#i want to be a fly on the wall for all of it

[luminous-whispers]

With a sickening lurch and crack of my spine, the spell started to take hold. We swapped places, and pain exploded everywhere. I feel my throat go raw as my screams transcend dimensions, warping my voice into something guttural and otherworldly.

My bones elongated, snapped, my muscles tore and reformed. Fur erupted across my skin, growing thicker with each second of utter agony. My fingers and hands became sharp claws, and my face morphed into a permanent sneer that left my tongue dangling from my mouth.

I looked terrifying. Pathetic. Monstrous.

"Poor, weak human,"

My head snaps up, startled by the sound of my own voice. My mouth opens to speak, but a growl escapes in its place.

"Let me see how you enjoy the hunt. The endless hunger." It smiled wide, revealing fangs behind my lips. Mine. That face was mine.

Its words were meant to be a threat, a last warning of what is about to come. But I feel myself slowly start to smile— rough, jagged, and free.

I lick my sharp new teeth with my long new tongue, and I realize. I became the moster, and that monster became me.

It turns around, walking straight into my life.

And I ran.

I ran away from everything I once called mine, from all that has ever held me back. All that I have ever known.

On these new limbs, too long and too strong, I carried myself out of the city and deep into the forest. The cool air of the early morning was fresh and clean, and it whooshed in and out of my lungs with every powerful breath. I've never felt so commanding.

Birds fly far away when they hear the sound of my heavy footsteps. Bears turn the other way, not paying me any mind. There were no people out here, no one to tell me how I should live my life.

I slept soundly each night, listening to the wilderness chirp and chatter. With my heightened senses, I can hear the twinkling of the stars, and the booming of rain clouds up in the sky. I hear the murmuring whispers of rodents, scuttering about in the dead of the night.

I was in bliss. Pure, undiluted bliss, and I did not want to change that.

Three days later, I watched from the shadows as the monster walked down the street in my form. It twitched at every car horn or at any time a person laughed too loudly. It hadn't slept. It couldn't have slept, even if it tried. Not when my body avoided sleep like the plague, carrying insomnia as if it were a right given by the Gods.

I laugh in my mind, not wanting to draw attention by gurgling.

Every math equation, each missing assignment sat in a large pile that weighed down its shoulders, making it drag its feet through the daily unfortunate course of events I called my life.

It wasn't used to fake smiles and a crazy workload. The sheer and utter lack of control.

It tried to feed on someone once.

But my body is and has always been weak; Not strong enough to lift a chair, let alone kill someone.

Naturally, it resorted to the only other thing it knew to do. It yelled, complained, and threatened people, but no one paid it any mind. Just like they hadn't for me.

But academics and social life weren't the only things it struggled with. My apartment had become a mess, no less dirty than a pig's sty. Dirty clothes and clean clothes lay mixed on the floor, which was stained from muddy shoes.

The bed sat unmade, papers thrown all over my desk. Posters were ripped down, tossed, and the wall was lined with bloody scratches.

The kitchen wasn't something it was familiar with, either. That too, became insanely messy, and eventually the monster stopped eating. It didn't know what to eat, and so it went hungry, starved from the lack of raw meat and bones.

Barely over a week, it came to find me. Panting and desperate, it stood before me with shaking legs.

I was under the cool shadow of a tree, resting after a successful hunt. The fur around my mouth was crusted in blood—rabbit, not human. Even as this hideous monster, I was more in control than it had ever been.

"Let us swap back," it pleaded. "Please!"

I let myself laugh then, the loud gurgling echoing in the space around us. "Why?" My voice was inhumane, barely more than a growl.

"Look at you! You're hideous!" it shrieked, alarmed, and the vulnerability on its face filled my heart with glee.

Was that what I had looked like, begging my teachers for an extra day? Apologizing for mistakes that were never mine?

"I'm free," I corrected, leaning my back against the trunk. I looked down at my small frame, shaking my head in pity. "Are you breaking already? I kind of like it here."

Its eyes widened. "But you're cursed!"

"For someone so small and so weak, you sure demand a lot."

"Please."

I laugh loudly again. "It's just meat and instinct out here. And my instincts say no."

Backing out of the clearing, I never stop smiling.

Why return to that cage when I've just grown my claws?

A monster forcefully switches places with you. You become a horrible creature, and the monster assumes your form. Unfortunately for the monster, your life absolutely sucks—and you have no intention of swapping back.

[brittle-doughie]

Here to Help (Cookie Kingdom)

Don’t trust her….

(Main Story)

Two Cookies were walkkng down the hallway in the castle conversing with each other.

Dumpling Cookie: “And that’s how we were able to retrieve Y/N Cookie from the mines. It was a mess of destroyed minerals and scorched cave walls done by the fire elemental guardian.”

Salsa Cookie: “No wonder I arrived to a mess, what kind of guardian pulls off a reckless move like that? He could’ve gotten anyone hurt.”

Dumpling Cookie: “I..think that was the intention to destroy Agar Agar Cookie’s mirror.”

Salsa Cookie: “Speaking of which, why are letting a potential danger like that wandering around? Shouldn’t she be kept in containment in the very least?”

Dumpling Cookie: “Y/N Cookie couldn’t do it, she was still just a kid. She was sent to the infirmary after the fight with the fire elemental.”

Salsa Cookie: “With Black Forest Cookie and Cilantro Cobra Cookie? I’m surprised the infirmary hasn’t been trashed yet.”

Dumpling Cookie: “Bitter Candy’s medicine should be enough to keep them down. Her results are strong enough to bring down a dragon. I’ve made sure to make a note of that for later rowdy patients that I’ll hand to Y/N Cookie later.”

Salsa Cookie: “Emphasis on later. They’ve barely gotten sleep these days and we shouldn’t bother them. Don’t tell them this, but…”

Salsa Cookie stepped close to whisper the next bit to Dumpling Cookie.

Salsa Cookie: “A order of restriction has been placed on the Ancient Heroes-“

Dumpling Cookie’s eyes widen as she stepped back from her.

Dumpling Cookie: “Without authorization?!”

Salsa Cookie: “Y/N Cookie needs their rest and I’ll be damned if the next Ancient barges through our doors asking for them before we’ve gotten to the bottom of their affliction.”

Dumpling Cookie: “And if they won’t leave without them?”

Salsa Cookie: “Then we will make them leave. We’ve got to be looking out for Y/N Cookie as both our ruler…and our friend.”

Dumpling Cookie: “I can only hope you’re right…”

Salsa Cookie sighs.

Salsa Cookie: “I hope I am too….”

They stop at your door and open it slightly, seeing you laying on your side asleep.

Salsa Cookie: “See that? It’s been a while since they’ve looked so peaceful. THIS is what Y/N Cookie needs right now, not the next so called “Hero” bursting in for their help.”

Dumpling Cookie: “They don’t mean for all of this to happen, you know….”

Salsa Cookie: “Then why has it happened anyway? Why aren’t they protecting them?! Are they just ALLOWING for this to happen?! After everything they’ve done to help them!”

Dumpling Cookie: “Getting mad won’t make this any better.”

Salsa Cookie: “Then what would you do!”

Dumpling Cookie: “I would-“

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “Heyyyy.”

Crowned Cupcake had joined the two in the hallway, her hair looked unkempt.

Salsa Cookie: “What happened to you, crazy?”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “There was a pesky little fly going around the castle and I had a feeling it was up to no good with my darling, so I kindaaaa chased it around for a bit.”

Dumpling Cookie: “A fly? I highly doubt that a mere insect was enough to warrant you chasing it around the kingdom.”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “If it’s for my darling, I’d do it! Matter of fact, are we watching them sleep right now? I want to join!”

Dumpling Cookie: ‘Kay, now you’ve made it weird. We were all just leaving now!”

Dumpling Cookie pushed the two down the hallway as they protested. She gave one more look into your bedroom, her face softening as she watched your sleeping face.

It reminds her that she, and the others, need to find something for your affliction if she ever wants to see that peaceful face again….

———————————————————————

You lay on your side asleep, the look of peace on your face temporary just as your Cookies leave, your face scrunched up and you toss about in your bed.

The shadows in your room morph and change, made to look like three figures looking down over you in the bed.

One of apathy.

One of deceit.

One of destruction.

The monsters manifesting in your mind so deeply rooted, they’re even chasing you into the dream world….

———————————————————————

You ran as fast as you could through a forest, running as far as your legs could carry you as the sounds of trees and other foliage being destroyed are behind you.

You look over your shoulder to see the blazing eyes and the large smile of your pursuer as he laughs.

Burning Spice Cookie: “HAHAHAHA! Run as long as you want, you’ll make this hunt all the more enjoyable for me! Even more so when I get my hands on you, little Cookie!”

You turn back forward as you kept running, jumping and ducking under branches and rocks as Burning Spice simply ran right into them, turning them into tiny pieces that did little to slow his advance.

You feel your breathing grow heavy, your breath shortening. You don’t know how long you can keep this up…

…

…

…

Until you can hear a faint voice in your (nonexistent) ear.

???: “Behind that tree to your left, hurry…”

You were confused by this instruction, but you didn’t have any other choice. With a quick movement, you dove suddenly to your left and up against the tree as Burning Spice kept rampaging through, you didn’t breathe until you were sure he was gone.

You: “Wha…*pant*….who…*pant*…”

A little heart floated in front of you.

???: “Me….”

You: “Who are you��.?”

???: “Hehe…you can just call me…Pavlova!”

You: “Why are you helping me?”

The heart floated to your chest as it glowed for a moment.

Pavlova: “Your heart, so full from the love of others, but still so empty….”

You: “My heart…?”

Pavlova: “Yes, it’s full yet empty. What are you locking away your feelings for?”

You: “Something that isn’t your business asking..”

You weren’t just going to tell ANYONE who asked that…

Pavlova: “I can help you, help cure that lonely heart of yours and be able to love again…”

You: “Who can I love? Who can I love without putting them in danger? I don’t want anything happening to those I care about like it happened to them!”

You close your mouth with your hands as you shouted that last part. The forest around you growing quiet….

Pavlova: “Uh oh….”

???: “There you are!”

The tree you were hiding behind was suddenly gone in a second as you fall backwards, looking up to see a Cookie floating above you.

———————————————————————

You groaned in your sleep, adjusting your position to your back as you faced the ceiling, your snoring soft.

As a figure slowly floated into your room…

———————————————————————

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Lookie, Lookie, I’ve found my Cookie!”

Shadow Milk Cookie. His disappearance in your head wasn’t for long after pushing him back in Beast-Yeast, he had returned only more persistent than ever…

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Didya miss me? Oh, who am I kidding! Of course you did! Admit it, you missed me!”

You: “Did literally nothing stick in your head last time?”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “I was just a littleeeee frazzled seeing my very dearest, very sweet audience member offering me their hand, j just needed a moment to compose myself!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “And I’ve come to say yes! Now COME HERE, lovebird!”

You sit up right again and rolled out of the way from his sudden divebomb. You get back on your feet as you start running again!

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oooh~ Playing hard to get! I love a Cookie with a little feistiness to them~!”

He only made things difficult as he kept pace with you, tricking you with false illusions of obstacles that served to slow you down more then help you. You couldn’t tell what was real and what was a lie, but you can’t risk running into a rock and stopping completely!

If you ran into a trick, he knew exactly where you were…

Shadow Milk Cookie: “I’ve forgotten how FUN this was! I should repay you somehow! I know, just stop and I’ll shower you with all the love in my beating heart! I’m not heartless after all, ahahaha!”

———————————————————————

The flying figure flew to you, observing your slumbering state for a little bit before drawing a bow and arrow.

???: “I can sense your pain. She will make it better…”

They drew their bow and heart tipped arrow, taking aim….

———————————————————————

Mystic Flour Cookie: “Your burden can still be freed from you. Simply walk out to me and I’ll give you what you need…”

She was too fast, even more so then Shadow Milk Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie. You had to stop behind a tree to stop making noise, but she simply stopped and waited for you close by. One bit of noise and it was all over.

Pavlova caught up to you as they floated next to your head.

Pavlova: “These Cookies, they have been your source of brokenheartedness?”

You: “As if. They just made things difficult for me recently. I can’t say they didn’t come in handy a few times, but they’ve caused more trouble for me than what their “love” is worth.”

Pavlova: “They are not all like that. You will see when she comes for you…”

You: “She? Who’s she?”

Pavlova: “All will be revealed in due time, for when you wake up, you too will see her paradise…”

You: “What are you-“

The tree behind you explodes as you were sent forward, falling down as you flipped over on your back to see the three Beasts looming over you….

Burning Spice Cookie: “Nowhere left for you to run anymore, little Cookie. You are now mine and mine alone.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Heyyyy, Spicy! I saw them first! Lemme just have first dibs on them before you two tear them apart. I don’t exactly trust you two to play nice~”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “There will be nothing left of them that I can free if I am last. Leave me with them and I’ll make sure they’re still remaining when I’m done…

Burning Spice Cookie: “That won’t do. It was me who had found their hiding spot. I will be the first one!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Well now, you two are just being unfair! I want them too!”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “I will be the fresh one, there is no point in arguing this anymore.”

Burning Spice Cookie: “TRY IT.”

———————————————————————

The figure shot at your chest, the arrow hitting right where your heart was, but it disappeared before it really made contact.

It quickly flew out the room as your body reacted to the hit, springing up for a moment before falling back down in bed.

———————————————————————

You gasped and choked as you clutched your chest, falling on your back as the Beasts stopped their bickering.

Burning Spice Cookie: “What is this?”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh sweetie! You don’t need to be so dramatic! We’ve decided to just share you in this dream!”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “But I will be the first in the next one…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “We’ll save that conversation for later. For now, I want to hold and kiss my little Cookie all better!”

As they approached, the sudden appearance of pink clouds manifested around you as the three stopped in their tracks.

Mystic Flour Cookie: “Is that-“

Burning Spice Cookie: “Not good at all….”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Ugh, of course she had to ruin a perfect moment like this…”

The pink clouds enveloped your vision, you couldn’t see as you kept gasping for air, it felt like your heart was struggling to beat, as if it was fighting back against something, but what?

———————————————————————

You jolt up, breathing heavy as you clutched your chest. You didn’t see any changes, but you felt like something was wrong with it. Why was it beating so much?

It was like you’ve fallen in love again…but from what?

Your room glowed a bright light at the opposite end of where you were, you looked over to see…an angel on clouds…

You: “What’s going on here-“

???: “Heyyyy, it’s okay.”

The angel opened her eyes, revealing their pink color with white slit pupils, the telltale sign of a Beast Cookie.

Her arrival was not a coincidence.

Yet…you didn’t raise your guard. No, you felt…calm. The opposite of what you were feeling with the previous Beast Cookies…

Was she…even one?

She looked so heavenly, so inviting….

???: “Many Cookies care and love you, but you are still void and empty…”

She floated to you.

You didn’t get away.

You couldn’t.

You can’t.

Eternal Sugar Cookie; “Your heart is still capable of finding the one it loves. I am the Bringer of Happiness, Eternal Sugar Cookie, and I am here to help you find your joy…”

You: “You….you can do that?”

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “Your heart is the warmest I’ve felt, it would be a shame to let it beat anymore without having found its love…”

Eternal Sugar Cookie gets real close to your face, her eyes looking into yours. She gently takes your hands into hers, which makes you flush red in the cheeks. Something she does in return as pink dusted her own.

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “You deserve to be loved. You deserve your rest. You deserve nothing but paradise…”

She takes you on her cloud and lays with you with her, her hand brushing your head as she held you close.

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “Just for you…and me….”

You: “……..Please…….”

[alchemistc]

if the sky comes falling down

Bobby's first in the door, once Tommy's cleared for visitors, and rather than the groggy look he's expecting, Tommy looks spitting mad.

It's a first, for Tommy, the most even-keeled of his team. Bobby's been waiting for the monster to break loose for a while. Knows that glimmer behind the eyes Tommy's been blinking away for two years every time a man raises his voice in a way that doesn't seem to have an end.

"Tommy," Bobby says, softly, like he's soothing a skittish deer, and Tommy leaps towards the oncoming headlights.

It's only after the fact that Bobby clocks the significance of Tommy feeling unafraid to let Bobby have it.

"It's like you're fucking cursed. I was fine. I was good. I was thinking of telling Hen I was ending things with Abby because -." Even here he shows restraint. They have him on a drip, still hooked up to machines because they're afraid of clotting, one side of his face is black and bruised, and Tommy still holds back whatever the end of that particular sentence was.

Bobby knows this anger. Had spent a month quietly livid with Tommy for pulling him back from the brink, there in that howling cavern of a flaming crib crashing through an unstable floor.

"You had to say something. You couldn't just leave it alone, and now I -." Tommy gestures at his leg.

Bobby hadn't seen the propane tank, or the blast that knocked Tommy back twenty feet into a retaining wall. Hadn't clocked the terrible structural integrity of the catwalk above them until the impact of Tommy knocked it loose and sent metal beams crashing to the ground.

"I'm not arguing your right to be angry with me, Tommy. But this seems to be about something besides the three weeks they're requiring you to wear a brace."

He'd gotten off lucky. They all had, but Tommy especially, who'd hit the wall and been knocked clean out. He hadn't been awake to brace for the falling beams, and so, like a drunk flying through a windshield after killing a family of four, coming out with only a few scrapes and bruises, the only concern besides the concussion is the knee that had been overextended when seventy pounds of metal crashed down on Tommy.

Tommy's look is one of the more vulnerable ones he's seen. Still skittish, still terrified, still angry, but tinged with doubt now.

"Harbor's not gonna let me in a bird while I'm rehabbing a knee, Nash."

No Cap, no Bobby. He's just refocused the anger into a sharper point.

"You told me you were only considering it," Bobby says, and Tommy snorts, his expression slightly feral, a caged animal in all its glory.

"I've had the paperwork hiding under my passenger seat for a month now, ready to give you."

That's - honestly a surprise to Bobby. He'd brought it up once, left the paperwork in Tommy's duffle after being stonewalled upon bringing it up, and neither of them had mentioned it from that point on. Tommy was a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be. Bobby'd expected to wait it out at least another six months.

The prayer beads around his wrist clack together in the pocket Bobby shoved his hand in. Tommy clocks the noise and scowls. "God's not gonna heal a bum knee before Harbor fills their open position," he spits.

Bobby sucks in his lips. Tries to think of a way to frame this without making Tommy more angry. "There was never an opening, at Harbor. I very much lied about that."

Tommy goes silent, still.

"When I reached out to Melton, it took him all of five minutes to decide he could fit a former Army pilot into his roster regardless of whether or not he had the room. The position is yours the moment you decide you're ready."

The stare down is intense. It goes on for a while. Bobby fingers the beads in his pocket and wonders if his punishment is reaching out in new directions to wrap its claws around Bobby's team.

Tommy rolls his jaw. "Could have led with that," he says, words laced with ire, and Bobby feels the temperature in the room lower about twenty degrees.

His grin is wry. "You'd have told me where to shove it and burned the paperwork I left you."

Tommy tips his head back and forth like he's weighing the scales of staying mad at Bobby. He seems to decide on the path of least resistance, and Bobby is briefly annoyed with him for not continuing to pick a fight. He hasn't even questioned the believability of Bobby's statement, like despite himself he still trusts Bobby at his word.

"I'm gonna need a ride to PT," Tommy says, and Bobby takes it for the olive branch it is.

Bobby's brow lifts, and Tommy groans as he pulls himself up the bed.

"The fiance thing wasn't working out for me," he confesses, like he expects Bobby to have known that, about him, as well. Tommy keeps a tight lip about his personal life. Bobby's watched him flirt with one of the officers who keeps popping up with Athena Grant on scenes. If Tommy's not ready to be known, Bobby isn't going to mention it.

"We'll figure something out," Bobby tells him, and Tommy's smile turns wry.

"You always seem to."

It's damnation and praise all at once. Bobby doesn't want to overstay his welcome. "Chimney's been chomping at the bit to see you. We should let him in before he starts harassing nurses."

Tommy's smile goes soft. "Gotta make sure I didn't ruin his handiwork."

They've all saved each other's lives, at some point. Just because Bobby would prefer to have been left out of that doesn't mean he doesn't respect it. He squeezes the calf closest to him. Watches the way Tommy's gaze holds steady on that hand for a long, long moment.

He's halfway out the door when Tommy calls out. "Cap?"

Back to Cap, already. Tommy's capacity for holding on to anger seems to be dropping.

When Bobby turns back to him, he's halfway through a mental grocery list - meals he can package up and send to Tommy for that first week on rest while still feeding his team while they're down a man.

He's going to need to start scouting recruits.

"Your regional colloquialisms are gonna go over most people's heads, out here," Tommy reminds him, and Bobby's still laughing when he shakes Chimney awake in the visitors area just outside Tommy's room.

[batsovergotham]

the fight for yourself pt3

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: SMUT IMPROPER USE OF WEBBING LOLLLL, some angst with comfort, biting/scratching in a sexy way mark gets TORE UP, not many warnings this chapter honestly

w/c: 16k

a/n: yall this is so nasty im so sorry. lmk ur thoughts in my inbox or in the comments!

Mark’s wrists are bound again, stretched wide above his head, webbing wrapped tight and glistening against the wood. He’s panting already, flushed and tense beneath you, eyes locked on your face with a heat that’s gone from dazed to focused, like he’s not just watching you but memorizing you.

You straddle his hips again, your bare thighs sliding along his skin, the wet mess between your legs sticky and still slick from the first time. You’re flushed and raw, your core aching, but the want doesn’t ebb, it spikes. The second you feel him twitch, hardening under you again, you swear your body pulses in anticipation.

“I thought you said you were holding off,” you whisper, brushing your lips across his.

Mark smirks, helpless but cocky in that way only he can manage when tied up. “You're the one climbing back on. Pretty sure this is your fault.”

You grin against his mouth, then reach between you, guiding his cock through your soaked folds again. He shudders hard, head falling back. “Shit.”

You slide down slowly, inch by inch, your breath breaking as you take him again, deeper this time, the angle more intense. Your thighs tremble as he fills you, and his arms pull instinctively against the webbing, a groan ripped from his throat.

“Holy fuck,” he chokes. “You feel–God–”

You sink all the way down until your hips meet his, thighs spread wide, clenching around him as you adjust to the fullness. You bite your lip hard, moaning into the warm space between his neck and shoulder.

Then you start to move. Slow at first, savoring the stretch, the drag of his cock along your still-sensitive walls. But it builds fast, your pace stuttering as pleasure rushes through you again, sharp and raw and unbearable. The slap of your bodies echoes in the room, wet and filthy, and your moans start to rise out of your throat completely unchecked.

“Mark–fuck, Mark–”

His hips buck up instinctively, even with his arms bound tight, and the sound that rips out of you is loud. Too loud. You feel it leave your body like something being torn out, half-scream, half-beg, and it bounces off the walls before you can stop it.

And somewhere in the haze, through the sweat and the noise and the way your vision is going white, you barely register the slam of the bedroom door flying open.

“IS IT BACK?! IS IT THE SYMBIOTE?!”

You freeze. Mark's eyes snap open. Your body stiffens on top of him, still flush against his lap, your chest heaving. You twist your head over your shoulder,

And standing in the doorway, eyes wide, face ghost-pale, is Harry.

You shriek. Loud. Louder than before.

And in your panic, your hand jerks up on instinct.

Thwip.

A thick strand of webbing shoots straight from your palm and attaches immediately to the ceiling fan.

There’s a beat of stunned silence,just you, Mark still inside you, his arms stretched above his head and still webbed, both of you frozen like horny mannequins mid-thrust, when your body jerks violently upward.

The fan isn’t even on, but the web pulls taut, yanking your arm straight above your head. Your entire torso lifts slightly from Mark’s, your spine arching in the worst possible angle, your ass in the air, face twisted in a wild-eyed panic.

“I’M STUCK!” you screech, dangling awkwardly over your boyfriend like Spider-Woman with a concussion.

Mark stares up at you with wide, stunned eyes.

Harry, standing in the doorway holding the containment unit and what looks like an old fire extinguisher, freezes in place.

There’s a long pause. No one says a word.

Then Harry whispers, horrified, “Oh my God. She’s possessed again.”

“Harry,” Mark groans, still pinned, still inside you, face red with a mix of orgasmic afterglow and pure humiliation. “It’s not the symbiote.”

“She’s webbing the ceiling, Mark! She’s levitating!”

“I’M NOT LEVITATING, I’M STUCK!” you snap, flailing your free arm. “Turn around and close the goddamn door!”

Harry blinks, finally noticing the reality of the situation. Naked you. Webbed, gasping, tangled on top of a similarly naked and restrained Mark. A sheen of sweat over everything. And a slow, miserable drip from the ceiling fan web line.

He drops the extinguisher. “I THOUGHT I WAS SAVING YOUR LIFE. INSTEAD I WALKED INTO,INTO SPIDER-PORN!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, HARRY,” Mark yells from beneath you, “IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF THIS ROOM IN THE NEXT TWO SECONDS-”

Harry’s already stumbling out, face white, babbling to himself. “I need bleach. I need therapy. I need to never come back here again.”

The door slams behind him.

Silence.

You’re still straddling Mark, your arm stretched up to the ceiling, web dangling uselessly. Your entire body is sore, sticky, and mortified. You finally tug yourself free with a loud, wet pop, and collapse onto Mark’s chest like a dying fish.

“Kill me,” you mumble into his collarbone.

Mark wheezes. “No one’s dying. Except maybe Harry.”

