#i wish i could have visited before it closed
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OCHAZUKE
platonic! itoshi rin x reader / sae x reader
summary Û« êŁà§ rin is never really alone when you're here. content: fluff :3 itoshi brothers have a good relationship, reader is sae's gf and a sisterly figure to rin ^^ reader is same age as sae! wc: 769 a/n: i'm really busy with exams so i can't write much rn! but anyways i wish to make this into a small drabble series kinda :) there are no romantic feelings between rin and reader btw, entirely platonic x

rin could feel it. a sense of impending doom, lurking in the vicinity, close to him.Â
he waits for a moment, and then he hears it. the familiar pattern of knocks on the door. his heart drops to his stomach when he gets up to open the door. rin finds you standing there, a plastic bag in your hand, the other hand still raised from knocking on the door.
ârin! itâs been a while!âÂ
itâs only been less than a week. you walk in and toe your shoes off, making your way to the kitchen like you lived in the place.Â
how long has rin known you for now?Â
before you and sae had officially started dating, which has been quite some time, you would often follow sae around while also treating rin like a little baby, despite you being the same age as sae.
and as you grew older and entered your relationship, you never stopped doting on rin. youâre frequently visiting the itoshi household, even though sae was away in spain most of the times, and youâd facetime him with rin excitedly talking about the things you did and how you both canât wait for him to return (rin rarely spoke and never said how he couldnât wait for sae to return).
rin had begrudgingly come to view you as a big sister figure, sometimes even motherly, but he wouldnât say that out loud, never in a million years. rin sits down at the kitchen island, watching you unpack the plastic bag. âwhat are you doing?âÂ
you turn around to face him and smile. âiâm making some ochazuke with bream!â
and rin canât help the way his face contorts into a little grimace. while ochazuke is his favourite dish, you werenât the most⊠competent in the kitchen, yet he doesnât have the heart to stop you, so he lets you be.Â
it takes around 25 minutes for you to finish cooking, and rin straightens up once you put the hot bowl in front of him, and you sit down next to him with your own. you give him a little grin and start digging into your food. rin mutters a thank you, and starts eating as well.Â
it wasnât bad. rin has had far much tastier and better made ochazuke, however this one probably remains his favourite by far. the rice was a bit overcooked and you put too much tea, except there was something in it that no restaurant or professional chef could recreate. homey, full of comfort maybe?
rin is thankful he can maintain his stoic composure at the corny thoughts on his head. âyou donât know how to cook.â blunt and straight, just as always.
âyet you eat it everytime, rin.â
once youâre both finished, he helps you with the dishes, and then you settle in the living room. you sit on the couch and turn some random shitty thriller on the TV, and rin sits on the floor in front of you.Â
âif it were earlier, we could have called sae, but itâs too late for him now, wouldnât want to wake him from his beauty sleep. heâd get grouchy like you.âÂ
rin just scoffs. âi donât get grouchy.â
âsure you donât rin. sure you donât.â
a beat of silence hangs in the air as the movie continues on the TV, even though none of you were really paying attention to it.Â
âdo you miss him?â âhm?âÂ
rin doesnât turn around to face you, keeping his gaze attached to the screen. âdo you miss sae?â
you sigh dramatically and ruffle his hair, messing up the dark silky strands. âwhat kind of question is that? of course i do. he left me to take care of you alllll alone⊠i feel like a military wife waiting for her husband with her son!âÂ
a smirk dons your face as you hear rinâs huffing and his futile attempt to fix his mussed hair. âdo you miss him rin?âÂ
he stays quiet for a moment. realistically, he should feel lonely without sae. there's nobody good enough to play football with him. nobody who could understand his determination and the discipline he had towards his sport. but you did. you were no replacement for his brother.Â
you were somebody else who was here for him despite being busy with your own work at university, despite also missing sae. just like his brother, youâve become irreplaceable. rin is content he has someone here with him. heâs grateful you chose sae because rin really doesn't mind having you as a sister.Â
âi do.â
rin misses sae, but he isnât lonely.

