Jake’s smile. You use your newfound muscle man to keep him steady. Another perk of being entrenched in Jake’s body. You waste no time, forcing Dylan to gorge himself on you, Jake and Hunter’s hybrid seed. 

He makes gurgling noises as you coil and worm into your new bod, and the last sight he sees is Jake pleading “sorry”. Dylan’s shaking stops, arms hanging lifelessly. Jake is still whimpering his sorrys as you brute force your bond into Dylan. It’s normally an arduous process, but being betrayed by his best friend turns his corruption into quick work. His mind succumbs to you easily, still in shock.

Jake is still sobbing “sorry” as he holds you upright. Your eyes slowly blink open, looking to Jake in confusion at first. He opens his mouth, wanting to ask if you were still you but you abruptly use your new body to pull him into a kiss. You force Jake to reciprocate, giving him a forbidden taste of his best bro’s essence.

“No need to be sorry bro,” you moan. “Actually... thank you, Jake. Thank you for stuffing this tight bod with his flesh.” You start to mock Jake by wearing your new body’s sincerity as you continue. “I’ve always wanted to be turned into a meat puppet. This was my deepest desire”. You hum.

Wearing Dylan was equally arousing and you feel Jake squirm in disgust at feeling his best friend’s growing hard on. You start to dance in Dylan’s tight bod, shaking more of your cells deeper in the process. “I’ve always wanted to be slut. And for my best, most trusted bro to be the one to infect me!” You cackle. “You feel him, don’t you?” You moan. “You can tell there’s no going back…”  Jake starts to shake as you resume control, this time dispersing your mind across both bodies. 

You pull back Jake to the forefront of his own mind, again strapping him to your own thoughts so he can fully watch and experience himself defile his best friend’s body. Jake’s body returns a hedonistic sneer. “Hell yeah brother…” You slam Dylan to the gym floor and begin stripping both frat men. “We can take the rest of ATO-“ both bodies briefly moan at the thought of corrupting their own brothers. “But, gratitude, bro. Lemme taste you first. Gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you’ll always have a piece of Jake inside of you,” You chuckle. “Well, more what's already there”.

= = = = =

Phew, another long one. But when have they ever not been long?