You both lie there in stunned, post-sex, post-Harry silence.

Then Mark mutters, “So, that ceiling fan thing? Kinda hot.”

You groan, smacking his chest weakly. “Do not kink-label this.”

He grins, lips brushing your temple. “Okay. So what you’re saying is… round three, with suits?”

You’re collapsed on top of him, sweaty, sticky, humiliated, and still slightly vibrating from both the orgasm and the trauma. Your arm aches from being yanked upward like a slutty trapeze artist. The ceiling fan above you is now dripping with web goop and making a low, sad creaking noise like it, too, regrets everything that just happened.

Mark’s still hard inside you. Of course he is. Viltrumite stamina is apparently God’s cruel joke.

“I don’t think I can ever show my face in public again,” you mumble into his chest. “I’m gonna have to fake my death. Move to space. Change my name.”

Mark’s fingers trail lazily along your back, still covered in undissolved webs, still somewhat helpless, which is honestly the only dignity you have left. “Hey. It wasn’t that bad.”

You lift your head slowly. “You were tied to a bed. I was screaming. Harry walked in holding a fire extinguisher and a containment unit. I Spider-Woman’d myself to the ceiling fan, Mark. That fan will never emotionally recover.”

Mark winces. “Okay. So maybe… a little bad.”

There’s a loud creak above you. The fan lets out a pathetic whine, then a single chunk of webbing droops loose and lands on your back with a wet slap.

You stare at him, dead-eyed. “It’s crying.”

“It’s grieving,” he corrects solemnly. “It saw things no fan should.”

You flop back down, face in the mattress. “God. Harry’s gonna write about this in his will.”

Mark grins, biting back a laugh. “He already has. It’s the Osborn Family Tragedy now. Norman had the Goblin. Harry has us.”

You snort into the sheets, then immediately groan. “Ugh. The sound the web made when I ripped off the ceiling. It was like ‘schhhhhlop.’ I sounded like a perverted lasagna.”

“Honestly?” Mark says, voice soft, teasing. “I’m still not over the scream. You sounded like a goat getting exorcised.”

You shove him weakly. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He looks smug. “You screamed my name like I was the last donut at a police station.”

“I was panicking! I scream when I panic!”

“I know. That’s why I’ll never sleep again.”

You both lay there in silence again. Still tangled. Still joined. The room smells like regret and victory and suspiciously like something’s burning. Possibly your reputation.

Then, from down the hall, Harry’s voice floats faintly through the door.

“I’m burning the fan.”

You scream into the pillow.

Mark’s stomach jumps with laughter beneath you.

You roll off him, collapsing on your side, tugging a corner of the sheet over your chest like that’s going to do anything now.

“…Round three?” he asks quietly.

You pause. Think.

Then mutter, “Only if we gag each other this time.”

Mark grins wide. “Kinky.”

You groan. “So Harry doesn’t call an exorcist.”

“Oh. Right.”

The fan creaks above you one last time. You flip it off.

Literally.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You’ve been hiding under the blanket for ten solid minutes now.

You haven’t moved. You haven’t breathed too loud. You’re seriously considering whether you could fake your death just to escape this conversation.

Mark’s lying beside you, completely unbothered. Shirtless. Smirking like he just watched your entire soul do a backflip off a cliff.

“Okay,” he says finally, his voice still raspy with sleep, “I have to ask.”

“No, you don’t.”

He turns his head toward you. “How the hell did it even get up there that fast? Like, were you conscious? Was that instinct? Did you aim for the ceiling fan?”

You groan and tug the blanket higher over your head. “Stop talking. I panicked.”

“Oh, I know. The velocity was amazing. I think you dented the fan.”

“I hope it falls and hits me in the face.”

Mark sits up slightly, dragging the blanket with him so he can look at you better. His hair’s a mess. There’s still a faint scrape healing near his collarbone from last night. He looks like someone who got tackled by both emotional catharsis and very enthusiastic sex. And he’s still grinning.

“I mean, I know I’m good in bed,” he says casually, “but I didn’t think I was propel-yourself-to-the-ceiling good.”

You throw a pillow at his face. He doesn’t dodge. He actually catches it, tucks it behind his head, and lounges like this is just a casual Tuesday.

“I hate you,” you say again.

“No, you don’t. You stuck to the ceiling while sleeping with me. That’s like the superhero version of doodling someone’s name in your notebook.”

You peek out from the blanket. “Mark.”

“Mrs. Grayson,” he says in a mock-solemn tone. “Mrs. Webby Grayson.”

You toss the other pillow. He ducks this time.

“Seriously, though,” he says, voice gentler now, “you okay?”

You sigh. “No. Harry literally kicked down the door like we owed him rent and made me Spider-Woman into the fan. I am not okay.”

Mark flops onto his back, hand resting over his stomach. “Okay, to be fair, Harry thought the symbiote came back.”

“And that justified him seeing me naked?”

Mark shrugs. “He’s scarred for life. He’s probably already in a lab somewhere, writing his resignation letter in binary code.”

You groan again.

Mark turns to face you. “But seriously. That was… last night was kind of a big deal.”

You bury your face into the crook of your elbow. “I know.”

“Like, I’m not trying to make it weird. Or heavier than it was. I just–”

“It wasn’t just sex,” you mumble.

He blinks. “Right. Yeah. Exactly.”

He nudges you with his knee under the blanket.

You glance at him.

“I meant it,” he says. “What I said. About wanting you. About being glad it was you this time. Even if the ceiling fan will haunt me forever.”

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“Oh, you absolutely are not,” Mark says. “I’m bringing it up at our wedding.”

You stare at him.

He immediately backtracks. “Not–not that we’re getting married! I’m just saying if we did, hypothetically, there’d be, like, a fan-themed cake topper or something. As a joke. Not a real wedding. I mean, unless you wanted to–”

You’re full-on blushing now.

He groans. “God, kill me.”

You smile. “No, I’m glad you said it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I’m never going to let you live that down either.”

Mark covers his face with both hands. “Fantastic.”

You both laugh.

It’s soft. Warm. That kind of laughter that hurts a little, because it means you’re not afraid anymore.

You roll over, stretch, and sigh. “Okay. We should probably face the lab. Apologize to Harry for the trauma. Drink something with caffeine in it. Pretend to be normal people.”

Mark mutters, “I’d rather get possessed by the symbiote again.”

You chuck a third pillow at him. “Get up, Web-husband.”

He grins. “You’re never calling me that again.”

“We’ll see.

You’re still hiding behind a coffee mug in Harry’s lab kitchen, pretending the night didn’t end with emotional soul-baring and end with you sticking yourself to the ceiling fan.

Mark? Mark is thriving. He’s sitting on a stool, sipping from a chipped black mug like it’s a throne, hair still a mess, smugness at an all-time high.

The TV in the corner flickers to life, and Mark flips through a few channels lazily until,

Jameson.

Right there. Live. Center stage. Grumbling, red-faced, and visibly suffering.

You sit up straighter.

“Turn it up,” you mutter.

Mark obliges, smirking. “Time for the daily Jameson rage stroke.”

J. Jonah Jameson stares out from the screen like he just bit into a lemon dipped in cyanide.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he begins, each word sounding like it’s being pulled from his soul with a rusty pair of pliers, “but it appears I may have–may have–been misinformed about Spider-Woman.”

Mark sets his mug down, eyebrows rising. “Oh, this is already better than caffeine.”

You narrow your eyes at the screen.

Jameson shuffles a few papers, visibly fighting the urge to scream.

“Late last night, reports came in of a confrontation between what we previously believed to be Spider-Woman, under the influence of a dangerous alien entity, and GDA forces. Eyewitness footage captured the event in full. Courtesy of Edith Brock, independent reporter and twin sister of Eddie Brock.”

You blink. “Wait. Edith filmed it?”

Mark nods. “Yeah. Guess it runs in the family.”

The screen cuts to footage. Shaky, grainy, but it’s undeniably you.

The moment the symbiote was ripped off. You, screaming. Mark, his face not showing, standing over you. The emitter glowing like a star going supernova. And then, your body, limp and shaking, finally your own again.

The shot lingers on you crawling into Mark’s arms, shaking.

Mark makes a face. “Damn, that angle makes my jaw look good.”

You jab him with your elbow.

Back on screen, Jameson pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s about to have a breakdown.

“This footage,confirmed by GDA analysis, shows Spider-Woman actively resisting the symbiote. Removing it. Fighting it. Which… indicates that she was not acting of her own volition during recent attacks.”

He takes a deep breath like it physically hurts.

“Effective immediately, I am retracting all prior statements labeling Spider-Woman a threat to public safety.”

Mark mock-gasps. “Is this… growth?”

Jameson raises a finger. “However, I still have concerns about reckless costumed vigilantes operating without oversight, and I maintain that her suit sets feminism back at least two decades.”

You glare at the screen.

Mark snorts. “Yeah, there it is.”

“But,” Jameson sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh that sounds like it’s been living in his lungs since the Nixon administration, “until further notice… she is not Venom. She is, begrudgingly, Spider-Woman.”

The feed cuts to commercial.

The room is quiet.

Mark raises his mug. “To begrudging clarity.”

You exhale, slowly. Hands trembling just a little around your mug.

“I can’t believe she filmed that.”

“She wanted the truth out,” Mark says. “Pretty sure Eddie wouldn’t’ve shut up until she did.”

You smile faintly. “Guess it’s poetic.”

He looks at you, expression softening.

“They see you now,” he says. “The real you.”

You nod slowly.

“They can call me whatever they want,” you say. “Just as long as I’m not that thing anymore.”

Mark leans over and bumps your shoulder with his.

“You’re Spider-Woman.”

You look at him.

He grins. “Even if you do occasionally go full exorcist on Harry’s ceiling fan.”

You groan into your mug.

He laughs.

And for once, the news isn’t a threat. It’s a relief.

The elevator in Harry’s lab creaks open with its usual obnoxious hiss. Mark steps out first, already tugging his yellow-and-blue suit top into place over the compression bandages you’d helped wrap around his ribs. He moves slower than usual. Less confident in the shoulders. Still healing.

Harry’s got his arms crossed, tablet tucked under one, dressed like he’s been living off vending machine protein bars and Red Bull since 3 AM. Because he has.

You follow behind them, jacket zipped to your neck. The echo of the suit, the old one, the one that looked like you before everything cracked, feels heavier than it should.

Mark glances back at you. “Still okay?”

You nod. “Not sticking to the ceiling. So that’s progress.”

He smirks. “That’ll be on your tombstone.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “If you two start flirting mid-briefing, I swear to God I’ll unplug your comms.”

Mark raises a brow. “That supposed to be a threat? Sounds like peace and quiet to me.”

You cut in before it escalates. “We’re not walking into a kill box, right?”

Harry stops at the lab’s central console. Taps a few keys. A holographic map pulls up, a transport corridor heading directly to Guardian HQ.

“No kill box. Just a debrief. Cecil’s expecting you. He gave us a ten-minute window, so try not to piss him off in the first two.”

“Not making any promises,” Mark mutters, tugging on his gloves.

You cross your arms. “You think he’s mad?”

Harry gives you a look. “You mean besides the part where you bonded with a shapeshifting alien organism that tried to decapitate his best agents on live television?”

You wince.

Mark sighs. “Okay, but to be fair, she didn’t ask to get possessed.”

Harry taps his tablet again. “You think that’s gonna hold up in a meeting with Cecil? He’s already writing the postmortem in his head. We’ve got ten minutes to get ahead of it.”

You exhale slowly. “Right.”

Mark moves closer. His voice lowers. Just for you.

“You don’t have to go in there like you’re on trial.”

You raise a brow. “I kind of am.”

“No,” he says. “You’re walking in as Spider-Woman. You saved people. You fought it off. You won.”

You look at him. “And if he doesn’t care?”

Mark’s jaw tightens. “Then he deals with me.”

Harry looks up. “Can you not threaten the director of the most powerful Government agency on the planet?”

“I’m not threatening,” Mark says. “I’m promising.”

You sigh, already regretting the hours to come.

Thirty minutes later, you’re standing outside Guardian HQ.

The air is cold, sharp against your cheeks. The front entrance is mostly empty, guarded, but not hostile. Still, it feels more like walking into a courtroom than a government building.

Mark walks beside you.

Harry follows a pace behind, adjusting his tablet like a shield.

You enter through the side doors and take the long hallway past mission control. The walls hum with energy. Cameras follow your steps. Guards glance, then look away.

No one smiles.

At the end of the corridor, Donald is waiting. Clipboard in hand, polite as ever.

“Mark. Miss. Mr. Osborn.”

Mark raises a brow. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Donald deadpans, “I haven’t. Thanks for noticing.”

You fidget with your zipper. “Cecil still upstairs?”

“He’s in the situation room. Wants full accountings. Emotional responses. Timeline breakdowns. No sarcasm.”

Mark winces. “Yikes.”

Donald turns. “Follow me.”

As you walk, your heart starts to hammer. You try to calm it, but the thought of sitting across from Cecil again,having to explain what it felt like, what you let happen, it clings like residue.

Mark nudges your elbow.

“Whatever he says,” he whispers, “you did the right thing.”

You glance at him. “What if he doesn’t see it that way?”

Mark shrugs. “Then he’s wrong.”

You smile faintly. Keep walking.

You’re not Venom anymore. You’re Spider-Woman. And it’s time to prove that to the one man who never stopped watching.

The “situation” room is dim, industrial, sterile. Steel walls. One long table. A screen built into the wall behind it, currently off. You half expect to see a stack of photos from the worst night of your life ready to be slid across the table like an episode of Cold Case.

Mark enters first, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw tight.

You follow.

Harry lingers behind both of you, pulling up files on his tablet, muttering something to Donald, who gives a curt nod and leaves the room.

And then there’s Cecil, seated at the far end of the table, flanked by nothing and no one. His expression is unreadable. The little hair he has left is combed. His suit is dark, and the tie is as red as ever. The scars on his face feel less like an injury and more like a warning sign.

He doesn’t say anything for the first five seconds.

Just looks at you.

You stand there. You don’t flinch.

Finally, he speaks.

“Sit down.”

You do.

Mark stays standing behind your chair, arms crossed.

Cecil’s eyes flick to him. “This is her debrief, Grayson. Not yours.”

Mark doesn’t move. “I’m here.”

Cecil sighs but doesn’t argue.

“Fine.”

He leans forward, folds his hands, and zeroes in on you.

“I want a clear, uninterrupted account of what happened,” he says. “From the moment you noticed changes in your physiology to the exact second the symbiote detached. No metaphors. No excuses. Just facts.”

You exhale slowly. Nod.

And you begin.

You walk him through the first headaches. The insomnia. The mood swings. You mention the first night it spoke to you in your sleep, how it didn’t feel like a voice, just a vibration in your skull that said your name like it owned it.

You mention the blackouts. The flare-ups in strength. The near-lethal encounters on patrol. You say you thought you could control it. You were wrong.

Cecil doesn’t interrupt once.

Not when you talk about the fight. Not when you describe the moment the suit turned on Mark. Not even when your voice falters as you admit, “I almost wanted to keep it. Because it made me feel powerful. Like I didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

He lets that hang in the air.

Then he speaks. “What changed?”

You glance at Mark.

“He did,” you say. “He reminded me who I was. And I remembered that I didn’t want power. I wanted control.”

Cecil’s expression doesn’t shift.

Harry cuts in quietly, setting down the tablet. “We’ve run full scans. Post-separation, there’s no sign of parasitic residue. Neural mapping is clean. The suit didn’t leave behind any chemical markers.”

Cecil raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Harry nods. “As sure as I can be. It’s not dormant. It’s gone.”

Cecil turns back to you.

“You understand why I’m not throwing you a parade, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“You understand why I still had agents and teams watching you?”

You flinch, but nod again.

“You almost killed my agents. You went dark for days. You disobeyed a direct order to check in after your last mission. You left Mark to cover for you while you spiraled. And don’t get me started on what you did to the news cycle.”

“I know.”

He studies you. Cecil’s jaw ticks.

He leans back in his chair. Finally… finally, he nods.

Then he presses a button on the table. A small red light on the wall blinks green.

“Room’s no longer recording,” he says.

You stare at him.

He exhales, long and tired. “I watched the footage. All of it. You were gone. Not just physically. Mentally. You looked hollow. And then, at the last second, you reached for him.”

His eyes flick to Mark.

Mark doesn’t blink.

Cecil looks back at you. “You fought your way out. That’s not nothing.”

You don’t speak.

He adds, quieter this time, “You scared the hell out of me.”

You almost laugh. “You don’t get scared.”

“I do when one of mine nearly stops being human.”

You go quiet.

He glances at Mark again. “She’s lucky you didn’t give up.”

“I never was going to,” Mark says.

Cecil nods once.

Then sits up straighter. The moment’s gone.

“I want you back on the board,” he says. “Limited missions. Partnered. No solo field work until I sign off. You’ll check in daily. And if I get so much as a blip on the radar that says you’re slipping again, I pull you. Understood?”

You nod. “Understood.”

He leans back. “Good.”

Cecil finishes outlining the terms in that clipped, flat way he has. Limited missions. Partnered only. Full monitoring. Daily check-ins. No media. No solo operations. No margin for error.

You don’t argue. You don’t even flinch.

You sit at the table, hands curled lightly in your lap. Mark stands just behind your chair,close, but not overbearing. Present. Harry lingers off to the side with his tablet, flicking through data without really looking at the screen.

And then Cecil asks the question he always does, in the coldest, most clinical way possible.

“Why are you still here?”

It’s not rhetorical. It’s not philosophical.

He’s watching you like you’re a broken prototype someone soldered back together and handed him without a manual.

So you answer. Slowly. Carefully.

But honestly.

“I didn’t start this to be a hero,” you say.

Cecil’s gaze doesn’t shift. He doesn’t blink. Just waits.

“I didn’t even think I was cut out for it. I got powers by accident. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want this.”

Mark glances down at you, quiet.

You go on.

“But that same day, when it happened, someone I loved was killed.”

Cecil’s head tilts slightly.

“My uncle,” you say. “He was everything. Grounded. Kind. He wasn’t a soldier or a scientist. He didn’t believe in heroes in the cape-and-spandex sense. But he believed in doing the right thing. Every day. In little ways. He always told me, if you have the ability to help someone and you choose not to? That’s on you.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t help him.”

The room is still. Not even Harry’s tablet hums.

“I had the chance,” you say. “Not to stop the whole thing. But to do something. To see the signs. To step in. And I didn’t. I brushed it off. Figured someone else would deal with it.”

Mark’s hand brushes against your arm at the back of the chair. He doesn’t speak.

“I watched him die,” you continue. “I watched the aftermath. The blood. The way the city just kept moving like nothing had happened. And I realized, if I have the power to stop something, anything, and I don’t?”

You look Cecil straight in the eye.

“Then I’m responsible.”

His expression doesn't change.

“That’s why I became Spider-Woman. Not because I wanted a name. Or a suit. Or headlines. I did it because I couldn’t let someone else die because I was too scared to step up again.”

Harry sets the tablet down. His eyes are a little wider now. Like this is the first time he’s really hearing it.

Mark crouches beside you without saying a word. Just stays there. Anchoring you.

You keep going, quieter now.

“And yeah. I messed up. The suit got inside my head. It made me feel stronger, sharper. I started thinking maybe I needed it. That it was the part of me that could finally make a difference.”

You glance away.

“But I was wrong. It took everything I believed in and twisted it. And I let it.”

Silence.

You finish the thought. Not for them,for yourself.

“I came back because I couldn’t let that thing use me to hurt people. I couldn’t run from it. I needed to fix what I broke.”

Cecil is still for a long moment.

Then he exhales, slow.

“I appreciate the honesty,” he says. “It’s rare.”

He stands, walks to the door. Just before opening it, he pauses and looks back.

“You want to fix it? Then fix it. I’m not interested in stories. I’m interested in action.”

You nod.

Then, to your surprise, he adds.

“For what it’s worth, your uncle was right. Power doesn’t mean anything if you’re not willing to use it for something good.”

The door hisses open, and he steps through.

Gone.

You sit still for a second longer.

Then Mark leans his head lightly against your shoulder and says, voice low.

“He’d be proud of you. For what you said. For coming back.”

You don’t speak.

But you believe him.

And for the first time in what feels like weeks?

You believe in yourself too.

The hallway is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet you had after the fight. Not the quiet between screams or held breaths or orders shouted over comms.

This is the quiet that only shows up after you’ve said everything that could be said in a boardroom…and realize the words that mattered most didn’t make it into the room.

You and Mark walk in silence down the long corridor past Cecil’s office, feet dragging slightly from the weight of the week. The sterile lights buzz above you, and you’re both too tired to care. You don’t talk until you reach the end of the hall, where the windows stretch wall-to-wall, letting in the dull gray of early dusk.

You stop.

Mark stops beside you.

And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

Your reflection stares back at you in the glass, faint and flickering. The woman in the suit that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. The one who almost didn’t make it back.

“I never told you about my uncle,” you say, voice soft.

Mark turns toward you just a little.

“He died the same day I got bit.”

You look out over the city.

“I didn’t know what I was yet. I didn’t know what was changing. But I felt it. My skin was hot. My thoughts were warped. I was scared. And then I saw him on my way home.”

You breathe out slowly. “He’d been shot. Caught in the crossfire of a car-jacking. Wrong place, wrong time. He bled out before the paramedics got there.”

You say it like the words taste bad. Bitter and clunky in your mouth, “It all started because I went to that stupid wrestling match.”

Mark looks at you, doesn’t interrupt.

“I won,” you add, quieter now. “Knocked the guy out cold. Crowd went wild. I thought, I don’t know. That I’d finally done something right. Like, really right. And then the guy running the place tries to stiff me. Says I pinned the guy too early, or whatever the hell.”

Your jaw tightens, and you don’t realize your fists have clenched until your nails start digging into your palms.

“So yeah,” you say, your voice harder now. “Some other guy comes charging out of his office ten minutes later. Screaming about being robbed. Says the guy took the day’s cash and ran.”

You glance at Mark, but he’s still quiet. Still watching. Letting you say it how you need to.

“I saw him. The thief. He shoved past me. I moved out of his way. Like I was just another face in the crowd. He ran right past the exit and I didn’t do a damn thing.”

Mark’s eyebrows pull together, but he doesn’t speak yet.

“The guy who stiffed me? He starts yelling at me like it’s my fault. Tells me I could’ve stopped him.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“And he wasn’t wrong.”

Mark’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “You didn’t know.”

You shake your head slowly. “I didn’t care. That’s what’s worse. In that moment, I didn’t want to help him. I thought, ‘Serves you right.’ And I let that guy go.”

There’s a pause. One of those silences that settle over the room and feel too loud.

“And that same night… Uncle Ben didn’t come home.”

You close your eyes. You’ve said it before, sure. But not like this.

The words sit heavy in the air.

“I’ve lived with that every day since. And that’s why I started doing this. Why I became Spider-Woman. Not because I wanted to wear a mask. Because I had to believe I could stop it from happening to someone else.”

Mark doesn’t interrupt.

You glance over at him. “I never told you. Not since the funeral.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Well… I didn’t tell you I was Invincible. So I think we’re even.”

You laugh. Just once. Bitter and soft.

“God, we were so stupid,” you whisper.

“We were scared,” he says again, more firmly this time. “Both of us. And we didn’t trust each other enough to say it.”

You look at him, really look, and for a moment, you’re back in that version of your life where he was yours and you were his and everything made sense. Until it didn’t.

“I really thought you were cheating on me,” you say. “With Eve.”

Mark winces. “I know.”

“I thought you were pulling away. Getting distant. Canceling plans. You started vanishing without explanation. And I just… I let it eat me alive.”

He turns toward you, leans against the glass. “You weren’t wrong to feel that way. I did pull away.”

“You just didn’t tell me why.”

He nods. “I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to look at me and see… all of this. The missions. The deaths. The world-ending crap. I wanted to keep you safe from it.”

You meet his eyes. “But you weren’t keeping me safe. You were keeping me out.”

Mark closes his eyes for a second. “I know.”

“And I didn’t ask,” you say. “I assumed the worst. We spent three years building something and I let it crumble because I didn’t believe you’d give me the truth.”

His voice is quieter now. “It felt like you didn’t trust me either.”

You nod.

The silence stretches.

“So what now?”

Mark stares out the window for a moment.

Then he says, “I still love you.”

You blink. It hits harder than you expected. Like something behind your ribs just cracked open again, this time for the better.

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” he says. “I’m not trying to fix three years of good and bad in one night. I just… I needed you to know.”

You step a little closer.

Your voice is low. Raw.

“I still love you too.”

Mark looks at you. Really looks. And there’s something soft in his eyes that wasn’t there before. No hesitation. No fear.

Just the truth.

“I’m not asking for perfect,” you say. “But I want to try. Slowly. This time, I want to talk when things get hard. I want to be your girlfriend. No more secrets.”

Mark reaches for your hand.

You let him take it.

“I want that too,” he says. “All of it. Even the hard stuff.”

You squeeze his hand, gently.

“I’m not ready to run again,” you murmur. “Not from you.”

“Then don’t.”

And he pulls you into him. No dramatics. No sweeping kiss.

Just warmth. Familiarity. The steadiness you’ve both been missing for months.

You close your eyes.

The window glass is warm now. Not from the sun, GDA windows are reinforced, resistant to everything from UV rays to sniper rounds. But from you. From him. Standing too close for too long in a space that never makes room for softness.

You’re still holding Mark’s hand. You haven’t let go. Not since the moment you told him you still loved him.

But now, with your forehead resting gently against his shoulder, the weight of it all starts to shift. Not disappear, but settle.

Mark’s breath is steady. One of his fingers runs along the curve of yours absently. Like he’s reminding himself you’re here. That you’re real. That this, whatever this becomes, isn’t slipping away again.

You speak first.

“I need to apologize to Eve.”

Mark doesn’t move.

But he’s listening.

You pull back just enough to look up at him. “I owe her that.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. I mean, I hated her for months. And she didn’t even do anything.”

Mark runs his thumb along the inside of your wrist. “You were hurting.”

“I was projecting,” you correct. “I thought you were pulling away because you were falling for her. But the truth is… I didn’t give you space to explain. I let myself spiral. I let the insecurity eat at me, and then I made her the villain in my head because it was easier than admitting I felt like I wasn’t enough.”

Mark doesn’t speak right away.

You look at him.

“I need to tell her I’m sorry.”

He nods. “She’ll appreciate it.”

“I don’t expect her to forgive me. I just want her to know I get it now. That I was wrong.”

Mark shifts, leaning back against the window, still holding your hand loosely.

“I think,” he says carefully, “that she never hated you. Not even when things were tense. She was confused. And yeah, maybe a little hurt. But she knew something else was going on. She’s smarter than we give her credit for.”

You nod. “I know. I think that’s what made it worse. Knowing she was never cruel to me. I was cruel to her.”

“You were scared,” he says. “And everything was falling apart. Doesn’t mean it’s okay. But it makes sense.”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t excuse it.”

He shrugs. “Nope. But you owning it now? That matters.”

You look at him again.

He adds, “Want me to come with you?”

You think about it for a second. “No. I think I need to do this on my own.”

Mark nods. “Okay. Just let me know how it goes.”

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He tilts his head. “Are we officially grown-ups now? Apologizing? Communicating? Processing?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re really trying to ruin this moment, huh.”

He smirks. “Little bit.”

You bump his shoulder, just enough to feel it.

He smiles at you. Not that half-forced one you’d been getting for days. Not the one hiding guilt or uncertainty.

This one is real.

You exhale. “Okay. I’ll text her. Ask if she has time.”

Mark squeezes your hand once before letting go. “You’re doing the right thing.”

The second-floor lounge isn’t busy.

It never really is, too tucked away, too quiet. Just a couple of metal benches, a vending machine that hasn't worked since last August, and a floor-to-ceiling window that tries to convince you the GDA isn’t buried in the heart of a bunker.

Eve Wilkins is already inside.

She’s seated near the far window, jacket half-unzipped and tied around her waist, tank top clinging to her collarbone, one ankle crossed over the other. Her orange hair’s pulled into a low ponytail. She’s sipping something from a biodegradable cup with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other.

She doesn’t look surprised when you enter. She doesn’t even flinch.

She just looks up. Sets her phone aside. Stays seated.

There’s no smile.

No tension either.

Just that calm, neutral Eve-ness that always made you feel like she could see through you.

You stand across from her for a second.

You hadn’t expected your heart to pound this hard.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” she replies. “You look… better.”

You nod. “Little less murdery.”

A pause. Then she nods back. “Good. That’s… good.”

You take a breath.

“I didn’t come here to pretend things were fine between us.”

She leans back slightly, legs uncrossing. “Didn’t think you would.”

“I wanted to say something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Eve gestures lightly toward the seat across from her. “Go on.”

You sit.

The metal’s cold against your legs. You can hear the faint hum of power lines in the walls. No one else is around.

Just her. Just you.

And everything that’s been stewing for years.

“I owe you an apology,” you say.

Eve watches you closely. No expression, just waiting.

“I haven’t been kind to you,” you continue. “Not even neutral. I was rude. Cold. Passive-aggressive. And you never did anything to deserve it.”

Eve’s brow furrows slightly. “Why?”

You swallow.

“Because I thought you were going to take him from me.”

The words are bitter and soft. They taste worse out loud than they did in your head.

She blinks. “Mark?”

You nod.

“I saw the way he trusted you,” you say. “How often he turned to you. How easy it was for you to just… be in his life. And I let that scare me.”

Eve doesn’t speak.

You go on.

“I thought you were the person he wanted to talk to. The one who got him. And I started building this whole narrative in my head, like it was only a matter of time before he left me for you. Or maybe… that he already had.”

Eve’s voice is quiet. “I never tried to do that.”

“I know that now,” you say. “But I didn’t ask. I didn’t talk to you. I didn’t talk to him. I just... pulled away. Snapped. Acted like you were some rival when all you ever were was his friend.”

You look down at your hands.

“I was so scared I wasn’t enough. That I didn’t have what you had. You’re smart. You’re brave. You’re respected. You’re beautiful in more ways than one. I kept asking myself why someone like him would stay with someone like me when you were in the room.”

Eve breathes in, slow. Doesn’t interrupt.

“I made you the enemy,” you whisper. “Because that was easier than dealing with the truth. That I didn’t feel worthy of the relationship I was in. And I’ve been holding onto that shame for a long time.”

A beat of silence stretches between you.

“I was jealous of you,” you admit.

Eve finally moves,just slightly. She doesn’t look smug. Doesn’t look vindicated. She just looks… tired.

“I kind of figured,” she says softly. “But I didn’t know why.”

You nod. “I didn’t either. Not really. Until after. Until I almost lost everything and came out the other side with no more excuses.”

Eve leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes still on you.

“I hated that we weren’t friends,” she says. “Because I liked you. From the beginning.”

Your throat tightens.

“I liked how you didn’t care about looking cool. Or impressing people. You were just you. Sharp, and weird, and stubborn as hell. I thought we’d get along.”

You blink.

Eve shrugs. “But then you’d look at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of your boot. And it sucked.”

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want Mark,” she says. “Not like that. Not ever while you were together. I would’ve died before doing something like that to you.”

You nod. “I know that now.”

She leans back again.

Silence falls between you, heavy but clean. It doesn’t sting like before.

It just... settles.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” you say. “I just didn’t want to keep pretending we didn’t both know I was awful to you.”

Eve tilts her head.

Then she says, “I forgive you.”

You blink again. “That easy?”

“No,” she says. “But it’s a start.”

You let out a breath that trembles as it leaves you.

“I don’t want things to go back to how they were,” you say. “But maybe… something new.”

Eve smiles. Small. Honest. “I’d like that.”

You sit in silence again, but this time it’s something easier. Not comfort, not yet. But possibility.

“I thought you’d hate me,” you admit.

Eve stands up. She offers you her hand.

“I don’t hate you,” she says. “I never did.”

You take it.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself breathe.

The sun’s dipped low by the time you and Mark leave HQ. It’s late enough for traffic to slow but early enough that the city’s still awake, buzzing in the periphery. The air smells faintly like burnt fuel and early fall.

He walks close beside you, not rushing. He’s got his hood up, and you’ve got your jacket zipped halfway. It’s not the best disguise, but it’s enough to blend in.

He offers his hand when you reach the corner by the bus stop.

You take it without thinking.

May’s house is just far enough from the city to breathe, old residential streets, cracked sidewalks, porch lights glowing like fireflies in a jar. The kind of place where front doors don’t always lock and neighbors still wave.

You both walk up the familiar steps.

The porch light’s on.

You haven’t been here in days.

You haven’t called.

You feel sick with guilt by the time Mark knocks on the door.

There’s the sound of shuffling.

Then the door opens,

And May’s standing there, arms crossed, face pale with relief and fury.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Mark gently steps in. “She’s okay. I promise. We both are.”

May’s eyes flick from him to you. Her hands tremble.

“I called you,” she says. “I texted. I left voicemails. I went to Mark’s dorm. You went completely dark.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t hug you.

Not right away.

She just looks at you like she’s counting the bruises, the weight loss, the shadows under your eyes.

Then she steps forward and pulls you in.

It’s not a tight hug. It’s not a gentle one either. It’s fierce. Real. Her hand cradles the back of your head like she used to when you were little, when you’d come home from school with scraped knees and tear-streaked cheeks.

“I thought I lost you,” she murmurs.

You nod into her shoulder. “I thought I lost me too.”

Mark stays quiet, standing awkwardly on the porch, until May notices.

She pulls back and gives him a look. “You. Inside. Shoes off.”

He blinks. “Yes, ma’am.”

Inside, it’s warmer than you remembered.

There’s a candle burning in the kitchen. Something vanilla-sugar. A mug in the sink. The news is paused on the TV, muted. May pulls out two old blankets and throws them on the couch like she doesn’t trust either of you not to keel over in her living room.

You sit curled under one, your hair still messy from the GDA hallways and sleepless nights.

Mark’s beside you, still a little awkward.

May drops tea bags in two chipped mugs and says, “Start talking.”

You look at Mark.

Then back to her.

“I’ve been going through something,” you say carefully. “It got… bad. Worse than I expected. I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

May doesn’t look satisfied, but she doesn’t push harder.

She sets the mug in front of you and one for Mark.

Then she turns to him. “You two together again?”

Mark nearly chokes on his tea.

You sputter, “May,!”

“What? I’m old, not blind,” she says. “You think I didn’t see the way he used to look at you during breakfast? He made heart eyes over cereal.”

Mark turns red. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” you mutter.

May smirks, but it fades quickly.

“I don’t need all the details,” she says. “But I need you to promise me something.”

You nod.

She looks at you hard. “If you disappear again, someone tells me. I don’t care what’s going on. If you need help. If you’re scared. I get told. Got it?”

Tears sting the backs of your eyes. “Got it.”

She turns to Mark.

“You too, chemistry boy.”

He nods solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

After dinner (canned soup, boxed mac and cheese, three glasses of water like it’s penance), May goes upstairs. She doesn’t say be good. She just says, “Don’t break anything.”

You and Mark are left on the couch. You lean into him. Not like earlier. Not cautious.

Just warm. Familiar.

Mark rests his chin on top of your head.

“She loves you,” he says.

You nod.

“I can see where you got the good parts from.”

You smile. “She thinks you’re a dork.”

“She’s not wrong.”

You laugh.

And in the quiet, in that soft golden light of a safe, ordinary living room,you let yourself feel okay.

Not healed.

Not whole.

But okay.

You glance up at him.

“Do you think we’ll ever be normal?”

Mark looks down at you, that boyish smile barely there. “I don’t think we ever were.”

You nod. “Yeah. I don’t want normal anymore.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Me neither.”

You don’t need suits. Not right now.

The TV is still on, casting soft flickers of light across the living room. Some sitcom you’ve both ignored is playing on mute. You don’t even remember when the last episode ended. The laugh track is predictable. The jokes are recycled. But the silence between you and Mark?

It’s not uncomfortable.

Just... full.

You’re lying side by side on May’s couch, your legs tangled under the blanket. His hand rests against your back, thumb brushing small circles between your ribs. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and it’s the kind of quiet that only happens when both of you are thinking the same thing.

You turn a little. Just enough to glance at him. “Hey.”

He looks at you. “Hey.”

You hesitate, then say it.

“I’ve been thinking about that night.”

Mark shifts slightly, his hand pausing. “What night?”

You raise an eyebrow.

His expression folds. “Oh. That night.”

You nod once.

Mark lies back again and groans into his arm. “God.”

You smirk a little, but there’s something softer under it. Something still tender. “We never really talked about it.”

He exhales. “Yeah. Probably for the best at the time.”

“Maybe not anymore.”

Mark’s eyes flick to yours. He nods slowly. “Okay. Let’s talk about it.”

You glance back toward the muted TV, then down at your hands. “Did you… know it was me?”

There’s a pause.

Then he says, “Not know, know. But...”

You wait.

“It felt like something I wasn’t supposed to recognize, but did anyway,” he says. “Not like I figured it out. Just like… I recognized you. Somewhere under everything. The way you moved. The way you touched me. It wasn’t obvious. It just... fit.”

You stare at him.

“That’s exactly how it felt for me,” you admit. “Like, I didn’t consciously think, ‘Oh, that’s Mark.’ But my body knew. My hands knew. Even the way I breathed around you, it was like I just recognized you.”

Mark sits up a little, running a hand through his hair. “It scared the hell out of me. Afterward, I kept replaying everything in my head. Every sound. Every move. I couldn’t stop thinking, why did that feel so familiar?”

You nod. “Same.”

“I was so sure I’d imagined it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because what were the odds, right? Like, what were the actual chances we’d cross paths that night, both in masks, both completely wrecked emotionally, and–”

“Hook up like idiots,” you finish.

Mark groans. “God.”

You laugh, but it’s quieter now. A little sad. A little warm. “I remember not wanting it to stop. Even though I didn’t know who you were, I didn’t want to let go. It felt like... like I was clinging to something I’d already lost.”

Mark swallows, voice soft. “Same here.”

You tuck your hands under your chin and look at him. “Do you think some part of us knew?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Yeah. I think the parts of us that weren’t broken knew. Even if we didn’t.”

You blink slowly, eyes stinging. “I hated myself for it afterward. For wanting it. For not stopping it. I thought I was spiraling. That maybe I was just using you.”

Mark turns toward you, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “You weren’t using me. And I wasn’t using you. We found each other in the worst way, but I think we were just trying to feel something real.”

You close your eyes. “It felt real.”

“It was.”

There’s a long pause.

You whisper, “It still scares me. How badly we missed each other. How close we were without knowing it.”

Mark nods. “I know.”

Another beat.

You shift closer, your fingers brushing his. “I didn’t know it was you. But I didn’t not know either.”

Mark smiles softly, something pained in it. “Yeah. Same.”,’”

You laugh. “That tracks.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, more gently, “I don’t regret it.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

Mark shifts forward and rests his forehead against yours.

“No more guessing,” he says. “No more half-truths. We tell each other everything. Even the badstuff.”

“Even the embarrassing stuff,” you add.

“Especially the embarrassing stuff,” he says, grinning.

You smile.

And then you whisper, “I knew it was you. Not in my head. But in my bones. I knew. And I still chose you anyway.”

His voice is softer. “I chose you too.”

You kiss him then, slow and warm.

No suits. No confusion. No masks.

You wake up to sunlight cutting through the blinds, soft, golden, and a little too warm on your face.

You blink against it, groggy, your brain still wrapped in static. Your limbs feel heavy. Your neck’s sore. The blanket’s twisted around your legs and your shirt’s rucked up over your stomach.

You roll over and run right into Mark Grayson.

Still fast asleep, flat on his back, one arm draped across your waist like it belongs there. His curls are messier than they were last night. He’s breathing softly, mouth just barely open, brows relaxed like someone who hasn’t had to think about the world ending for once.

You freeze for a second, your thoughts catching up.

This isn’t the couch.

This is your room.

Your bed.

You remember being on the couch. You remember the way your body sank into his. How his voice got quieter and quieter until you couldn’t even keep your eyes open.

But you never made it upstairs.

Mark must’ve carried you.

Your face burns at the thought of it. You didn’t even stir. He just… picked you up. Brought you here. Put you to bed. Stayed.

Your throat’s dry. Your chest aches a little, but not in the sharp, breaking way it used to.

You shift gently beneath the covers, trying not to wake him.

But of course you do.

His brow furrows. He makes a soft, groggy noise and turns toward you.

His arm tightens slightly around your waist. “You awake?”

You nod against the pillow. “Yeah.”

He hums, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“No clue.”

“Did we teleport?”

You laugh softly. “You carried me.”

He blinks one eye open. “I did?”

“Yeah. You tucked me in and everything.”

Mark groans and covers his face with one hand. “That’s embarrassingly domestic of me.”

“I liked it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “Yeah?”

You nod.

He exhales, lets his arm relax. “You were completely out. I figured the couch wasn’t doing your back any favors.”

“It wasn’t. Thank you.”

He closes his eyes again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of course.”

You lie there together in the quiet, your heart finally beating at a steady rhythm. His chest rises and falls in time with yours. Somewhere downstairs, you hear the muffled sound of a kettle and the shuffle of May’s footsteps.

You press your forehead against his shoulder. “We should probably go down.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs.

“Mark.”

“I’m serious. Just five.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t move.

The air between you feels soft. Easier than before.

After everything that’s happened,after all the chaos, the hurt, the masks and guilt and distance,this morning feels like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Mark shifts slightly, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “Your aunt’s probably downstairs thinking I snuck into your bed.”

“She probably knew you carried me up here before I even woke up.”

“She’s terrifying,” he mumbles.

You smile. “She’s just perceptive.”

“Mm. So… you’re okay?”

You nod. “I think so. For the first time in a while, I really think I am.”

He opens both eyes now, gazing at you. “Me too.”

You stay like that a little longer.

Wrapped in quiet. Wrapped in each other.

And for once, the world outside can wait.

After a while, Mark's finally up, standing by the dresser, shirt in hand, half-awake, trying to wrangle his curls with one hand and yank the fabric over his head with the other. He’s still got marks from the night before along his ribs, your nails, probably, and bruises starting to bloom faint under his collarbone. His voice is rough, sleep-thick. “I’ve got patrol in, like, ten minutes…”

He says it like it’s a valid excuse. Like you’re just gonna let him go.

You blink up at him from the pillows, body bare, one leg bent and draped casually to the side, not even pretending to cover yourself. His shirt’s halfway on, arms tangled in the sleeves, when you flick your wrist and thwip, a web lashes out, yanks it right off him mid-motion, and slaps it against the ceiling where it sticks.

Mark stares up at it like it just personally betrayed him. “Oh come on,”

You stretch with a soft groan, arms overhead, spine arching, breasts lifting just enough to make his mouth go a little dry. “Didn’t say you could leave.”

“You ambushed me.” He points, accusatory, but doesn’t take a step back. His eyes drop to your stomach, to the line of your waist disappearing under the mess of sheets. He tries not to let his gaze linger. Tries.

“You said ten minutes.” You cock your head. “And I’m calling bullshit.”

He rubs a hand over his face, chuckling under his breath. “Wow. Okay. I thought by now you knew I’m not a ten-minute guy.”

You bite your lip, grinning. “Mark Grayson. Did you just give me your sex résumé?”

He shrugs, like he can’t help himself. “I'm just saying. There's a track record. You know better than anyone.”

“You're the worst,” you laugh, reaching up toward him, fingers curling in the air. “Get back here.”

He lets out a low sigh, but he’s already moving. Shirtless, still warm from the bed, he crawls onto the mattress like a man torn between duty and something much better. His knee brushes your thigh as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other finding your wrist and gently pinning it down against the pillow.

"You’re gonna make me late," he murmurs, his voice suddenly close, low.

“You were already late,” you whisper back. “Might as well earn it.”

He kisses you before you finish saying it,messy and warm, with that boyish eagerness he tries to hide under all the super-confident posturing. You catch his bottom lip with your teeth and he groans, just a little, hips pressing down into yours. The feel of him, already hard again, makes you gasp into his mouth.

“God, you don’t waste time,” you mutter.

Mark grins against your neck, voice muffled as he trails kisses down your throat. “I have ten minutes, remember?”

You laugh breathlessly, legs wrapping around his hips as he slides between them. “Show-off.”

He doesn’t answer. His fingers slide low, teasing the slick heat between your legs, and your body answers before your brain catches up,hips rising, breath catching, skin already flushed. You arch up into him, moaning softly against his shoulder, and he moves like he never had any intention of leaving.

Mark doesn’t answer. He just bends down and kisses you.

It’s unhurried at first, soft and warm and deeper than you expected. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, the other resting on your thigh. His lips taste like sleep and toothpaste and something almost shy, like he still isn’t used to waking up like this, with you.

You lean into it, fingers curling at his sides, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. He’s standing between your knees now, hips pressed just barely into yours, and you feel the way he breathes,shaky and uneven, like he’s trying to memorize the way your mouth feels.

You slide your hands up his back, dragging your nails gently along his skin, and he shivers against your lips. The kiss turns messier, more urgent. Less about good morning, more about don’t leave yet.

Mark breaks the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “You’re gonna make me blow off a mission.”

“You say that like it’s hard,” you whisper back.

He laughs, breathless, and nudges your nose with his. “We’re seriously gonna get caught making out on some satellite feed one day.”

You smirk. “Just saying, suits do unzip. We’ve got options.”

Mark groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “No. No. That’s how I end up thinking about your thighs mid-fight and flying into a building.”

“Worth it.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re not running.”

He sighs like he’s surrendering. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you let your legs settle around his hips like they belong there.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he murmurs.

“You’ll give me ten,” you whisper into his mouth, “and you’ll like it.”

And he does.

You smile as you rise to your knees on the bed, the curve of your body catching the light just right, and step down onto the floor in front of him. “Well,” you murmur, your hands finding the waistband of his boxers.

His breath catches as you kneel in front of him, fingers curling into the waistband but not pulling yet. You press your mouth to the soft skin of his hip, kissing slowly, lazily, as he sways slightly under your touch.

“Holy shit,” Mark whispers.

You tug his boxers down in one smooth motion, and his cock springs free, flushed and already hard, curving up toward his stomach. He’s twitching with anticipation, and you glance up at him, smirking.

“You still got ten minutes?”

He nods, but it’s slow, like his brain’s buffering.

You don’t wait. You lean in and press your lips to the base of his cock, kissing up along the vein until you reach the head. You run your tongue along the tip, tasting salt and heat, then take him into your mouth, slow and warm and deliberate.

Mark gasps, his fingers finding your hair, not pushing, just gripping,light, trembling, like he’s grounding himself.

“Jesus,” he chokes. “Okay. Yeah. Fuck patrol.”

You hum around him, taking him deeper, letting him slide across your tongue. His hips jerk just slightly, restrained only by sheer will, and his breathing breaks into staggered little gasps.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That mouth should be illegal.”

You pull back, just enough to tease the head of his cock with your lips, and murmur, “Let’s add it to the list of crimes.”

He groans, deep and low, his abs tightening as you start again,sinking your mouth down, cheeks hollowing, tongue working the underside. His thighs flex under your hands, already tense.

“God, you’re gonna break me.”

You look up at him with a devilish glint. “That’s the idea.”

You suck him deeper, bobbing your head in a rhythm he can barely handle. His grip in your hair tightens, breath stuttering, chest heaving. Every little moan, every soft fuck that slips from his mouth fuels you. He’s so close already, trembling, body taut like he’s holding back from tipping over the edge.

“Wait–wait–I’m–baby,” he gasps, voice cracking.

You pull back just enough to stroke him with your hand, slow and steady, mouth hovering near the head of his cock as you murmur, “Y’know, we should really try this in the suits again.”

His whole body twitches. “You–what?”

You lick him slow, teasing, then smile up at him, hand still stroking. “We could make a rooftop thing out of it. I web your wrists behind your back, keep the suit on... and you keep the mask.”

Mark’s knees almost buckle. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

“Or make you come in five minutes flat.”

He makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a moan and a laugh, and tries to say something else, but your mouth is already on him again, sucking him down deep, and his words dissolve into nothing.

When he comes, he does it with your name tangled in a broken gasp, hips shaking, one hand in your hair and the other bracing hard on the dresser. You don’t stop until he’s spent, until he’s twitching in your mouth and mumbling incoherent praise under his breath.

You finally pull back, lick your lips, and sit back on your heels, watching as he tries to recover, chest heaving, eyes dazed.

“I…” he breathes. “I was supposed to be airborne by now.”

You grin. “So go.”

Mark just stares at you, then up at his shirt still stuck to the ceiling. He groans, rubbing his face. “You’re the reason Cecil’s gonna kill me.”

You crawl back into bed, pulling the sheet lazily over your hips. “And I’m worth it.”

“…You really are.”

There’s a heat in your chest that feels new, like confidence finally cracking through the usual quiet shell you wrap around yourself. Normally, you’d hesitate here. Look away. Pull back and make some awkward joke. You’d give him space.

Not today.

Today, the air feels thick and heavy with everything left unsaid. Your body’s buzzing, bold. You step in close, bare skin pressing to his, and your hands come up to his chest. He’s still flushed, breath ragged, the muscles beneath your palms tensing slightly when you touch him like that. You feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven, pulsing right under your fingertips.

You lean in, kiss the edge of his jaw, soft, slow, then let your mouth trail up to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the shell of his ear. You feel the shiver run through him, and you smile against his skin.

He exhales like he’s trying to get control of something. “You’re acting different.”

Your lips find the crook of his neck. “Is that bad?”

He doesn’t answer, but the way his hands settle on your hips, tight, possessive, says it’s definitely not. You kiss lower, letting your mouth brush over the strong line of his throat, feeling the way he swallows under you.

He murmurs your name, a quiet warning wrapped in a plea.

You tilt your head, breath warm against his ear. “Do you want me to stop?”

He grits his teeth. “Fuck, no.”

You keep the momentum, pull him with you by the waistband of his boxers, and kiss him hard. His lips part immediately, hungry now, and your tongues tangle as your hands explore his chest, the curves of his shoulders, the way his muscles tighten under your touch.

Mark moans into your mouth, low and breathy, and the sound vibrates down your spine. One of his hands gently touches your skin, sliding over your bare waist, warm and steady, while the other grips your thigh, hoisting your leg up around his hip. You grind against him, both of you half-naked, mouths locked, breaths broken.

His fingers trail down, following the curve of your thigh, then up, under your breasts this time, higher, until his hand’s between your legs. You feel him hesitate for just a second.

“You sure?” he whispers against your mouth, voice rough.

You nod, almost panting. “Yes. I want you to.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you again, deeper now, as his fingers slip between your folds, and you suck in a sharp breath at the first touch. You’re wet, aching, and he feels it instantly. His breath catches in his throat, and you can hear the way it stutters when he starts to move.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His index finger circles your clit slowly, lightly, teasing, and your hips twitch into his touch before you even realize you’re moving. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your shoulder, all while his fingers work lower, slipping through your slick heat. When he presses one inside, you gasp, sharp and real, hands digging into his biceps to steady yourself.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod fast. “More.”

He obliges without hesitation, curling his finger inside you, then sliding in a second, slower this time. The stretch makes you moan softly, your body clenching around him. His other hand grabs your hip, holding you steady as he begins to move, slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers that leave you dizzy.

“God,” you breathe, head falling back. “That feels so good…”

He groans softly, watching your face, drinking in every little reaction you give him. “You’re so tight… Fuck, I could do this all day.”

Your body rocks with him now, matching his rhythm, grinding down against his palm like instinct. Your breath is coming in short gasps, your skin flushed and damp, and your legs threaten to give out if he keeps this up. He curls his fingers just right and you cry out, grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

Mark moans into your mouth as you clench around his fingers again, your whole body trembling. He slows for a beat,like he wants to draw it out, but the way you grind into his hand, the heat radiating off you, the way you bite down on his lip when he teases too lightly…

It drives him fucking crazy.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he mutters, voice ragged, lips brushing your ear. “All soft and wet and,fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,”

You whimper, not even thinking about it anymore. No walls. No hesitation. Just you, needing him, pulling him deeper.

And still, through it all, his voice stays close to your skin. “You really waited ‘til today to get bold on me?”

You manage a breathless laugh. “Shut up and make me come.”

His grin is wicked, and his fingers speed up.

Your back sinks into the mattress like it’s cradling you, the sheets twisted beneath you, damp with heat. Your legs fall open on instinct, the motion of his fingers still moving between your thighs, heartbeat pounding against every sensitive inch of you. You’re panting, flushed, chest rising and falling, leaving nothing to the imagination. You should be shy. Usually, you would be. But not this morning.

Not when Mark Grayson is crawling between your thighs with that look in his eyes.

There’s a change in the air around him. He’s all warm breath and heavy hands, and that cocky smile that should piss you off but only makes you ache. His mouth is still slick from kissing you, and his fingers glisten with your wetness as he presses them to your inner thigh, parting you with a reverence that steals your breath.

“You always get this wet when I finger you?” he murmurs, voice low and curious, like he’s fascinated,like he’s addicted.

Your throat tightens, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Only when it’s you.”

He lets out a breath that borders on a groan, then leans in, and his mouth brushes the inside of your thigh, hot, slow, and maddening. He kisses you there, lips soft, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. Then higher. And higher still. He’s taking his time, hands firm on your legs, spreading you wide open for him, like he doesn’t care if you beg. Like he’s expecting you to.

And you just might.

Because the second his mouth touches your pussy, all the air rushes out of your lungs. He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your folds, tasting you like he’s been craving it for days. His tongue is wide and hot and hungry, the way it moves already making your hips rise off the bed in search of more.

“Fuck,” you whimper, head tipping back into the pillow. “Mark,”

He groans into you, the vibration running through your core, making you tremble. His hands grip your thighs tighter, grounding you, keeping you spread for him as he sucks gently on your clit, then flicks his tongue against it in firm, teasing circles. You’re already soaked, but he doesn’t ease up. He devours you.

Each lick is heavier now, more insistent, and when he drags his tongue lower, dipping it inside you, your thighs instinctively try to close around his head,but he won’t let you. He nudges them open again with his shoulders and pins them there like he owns this part of you now.

“Stay still,” he mutters against your skin, voice wrecked and hot, the words vibrating through your slick folds. “Let me taste you.”

You moan, high, helpless, sharp. Your hand flies to his curls, fingers digging in, tugging just enough to make him groan again into your cunt. He loves that. You feel how much he loves it, his tongue moving faster now, slick and wet and relentless. You can hear every obscene sound he’s making, hear the way your body reacts, wet and messy and absolutely desperate.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, hips rocking uncontrollably. “Don’t stop–don’t you fucking stop,”

He doesn’t. He won’t. His tongue works tight, fast circles over your clit now, alternating between sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore. Your hands are in his hair, your thighs are shaking, and your entire body is strung tight, trembling, every nerve drawn toward that one pulsing point of heat where his mouth is ruining you.

Then his fingers return,slick with your arousal, and he pushes two inside you, curling them deep as his mouth latches back onto your clit. The sensation is devastating. The stretch. The rhythm. The way his tongue and fingers sync up like he’s been reading your mind this whole time.

You arch off the bed, voice caught in your throat. “Mark, fuck, I’m gonna–please–please–”

He groans again, almost possessive, and it hits you like a storm. Your orgasm rips through you, hard and shuddering, your thighs clamping tight around his head, your hands pulling at his hair, your whole body locking up as the wave crashes. You cry out, eyes squeezed shut, toes curling, body twitching uncontrollably as he keeps going, drawing it out until your voice is hoarse and your thighs are shaking.

Only when you whimper, pushing weakly at his head, does he finally pull away.

He lifts his face from between your legs, flushed and glistening, panting through parted lips. His jaw is wet. His eyes are dark. And he’s smiling, smirking, actually,like he just won the goddamn lottery.

You’re still panting, limp on the mattress, every muscle in your body melted.

Mark leans in over you, settling his weight on his forearms, pressing a kiss to your thigh, then to your stomach, then higher, mouth trailing over every inch of you like he’s claiming the whole thing. He reaches your mouth and kisses you,slow, messy, and deep, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, feel the satisfied throb between your legs.

“You good?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, voice a little smug.

You stare at him, still catching your breath. “You licked my soul out of my body.”

He grins, stupid and proud. “That’s a yes.”

You manage a small laugh, dazed and breathless. “You’re not going anywhere.”

His eyes flick up to where his shirt is still stuck to the ceiling. He sighs, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Yeah, I figured that part out around the time your thighs locked around my head.”

You pull him in again, softer now, lips brushing his. “Next time we try it in the suits.”

He groans, full-body, and lets his head fall to your shoulder. “You are never allowed to say that mid-fight.”

You smile, fingers sliding into his curls again. “No promises.”

Mark’s still breathing hard against your neck, his weight draped over you like he’s melting into your skin. The heat between your legs hasn’t faded,in fact, it’s only sharpened, a slow-burning throb that pulses with every shift of his body above yours. You’re still wet, still trembling, and now he’s pressed flush against you, hard again, cock twitching where it rests between your thighs, warm and heavy and undeniably there.

You drag your fingers up his back, nails scraping lightly along his spine, and he shivers. When he lifts his head to look at you, his face is flushed, lips swollen from kissing and from you clenching around his mouth just minutes ago. There’s something soft in his eyes. Something unguarded.

“You sure?” he asks, quiet, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nod, but it’s more than that. You reach for him, pull him down by his neck, dragging him into a kiss that’s less delicate now. Hungrier. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, not enough to hurt but enough to surprise him, and he groans into your mouth.

Your thighs spread for him, wider, guiding him in without a word. He shifts between them, his cock nudging your entrance, and even with how wet you are, he doesn’t rush it. His hand cradles your jaw, his other arm braced beside your head, and he eases into you slowly, inch by inch, filling you with a care that makes your chest ache.

You gasp, biting your lip as your back arches into the stretch. He’s thick, hot, and deep, and when he’s all the way inside, he stops there, just holding, just breathing.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flickering shut. “You feel… perfect.”

You hook your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “Then move.”

Mark does, slowly at first, gentle, rocking thrusts that make you feel every inch of him. His grip shifts, one hand sliding to your hip, the other tangled in your hair as he buries his face in your neck, groaning into your skin like he’s already falling apart.

He sets a rhythm, steady and deep, each roll of his hips pressing him right against that spot that makes your breath catch. He whispers things between kisses,“you’re so fucking tight,” “god, you take me so well,” “look at you”,and every word melts into your skin like heat. His voice is ragged, threaded through with restraint. You can feel him holding back.

But something in you is different this time. Something wild.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, firm, sudden. His head jerks back, just enough for you to lean up and bite his neck, not gentle, not teasing. He groans loud at that, hips stuttering.

“Jesus,” he gasps, blue eyes blown wide as he stares down at you. “What’s gotten into you?”

You don’t answer. You just pull again, rougher this time, and meet his thrust with one of your own, grinding your hips up into him with a rhythm that makes your breathless moan echo through the room.

His next thrust is deeper, harder. It punches a sound out of you that doesn’t even sound like a word, and suddenly his hand’s at your throat, not squeezing, just holding, grounding you. You gasp, mouth falling open, and he smiles down at you, that cocky, dangerous tilt of his lips that says you started this.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you like this?” he groans, snapping his hips forward again. “Let me have all of you?”

You dig your nails into his shoulder, dragging them down hard enough to leave lines. “Take it,” you breathe. “I’m not stopping you.”

And he does, hips slamming into you now, each thrust deliberate and deep, like he’s trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You moan, loud and wrecked, biting into his shoulder as he pounds into you, the bed rocking under the force of it.

He brings one hand to your thigh, lifting your leg higher, opening you wider, and you feel him hit deeper, harder. Your breath catches, your moans spilling out raw and unfiltered, and still he keeps whispering,“you’re so fucking good,” “so wet for me,” “look how pretty you sound when I fuck you like this.”

You claw at his back, tug his hair again, and when you feel him groan, deep and guttural, you know he’s close.

“I’m–fuck–I’m not gonna last,” he pants.

You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. “Then cum inside me.”

Mark’s rhythm stutters. He buries his face in your neck again and thrusts hard, one last time, before he spills inside you with a groan, his whole body jerking. The heat floods you, and the feeling, his weight, his heat, his voice in your ear, pushes you over the edge right after, your body locking around him as your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and overwhelming.

You’re both gasping, clinging to each other, trembling.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just panting. Kissing. Catching your breath.

And then Mark laughs, breathless and hoarse. “So… no patrol, huh?”

You nuzzle into his neck, still trying to come down. “Not unless you plan on flying there with my legs around your waist.”

“…Don’t tempt me.”

Mark’s body is a furnace against your back, skin slick with sweat, his breath ragged and hot at your ear as he holds himself above you, still buried deep inside. His cock throbs where it fills you, twitching with every clench of your body, and you’re still gasping from the last orgasm, your legs weak, your thighs trembling,but you’re not done. Not even close.

And neither is he.

His hand curls around your hip, slow and possessive, grounding you while he rolls his hips again. You groan, low and sharp, feeling him press deeper than before, and your fingers clutch at the sheets.

But it’s not enough.

You turn your head slightly, catching the edge of his jaw with your mouth. You don’t kiss. You bite. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make him freeze. To make his grip tighten. His breath hitches, a sound you feel more than hear, and your nails rake down his back without thinking, scraping, digging, dragging, and this time, you do break skin.

Mark groans, deep and guttural.

“Fuck–fuck–baby,”

You don’t apologize. You’re not shy about it. Your fingers curl into his back again, dragging fresh lines down the muscles there as he thrusts harder, sharper, like your touch sets something loose in him.

He presses his chest to your back, groaning into your shoulder. “You missed me, huh?”

You nod, panting, voice cracked. “Yeah. I did.”

His hand slides from your hip up to your wrist, pinning it into the mattress beside your head. Not rough, just enough to hold you there, to keep you close. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tighter as he starts to fuck you in earnest, long, deep thrusts that make you keen beneath him, the sound high and unfiltered.

“You don’t have to tear me open to say that,” he pants.

“I do,” you snap back, voice low and broken. “You were gone too long.”

He groans at that, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, one that turns into teeth. You shudder, hips jerking back into him as you take every inch he gives. His cock drags along every spot that makes your stomach curl, makes your mouth fall open in a moan that barely sounds human.

He leans into your ear, voice strained and shaking. “You want me to slow down?”

“No,” you whisper. 

Mark moves harder now, faster, each thrust punching a sound from your lips, your bodies colliding with heat and friction and slick need. You’re soaked, wet enough to drip down your thighs, to make every movement filthy and loud. You arch into him, hands scrambling for more of him, and when your nails find his back again, you scratch, deep, messy, red.

His hiss turns into a groan.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.”

You clench around him, tight, pulsing. “Good.”

He loses rhythm for a second, breath catching, the pace faltering as he buries himself deep and stays. He wraps his arm tighter around your waist, holding you against him as he rocks into you slow, grinding instead of thrusting now, dragging the head of his cock against your sweet spot over and over again until your legs start to tremble uncontrollably.

His voice is at your ear again, low and wrecked. “Say it again.”

You barely register the words. “What–?”

“That you missed me.”

You bite his neck, harder this time. He groans loud, hips stuttering, and you breathe against his skin, voice rasping out hot and fast.

“I missed you. I missed you inside me, I missed you fucking me like this, missed feeling full–needed you,”

He growls, full-throated, and fucks into you hard enough to rock the bed.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, one hand tightening around your wrist, the other sliding between your legs. His fingers find your clit, slick and swollen, and he rubs tight, fast circles, the kind that make your vision blur. “Let me feel it. Come on, baby. Let go.”

You can’t even warn him. The pressure explodes all at once, your whole body seizing as you clamp around him, crying out loud and broken. Your climax crashes through you in waves, your voice raw, your nails still dug deep into his skin.

He curses, voice low and frantic, and thrusts deep one last time before he follows you,his hips locking, cock pulsing as he comes inside you again, hot and thick. You feel it fill you, feel his arms tighten around you as he groans into your skin, breath ragged, spent.

You both collapse, panting, trembling. Your body is shaking, overstimulated, slick, and marked. Mark’s back is bleeding faintly in streaks where your nails raked him raw, and his neck is red with the imprint of your mouth.

And still, his arms wrap around you like you’re something he’s afraid to lose. His voice is quiet now, lips against your shoulder.

“I’m not leaving again. Not anymore.”

You turn your face, find his jaw, and press a kiss there, soft, lingering.

“You’d better not.”

His weight settles into yours like the last piece of something that had been missing for too long. His chest is still rising and falling against yours, fast and heavy, both of you soaked in sweat and each other. His cock twitches once inside you before softening, and you both groan, his more of a low, wrecked exhale. You’re still clinging to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs hooked at the waist, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish again if you let go.

He doesn’t try to move.

The silence is heavy with afterglow. The kind of silence that feels like heat between skin and breath and bruises. Your thighs are trembling, the sheets ruined beneath you, and you can feel the mess of him leaking out of you, sliding slowly down to the backs of your thighs.

Mark finally shifts enough to nuzzle his nose into your neck, kissing the hollow under your jaw. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

Your fingers thread through the damp curls at the back of his neck. “You think?”

He chuckles, weakly. “Didn’t expect you to go full primal on me. That was… new.”

You hum softly, the sound lazy. “You were gone for days, Mark. I think I earned the right to bite.”

He laughs again, but it’s strained, and he groans softly as he tries to lift himself up onto his elbows. “God, I’m dead. You shredded my back.”

“You loved it.”

“I did,” he admits, grinning. “I also think I’m now… criminally late.”

You glance at the clock on the wall.

“Oh.” You blink. “You’re so fired.”

Mark flops onto the bed beside you, chest still rising and falling. “I was supposed to meet Cecil two hours ago.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow and sigh, satisfied and smug. “Tell him you were being held hostage.”

He turns his head, looking at you. His hair’s wild, sweat-matted, cheeks flushed. He looks thoroughly ruined.

“…Think I could say I was attacked by a sex demon?” he mutters.

You grin, rolling over to press a slow kiss to the bruise forming just beneath his collarbone. “Only if you want me to bite the other side too, keep it symmetrical.”

Mark groans and drags a hand down his face. “I have to shower before I even try to explain anything.”

You raise a brow. “Alone?”

That gets his attention.

His eyes flick over to you again,completely bare, body marked with his fingerprints and bruises, glowing under the soft morning light like sin itself. “I mean,” he says slowly, “I was gonna say something responsible. But that feels like a trap.”

You sit up, still wobbly, your thighs aching in the best way. You lean across him, reaching for his hand to pull him up. “Let me trap you in the shower, then. Save water.”

“You’re gonna fuck me to death.”

“Only after I clean you up.”

Mark groans, letting you pull him off the bed with exaggerated drama. His back is streaked red where your nails dragged through, a few welts already rising, and you pause behind him to run your fingers lightly over the marks.

He hisses. “God, you really,”

You press a soft kiss to the highest scratch. “You liked it.”

“…Yeah, okay, maybe.”

You both shuffle to the bathroom like survivors of some hedonistic war. He leans against the sink as you reach for the water controls. You don’t ask. You just turn the knobs, let the steam rise up as the water heats.

Mark wraps an arm around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both stare into the mirror, at your bodies, the bruises on your neck, the claw marks across his back, the smudges of sweat and cum between your thighs.

“You’re glowing,” he mutters.

You look at him in the glass, raising a brow. “You look like you lost a fight with a wild animal.”

His lips curl into a grin. “I did. She was gorgeous.”

You snort, and tug him into the shower with you.

The spray hits like a shock at first, hot and perfect,and you both hiss at the sensation on sore, used skin. His hands find your waist almost immediately, pulling you back against him under the stream. Water runs down your bodies, washing away the mess, but not the ache, not the burn.

You reach for the soap and lather your hands, then slide them slowly over his chest. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

“This,” he mutters, “might actually finish me off.”

“You’ll live,” you say softly, dragging the foam across his chest, over his ribs, careful over the bruises.

He opens one eye. “Only if you let me repay the favor.”

You raise a brow, biting your lip as you lean back into him. “Clean me up first.”

He grins, all teeth and sin. “Yes, ma’am.”

The water drums soft against your skin, warm and endless, slipping over the bruises on your hips, the claw marks on his back, the sweat still clinging to both of you. You stand chest to chest in the steam-fogged shower, wrapped in Mark’s arms, his forehead resting against yours as you catch your breath.

There’s a hum in your body still, the kind of hum that doesn’t settle. A low, aching pulse between your thighs where you’re still tender from him. Inside, you’re sore and full and a mess, but it’s not enough, not when you know how close you came to not having this again.

Mark kisses your temple, slow and careful, the water running down the back of his neck. “You okay?”

You nod, but it’s small. You don’t say anything yet. Not while your cheek is pressed to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

It had only been a few days. A few stupid days apart, the kind of break that starts with silence and turns to bitterness before either of you know what’s happening. You don’t even remember the last words said, just the space that opened up between you. Long enough to miss him. Long enough to ache. Long enough to forget how his mouth felt on yours, how your bodies fit, how quiet his voice gets when he’s about to come.

You finally speak, low, rough against his collarbone. “I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

His arms tighten around your waist, like he can feel that weight in your voice. “I didn’t know if I should.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are raw. Still a little red, maybe from the heat, maybe from something else. He doesn’t look away when he says it.

“I didn’t want to show up just to fight again.”

You shake your head slowly. “I wasn’t gonna fight.”

Mark smiles faintly. “No, just bite the fuck out of my throat.”

You breathe a laugh through your nose. “That wasn’t a fight. That was missing you.”

The look in his eyes shifts, softens, darkens. His hand comes up to cradle your face again, thumb tracing your cheekbone, the pad of it brushing just beneath your eye like he’s memorizing you all over again. “You didn’t call.”

“You didn’t knock.”

“I thought you wanted space.”

“I wanted you.”

He exhales hard and kisses you before he says anything else,mouth open and slow and sorry, his tongue brushing yours, his hands pressing you against the tile. The water runs between you as he lets his forehead rest against yours again.

“I’m so fucking late,” he mumbles.

“You’re soaked in cum and covered in bite marks. I think ‘sorry I was emotionally reuniting with my ex-girlfriend mid-fuck’ is a solid excuse.”

Mark grins. “You’re not my ex anymore.”

You hum, pleased, and tug him close by the waist of the towel barely clinging to his hips. “No. I’m not.”

The two of you step out of the shower minutes later, toweling off quickly, still touching in small ways, his hand brushing your lower back, your fingers sliding along the bruises on his ribs. The bedroom’s still a mess, the sheets twisted, your suits tossed in a corner. You find yours and kneel down, brushing a hand over the webbed pattern and mask before unzipping the bag fully.

Mark’s pulling on the lower half of his suit when he looks over at you. “You brought it here?”

You don’t answer right away. You slide one arm into your sleeve, the suit tightening around your torso as the synthetic fabric seals against your skin. Then you turn and glance at him.

“You don’t stop being who you are just because you’re pissed off.”

He watches you quietly for a moment, then nods. “Guess not.”

His suit zips shut with a faint hiss of pressurized fabric. Yours follows a second later. You reach for your mask and just hold it in your hands. You’re not hiding anything from him now. Not your eyes. Not your mouth. Not the mark you left high on his neck.

Mark steps up behind you, his hands coming to rest lightly on your waist. “You up to come with me?”

You glance back at him. “You think I’m putting this on just to hang out?”

“I do look good flying, though.”

“You look better moaning.”

He grins, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and firm. When you pull back, his lips are parted, and he’s already flushing again.

“Come on,” you say, brushing past him toward the balcony. “We’ll do one lap. Maybe two. And then I’m taking you apart again.”

He groans as he follows you. “You’re never gonna let me go on time again, are you?”

You swing up onto the ledge and fire your first web. “You walked out once, Grayson. I’m not giving you the chance to forget what this feels like.”

He flies up beside you, his eyes soft behind his googles, smile crooked.

“I won’t.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

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[zenithsturniolo]

SCREAM, BITCH - ghostface!chris x blogger!reader

♬ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ series intro | 1 | 2 | 3

chapter three: together, we hold the shovel

this chapter will contain.. fluff, guilt, implied sexual tension, mentions of murder, language. wc: 3.4k series summary: a dark, twisted slowburn where obsession bleeds into desire. you're a true crime blogger. he's the masked stranger recreating your cases. dual povs, filthy tension, and cliffhangers sharp enough to scar. it’s not just stalking - it’s seduction. not just fear - it’s fascination. you wanted a story. he wanted you. now you’re both in far too deep.

♯ reader pov

i don't ever wanna leave i'll watch you sleep and listen to you breathe

pale yellow light spills through the slits of your closed blinds, golden threads weaving across your bedroom like soft embroidery. it hits the cream-colored walls in dappled patterns, painting everything in a yolky, honey-hazed glow. the air feels different — crisp, new, thick with the fresh bite of early morning. you can almost taste the morning on your tongue.

but what really makes your breath catch isn't the light. it’s the heavy warmth of another body against yours.

steady, rhythmic puffs of breath fan against the sensitive skin of your neck. solid arms, strong and possessive, are wrapped around your waist, locking you against a chest that rises and falls in a deep, slow rhythm. your limbs are tangled uselessly in the sheets, your body caged and cradled all at once.

your sleep-fogged mind struggles to connect the dots.

chris.

chris is in your bed. wrapped around you like he belongs there. like he’s been there a thousand times before.

you peel your sticky, heavy eyelids open, your lashes fluttering against the brightness of the room. your vision is blurry at first, but then it sharpens — and there he is. chris, inches from you, skin flushed with the warmth of sleep, his wild hair sticking up in every direction like a halo. soft strands fall over his forehead, just brushing the edges of his closed eyes. his lips are slightly parted, a quiet, almost soundless breath leaving them.

his face — dear god, his face — is bathed in that same syrupy morning light, and you think, deliriously, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

your heart thuds painfully, violently, in your chest. your pulse quickens to a gallop in your ears.

you're half-asleep still, but even now, your body acts without thinking. without permission.

your fingers ache to move, to trace the plump, pink curve of his lips. to brush across the rough stubble blooming on his jaw, soft at first, then sandpapery. to trail featherlight touches over the straight, proud line of his nose, the delicate arch of his brows, the faint scar near his temple you never noticed before.

you want to memorize every tiny flaw and perfection of him. etch them onto the inside of your skull so you’ll never, ever forget.

your face shifts forward instinctively, pulled by some magnetic force, like you’re a puppet on a string. closer. closer. your breath mingles with his.

you don't even know what you're doing. not consciously.

but maybe, deep down, you do. maybe you’ve known for a long time.

your eyes flicker to his mouth. how would he taste? how would it feel — those lips on yours, dragging slow and sinful across your throat, lower?

you snap back into yourself like a rubber band stretched too far.

fuck.

your eyes fly wide open as you jerk slightly backwards, sheets rustling under you. shame floods your chest, burning hot and unbearable. you’re already fantasizing. at the ass crack of dawn. about your friend. your friend, who’s clinging to you like some sleep-drugged koala.

snap out of it.

your mind jolts fully awake, piecing together the night before with gut-wrenching clarity.

you remember the raw panic. the way your hands had trembled, useless, unable to even unlock your phone properly. your brain had gone blank. your friends — all of them — were on some luxury cruise, halfway across the fucking ocean. unreachable.

liam could have helped. your sweet, dependable coworker at the cafe. but you couldn't bring yourself to bother him at two in the morning, knowing he’d just finished a twelve-hour shift at a hospital. he needed sleep more than you needed saving.

so you had called the only person who mattered more than your own pride.

chris.

chris, who is now wrapped around you like he never planned on letting go.

your stomach twists into agonizing knots. you want to claw your way out of your own skin.

you shouldn't have called him. shouldn't have made him come here. you should have sucked it up, buried the breakdown, poured yourself a glass of wine, and cried into your pillow.

instead, you dragged him into your mess. and now... now he’s here, asleep in your bed, about to wake up and realize how fucking pathetic you are.

your heart hammers a frantic rhythm against your ribs. you inhale sharply, trying to quiet the storm inside you, but the sudden intake of breath stirs him.

chris mumbles something low and incoherent against your skin, his arms tightening slightly around you. the rough pad of his nose nudges against your collarbone, his lips brushing lazily over your pulse point.

your body stiffens. every place he touches you erupts in white-hot fire. the hair on your arms stands up. your thighs clench without you meaning to. you feel like you’re going to combust.

he hums sleepily, the sound rumbling against your chest, and you nearly sob from the sensation.

his head dips lower, nose tracing the hollow of your throat. the slight scrape of his teeth grazes your sensitive skin and your mind short-circuits. you screw your eyes shut, trying to will the filthy thoughts away.

then, slowly, he stirs. pushes up on one hand, his palm flat against your midsection, just shy of your breasts.

his voice is low and broken with sleep. “time is it?”

he blinks blearily at you, hair a wild mess, mouth soft and swollen from sleep.

then realization hits him like a freight train.

he freezes.

his whole body jolts upright, a horrified croak ripping from his throat. “shit– ‘m sorry–”

he lurches backwards, blindly grabbing at the sheets for balance, but his hand finds your waist again instead. his fingers splay over the thin fabric of your shirt, hot and frantic, and your stomach flips violently.

his limbs scramble, panic shooting through every movement, until he flings himself off the bed — and crashes face-first onto the hardwood floor.

a pathetic, broken “ouchie” escapes him, muffled against the floorboards.

you blink down at him.

and then, suddenly, you can’t stop laughing.

wild, breathless giggles burst out of you, loud and unfiltered, shaking your entire body. you press your face into the pillow, trying to smother the noise, but you’re howling, gasping for air.

he peeks up at you from where he’s sprawled, hair flopping into his eyes, an expression of pure wounded confusion etched across his face.

“you– flew–” you gasp between laughs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

chris grumbles something unintelligible, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, tugging up in a reluctant smile. his eyes soften, crinkling slightly, watching you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

you wipe at your eyes, chest heaving. the world feels lighter, somehow, in that moment.

"you done?" he teases lightly, voice still hoarse.

you sniff dramatically, stretching your arms above your head, exposing a sliver of skin above your waistband.

you catch the flash of his eyes flickering downward before he jerks his gaze away, cheeks darkening slightly.

a strange, charged silence falls between you as you both busy yourselves — him, gathering his scattered belongings; you, smoothing the rumpled sheets.

"so, about last night…" he starts, carefully, turning towards you.

panic bubbles in your throat. you cut him off sharply. "there’s a bathroom in the hallway. towels are in the linen closet beside it."

his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. his lips press into a thin, unreadable line. "right. thanks."

you watch him retreat, guilt gnawing at your chest even as you breathe a shaky sigh of relief.

you’re not ready for that conversation. not yet. maybe not ever.

you drag yourself into the shower, scrubbing the night from your skin with mechanical motions. when you emerge, fresh sweats clinging to your damp skin, you’re still buzzing, still too aware of him.

you fuss with your appearance in the mirror, criticizing every tiny flaw. why do you care so much? you never care this much.

but there’s something about chris that makes you want to be better.

no — makes you want to be wanted.

you catch the scent of coffee drifting down the hall.

your heart does a stupid little skip.

in the kitchen, chris stands barefoot, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his tank, muscles flexing as he fiddles with your shitty old coffee machine.

the low waistband of his sweats reveals a tempting sliver of skin at his hips, and you feel dizzy. dizzy and starving.

he doesn’t even turn around. "look who finally decided to show up," he hums, voice playful, teasing.

you pad forward, hesitant. he spins, flashing you a lazy, crooked grin, two steaming mugs in his hands.

"may i take your order?"

you accept the cup with shaking hands, your fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second — and the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

you lift the mug to your lips, sip cautiously — and moan softly in pleasure.

it’s perfect. creamy, smooth, just a hint of sweetness.

you close your eyes instinctively, savoring it.

when you reopen them, you find chris staring. unblinking. his pupils blown wide, dark and heavy with something you can’t name.

the air thickens.

you swallow hard.

you lead him out to the balcony, the sweet chirps of morning birds and the lull of a gentle breeze filling the quiet. the city looks soft from here — buildings bathed in a peachy glow, cars crawling down streets like lazy insects. a distant siren rings faintly through the air, cutting through the calm before the storm.

the two of you settle into the rickety old chairs, their metal frames creaking under your weight. your knees almost brush. you nurse your coffee cup in both hands, feeling its comforting warmth seep into your skin. for a while, neither of you speaks. the wind toys with your hair, and when you glance over at chris, you find him already looking at you. his stare is steady, unreadable, but something in it makes your stomach twist.

he looks like he belongs here. like he’s always belonged here.

you tuck your knees up onto the seat, turning your body slightly toward him. the steam from your cup curls upward, disappearing into the cool air between you.

"i'm sorry for being bitchy earlier," you murmur, tracing your finger along the rim of the mug. your voice feels too loud, clumsy, like it’s disturbing the peaceful little bubble you two have built.

he hums quietly in response, noncommittal, like he's giving you the space to keep going if you want. the mug is heavy in your hands. you don't dare meet his eyes yet.

"look, i..." you take a shaky breath. the words sit heavy on your tongue. "i don’t know what to say. i’m sorry for bothering you last night."

he opens his mouth, about to interrupt, but you hold up a finger. "please. let me finish."

he nods, sipping his coffee, waiting.

"i shouldn’t have called you. i should’ve figured my shit out alone. now everything's awkward, and i’ve probably fucked up our friendship." you swallow thickly. "i had no one else to call, and i just... i trusted you."

finally, finally, you make yourself look at him. the sunlight catches in his hair, turning the strands golden. his eyes are softer now, a deep brown that seems to melt into the morning light. his mug rests loosely between his fingers, forgotten.

"i don’t regret last night," he says simply, voice low, sure.

your heart stumbles in your chest. "no," you breathe. "me neither."

he nods once, firm, almost like he’s sealing some unspoken agreement between you. "okay then. you didn’t fuck anything up."

it feels like a thread loosens inside you — like you've been holding your breath without realizing it.

you both turn your heads back to the city below, sipping your coffee in companionable silence. but there's a weight to the air between you, something you can't name. it's not quite awkwardness. not fear, either. it’s... heavy. tense. charged.

maybe it’s the topic of serial killings still hanging over your heads. maybe it’s the heaviness of what’s happening outside your little bubble. or maybe it's the simple, terrifying realization of how deeply you feel for the boy sitting next to you.

you steal another glance at him over the rim of your cup. the way his brows pinch slightly in thought. the way his mouth presses into a firm line. the way he leans back in the chair, loose and comfortable, like he’s been sitting on your balcony a thousand mornings before.

your chest aches with something warm. something dangerous.

you screw your eyes shut for a second, willing the feeling away.

you’re friends. that’s it.

he’s just being nice. he doesn’t look at you that way. don't get ahead of yourself.

you force yourself to focus, setting your mug down on the little cracked table between you.

"i’m thinking of going to the cops," you say quietly. the words barely feel real coming out of your mouth. "my blog is public. all the comments, reblogs, shit user187’s doing... everyone can see. i have evidence. i can go to the police. maybe they can track the profile down. maybe the murders will stop."

chris shifts beside you. you feel the weight of his stare before you even look at him.

"you could," he says after a pause, sounding hesitant.

"but?" you prompt.

he sets his coffee down carefully, turning his body fully toward you. his knees bump yours, just barely. "but, i think that’d make things worse."

you listen as he lays it out — the lack of real evidence, the way the killer might retaliate, the danger it could bring right to your doorstep.

your chest tightens. he's right. every word.

"then what do i do?" your voice cracks despite your best efforts. "what if this is my fault? what if i’m the reason people are dying?"

your lip wobbles. the tears you’ve been trying to push down finally rise up, threatening to spill.

before you can break, chris’s hand finds your cheek, gentle, grounding. his thumb strokes once, featherlight, just beneath your eye. his touch burns in the best way.

"hey," he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. "it’s not your fault. none of this is your fault."

you nod, a broken little movement, leaning the tiniest bit into his touch.

"should i stop posting?" you whisper.

he pulls his hand back after a moment, curling it into a loose fist in his lap. he stares at the skyline, thinking, brows furrowed deep. then he shakes his head, decisive.

"i’ve got a plan," he says finally.

your heart kicks up in hope.

"a plan?" you breathe.

he looks back at you then, the morning sun catching the sharp glint in his eye — a glint you can’t quite decipher. excitement, maybe. or something darker, more determined.

and then he leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s telling you a secret meant for only your ears.

he starts explaining.

and you listen.

you listen like your life depends on it.

because maybe it does.

–

things only gets worse.

children crying, adults crying, everyone crying. people shrieking, running, buying guns they don’t even know how to operate. never stepping foot outside when the sun goes down. seven murders in this town. seven murders is all it takes for people to run for their lives.

you don't blame them.

you'd be running, too — if you didn’t have a plan.

a couple of hours ago, chris had left after the lunch you'd made together. despite the way you’d called him over, despite the whole fucking town — your whole lives — falling apart, it somehow felt like old times. silly banter, both of your giggles filling your apartment, lighting the place up.

he held you. comforted you. cracked dumb jokes just to make you laugh. he went against his usual cold, indifferent nature. and for the first time, you felt like you saw him.

the chris that smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. the chris that let out those awful, unnatural-sounding shrieks of laughter. the chris with the humor of a middle-school boy, spouting the dumbest, worst jokes at the worst possible moments. the chris who carried this chaotic, buzzing energy like it was stitched into his skin.

you liked all versions of him.

you liked it a little too much.

you’d gone over the plan a hundred times, picking apart every tiny detail, looping it back together tighter and tighter until there was no room for mistakes. you’d spin this whole thing around, take the upper hand against the killer.

you’d play a game so twisted he wouldn't even see it coming.

and chris would be there, every step of the way.

together, you planned the next seven blog posts — the next murders you’d post. it was all strategic, meticulous, laid out like breadcrumbs, luring the killer closer and closer into a trap he couldn’t escape.

finally, the last drop.

when the killer would go for his final victim — you.

and you’d be waiting for him. open arms. an army of cops behind you.

chris would be there, too. of course. he’d always be there. without him, the plan wouldn’t work. hell, he came up with most of it.

one week. that’s all you needed. by the end, user187 would either be behind bars —

or better — six feet under.

and you and chris would be the ones holding the shovel.

together.

you lean your forehead against the balcony window, the glass hot against your skin from the late afternoon sun. the road below still buzzes with frantic movement. half the town is locked up in their homes. the other half scurries around like ants after a kicked-over hill, gathering "essentials."

essentials: guns, knives, and enough ammo to supply a small army.

you close your eyes, letting the heat from the sun and the glass seep into you. if this were a real case — a normal case — the town would be on lockdown by now. there’d be curfews. squad cars parked at every street corner. children peeking out from behind heavy curtains, clutching stuffed animals. adults shoving pistols into their bags for their morning commutes, police turning a blind eye because they’re just as scared.

you give it twelve hours, tops, before everything falls into place.

this is a nightmare — ripped straight out of everyone's worst fears.

but for you... it’s almost fun.

sure, your heart hammers painfully against your ribs every time the news blares from a passing radio, every time someone screams in the distance. but beneath all that terror, a low, simmering excitement runs wild through your veins.

this is what you live for.

what you write about every night. what consumes every inch of your brain when you're lying awake at two a.m.

and though your heart aches for the lives lost — you can’t help but look forward to solving this.

this case.

even though they call it serial killing, technically, it's spree killing. in the span of two weeks — if your plan works — there’ll be fourteen murders in this sleepy little town. fourteen deaths tied up in your blog posts like gruesome, bloody bows.

your phone buzzes against the kitchen counter, slicing through your thoughts.

you spin around.

the kitchen is still a wreck from earlier, the remnants of your and chris’s chaos still scattered everywhere. he’d insisted on showing you how "a real chef" makes pasta — and then proceeded to burn half the pot. you can still almost hear the coughing and laughter bouncing off the walls, the smoke alarms shrieking overhead.

despite the mess, you can't bring yourself to clean it up. not yet.

this feels like home. chris feels like home.

and you're not ready to feel alone again.

you step toward the counter and flip your phone over.

liam’s texts flash across the screen:

you hesitate for half a second. maybe going out isn’t the best idea — not with a killer on the loose, not with the entire town two seconds away from full-blown riots.

but it’s broad daylight. you’ll have liam with you. besides, who knows how long you’ll have before curfews slam every door shut.

just in case, you pull up chris’s contact and send him your live location.

you’re unaware he’s already tracking you — in more ways than you know.

find parts of this series here !

a/n: i have absolutely no motivation to write shoot me

🏷: @drewswife @k4urltzx @courta13 @briizysturn @y2kstarr @chriscantwhisper @tezzzzzzzz @adorechris @cherryystemm @dolliraez @rriverscuomo @sturnsblogs @mattspillowprincess @mattsplaything @sturns-mermaid @auttysturnz @sonnyangelsweetiee @izzylovesmatt @ribbonlovergirl @k4urltzx @matts-girlfriend @pair-of-pantaloons @444sturns @weron1ka @grrrrcherries @matts-wife @thicknick19 @slvtf0rchr1s

divider by @anitalenia

this series is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. all characters, events, and dialogue are entirely fictional and should not be interpreted as real. any similarities to real people or events are purely coincidental. credit and respect to all creators who’ve inspired similar works before me. I claim ownership only over my original writing, ideas, and interpretations. please do not repost, plagiarize, or steal. reblogs and love are always appreciated.

© zenithsturniolo

[yena-enha]

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𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐟 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

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Warning - Emergency C-section, stillbirth, graphic grief, emotional paralysis, marital disconnect, suicidal thoughts (not acted on), medical trauma, silence, regret

Note - MDNI (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)/INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK/NSFW Content

Genre - Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Domestic Tragedy

Pairing - Husband!Heeseung x Pregnant!Wife!Fem Reader

Song Inspiration - All I Want BY KODALINE

Word Count - 4k Words

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03:01 A.M

It started like all the other nights: silence, the hum of the air conditioner, the weight of your belly making it impossible to sleep on your side.

Then the pain came.

But not like before.

It was sharp. Piercing. Like claws digging inside you and ripping downward.

You bolted upright, gasping hands immediately flying to your stomach.

“Heeseung…” you whispered, reaching out in the dark.

His breath was slow, deep. The kind of sleep only exhaustion brings. The kind he only gets after three concerts, two interviews, and five cities.

“Hee…” you shook his shoulder. “It hurts. Please. I think”

He groaned. “Love… it’s fine. You always think something’s wrong. Just breathe.”

Your throat tightened.

It wasn’t fair but you understood. You really did.

He’d been so tired lately. Stretching himself thin for both of you. And you’d had so many scares. So many late-night calls to the doctor. So many times where it was just false labor or harmless cramps.

But this…

This wasn’t that.

Still, you didn’t push him.

You never did.

You crawled out of bed quietly, gripping the dresser as your vision swam. Your legs shook. Your thighs felt warm and wet.

You didn’t need to look down.

You knew.

03:14 A.M

The ambulance was a blur.

You remember the oxygen mask. The flashing red. The coldness.

A nurse tried to speak to you, but you couldn’t reply.

Not because you couldn’t.

But because you were terrified of what would come out.

You kept your hands on your stomach the entire ride. Praying. Bargaining.

“Please, baby… just stay with me. Please…”

03:41 A.M

Heeseung woke to silence.

Then he saw the blood.

The empty bed.

And the world tilted beneath his feet.

His screams echoed through the house.

He called your name like it would undo time.

But you weren’t there.

Just red on white sheets.

And his own guilt wrapped around his throat like a noose.

04:05 A.M | Hospital

By the time he arrived, they’d already cut you open.

He didn’t get to hold your hand.

Didn’t get to say it would be okay.

He just watched the light above the OR door flash red.

And he fell to his knees.

04:38 A.M | Hospital

“She’s stable,” a nurse said.

He didn’t hear the rest.

Until

“The baby didn’t make it.”

He didn’t cry.

Not at first.

He just blinked slowly, like the words hadn’t registered.

Then

“No…” he whispered. “No, she-she just needed me. I-I was there. I could’ve-”

And then he shattered.

08:07 A.M | Hospital Recovery Room

You didn’t open your eyes for hours.

When you did, you didn’t feel real.

Just... hollow. Empty. Your arms were cold. Too light.

There was no crying.

No tiny fists.

No warmth.

Just a dull ache beneath your ribs, and a stitched wound across your body that throbbed like a cruel reminder.

“Heeseung?” you whispered, your throat raw.

He was already by your side. Eyes bloodshot. Knees bent against the chair like he hadn’t moved.

He looked up at you and you saw it all in his face.

The pain.

The guilt.

The regret.

You didn't ask.

You didn’t need to.

The answer was in the silence.

And so you turned your face toward the wall.

And never spoke again.

Day 2

The doctors spoke in whispers. They called it selective mutism, a trauma response.

Heeseung just sat beside you, begging silently. His fingers brushed your wrist every hour, like he was trying to ground you to reality.

But your eyes never met his.

You stared out the window.

Always.

Because if you didn’t, you’d look at him.

And if you looked at him, you’d scream.

And if you screamed, the truth would come out:

“You didn’t wake up.”

“I begged you.”

“If you’d just listened…”

But you didn’t say it.

You kept the silence like armor.

Week 1

He tried everything.

Letters.

Flowers.

Your favorite songs.

Your favorite food.

But you didn’t eat.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even cry.

When he crawled into bed beside you at night, you turned away.

When he reached for your hand, it stayed limp.

He kissed your forehead and whispered: “I’d trade places with them. I swear to god, I would.”

But it was too late.

Too late by minutes.

Week 2

You finally asked a question.

But not with words.

You just stared at the closed nursery door.

And then you got up. Slowly. Barefoot, weak.

He didn’t stop you.

You opened it.

The mobile still spun slowly from where he’d turned it on weeks ago.

You walked in, stood in the center, and collapsed.

He ran to catch you, held you as you shook violently.

But still, you didn’t speak.

Week 3 | 3:00 A.M

You sat up in bed again. Hands pressed to your scar. Empty arms.

Heeseung was already awake.

He whispered, “Are you hurting?”

You didn’t answer.

He reached out. “Can I hold you?”

You let him.

Because even though you couldn’t say it. You needed something.

Anything.

Week 4

The pain didn’t go away.

You wore your grief like second skin.

Heeseung took time off work.

Not because you asked, because you didn’t speak.

But because he couldn’t leave you.

Not again.

Not when the memory of your voice whispering “please” haunted him.

Every. Single. Night.

He blamed himself.

Every minute.

Every breath.

He wrote in a journal:

“If I’d just woken up.

If I’d just held her.

If I’d just told her to scream.

If I had screamed with her…”

Week 6

You visited the grave.

Tiny.

Unmarked.

Just a small star etched on soft marble.

You ran your fingers over the star, your star.

Heeseung knelt beside you.

Still, you said nothing.

But your tears finally fell.

Week 8

You found him crying on the bathroom floor.

Collapsed, trembling, whispering, “It’s all my fault. It’s my fault. I was supposed to protect both of you. And I failed.”

You sank to the ground beside him.

Took his hand.

Your voice cracked. Barely there.

But it was the first sound in weeks.

“I know.”

He looked up, horrified. “Baby…”

But you weren’t angry.

You were just... broken.

“I know it wasn’t all your fault,” you whispered. “But if you had woken up... maybe they’d be here.”

That silence afterward was worse than death.

7 Months Later

Months passed.

But the grief never left.

You laughed less.

Smiled never.

Heeseung stayed.

Loved you fiercely.

But the nursery remained locked.

And your heart?

Still hollow.

Because sometimes love isn’t loud.

Sometimes it’s not even kind.

Sometimes it’s silent. Still. And full of regret.

And you both had to live with that.

Forever.

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«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» @strxwbloody

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[andy-15-07]

Patrol Tension

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count: 1303 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

The storm hits hard, rain pelting the tin roof of the lookout tower like angry fists. Wind screams through the trees outside, and the whole structure groans with each gust.

You and Tommy sit shoulder to shoulder in the small wooden shack, soaked from the hike up. A dusty lantern casts flickering light across the space. It's not much,just a cot, a radio, and a couple of folded blankets. No fire. No heat.

“Storm’s not lettin’ up ‘til morning,” Tommy mutters, peeking through the fogged-up window.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying not to shiver. “Great. Guess we’re cuddling or freezing to death.”

He glances over his shoulder, one brow raised. “That a request?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching. “More like a threat.”

The tension's been building for weeks,months, maybe. You and Tommy paired for patrol often enough that the teasing turned to tension, and the tension turned to long, quiet stares. You’d both brushed it off. You figured he was too old for you; he figured you were just messing with him. But now,trapped together in the storm, nothing but time and body heat,it’s pressing in like the storm itself.

You toss one of the blankets over the cot and gesture lazily. “You gonna be a gentleman, or do I gotta claim the bed first?”

Tommy kicks off his boots and sits, back against the wall. “Bed ain’t big enough for one person to stretch, let alone two.”

“So we get cozy.”

He looks at you,really looks. His hair is damp, curling at the edges. There's a smudge of mud along his jaw, and a hunger in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

“You sure about that?”

Your breath catches. “I wouldn’t’ve said it if I wasn’t.”

Silence hums between you.

You climb onto the cot beside him. He lies on his side, back to the wall. You lie in front of him, back to his chest, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. The first few minutes are stiff, awkward,trying not to touch too much. But his arm brushes yours. Then your hip presses into his thigh. Slowly, you settle together like puzzle pieces.

He exhales, warm breath fanning the back of your neck. “You’re shakin’.”

You swallow. “Yeah. Cold.”

He pulls the blanket tighter around both of you. His hand slides over your hip, tentative at first. Then his palm settles low,right at the soft curve of your stomach.

You hold your breath.

His voice, low and rough in your ear: “That okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s… okay.”

You feel him smile against your neck. His hand drifts lower. You part your thighs slightly, heart hammering.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “You’re warm here. Soft.”

Your breath hitches as his fingers slide over the seam of your pants. He’s not even under them yet and you’re already slick, aching.

“You want me to stop,” he says, “you tell me right now.”

You grab his wrist, not to push away,just to steady yourself. “Don’t stop.”

He moves slow. One button undone. Then the zipper. His hand slips beneath the waistband, fingers ghosting over your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes.

You nod against the pillow, panting quietly.

He pushes the fabric aside and slips two fingers through your folds. You bite your knuckle to keep quiet. Tommy groans softly, like he can’t believe how wet you are.

“You been wantin’ this long as I have?” he whispers.

You nod. “Longer.”

His fingers stroke gently at first, exploring. Then he finds your clit and circles slow, steady. You whimper, writhing against him.

“Shhh,” he coos, kissing the back of your neck. “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want Jesse or Maria checkin’ in and hearin’ you come.”

You clench around nothing. “God, Tommy,”

He slips one finger inside, then two. You arch your back, one hand flying to cover your mouth.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me hear those pretty little sounds.”

You bite your lip hard, hips moving with him. He works you open, his fingers thick and curling just right. When he adds pressure with his palm, you nearly cry out.

You’re close. So close.

“Come for me,” he says, lips brushing your shoulder. “Let go.”

You do,hips jerking, thighs trembling, mouth muffled against your own hand. He rides it out with you, fingers gentle now, coaxing every pulse of pleasure until you go limp against him.

You’re still panting when he withdraws his hand, kissing the back of your head.

Then you roll to face him.

Your hand cups the front of his jeans. He’s hard as a rock.

“You sure?” he rasps.

You nod, already tugging his pants down. “Want to taste you.”

His eyes burn. “Jesus Christ.”

You slide down the cot, blanket draped over your shoulders like a shield. On your knees now, you nudge his thighs apart. His cock springs free,thick, flushed, tip leaking.

You glance up at him. “You look like you’re about to beg.”

His jaw clenches. “Might.”

You wrap your lips around him,slow and deep. His breath stutters. One hand tangles in your hair, not pushing, just holding.

You suck him slow, then fast,tongue tracing every vein, mouth hollowing just to hear him groan.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You smile around him, hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach.

He grits his teeth, trying to stay quiet, but a grunt escapes him. “Shit. Gonna come if you keep,”

You pull off with a pop. “Then fuck me.”

He hauls you up with both hands, flips you beneath him. You gasp as your back hits the cot. The blanket falls away, but you don’t care. You need him.

“Condom?” you whisper.

He grabs his bag off the floor, rummaging. Finds one. Tears it open with shaking hands.

When he rolls it on, you spread your thighs wide for him.

He lines himself up, eyes searching yours. “Still good?”

“Tommy. Please.”

He pushes in,slow and thick and perfect. You both groan. Your hands dig into his shoulders.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, voice reverent.

You wrap your legs around him. “Move. Please.”

He starts slow, each thrust measured. But it’s too good,too hot, too forbidden. Soon he’s fucking you hard, muffling his moans against your neck.

You cling to him, meeting every thrust, biting his shoulder to keep quiet.

Radio static crackles on the desk nearby. A voice calls out:

“Tower 6, status check?”

You both freeze. Tommy pulls out just enough to cover your mouth with his hand. You nod, letting him take the lead.

He reaches over with his free hand, hits the comm button. His voice is barely steady:

“Tower 6,copy. All quiet.”

“Copy that,” the voice says. “Stay warm up there.”

The line goes dead.

You both exhale.

Then he growls, “Gonna have to keep you real quiet now.”

He slams back into you, hand still over your mouth. You cry out into his palm. He fucks you like a man possessed,every thrust deeper, harder.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Takin’ me so well.”

You’re so close again.

He feels it too. “You gonna come for me?”

You nod frantically.

His free hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit.

The orgasm hits like a freight train.

You come around him, shaking, biting his hand, eyes rolling back. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he’s coming too,buried deep, trembling above you.

He stays there for a long moment,panting, kissing your temple.

Finally, he pulls out, ties the condom off, tosses it in a bag. You both collapse under the blanket, sticky and breathless.

After a while, he says, “We’re doin’ that every patrol now.”

You laugh, snuggling into his chest. “Hope the storm lasts a few more hours.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Me too.”

[biblical-chronicles]

Feral

________________________________________________

where Liam wants you quite bad (with the help of some magic dust)

[18+]

________________________________________________

You showed up at the studio mid-afternoon, balancing a bag of sandwiches and a couple of drinks like some kind of clumsy little waitress. You knew Liam had been holed up here with the lads for hours, probably forgetting what food even was. And you — always the fool for him — decided to take pity.

You made it inside easily, the usual mess of tangled cords, battered amps, and half-empty bottles greeting you. The lads waved distractedly, too caught up in whatever strange noise experiment they were brewing. Liam was standing in the middle of it all - pacing, fidgeting, animated like a firecracker.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was most likely on something. Eyes gleaming too bright, moving too fast, talking a mile a minute to no one in particular.

As soon as he caught sight of you though — It was like everything else blurred out.

"Oi!" he practically shouted, dropping whatever battered notebook he was holding. He darted toward you like a man possessed, eyes laser-locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

You barely managed to put the food down before he crashed into you, arms snaking around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

"Liam—!" you squeaked, laughing, trying to push at his chest a little because you were very much not alone. "The lads are right there—"

He didn’t seem to care. He just buried his face in your neck, nosing along your skin, breathing you in.

"You smell fuckin' unreal," he muttered, voice thick with need. You could feel how keyed-up he was, practically vibrating in your arms.

"Liam," you hissed, squirming, noticing Bonehead looking over with a smirk before going back to fiddling with a cable.

But Liam was insistent. "Come ‘ere," he mumbled, already tugging at your wrist, leading you toward some barely functional side office in the back. You stumbled after him, half-scolding, half-giggling, because he was a goddamn force of nature like this, no point fighting it.

He kicked the door shut behind you and immediately caged you against it, hands gripping your hips like you might disappear if he didn’t hold you hard enough.

You opened your mouth to say something but it was of no use. Liam was already kissing you, desperate and sloppy, teeth grazing your lip like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair instinctively.

He groaned at that and just ground himself against you, panting against your mouth.

"Liam—!" you tried, breathless, "You’re gonna get us caught—"

"Don't care," he rasped, kissing along your jaw, rough and adoring, fingers bunching your shirt up higher and higher. "Need you. Bloody hell, been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day—"

You whimpered because god help you, when he got like this, you were helpless.

You tugged him closer, nails dragging lightly over the back of his neck, making him shudder. He nipped your ear and laughed when you gasped.

"You’re killing me." you murmured, clinging onto him.

"Says you," he grinned, eyes bright and wicked, "show up lookin’ like this. What’m I meant to do? Behave? Fuck off"

He was all over you again, hands on your hips, mouth at your neck, and you had to brace yourself against the wall, heart hammering like a drum. His breath was hot, his grip tighter than it needed to be. He felt like he was buzzing under your hands.

“Liam,” you whispered, half-laughing, half-pleading, “we need to go home.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed.

“What, now? You serious?”

You smoothed your hands down his chest, calming him with a firm press. “You’ve been climbing me like a tree in a public studio, we can have a better time at home.”

He stared at you for a second. Then huffed through his nose, clearly annoyed you had a point. He still didn’t let go though — not fully. Just slid his fingers through yours, clutching your hand.

“Right,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ll go. But you better not be far behind love.”

You raised your brow. “Behave. We'll get some air.”

“Don’t need fuckin’ air,” he grumbled, already dragging you toward the back door of the studio. “Need you.”

You barely had time to fix your hair and pretend like you hadn't just been ravaged against a studio wall before Liam grabbed your hand again, squeezing your fingers tight like he might combust if he let go.

“C’mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath, voice thick, ragged with impatience. His eyes were still blazing, blown wide and hungry, glued onto you.

You tried keeping a straight face, but you were panting already, skin flushed, still feeling the imprint of him all over you.

Outside, the air was cool, yer it didn’t help much with the heat still licking at your skin.

Liam turned back only once you were properly away from view, grabbing both your hips and backing you up against the nearest building like he couldn’t even think straight. His hands trembled slightly on you.

"Gonna get you back, love," he breathed, voice low, "and then m’gonna—"

He broke off, visibly shuddering, forehead resting against yours.

"Gonna have you on every bloody surface of that flat," he hissed, voice shaking, "again, and again, and again. Gonna fuckin' wreck you, yeah."

You whined, hands grabbing the front of his jacket to steady yourself.

"Please," you gasped, emboldened by the chaos he was promising, "I need it so bad—"

That snapped something in him. He quickly grabbed your hand again, practically dragging you at a run now down the street toward the flat.

The whole way there he kept muttering under his breath like a madman, every few steps stopping to shove you into a doorway or a wall just to bite kisses onto your neck, hands roaming over you, grabbing your arse, lifting your skirt with reckless abandon.

"Gonna make you scream me name again," he whispered into your ear as you stumbled up the steps to the flat, "til everyone on the fuckin' block knows you’re mine."

You could barely get your key into the lock with how badly you were shaking, and Liam wasn’t helping, hands all over you, breath hot against the side of your face, hips pressed against your bum to keep you pinned still.

Finally, the door slammed open, he kicked it shut behind you, didn’t even wait, just pushed you flat up against it, kissing you rough, messy, desperate.

You pulled at his hair, tugged him closer, grinding up against him.

"You need me, Liam?" you panted against his mouth.

"Need you so bad it hurts," he choked, "and m’gonna fuckin’ show you how much, right fuckin' now—"

He suddenly scooped you up then, arms under your thighs, and carried you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss once, staggering and bumping into the walls, both of you laughing breathlessly between frantic mouthfuls of each other.

The second your back hit the mattress, Liam was on you, no hesitation, just wild, frantic movements, shaking hands and burning kisses.

He yanked your shirt up, dragged it clean over your head, tossing it somewhere without a thought. His mouth immediately dropped to your chest, mouthing, kissing, teeth scraping, so desperate he was practically devouring you.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he panted against your skin, voice trembling. "Mine. M’gonna make you bloody know it tonight."

You gasped, arching up into him, your fingers clawing at his skin, trying to get more, trying to get all of him.

"Liam—" you whimpered, head thrown back.

He just made a noise at that only to then immidiately tear his own shirt off, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. He fumbled with his belt next, cursing under his breath when it got caught, too frantic to manage it smoothly.

You laughed breathlessly, hands slipping down to help, and the second you did he looked down at you, wide eyes, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

"You're gonna kill me," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You’re the one who started this," you teased, voice wrecked but playful, hips canting up into his.

He let out a ragged laugh and finally shoved his trousers down far enough to free himself.

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your thighs, dragging you down the bed toward him.

"Gonna fuck you til you can't bloody walk."

"Good." you gasped, "want it, Liam— need you to—"

You didn’t even finish the sentence. He slid into you with one rough, desperate thrust, both of you crying out, clutching at each other like it was life or death.

The drugs had him absolutely insatiable, every thrust hard, fast, relentless, his hands everywhere, squeezing your hips, grabbing your wrists to pin them above your head, stroking your face almost tenderly only to dig his nails into your thighs a second later.

He was panting into your ear, whispering an endless, filthy stream:

"Fuckin'— look at you, all mine— beautiful— so good for me— screaming for me—"

You were moaning wreckedly, shameless, nails raking down his back, begging him for more even when you had no breath left to beg with.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t see. Just feel him everywhere, feel his hands, his mouth, his cock driving into you deep and perfect and desperate.

When you finally came, it hit so hard you screamed, clinging to him like you might fall through the bed. He fucked you right through it, relentless, chasing his own release, whispering hoarse, broken praise into your neck.

When he finally came, it was with a strangled cry of your name, hips grinding desperately into yours, holding you tight enough to bruise.

And even then, even when he was breathless and trembling all over, he didn’t let go.

He stayed inside you, mouth open against your shoulder, breathing you in like he never wanted to come up for air.

"M'not done yet," he mumbled against your skin, voice wrecked, barely coherent.

You laughed, delirious, stroking his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

"Knew you were a menace," you teased weakly.

He lifted his head just enough to grin at you — a wicked, unrepentant grin — before kissing you again, slow and deep and possessive.

"Still gonna ruin you proper," he muttered.

________________________________________________

I'm back at it again ya lot xx

finally scribbled summat down, hope ya like it !

[multiversefanfics]

Down In The Dumps

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Warning: mention of a bad day, not being good enough Summary: Joaquin came home to find you in bed, in the dark, and upset. Word Count: 903

It was one of those days, you didn’t feel like getting out of bed, you didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and you definitely didn’t feel like eating. Nothing helped, well the only thing that could help was Joaquin, but he was on a mission and who knows when he’d be back.

You rolled on your side and stared at the wall, the same wall with a picture of you and Joaquin hanging on it, the only thing keeping you sane and grounded. Joaquin was your kite string, letting you fly as high as you wanted, while also still keeping you safe. He didn't push, if you weren't ready to talk about it, he would wait and lay with you until you were ready.

Joaquin walked through the front door, everything was still. He looked around, usually, you're in the living room watching a movie surrounded by a bunch of pillows and blankets. He frowns and drops his stuff by the door. He walked up the stairs, looking around, taking in the darkness that surrounded him. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flashlight, finally walking into your shared room.

"Baby?" His voice was soft, he turned the flashlight off and climbed in bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your body.

You didn't respond, you couldn't. You just stared, you couldn't bring yourself to speak. You wanted to, so badly, but nothing came out. You didn't want to shut Joaquin out, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him how you were feeling.

"Baby, are you okay?" He kissed the back of your head, holding you tighter.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. "I feel like I'm not good enough for you."

His heart shattered, his chest ached, he turned you over to face him, leaving several kisses all over your face.

"Oh, my angel. You are more than enough for me, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don't know where I'd be without you." He placed a soft kiss on your forehead "What's got you feeling like this?"

You inhaled sharply, letting a few tears fall down your cheeks, soon you broke down into a full blown sob. Joaquin rubbed your back soothingly as you buried your face into his chest.

“Let it out, baby, I got you.” He whispered into your hair.

“I got you” echoed in your head, and you believed it. Joaquin always had you, no matter what, he was always there to pick you up and you were extremely grateful for him. You calmed down, and started to tell him why you were feeling the way you were, truthfully you didn’t have an exact answer or reason it’s just the way your mind works sometimes.

Not knowing why you felt this way scared you more than knowing. You tried your best at everything you did, but after a while you slowly gave up on being the best and focused on being you. Some days it helped to talk about it, while other days you just wanted Joaquin to hold you in silence.

Joaquin knew today was one of those days he sits and listens, sure he could reassure you, like he’s dying to do, but he knows right now your mind wouldn’t let you believe it. So he holds you, rubbing your back while you tell him what’s going on inside your brain. When you were finished you instantly felt better, no more tears, no slight hiccups from the sobs that left your mouth, but no smile either.

“I love you so much, angel.” He kissed the top of your head “I want you to call me next time, even if you just need to listen to me breathe.” You nodded against his chest, placing a soft kiss on his chin.

“I know this is bad timing, but I really gotta pee” You giggled and released your grip of him.

You watched as he ran to the bathroom he left the door open and started peeing

“Joaquin! Close the door.” You playfully covered your eyes, peeking out a little just to get a good look at that thang

“I wanna make sure you don’t go anywhere!” He quickly finished and washed his hands, before climbing back into bed with you.

He cuddled up to your chest, looking up at you. You smiled down at him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Feeling better?” He nodded against your chest

“I’ve been holding that in since the jet” You ruffled his hair into a funny messy style.

You laid there listening to him talk about what happened on the mission, how Sam basically slammed himself into a brick wall and got his ass handed to him by whatever the hell they were fighting. Honestly listening to Joaquin talk was like music to your ears, he had a way with words and he always made his stories seem so upbeat and funny even if he was getting beat up.

Joaquin knew you were feeling better when you started making jokes about him not being able to fly straight or telling him you could beat him at arm wrestling. You were laughing, like really laughing to the point where you snorted and Joaquin is just staring at you in admiration. You were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he was determined to do just that.

A/N: i hope you guys like it if you want to be tagged in future fics, comment here

Main Masterlist - Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Taglist: @cherryresidence @sidkneeeee

[breakmeoff]

The Boy Next Door │1

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: none I don’t think… angst?

word count: 5.3k

synopsis: you babysat him when he was 7 years old, and he’s had a crush on you since you met, despite the 8 year age gap.  between moves to other places and time, it’s been 14 years since you’ve seen each other even though your dads are still best friends, still live next door to each other, and keep up to date about each other's family.  you surprise chris at one of the skz shows, and he’s shocked to see you, and even more surprised that he still has a massive crush on you.  if only he could convince you to look at him in any other way than the boy next door.

note: so this is my first fic ever and this could be total garbage so please be gentle.  ages, timelines and relationships are adjusted for story purposes and this is all a work of fiction.  thank you for reading!

Part 2

ONE WEEK AGO

“Happy Birthday, Squirt” you said with a mischievous smile, handing your 14 year old half-sister a bright pink envelope.  The living room was hideously shrouded with obnoxious decorations, and crowded with what seemed like a hundred teens, your dad, and your step-monstermother.  

Mia barely acknowledged you when you handed her her gift, engrossed in gossiping with her friends nearby.  Between the loud music and deafening teens, the volume in the room was enough to make you wish you’d brought earplugs.

The moment Mia opened her gift from you though, she immediately froze, speechless, eyes nearly bulging out of her head and she held her breath.  After a few seconds of silence from her, you furrowed your brows in question with a confused look on your face until… “OH MY GOD, STRAY KIDS TICKETS?!”  The high pitched shriek that followed caused the adults to wince, and the other kids in the room to crowd Mia immediately in pure envy.

Barely audible over the chaos, you squeaked out “yeah, we’re flying to Japan next week to see them.  Oh, and there’s backstage passes in there too.”  

You glanced over to your dad who was just smirking over the drink in his hand and shook his head.  With a subtle wave of his arm, he motioned you over to the side of the room away from the mayhem.  

You came up beside him, rested your head on his shoulder and took a sip of the drink in your hand.  “Well, I guess she liked it.”  You paused before sighing out, “...this is a terrible idea isn’t it?” 

“Yep,” was all he replied with a quick kiss to the top of your head.  “Better you than me.  Did you tell the Bahngs that you were going to do this?”

“No, I don’t want to bother them or be another person hounding them for access to Chris.  I figure it could be kind of fun to surprise him too when we get to go backstage.”  Standing back up straight and leaning against the wall behind you, you exhaled in realization.  

“Geez, it’s been what… almost 14 years since I’ve seen him?  I’m sure he won’t even remember who I am,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“Ohhh we both know that’s not true, that kid had the biggest crush on you growing up,” your dad said, glancing over at you beside him.  You scoffed, “pretty sure he had a crush on anything with boobs at that age.”  

Of course, this was the moment your step-mom decided to eavesdrop on your conversation.  “Y/N!  Language.”  Rolling your eyes, you took another sip of your drink.

The next thing you overheard was Mia downplaying the tickets, bragging to her friends “oh it’s really not that big of a deal, Chan is basically my oppa.  I go to their house all of the time.”  With a flick of her hair, the other girls in the room were gasping with jealousy and fangirling so hard you couldn’t help but drag a hand down your face.

----------------------------------------- 17 YEARS AGO

After several weeks of inadvertently doing yardwork at the same time, and a few heated discussions over the pros and cons of planting winter grass, your father quickly befriended your next door neighbor, Jack, and his young family.  Your mother and Jack’s wife, Jessica, became fast friends and bonded over emigrating from South Korea to Sydney, and how difficult it was to find decent hotteok anywhere.  More than anything, Jessica was thrilled to find out that your mother had a responsible, teenage daughter who could babysit.  

You were, not surprisingly, unhappy when your mom burst into your bedroom one morning and voluntold you that you’d be babysitting the three new kids next door; Christopher (7), Hannah (4) and Lucas (2 ½).  

At 15, and much happier curling up in your room alone with your headphones on, you would rather have been hung upside down by your toenails than spend your precious free time watching some snotty nosed kids.  

That was…  until you found out how much Mrs. Bahng was willing to pay for a few hours of reprieve every other weekend.  

Sure, at first it was definitely about the money, but over the next few years you actually became fond of the 3 Bahng kids, and genuinely started to enjoy spending time with them. 

Growing up an only child, you had always held a quiet jealousy of those who had a bigger family.  Now you could almost pretend that they were your own siblings; bickering and relentlessly teasing each other.

However, shortly after your 18th birthday you received your acceptance letter from The University of Melbourne and priorities began to shift.  At the end of the summer post graduation, and a ton of tearful goodbyes later, you packed up your life and moved to Melbourne, 9+ hours from everyone you loved.  

For the first few years, you still came back home to Sydney for holidays and extended breaks, but the longer you were away, the more immersed you became in your studies and were setting down roots, building your new life.

During your sophomore year at UoM, your parents separated and quickly divorced, recognizing they had nothing in common except their adoration for you, and you had proved you no longer needed them as much as they needed you.  A few months later, your mother moved to Melbourne to be closer, but your father stayed in the house next door to the Bahng’s.  

While your mom showed no interest in remarrying, it didn’t take long for your father to meet the “true love of his life,” a woman 15 years his junior.  Less than six months into their marriage, your half-sister Mia was born, not even a full 24 hours before your 21st birthday.  Your relationship with your dad always remained strong, but your birthdays slowly got overshadowed by the new addition to the family.

Five years after your move to Melbourne, you graduated with your Masters of Biomedical Sciences, and got a job working at a nearby hospital in their research department. Since then you’ve earned your tenure at the same hospital, managing a small group of researchers, and making more money than you ever anticipated.  

----------------------------------------- EARLIER TODAY

You and Mia had settled into your hotel room and were getting ready for, what she was declaring would be, the concert of the century.  Despite the significant age gap between you, and the distance of where you both lived, you had always made an effort to stay a part of Mia’s life and establish a solid relationship with her.  Her teenage energy was exhausting, but seeing the unadulterated excitement on her face was worth it. 

“I cannot believe I let you pick out my clothes...” you mumbled, looking at yourself in the mirror, wearing the new pieces that you let her select during your shopping spree earlier that day; a black mini skirt, a white tank top, tattered mesh leggings, platform black mary janes, and chunky black jewelry. You felt so uncomfortable, not because the outfit wasn't cute, but because it was so far from your normal style.

“We had to make sure your fit was snatched for when we see Channie later!,” Mia replied while putting on her shoes.

Glancing over your shoulder at your little sister you smirked and replied “Oh, no cap?  Bet.”  

Mia groaned loudly and threw herself down on the bed.  “Oh my god I HAAAAATE when you try to talk Gen A with me.”

You walked over and grabbed a pillow, lightly hitting your sister with it, torturing her even more as you continued to talk.  “What, I’m just trying to be a baddie GOAT that slaps for you!  I’m gonna be mewing and wiggling my gyatt all over the place, flexin’ my rizz all night!”  

Mia grabbed the pillow from you and screamed playfully into it before pulling it away and laughing up at you with a big smile.  “You are literally the worst.”  

“Yep, and you’re stuck with me.”  You smiled, helping her up from the bed and walked arm in arm together out of the room, ready to let your night begin. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two hours later, you found yourself in a group of roughly 30 others being guided backstage to a green room for the meet and greet with the boys from SKZ.   Once settled in the room, Mia’s eyes were glued to the door, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, just waiting to see her favorite idol again.  

As soon as the group walked into the room, Mia bolted straight for Chris, screaming “CHANNIE!!!!!” and flung herself at him before he could barely register what was going on.  

With a quick glance down to the crazed fan clinging to him, Chris instantly recognized the younger girl and wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.  “Mimi!  My favorite Stay!  What are you doing here?  There’s no way your Appa brought you here,” he said with a chuckle, looking up for the familiar faces of her parents.  

Mia pulled back just slightly, still not letting go of his waist, looking up at him with a huge smile on her face.  “No, Y/N brought me!  She got me tickets for my birthday and we wanted to surprise you!”  

Blushing deeply at her little sister’s over the top reactions, you walked over to the two of them and sheepishly waved your hand in greeting as you made eye contact with Chris for the first time in over a decade.  “Surprise…?,” you laughed nervously.

Chris blinked at you a few times, trying to wrap his brain around who was actually standing in front of him, and slowly let go of Mia.  “Noona?”  He asked incredulously, closing the distance between the two of you to pull you into a tight hug.  

“Oh, ooof,” you said as he almost knocked the wind out of you, gingerly wrapping your arms around him in return.  “Hey there… long time no see.”

By this point, most of the people in the room were looking at you all with quizzical looks on their faces.  Fans were staring, jealous of the way that you were getting to touch the idol.  The other SKZ members were glancing in question, wondering who Chan was talking to so familiarly and making him smile like that.

Ever the skeptic, Lee Know strolled over to the trio with a raised eyebrow, “Hyung… what’s going on over here?”  Finally dropping his arms from you, Chris glanced between his bandmate with a light blush on his cheeks, and looked back to you before speaking.  “This is my old babysitter, Y/N.”  

Lee Know opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out Mia chimed in, walking right up to him and giving him an overzealous hug, “and I’m his favorite Stay, Mia!”  

After studying them for a minute, Minho finally spoke with a tight lipped smile “it’s nice to meet you both,” he paused before looking back to you, “...please tell me you have embarrassing stories about him peeing his pants.  I beg of you, anything humiliating I can hold over him.”  

You laughed a little bit, and Chris quickly looked at you with a pleading look in his eyes.  “Please, please don’t…” he warned with a nervous laugh.  Looking back at Minho, you smirked playfully, “for the right price I am sure I can come up with something.”

A minute later, Lee Know looked over to Mia again, “do you want to come meet the other members?”  With a quick gasp, she nodded her head emphatically and said “YES!” before he led her away from you and Chan.

Now standing alone, you looked back up to Chris, lifting a hand to lightly tug at the fabric of his tank top.  “What, stylists can’t afford to put you in something with sleeves?”  Looking down at your hand that grazed his torso and back to your face, he chuckled lightly.  “Yeah, budget cuts.”  

After a beat, he motioned over to you.  “But… look at you!”

Glancing down at yourself with a sigh, you jokingly shook your head back and forth, “yeah, I know, pathetic trying to dress like someone 20 years younger.  I told Mia this was a bad idea,” you laughed lightly meeting his eyes again.

Chris simply shook his head, “no, I was just going to say you haven’t aged.  You look the exact same as you did when I last saw you.  Just… more mature.”

You smirked, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand, totally unsure of how to handle this interaction.  “It’s ok, you can call me old, I accept it.”  

With another chuckle, he smiled brightly at you and with a teasing wink added “you don’t look a day over 25.”

Rolling your eyes, you took another breath and were about to speak again before Chris’ manager walked over to him.  “15 minutes until show time.”  He nodded his head to the staff member before looking back over at you.

“I gotta go get ready but I’d love to catch up with you after the show?  Where are you staying?”  

Not wanting to bother him and his busy schedule, you shook your head “no, seriously you’re busy, it’s fine.  Maybe we can see each other when you’re back in Sydney next time.”

Chris grabbed your hand to emphasize his point, “no seriously, I have time later tonight and it’s been way too long.”  You nervously looked down at your hand clasped in his, which caused him to look down at them and quickly let go awkwardly.  Glancing back up at his face, you peered over to Mia laughing with Han while showing him something on her phone.  

With another breath, you looked back at Chris and told him where you were staying.  “If you aren’t exhausted and really do want to come by, there’s a bar down in the lobby where we can go get a drink after Mia’s settled in the room.”

Chris smiled again and exhaled a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  I’ll see you after… I hope you enjoy the show!”  Giving you one more quick hug, he went over to Mia who fiercely hugged him again, and begged for a quick selfie before the boys left the room.

Mia wandered back over to you as the band waved their goodbyes and thanked their fans, and excitedly grabbed your hand to pull you out of the green room.  “Let’s goooooooo!!! I wanna get to our seats and you have to buy me another SKZOO plush before the concert starts.  I think Han is my new favorite and I don’t have Quokka yet!”  

As you and Mia walked the opposite direction from the stage, Chris looked over his shoulder and watched the two of you disappear.  He’d meant it when he said that you hadn’t changed since he last saw you.  Well, maybe you had changed just a little.  He didn’t remember you being that beautiful before.

Minho followed his hyung’s eyes before looking back to his face, absently fiddling with his mic pack.  “Someone’s got a new crush on their Noona,” he said with a knowing smirk.  Chris glared over at him, defensively muttering “...do not.” 

Truth be told, Chris’ crush was anything but new.

----------------------------------------- TONIGHT

Walking back into their hotel room after the concert of the century, Mia was on cloud nine, still dancing and singing “LaLaLaLa” at the top of her lungs while you trailed behind her quietly, trying to shush her.  “Shhhhhh… there are people sleeping next door!”  

Mia rolled her eyes, shrugged her shoulders and began humming to herself instead, still completely lost in her own world.

You on the other hand were still trying to comprehend what you had just witnessed.  Sure you’d seen clips of SKZ shows before and obviously listened to their music, but seeing it in person was a different story.  

“I still can’t believe they dance like that in public…” you mumbled, mostly to yourself before Mia chimed in again.  “Oh my god, right?  They’re soooo hot!!!”  You looked over your shoulder at your sister and deadpanned at her.  “Gross.  On that note I’m going to go shower.”

45 minutes later, you had washed the evening off of you and put on a pair of joggers and a simple tee, threw your hair into a messy top knot, and glanced at your phone, noting it was about time Chris said he’d be at their hotel.

Not wanting to overly excite Mia who was almost passed out in her bed, you told her you were going to go hang out in the lobby so she could sleep undisturbed, and to text you if she needed anything.  With a dismissive wave from the teen who buried herself under the comforter, you turned to walk out the door.

Once in the lobby, which was not surprisingly pretty empty for the time of evening, you glanced around seeing no sign of Chan and wandered to the bar.  Pulling out a stool at the completely vacant bartop, you perched yourself on it and began scanning the cocktail menu.  Just as you were about to order, you heard a familiar voice.  “There she is.”

Turning your head to the side, Chris’ handsome face and bright smile came into view as he walked straight up to you and gave you another hug.  Over his shoulder you could see his security team find a couch in the lobby to wait in; far enough to not hear any of their conversation but close enough should there be a risk of any kind.

After he let go of you, he pulled out the stool beside you and sat down, unable to take his eyes off of you or wipe the genuine grin from his face.  Focusing your eyes back to him, you let a smile spread over your features.  “You know, I should call your Eomma and tell her that her son was gyrating in front of thousands of people.”  Chris barked a laugh and said “oh trust me, she knows, and she hates it.”

Grabbing the drink menu from your hand, Chris began perusing the options and when the bartender came back over he waited for you to place your order before asking for his.  Once alone again, he lightly drummed his hands on the bartop with a smirk.  “So what did you really think?”

Keeping quiet for a moment with a skeptical look, you finally spoke again with a small shake of your head.  “You guys were really good, Chris.  Like.  I almost understand why people like you.  I mean, you should definitely advise parental discretion for younger viewers but,” you paused with a quiet laugh, “you guys are really talented.”

“Why do you sound so shocked?”  He playfully narrowed his eyes at you, challenging your statement.  “You can’t tell me that that was the first time you heard our music?”

“No, definitely not, but I don’t know, I assumed it was maybe auto-tuned?”  You admitted.  “I mean, everyone else is these days so I thought you were too!”

“Auto-tuned??  How DARE you…” Chris laughed in response.  “No, I mean, obviously we do, especially in songs with a lot of dancing.”  

“Right but I was talking about the ad libs and the acapella portions.  You have a really nice voice!” you insisted, looking him in the eyes in an attempt to show you meant what you were saying.

“I feel like I should be offended by how surprised you are, but I will just take the compliment and say thank you,” Chris said with another flash of his brilliant smile.

The bartender dropped off both of your drinks, but before turning away he sheepishly.  “Um, excuse me, Mr. Bahng… could I get your autograph for my girlfriend?  She’s a huge fan…”

Chris smirked and grabbed a cocktail napkin as the bartender handed him a pen.  “Definitely, just please don’t ever call me Mr. Bahng again,” he said with a laugh, scribbling his name as requested and handed both the pen and napkin back to the bartender who whispered a thank you and wandered off.

You quietly observed the whole interaction, slowly shaking your head and sighed out as Chris’ attention was directed back to you.  “This is so weird…” you mumbled, picking up your glass.  

“What is?”  He innocently questioned, lifting his own glass, watching you.  

“This.  You.  You’re famous.  And like an adult.  A whole human being now,” you said, gesturing towards him as you spoke.

Pausing in reply, Chris lifted his glass to cheers yours.  “To being adults?”  He offered with a laugh, to which you clinked your glass against his before taking a small sip.  “Sure, let’s go with that.”  

After that, the conversation began to flow more naturally as you caught up on the gossip with your families, the ongoing concert tour, your life in Melbourne, and old memories.  The two of you sat comfortably laughing and reminiscing with each other in the otherwise empty lobby bar, and as the bartender handed you both your third drinks, you began to feel more relaxed with your old friend again.

“So,” Chris paused, taking a small sip from his fresh cocktail, “tell me.  You still with that doctor that I heard about through the grapevine?”  With a deep sigh and roll of your eyes, you leaned against the back of the stool and shook your head.

“No, turns out he took the phrase having good bedside manner too close to heart.  With a few of the nurses that work in the hospital with us.”  Chris winced at that new information, just as you raised your glass as you were remembering.  ‘Oh!  And the new research assistant on my team.  I get to see her face every day still.”

With a dry laugh, Chris gave you an apologetic look and shook his head.  “Well, from what I heard he was kind of a dick anyway so you’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, suppose so.  Just a 6 year waste of time.”  You said taking another sip.  Looking back over to him, “what about you, huh?”

“What about me?”  Chris asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the question and an amused, guilty look on his face.  

“You, the idol.  Got anyone special back home?  Or many special someones?,” you asked teasingly.

“Ahhh, nope!  No special someone.”  He paused.  “Or someones for that matter.  Don’t really have much time between the tour and producing.  Kinda hard to maintain a relationship when I’m so busy.”  

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “that makes sense I guess.  But c’mon, you’ve got to have had girls throwing themselves at you every day.  I’ve seen your arms, Sir.”

Chris laughed again, blushing a little bit at the mention of his muscled limbs.  “I mean, sure, the fans are great but I try to avoid doing anything with Stays.  Too messy.”  

You stared at him with a disbelieving look.  “You’re trying to tell me you’ve never taken a fan back to your room after a show?”

“Uhh…” he smirked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face.  “...maybe once or twice.”  

“Knew it,” you said smugly, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand.  “You’re way too good looking to not have indulged yourself a time or two.”

“You think I’m good looking?”  Chris replied quickly, arching his eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” you said as you focused your gaze back on your drink.

Pausing, Chris took a deep breath before exhaling.  “I used to have the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, feeling a bit more emboldened from the alcohol, looking directly at you.

“I know…” you replied playfully, quietly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh.  Was I really that obvious about it?”  

“I think it was the fact that you couldn’t look at me for about 6 months that gave you away.  That, and Hannah told me she caught you writing a Valentine’s Day card for me once.”  You giggled a little bit, watching his face turn a subtle shade of red.

“Remind me to kill her the next time I see her.”  He paused, unable to meet your eyes for a few moments.  “Can’t really blame me though… you were always so pretty.”

Scoffing and lifting your eyebrow at him, “Pretty?  I was a string bean with greasy hair, glasses too big for my face and absolutely no style.”

“It’s your smile, and the way that your eyes always sparkle.”  Now Chris was looking directly at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he chose his words - no longer speaking in past tense.

With a light dusting of pink to your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile, though making eye contact was becoming increasingly more difficult.  “Ahh…” you mumbled, not entirely sure how to reply.

At that moment, between the late hour and alcohol starting to cloud your mind, you caught yourself nearly forgetting that the man in front of you was no longer the little boy you used to babysit.  That tightness presenting itself in your chest usually only appeared when you were being flirted with.  Surely that’s not what was happening here… couldn’t be.

“Well I think that that’s pretty common, for boys to have crushes on their babysitters.  It’s like a right of passage or something,” you said dismissively.  “Totally normal and they always grow out of it.”

“Not always…” Chris admitted quietly.

“Haha, very funny.”  Leaning forward, you picked up your drink again, doing everything you could think of at that moment to ignore that uneasy feeling starting to spread through your body.

Just then, the bartender walked over and slid over the tab, alerting you both that the bar was closing.  “Oh shit, it’s past 2am…” Chris said after looking at the time on his phone and then over to his security team.  Turning his attention back to you “I didn’t realize how late it was, and I’ve got an early rehearsal in the morning.”

Shaking your head, you finished the last remnants of your drink.  “No, of course, I can’t believe that time slipped away like that.”  Chris grabbed his wallet and threw down more than enough cash for the tab and tip before standing and helping pull out your barstool.

“It’s been really good to see you, Y/N,” Chris admitted with a smile, boldly extending his hand out to run down your arm.  “Like, really good.”

Blushing yet again, you nodded and faced him.  “Yeah… I can’t believe how you’ve grown up.  I’m really proud of you,” you replied with an upturn in the corner of your lips.

“Fully grown now,” Chris confirmed, trying to emphasize to you that he was no longer a kid.

“So it seems…” you nod lightly, but Chris speaks again before you could continue.

“How long are you in town?  Can I see you again tomorrow?”  His eyes are intent, focusing on you.  

“Um… we are here for one more night.  But you’ve got another show and I am sure you’re busy..”

“No, I mean it.  Can I meet you back here tomorrow night after the concert?”  Chris is almost pleading with you by this point.

Something inside of you was warning you that this seemed like a bad idea.  You’d always loved Chris, but this was feeling very different and you hadn’t felt this nervous in way too long.  “I really don’t want to be a bother to you,” you attempted, trying to dissuade him from pushing.

“Is your phone number still the same?  I’ll call you when I’m free tomorrow to see?”  You could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t going to let this go.

With a sigh, you nodded your head in defeat.  “Yeah, it’s the same.  We can play it by ear.”

Finally he dropped his shoulders and a smile crept back up his face.  “Great.  Let me at least walk you to the elevator.”  

“Always so chivalrous,” you teased, taking a step forward towards the hallway.  As you began to move away, Chris’ hand lightly landed on the small of your back.  The small gesture caused your breath to catch, the feeling way more intimate than it should be.

Once you made it to the double doors, Chris dropped his hand finally and reached out to push the button to call the elevator before turning back to fully face you.  “I’m so glad that you and Mia came to the show.  It was a really nice surprise.  Especially after all this time.”

At this point you were hyper aware of how close he was standing to you, and internally you were trying not to overanalyze his every move.  He was just being polite.

“Yeah, totally worth it.  I can’t wait to go back to work next week and brag to the interns about the fact that I had drinks with the leader of Stray Kids,” you said with a smirk, trying to diffuse the situation.  Poorly.

Hearing the elevator ding with its arrival, you glanced over to it before looking back at Chris.  “Thank you again for meeting me tonight.”  He murmured as he began to lean in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your own and placed your arms around his shoulders, dropping one hand to his back, where you couldn’t help but feel the defined muscle beneath it.  From where you were standing, it was impossible not to truly notice how powerful his body had become; no longer scrawny and unsure, but strong and confident.

“Of course,” you mumbled back in response, moving your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, leaning back a little bit, trying to gain some distance between the two of you.  Looking back up to his face, you were about to say goodnight when…

Chris took a deep breath and whispered “fuck it,” mostly to himself, before he quickly leaned back in and pressed his lips against yours.  It was chaste, and soft, and shocking.

Lifting both of your eyebrows in surprise, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a little bit, “whoa there…” you said quietly, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, struggling to make eye contact again.  “I’ve just wanted to do that since I was 8 years old,” he laughed quietly, moving his hand to rub the back of his neck.

Dropping your left hand, the right one trailed down his arm to his hand.  Giving it a reassuring squeeze, he lifted his head to look at you with a sheepish grin on his face.  “Glad you got that off your chest, and now you can move on past that silly crush,” you laughed, trying to diffuse the awkward moment.

The elevator doors began to close again, and you quickly stepped forward, sticking your arm out to get the motion sensor to reopen them.  Looking back to Chris, you gave another weak smile and stepped into the elevator, forcing the distance between you again.  “Goodnight Chris, and thanks for the drinks.”  

He nodded his head in reply, quietly mumbling “yeah, goodnight” giving a light wave of his hand before the doors closed, forcing physical separation between the two of you.

Chris stayed there for a moment, shifting his gaze to the floor, his mind beginning to run circles.  While you tried to make light of his crush, he knew for certain that it was not going to go away that easily.

Turning back to his security detail and towards the front door, Chris made a decision right then and there that he was more determined than ever to prove to you that he was no longer the boy next door.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I blame it on your love.❞

Mark Grayson X ftm!reader | prologue, angst | wc: 1.1K

warnings: death, mentions of torture, experimental procedures done on reader, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of trafficking (briefly)

masterlist ; pt. 0

authors note: the reader's backstory was very much influenced by Luka (from Alien Stage) and Black Widow/Winter Soldier (spec. the MCU) but I just wanted to toy with the idea of reader being something made for one purpose, finding another, but realizing their feelings will never be returned... Until he sees that in another universe, it is. Listening to ▸CODA by GRAY / Track 10 by Charli XCX Patreon | Discord

The first human with powers had set a domino affect in motion. A gentle shove against the laws of psychics, something that could simply be passed on as a mutation. Maybe a third eyelid like that of a crocodile, or an extra finger, a tail even. The next few that came, whether through sheer luck at birth or through blindly groping around in an ancient cave to become a God's avatar, were less subtle in every way possible.

But the effects were written in history. From persecution, to worship, to fear and finally to now.

Necessity.

Who needed nuclear bombs when you had a man who could fly through the air, with the strength of a thousand men, with the name Immortal?

With his team of other super humans, some even non-humans, keeping the world safe; it was tough on business.

You despised them. Heroes. In their brightly coloured outfits, streaking through the sky as symbols of hope when all it was was blind adoration.

But you despised them more for being the catalyst to your birth.

Birth. The word sounds foreign to you. You needed a mother for that, a warm body, a soothing voice, warm milk made just for you and all that bullshit.

You weren't born. You were made. They didn't want a child, much less a baby, they needed a weapon.

"Nothing flashy," a voice would speak. His voice rough, garbled from the amniotic fluid of your tank and your newly formed ears.

"I don't need laser eyes or acid breath. I need a brawler, a killer, a fucking weapon."

Your first breath was on the floors of a cold room. You'd reached up to tear the stubborn film of fluid over your mouth and nose, little chest heaving as your eyes were blinded by the light of a flashlight.

The first thing you felt after being made was cold indifference. No excited tears, no relieved sobs, just pen scrawling on paper and deft fingers poking and prodding your body. Needles pushed in, scalpel nicked and sliced, monitored closely as they dragged your body onto the cold metal table. They spoke, while you watched.

There were metal hooks on the walls, with different variations of you's. The room was so cold that it would keep bodies fresh for as long as they needed to be and you let out your first cry as it settled over you.

What millions had looked for their entire lives, their purpose to be in this world, had been revealed to you the same night you were born.

A weapon.

The GDA had their hands full enough as it is, petty crimes weren't enough to get them to even glance their way. But when they hear whispers of a gang with a superhuman child who had the strength of a tank and with skin as strong as reinforced metal — well, that was new concern entirely.

It didn't help that you were wickedly good at using your age to put people off guard. The heroes who'd rush into the burning building at the sounds of your screams, found with their bodies burnt to crisps but their neck twisted and ribs split open before the smoke inhalation got to them.

The heroes who thought you were a kidnapped child, forced into some sort of skin trade as you huddled in the corner of dark room only to be torn limb from limb by you.

Cecil was disturbed by your violence but he couldn't help to think at how efficient you were.

The intel you'd stolen from countless organized crimes, the corrupted police men and government officials you'd gotten information from. Your methods were crude but perhaps with a little guidance, some well-placed warmth, a well-timed praise here and there...

Catching you proved to be an impossible task at first. Whatever these fucks had implemented in you hadn't mattered, it was your instincts from years of killing. You had a knack for finding cameras, your eyes brazenly making contact with the lenses before you jumped towards it.

You couldn't fly — Cecil didn't believe in God, but he did mutter some words of relief at this — but your super strength gave you the ability to leap high into the air, fingers tearing through brick and metal so you could climb onto the walls like some deranged spider monkey.

Wearing you down once they did corner you was another task entirely. Immortal had lived thousands of lifetimes, but he'd never seen the animalistic anger you had in your eyes. A broken arm didn't matter to you, you'd simply bared your teeth at him and tore of your hand from the elbow down.

If you felt pain, you didn't show it.

You used your exposed bone as a knife instead.

Immortal had decided that for the greater good, he would put you out of your misery.

Cecil had saved you.

No, that's not right. Cecil hadn't saved you because he wanted to; Cecil found usefulness in your purpose. You knew this the second he spoke to you, and you didn't fight back against the restraints of the pure white room you were in.

A weapon with no wielder, with no purpose, what choice did you have?

The missions didn't matter to you. You did them without question, without failure. Cecil would give you ice cream for a job well done and you'd take it to your room, quietly eating it as medics tended to you and recorded any anomalies.

You were useful. They needed to keep you alive.

They told you one day, this kindly lady with her dimpled grin and warm brown eyes, that you were 10 years old.

The revelation didn't stick, you stared impassively at her and nodded.

When you were 12, Cecil gave you a new mission.

Omni-Man's son, Mark Grayson.

With Omni-Man refusing to join the GDA, he was still a bit of a wild card. Cecil liked to keep his affairs in check and he had promised Deborah Grayson to keep away from Mark, to give him a normal childhood.

So why not give Mark a new friend?

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 50. Friendly Advice

Summary: Dahlia offers Violet some advice when she runs into her at the burn pit before noticing a group of dragons flying in. Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links | Tumblr Community

I watch as Violet walks pass me, completely oblivious to me leaning against the wall where she’d just walked in on. That girl really needed to learn to check her surroundings. She was a walking target just due to her name. Gods, I’d even heard some of the first years saying she was a threat to the wing due to her smaller size. Which hadn’t been helped by Xaden’s display with her when her challenge target had suspiciously fallen too ill to participate. He’d disarmed her so easily, but given his talent on the mat, it had been expected. I know he’d done it to prove a point, but he had also shown everyone how easy of a target she was. Something I knew she didn’t need, even if we hadn’t been friends for years.

”I’m so sorry.” She whispers, barely audible above the wind.

I watch as she heaves the pack up and over the edge, the flames catching and burning the pack as it fuels the flames. Today had been the start of gauntlet training, and her squad was one of the first to run it. They’d also been the first to loose a squad member to it. I push off the wall, walking over to where she leans against the edge, both of us watching as three dragons approach from the west. Three dragons that look very familiar. But they’re too far away for me to be sure. But I do know Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi had all been gone for a while.

”You don’t need to be sorry.” I tell her, alerting her to my presence as she jumps back from the edge.

”Were you following me?” She snaps at me venomously. A tone I’d come all too familiar with when she talked to me now.

I scoff and shake my head as I fold my arms across my chest, leaning back against the corner pillar. “No, you just didn’t see me next to the door when you came in. I have better things to do than follow you around.”

”But you’re friends with them. With him.” She tells me, clearly reciting information she’s gathered herself and from Dain since she’d been here.

I roll my eyes. “Surprisingly there are people who are able to look past the bullshit they’ve been told and can be friends with me Sorrengail. Maybe something you could do if you didn’t take everything at face value. And maybe you would see, they aren’t that bad.”

She turns her head, huffing in annoyance at my words. I knew she wouldn’t like me pointing it out, but it was true. She took everything she was told and believed it. Just like a scribe. Just like she was taught. And her being better friends with Dain than me when it all happened, meaned she happily took his side.

”Have some advice Sorrengail. You are number one here. You need to look after yourself. You are you’re number one priority. Your life is your number one priotity. Dain can’t always be there to protect you.” I tell her before turning and walking back towards the door.

”Is that a threat?” She asks, her voice shaking slightly. I made her nervous. Or at least made her question something enough to make her nervous.

I stop and look over my shoulder at her, noting the glare she tries to give me. I scoff and shake my head. “No. Just some advice no one else here will tell you because they either want to kill you, see you fail or get you out of here to safety. So do something they don’t expect and prove them wrong.”

I walk out of the tower before she can reply, leaving her to ponder my words. I didn’t want her to die despite our fractured friendship. But I wasn’t going to outright help her. This place was a mental game. You could be as strong or as weak as you were in here, but ultimately those with mental strength faired the best. Something I knew she could do. And I hoped she realised that soon. She just had to find a way.

I make it to the Rotunda before I feel a shift in the courtyard, turning to see the door to the flight field open. Even before they walk under the mage light I know who it is. Watching as Bodhi, Xaden and Garrick let the door close behind them as they enter the courtyard. I quickly hide behind the door, propping it open with my foot. Was it wrong to hide and spy on my best friend and boyfriend? Probably. But I couldn’t deny I was suspicious as to where they’d been. Seeing as they’d all disappeared without a word. And it wasn’t the first time I’d noted it. Here and there over the last few weeks I’d noted Bodhi and Garrick, even Imogen sometimes being gone here and there.

“Do you know where they were?” I ask Proth, hoping he might know something from their dragons.

”They’re your friend and mate, why don’t you ask them yourself.” He drawls, sounding almost bored.

”You’re no help.” I snap back as he chuckles down the bond at me.

”There has to be something more we can do.” Bodhi says to the two of them, clearly annoyed by something.

”We’re doing everything we can.” Garrick bites back.

Something was clearly on all their minds. Had them on edge. Xaden stops mid step, his shoulders going rigid. Shit, did he know I was here?

”What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, looking over at the only other people in the courtyard, a couple who had decided to use the courtyard as a make out spot. Lovely.

”Go on. I’ll meet you inside.” Xaden tells them.

Bodhi’s brow furrows, clearly not sure at Xaden’s sudden change in behaviour as he also scans the courtyard. Luckily neither him or Garrick see me peeking around the door. But I can’t guarantee that Xaden doesn’t with his shadow ability.

”You sure?” Bodhi asks as he turns his attention back to Xaden.

”Go.” Xaden orders them, nodding towards the dorms.

I gently close the door to the Rotunda, moving as quietly and quickly as I can to run into them “accidently” on their way to their rooms. I push into the stairwell, hearing their footsteps below me as they shuffle up the stairs. I wait a few more seconds, waiting till their footsteps are closer till I start moving. I pretend to be looking for something in my pack as I dawdle up the stairs.

”Dahlia?” Bodhi asks in surprise, stopping suddenly in the stairwell causing Garrick to run into his as his eyes raise to me. “What are you doing out?”

I look up at them, pretending to be shocked by their appearance. “I had patrol this evening at the burn pit remember?”

I note how both their eyes widen slightly in alarm. They both know that tower has the perfect view of anyone flying in and out of that flight field.

”You expect Bodhi to remember something like that?” Garrick teases as he shoves Bodhi aside, walking the last few steps to join me, taking my hand in his, my body instantly relaxing at his touch.

It was stupid how much he relaxed and calmed me, even when I was suspicious as to what they had been up to.

”I will let you know I have great memory.” Bodhi fires back, scowling at Garrick.

”Clearly not because I told you yesterday I was stationed there after classes today.” I say with a roll of my eyes as he glares at me. “Where are you two coming back from?”

”Xaden wanted to get out for a bit, went on a small flight.” Garrick says with a reassuring squeeze of my hand as he smiles down at me.

”Must have been you three I saw then. Saw some dragons fly in not long ago.” I say casually as I look between the two of them.

Garrick doesn’t even seem phased by my comment, but Bodhi looks nervous. His eyes darting between Garrick and I. Meaning this wasn’t just a casual flight. They were up to something they didn’t want me knowing about.

”More than likely. Don’t think I saw anyone else out tonight.” Garrick says with a shrug, before stiffling a yawn.

I look up at him, noting how tired he looks. Something that seems to be a common thing for him recently. Maybe that has something to do with the late night flight?

”Lets get you to bed.” I tell him, turning and pulling him towards the archway that will take us to the second year floor.

Bodhi groans behind us. “Can you please put up a sound ward if you want to partake in any extra curricular activities? Some of us actually want to sleep.”

”Maybe someone should learn to put their own up.” Garrick teases as we round the corner.

”They don’t teach second years!”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf @imheretobeinvisible @pvrkacciosan

[daysiesz]

you knock twice on the zeus cabin's back window as quietly as you can. you try to look inside but the darkness does you no favors. for a second, you think your boyfriend got tired and went to sleep already, but then you hear a 'psst' coming from above you.

looking up, you see those two bright blue eyes and that head of blonde hair and a smile involuntarily grows on your face.

"come on up," jason whispers from the roof.

"come on up?? i hope you haven't forgotten that not all of us can fly, son of jupiter," you whisper back, while observing the walls of the cabin to see how you could climb up.

you hear a tut from your boyfriend and only feel a sudden rush of wind; the next second you're floating to the roof. a squeal of surprise almost escapes you, but in your shock, you clamp a hand over your mouth.

"if you wanted me to lift you up, angel, you only had to ask," jason jokes as you land on the roof, conveniently straddling his lap.

"and if you wanted me on your lap, angel, all you had to do was ask," you say, nuzzling your nose against his teasingly, only for him to pull you closer into a kiss.

"you really did just bring me up here to make out, didn't you?" you mumble into the kiss.

"not just that," jason says as you break apart, and turns your face by your chin to look at his elaborate date night set-up.

all you can do is gasp. a blanket lay spread out on the roof of the zeus cabin, along with pillows creating the coziest hideaway you'd ever seen. candles, placed a safe distance away from the blanket, lent a warm glow to the scene that made it look like something out of a dream.

you look to your boyfriend in disbelief. "jace..."

"like it? piper only helped with the candles, i swear, the rest of it was all me."

sensing the hint of nervousness in jason's voice, you huff a small laugh and take his hand, climbing off his lap only to pull him down to lay on the pillows. you lie beside him, fiddling with his fingers on your stomach.

"it's perfect," you say, but your tone takes on a pensive note.

"what's wrong?" jason's quick to ask, ever the most attentive to your slightest mood shifts. his

you sigh out as you bury your face in his neck, "do you have to go tomorrow?"

tomorrow was the day jason was supposed to return to camp jupiter. long distance wasn't easy for either of you, especially when both of you usually got caught up in school and camp. the few days of respite are the ones you spend at camp jupiter or the ones he spends are camp half blood. those are the days you've treasured most since you've been separated.

jason only rubs your hip in response, wanting, with every cell in his body, to say, "no. i'll stay. for as long as you want." but he couldn't.

"i'm sorry," you say, rising up as you lie on your stomach, your elbows supporting your weight as you look down at him, "i didn't want to ruin the mood, it's just- this is the best thing anyone's ever done for me. you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you speak in the quietest voice you were capable of, wanting this moment to be a secret just between the two of you, even though no one else was around. you wouldn't be caught dead saying all the things you swore never to say once you got in a relationship. but they were all true with jason.

mirroring your quiet tone, jason responds with all the sincerity in his soul, "i would give anything to stay with you, just a minute more."

you roll your eyes and try to lighten the mood.

"how cliche," you mutter with a smile on your face as you lean down to kiss him once more. he gently cups your face and you lose all sense of space and time in his arms.

once you finally pull apart, you say, "just you wait. once we move in together for university, you're never getting rid of me. enjoy the distance while you can, grace."

breathlessly, jason replies, "i can't bear it for a minute more."

a/n: after a point this felt like word vomit but anything for my pretty boy (rereading it and i kind of hate it but whatever ig). trust there will be so many more jason grace cuddling-no-plot fics in the future, please bear with me ♡

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Matt Murdock’s child (Part 5)

Matt Murdock x child!reader

warnings: guns, blood, death, etc. daredevil!!! oh and obvi DDBA spoilers babe

a/n: LONG AWAITED FIFTH PART BASED ON BORN AGAIN SEASON ONE. also part 4 kind of makes it seem like y/n is a lil immature and possibly younger? ignore that i didn’t know what was in store for them yet LMAO. also ah fuck this got long. and also fuck you (affectionate) i know i swore i’d never do The Thing but i did it. youre fucking welcome. and also. no. part 6 wont come out until DDBA S2 is fully out <3

prompt:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

despite a LOT of pushback from your dad, you joined the police academy

oh, to be a fly on the wall during that conversation

“a cop? in this city? of all the things you can do, you want to be a cop?” -matt

“maybe i want to be a cop to clean up this city the right way. you ever think of that?” -you

“oh, so this is to get back at me for daredevil” -matt

“no, dad, this is not about you. i made my choice. deal with it or dont, it’s out of my hands” -you

shit, the police force was not a fan of your father, the defense attorney, either

nor were they a fan of daredevil

you kept your mouth shut on those kinds of subjects, tried to keep work and life separate. something your dad never seemed to be able to do

you survived the blip—lucky for you, matt, foggy, and karen

and you really did try to support nelson, murdock, and page to the best of your ability

“hey, kid. listen—i am proud of you. you stuck to your guns, you made a choice despite how others would feel about it, and you’re already succeeding in your new career. to hell with the rest of them, you’re doing good job” -foggy

karen was quietly supportive as well, helped calm matt down with reason whenever he got nervous about your chosen career

“what if y/n gets hurt? what if they try to do the right thing instead of running for their life?” -matt

“then they’ll have learned from their fearless father” -karen

“i should have been a better role model” -matt

“yeah, too late for that one” -karen, patting him on the shoulder

the other cops on the force gave you hell, but that was expected

you were a native new yorker, nothing phased you

and after some time, matt learned to accept reality and damn, he was starting to understand how he made you feel

you hadn’t lived with matt or foggy in a couple of years, since you were a rookie

now you were about 24, been on the force a few years—a real star, up for detective!!

and you could actually drink at josies!!!

“god, it still feels weird serving you” -josie

“remember when you were giving me shots of coca cola?” -you

“you’re making me feel old!” -josie

josie gave you your first drink, a shot of o’melveny’s by foggy’s insistence

you had a shot of it when you turned 21, graduated the police academy, got hired by the NYPD, and a few odd times when NM&P had a win

and foggy loved to see a smile on your face now that you weren’t weighed down by all that matt put on you

“i wish you could see just how happy y/n looks. they breathe easier, smile wider, no more dark circles around their eyes. it’s good to feel like family again” -foggy

“i can feel it, don’t worry. the breaths, heartbeat, and i hear y/n’s laugh all the time. i wish i could have given them this peace of mind when they were younger” -matt “wish i had peace of mind. haven’t since they joined the NYPD”

speaking of nypd, it was weird being there

especially since midland circle. no protective detail. no scared teenager and metahumans. just another badge on duty

you might have been the youngest detective the NYPD ever had, and you don’t think it would have been without your history. growing up at a law school, around lawyers, in a law firm, with vigilantes. THAT was what made you a strong cop. a strong background. strong spirit.

and the day you were promoted you got another shot of o’melveny’s!!!!!!

“fuck, i hate that shit” -you

“always with the mouth” -matt, patting you on the back

“always with the judgment” -you, raising your glass to his “love you, dad. wouldn’t be here without you”

“what? no love for uncle foggy?” -foggy, heckling

“you know what? come here, i’m gonna destroy you in pool!” -you

matt and karen sat together and talked about you

“i remember when y/n was little and so full of fire” -karen

“and full of it” -matt, quickly being swatted by karen “i’m kidding. i just can’t believe they’re grown up now. fuck, when did my kid grow up?”

“y/n’s always been grown up unfortunately” -karen

“don’t guilt trip me now” -matt

“i’m not trying to, i’m just saying y/n’s always had that head on their shoulders. got it from you, obviously. but i can’t help but be proud of how they turned out. a detective by 24? that’s fucking unheard of. and everyone at the department gives them shit for being a murdock” -karen

“life of the defense attorney—always making enemies” -matt

*you approaching and matt and karen shutting up*

“i kicked foggy’s ass” -you

“knew you would” -matt

not long after this day, you’d be at josie’s again and be attacked by bullseye

and as the only cop on scene, you had to do things by the book

“dispatch this is detective murdock—badge number 0464, need immediate backup and mutiple RA’s for an active shooter at josie’s bar. i repeat, shots fired, several civilians down. hurry. please.” -you on the phone with 911, trying not to lose your shit as foggy lay bleeding on the sidewalk “hang in there uncle foggy. help’s on the way”

you took a few shots at bullseye, but nothing seemed to land as your hands were shaking and karen was screaming next to you

by the time help arrived, you had a bullet in your arm and were covered in foggy’s blood

you only took a week of leave

you could have killed poindexter yourself—but that wasn’t who you were.

foggy’s funeral was one of the worst days of your life because you knew he wasn’t coming back

not like matt, where you always had that sneaking suspicion he’d be back—and you were right

or elektra—who didn’t stay dead the first time

you watched as the casket closed on foggy, you watched as everything you knew fell apart. karen moved away, NMP closed shop, matt opened a new practice, and life moved on.

you spent the night at matt’s whenever it was too hard to bear

and the door was always open

sometimes matt would find you sleeping on the couch when he woke up, make you breakfast like old times

you were still his little kid in his heart. the one who’d beat him in the chest when you were mad at him, call him names, slam doors, beg for him to come home in one piece.

now you were his kid who carried a gun and a badge and was one of the few cops on the force worth trusting

but you still liked waffles

“made your favorite” -matt, gently waking you

“thanks” -you

you looked at old photos of you and foggy, matt, karen, whoever. it just made you feel closer to them

and there was a “family photo” on your desk at the precinct

about a year later, poindexter was sentenced and a weight was lifted off your shoulders as he was put away for life

but other problems arose

specifically, wilson fisk’s candidacy for mayor

“this is insane! there’s no way they’re gonna vote him for mayor. after all he’s done to this city? absolutely not!” -you, spiraling

“my thoughts exactly” -matt, not far behind

it was hard not to focus on the looming threat

and when the election results were revealed, it was safe to say you were on the verge of a complete crash out

“dad, i can’t work for that man! after all he’s done to this city and my family? fuck this!” -you

“i know, i know” -matt, hiding the fact he has met with fisk recently and been threatened about his vigilantism

the issue is fisk knew who you were. and you were NYPD, and he oversaw this department

you were purposely picked for the anti vigilante task force he’d put together

“murdock,” -fisk, almost threateningly “it’s been a long time”

“wait, you know y/n?” -powell

“i know their father. matthew murdock” -fisk

oh that shit did not sit right with the rest of the task force. especially after hector ayala’s case

fisk forced you to quit (not that it wasn’t coming anyway. fisk calling the shots just didn’t sit right)

ohhh you were pissed

“fuck! all my hard work in the force—gone! this stupid vendetta fisk has against vigilantes” -you

“this is my fault, y/n—” -matt

“no! don’t even go there. i don’t want to hear it. that was ten goddamn years ago!” -you

you’d started to feel as helpless as you did ten years ago. it wasn’t pretty

and you took this time to rethink your priorities

speaking of—here matt was just starting to enjoy life. you liked his new girlfriend, heather, matter of fact

a step up from elektra. sorry. who isnt. your dad knew how to pick em

“y/n, im sorry to hear about your departure from the NYPD. do you want to talk about it?” -heather

“i’d rather not. lots to unpack” -you

matt was angry you had to give up your career because of fisk. you were forced out. just because of a vendetta fisk had against him. you were never supposed to get involved

but as matt had started investigating as daredevil again, you began to understand him on a far deeper level than ever before

a helpless defense attorney trying to make a difference, a pariah detective who wants to do the same

something clicked in you that day

something you swore you’d never do, never accept, simply never be

matt was busy investigating muse

that case closed quick, but the problems continued without fail

who killed hector ayala? how do you defeat fisk? when would you be safe? was heather really trustworthy? why was foggy really killed? it never really ended—but no matter what career you or your dad pursued, that was a given

“dad?” -you

“yeah?” -matt

“where did it all go wrong?” -you

matt’s heart sank

“i think you know the answer” -matt

“i don’t think i do anymore” -you, realizing you were more in the dark about daredevil than you thought. yeah, you knew fisk was a problem. and you knew bullseye was a psycho. and elektra set you guys back a few times. and you were exposed to some things too young. you knew all that. you just didn’t know where it began.

“one day i think things will be okay again” -matt, lying

“i know you’re they guy with the heartbeat lie detector, but i can tell you’re lying to me” -you

“we’ll figure it out” -matt

you missed the lighthearted days

life so was foreign these days

it was JUST you and him now

you got the occasional text from karen but it wasnt the same

drinking together was always glum, breakfast brought back bad memories, a dinner at a restaurant made you stare at the empty seat beside you, and when matt put the cowl back on you were back to your conflicted self

until you made your way into matt’s stash and took a cowl of your own

matt’s getup mixed with some of your tactical gear from the PD, mixed with some old boxing gear from when you were younger…there you were. the adult child of a vigilante wearing his own uniform. it always comes around

“this is fucking stupid” -you said, ripping it off and shoving it in a bag

not long after this you were sitting in a hospital room after matt was shot in the chest at fisk’s gala

“you never fucking learn, do you?” -you

“nope” -matt

“smartass” -you

“you learned it from me” -matt, groaning through pain

heather was present, still a bit upset from the scene. kirsten brought her out soon after, giving you more time to drill into your dad.

“you know, i have seen you and foggy get shot more than once. it is genuinely insane to me that you are still jumping in front of bullets. i know i’m an adult now, but i still need you” -you

“i’m a shitty dad, just say it” -matt

“no, you’re not. you were. and then you turned your life around but now we’re headed in the same direction with a whole new set of possibilities. this isn’t daredevil versus kingpin. this is the people versus fisk. pick a side” -you

“i wont stand by and let poindexter murder anyone else” -matt

“which is why we keep losing” -you

you left the hospital to get the suit you’d made “in case of emergency” and soon the power went out. a bold move on fisks part

and as you made your way into your dad’s apartment, there stood frank castle in the flesh

“little y/n? damn, it’s been a minute” -frank

“did we ever actually meet?” -you

“nah, your dad was a hard ass” -frank

“still is” -you

“heard you joined the force” -frank

“yeah. made detective and everything. forced out by fisk. now, im doing my own thing” -you, masking up “you have a gun i can borrow?”

“fuckin’ course i do,” -frank, handing you one of his collection “never thought i’d be giving a murdock a gun, but happy to do it. especially if it pisses off red senior”

matt was home soon after and still a bit beat up, luckily you and frank were there to help

you shot to maim, frank shot to kill. matt was horrified nonetheless

“you put on my mask and hold a gun? what is that? what the fuck is that?” -matt

“this is what tonight has to be” -you “fuck, dad. this is not the time! you think i’m here to drop as many bodies as i can? absolutely not! but if we can stop the people who are dropping innocent bodies, so fucking be it! i became a cop to protect this city from this shitty, broken system and now look! i’m wearing this suit i begged you not to put on for years!”

“you think this is what i want for you?!” -matt

“can you fuckers just stop arguing for a minute, jesus. it’s always something with you two. man, if i had my kids back for a minute, i wouldn’t care what the fuck they were doing. and if my kids decided to make a change for the better, i’d be damn proud—so shut the fuck up and let’s put these fuckers down!” -frank

you soon jumped out of a window due to a BOMB <3

oh when karen saw you in the daredevil suit she cried LMAO

“y/n, you have to be kidding” -karen

“can you guys stop parenting me for five minutes? my city is on fire, i only have one way of stopping it, and you know the nypd is on my ass too? murdocks don’t get a break. you started it, dad” -you

angsty ass

i mean. warranted

frank spent the whole car ride chuckling to himself

like genuinely this was so funny to him it really did come full circle

but it did make him a little sad that he didn’t have a kid to bitch at him or for him to bitch back at

matt was lucky nonetheless

but then again, frank didn’t want his kids following the footsteps of the marines or punisher.

once you guys got back to frank’s bunker, he decided to tap out

you handed his gun back

“keep it, kid. you’ve earned it.” -frank “matter of fact, take this smaller piece, too. tuck it somewhere safe, just in case something happens. you get caught or something. i know those cop bastards will look so hide it good” -he shoved another gun in your hand, some additional rounds too

“i used to be one of those cop bastards” -you, chuckling

“i forgive you. at least you got good aim out of it” -frank

you went with karen and matt to see if you could get to the bottom of foggy’s death, which was eating you alive at this point. you were a cop at that point, you wished you’d have known so you could have protected him. somehow. someway.

the storage locker was cathartic. lots of memories. some closure. especially as the red hook information unveiled itself

“it all came down to this” -you

“it’s not over yet” -matt

“sure feels like it” -you

“hey. hey. forget everything i said, all of it. doesn’t matter. im proud of you. i was proud of you then and im proud of you now. i’m honored you put on the mask with me, no matter how much it freaks me out. no matter how worried i am about you. no matter how much we disagree i will never not be proud of you and happy you are here with me trying to make a difference” -matt, grabbing your face

“we came a long way, huh?” -you, starting to cry

“it’s just the beginning, kiddo” -matt

taglist: @summersimmerus // @simp-legend // @locke-writes // @you-bloody-shank // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[puppybei]

Fragile Crowns

Chapter 1 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Duke of the North! Nanami x isekaid!reader

Genre: Romance, Historical and Fantasy

Summary: A tired overworked employee is what you are one night and the next you’re the hated villainess from your favourite historical romance. However shall you escape death from the hands of your supposed beloved, the former prince turned Duke, Nanami Kento

Warnings/Tags: Though the mirror image shows the villainess assume your body and the vilaness’ body as well as your names to be the same. Reader is described to be 20, hugely incorrect depiction of history. Very very common isekai plots.

Wc: 1.5k

Previous

You feel your head thrum in pain before anything, blinking awake and feeling oddly like you were floating on clouds. When you finally rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and looked around, you realized that you were infact not in your one room studio apartment anymore.

Plush pink covers and about a million pillows took up every centimeter of space around you, a huge crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling, furniture with intricate details and a stupendous amount of hot pink on the detailed walls. You tried swinging your legs over the bed, only for your toes to be met with cold air and not solid ground, you freaked- how could you not, were you kidnapped? Was this some kind of sick historical roleplay, had you finally collapsed from all the stress and gone crazy.

You looked down at your own body, you were dressed in a frilly nightgown, the hem reaching just below your ankles, your body looked quite the same, you rubbed at your temples- this must be a dream, yeah no way were you actually here and so you tried pinching yourself, only for sharp pain to jolt through your body, making you hold your head in your hands.

Suddenly a girl dressed in a maids costume entered the room, in her hands a tray containing a cloth and a bowl with you presumed to be warm water, she gasped on seeing that you were awake, throwing the tray down on the floor and making you wince,

“M-my Lady! You-you’re awake!”

She immediately kneeled, small body quivering in fear and anticipation as you blankly stared at her. You shook your head, no way this was real- but the colour of the maids hair, the costume that looked a bit too real to be a costume, the elaborate decorations on the wall- no way.

You scrambled up from the bed, taking quick strides to the closest mirror and almost fainting from the shock, fuck you had turned into the Vilainess from that stupid Historical Romance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

By the time you came to terms with who you were and where you were, the maid was massaging scented oils into your hair as you sat in the bathtub, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. She was also blabbering off to you, which quite honestly was starting to irk you a bit, political jargon was flying over your head as she updated you on the latest news of the empire. Apparently some stupid prince had fallen from the fight to succession and instead became a Duke in the middle of god knows where.

“Oh and also the Count and Countess expect you to be downstairs immediately, I couldn’t inform you but your brothers have returned from their academies,”

You sighed, barely nodding in response with a jerk of your head as the maid nervously continued,

“M-my Lady?”

You blinked open your eyes, honestly you felt pity for the poor thing, how much had the original villainess tortured her for her to be reduced to a quivering, stuttering mess whenever she asked for your attention.

“Yes?”

“You have to get ready n-now, can I w-wash you off?”

You bit your lip, the last thing you wanted to do was normalize being seen in stark nakedness by your maids, but if you refused then it would just make suspicions arise and according to Lily, there were already rumours going around that you weren’t acting normally since you hadn’t had a tantrum within the first five hours of you being awake.

Lily told you that you had been asleep for two days, something which was very normal, in fact when you asked her, she looked at you like you were in the wrong. Apparently, and this was not mentioned in the book, the villainess was often sick and would recuperate in bed for a few days on end, what was weird was your apparent memory loss about these things.

She was fitting you into a tight corset as you heaved for air, the heights women go for beauty. Afterwards Lily dabbed some light makeup on you using modern makeup utensils, you almost gasped out in shock, was the original authors’ story building and historical accuracy so bad.

By the time your hair and makeup was done, you finally stepped out of your room, marveling in site at the seemingly never ending corridors and gold furnished paintings. The spiraling stairs were marble and opened into the ground floor, right next to the main entrance.

Your heels dug into your ankles once you reached the bottom stairs, Lily in front of you guiding you into the dining hall and where the rest of ‘your’ family sat.

From the get-go itself you could tell that your brothers were not blood related to you, for one they looked completely different from you and your father but instead bore a striking resemblance to your stepmother.

And she was a beauty to behold, sharp jawline, angular cheeks, lips a fiery shade of red, eyes almost cat like with the way she glowered at you, long dark red hair that was pulled into a bun with a multitude of accessories and pale vampiry skin.

“Seems like our precious daughter has decided to join us for dinner,”

You smiled in response, your body automatically bowing to her in greeting. A sigh of relief left your mouth, you were grateful that atleast the body you had was working on muscle memory, mouth moving without you even noticing,

“It is a pleasure to see you again too Countess,”

The woman looked taken aback for a second, everyone paused in their movements to turn to look at you in shock. Fuck you had messed up again, the original daughter would have cursed at and threw a fit at seeing her vicious step-mother, and here you were messing up her entire story. Well, considering the fact that you’re the new owner of this body, might as well avoid your death flag as much as possible.

You took your seat opposite to your step-siblings and father, table manners drilled into the body you were habiting from a young age. The men started talking about the Count’s new business, a venture in artifacts containing magical abilities.

Yes, this world was one where people used magic, the main four families were the strongest. The Dukedom of Gojo were the Empire’s Knights, The Dukedom of Kamo came next, their families produced dark magicians, rumored to be under the Emperor’s special task force. The Dukedom of the East, the Zenins were the oldest, dating back to when the Empire wasn’t even established, they too produced strong mages, though a large part of the Empires chancellors were Zenins and last but not least was the abandoned Dukedom of the North, that was until Nanami Kento was given the position, they were tasked with protecting the empire from magical beasts.

The Empire was recently established, the old Crown was infamous for their abuse of power and taxed the commoners with hefty fines. They did not allow commoners with magic to attend the academy or pursue a career in magic. The tyrannical Emperor went as far as to secretly get rid of the peasants who did show signs of magical ability.

So the four Dukedoms came together, with the previous Duke of the North, Ryoumen Sukuna leading the coup. The old Crown fell and Ryoumen Sukuna was unanimously named as the new Emperor. Unfortunately there was still some unrest in the kingdom due to the previous king’s third son, Nanami Kento who had actively participated in the coup.

So, three years after Ryoumen Sukuna was made Emperor and the Empire started to flourish under his care, Nanami Kento left the palace walls out of his own accord and the Emperor granted him the title of Duke of the North.

That reminded you, even thought the four Dukedoms hold the most magical power, all the noble families have their own supernatural abilities. Your family, well excluding your step-family all had healing powers. In fact your ancestor was said to be a commoner who rose to the title of saintess through her healing abilities and earned a Noble title. Eventually though, her power had dwindled until your mother was only capable of healing small wounds and to this day you hadn’t showed any signs of your powers awakening.

You were brewing in your own thoughts as your brothers were talking about their expeditions and their achievements in the military, you almost wanted to roll your eyes and you cut into your food, how could a group of people be so condescending and boring at the same time. That’s when your stepmother suddenly spoke up,

“Ah we have an announcement to make,”

You looked up, glancing towards your father who proudly smiled at you,

“We have finally found you a suitor, the newly appointed Duke of the North, Nanami Kento has agreed to wed you,”

Fuck. Well there goes plan A.

Next

Taglist: @yamadramallamaqueen @glxsslv @katestrophes @nina-from-317 @seltansworld @averyjadedemerald @keepghostly @kindadolly @skyline-night @nicerthanu @agomeangelcat

Authors Note : lwk I wanted to hit a quota of 2.5k per chapter but I don’t think that possible until the drama starts sighhhhh anyways I hope you guys liked this massive lore drop before the real story starts, there’s going to be a lot of time skips and I’d like you all to remember the main focus of this story is romance and not plot hehe. Alsoooo proofread like once by me so ignore any mistakes (mention them in the comment section and I’ll change it sigh) I might venture into smut territory for this one thooo soo look out hehe but most likely last chapter cuz I’m a pussy (and a virgin)

[jasontoddscrowbars]

Part 35 of super weenie hut jr? 🫏👖

(Some early morning crack)

Tim had heard yelling, and, the dramawhore he is, beelined right towards the bedroom he shared with Jason where it was coming from.

There he found Damian rolling around in his gamers chair.

Tim: what’d I miss?

Damian: Jay got his dick stuck in his fly.

Tim, nodding: he does that sometimes.

Damian, jerking to a pause with horrified eyes: he does?

Tim furrowed his eyes as he got the context here that he’s missing something. He began to head to the bathroom where he heard Jason panicking, yelling Dick to help him get it out. Tim came to a stop in the door way.

Why was Dick touching his husbands dick?

Damian: oh, this is going to be gold.

Tim grabbed the doorframe as he used it to give him momentum to whip around the wall, his leg in the air raised as he was throwing himself aiming to knock both of them down.

Both of them turned to him. The sight wasn’t what Tim had expected. Jason’s dick was, in fact, not stuck in the zipper of his pants, but, for whatever reason, dicks fingers were.

Tim adjusted course. Dick screeched as he saw a rabid Wolverine aiming for him. Jason was panicking because Dick was still stuck to him and he didn’t want to be caught up in someone getting their ass handed to them.

As Tim collided, the three were brought down into the shower behind them.

Damian heard many glorious things. Smacks, slaps, Dick crying that he’d been bitten and needed a vaccine stat, Jason’s pants being ripped off. It was the little things in life.

Dick, trying to stop Tim: it’s not what you think!

Tim hovered over Dick, a bar of soap Jason used to wash his ass on hand.

Dick: Jason couldn’t get his zipper to work. I tried helping him. I don’t know how we got that way but… I’m sorry forgive me!

Tim slowly nodded, eased a bit as his hand lowered. Dick sighed with relief.

Jason: no, don’t lower your guard!

Tim dove back down, aiming the bar of soap towards Dick’s face. Dick was screaming at this point as he was faced away from Jason’s ass soap, shoving back on Tim’s arms. Jason was a wimp and was too scared to intervene.

Suddenly Tim was plucked up, he snarled but as he glanced back he fell still. Alfred held him and it appeared Alfred had a fight too much today. As he went and set Tim on his feet the boys all understood another peep from them meant they’d be separated and grounded. The man left quietly.

Damian: oh! He meant his cock! Jay gets his cock stuck in his zipper!