© saeamy 2025 - do not repost, translate, copy or modify my works on any other platform!
#ams' writing Û« êŁà§#rin itoshi Û« êŁà§#sae itoshi Û« êŁà§#rin itoshi#itoshi rin#rin itoshi fluff#itoshi rin fluff#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi x y/n#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae x you#itoshi rin x you#itoshi rin x y/n#rin itoshi x you#itoshi sae#itoshi sae fluff#itoshi sae x y/n#sae itoshi x you#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock fanfiction#sae itoshi x y/n#blue lock#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock x female reader#rin itoshi x female reader
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Can you do Trigger x G/N Reader with the prompt âDonât leave me like that again, you scared me?â Letâs say as her sniper partner one day you get injured. They almost didnât survive and in the hospital this plays out along with her feelings revealed.
3 days before i close requests! (đż)

hearing the occasional and steady beats of your heart rate through the continuous pulse ox machine was almost haunting as she sits next to your bed. itâs only been two consecutive weeks of charon visiting you and yet, sheâs barely getting comfortable with the hospital environment due to her past trauma. her foot tap against the pristine floor in a nervous manner, hands clasp together tightly in her lap. her visor blinks between a light blue and red.
sheâs slowly getting overstimulated but she wants to be there for you. her old wounds doesnât share the same weight as the wounds youâve been fighting through for the past two weeks. two gunshots: one in the abdomen, hitting a vital organ and the second one, your right lung. youâve blinking in and out of consciousness for a while, barely able to mumble a word out because of the strong dosage of iv pain meds.
a distressed sigh leaves charon. she looks over to your general direction. your aura is calm, not irregular as it once was on her first hospital stay after you had a long emergency surgery.
â mm. . â
her ears instantly perk up at the weak sound of you groaning, following along with rustling of sheets. charon jumps up from her seat and rush to the bedside.
â (n-name)? â she calls out feebly, uncertainty clear in her hushed voice.
â ch. .charon? â you muttered out, exhausted eyes fixated on your comrade leaning over you against the bed rail. charon breaks out into a soft, shaky smile, her visor blinks into different colors like a rainbow.
â youâre able to say my name this time. .how are you feeling right now? â she asks gently, extending her hand to find yours to grasp. it takes her a second before she does and her chest pangs with hurt as she comes in contact with it. skin albeit warm, your hand stills feels so weak in her own.
â like . .iâm on. .il-llegal drugs. . â
charon laughs, softly squeezing your hand. â as to be expected after being asleep for quite some time, huh? â
â how. . long. .hav. e. . you. .been h-here? â you asked, slurring your words. â
â for an hour. i made it here after completing my mission. â
â i. . see. â
prolonged silence washes over the atmosphere. charonâs thumb massages your knuckles tenderly while she lets the refreshing feeling of relief kick in.
the color turns orange.
â donât leave me like that again. you scared me. .â charon confesses, lips curling downwards into a frown. when she heard the news that you were fatally shot during a sniper mission, she almost panicked in front of soldier 11 while they were giving post-mission report to the higher ups.
â was. .just. .a stupid m-mistake. yâknow how it goes, girlie. â your speech is starting to sound normal again.
â a. .mistake that could of cost you your life. please donât make it sound like itâs a casual thing. in the field weâre in, every life is precious even if we put our lives on the line everyday. â
your fingers curl slightly around her hand. she reciprocates the gesture back more firmly.
â youâre right. iâm sorry. i donât w-want to worry you and the others every againââ
â i have feelings for you. â
â h-huh? â
gathering herself quickly, charon breathes in a sharp breath and exhales deeply.
her visorâs color blinks between red and pink.
â i have feelings for you, (name), â she repeats again, â i know that itâs sudden to admitâbut i. .i donât want to repeat my mistake of not telling those i care about how I feel. although every life is precious, it can easily be lost. itâs been proven to me 11 years ago, nearly every mission since then, and almost now. â the pitch of her voice cracks and you wish you can give her a warm, drawn-out hug.
â oh, charon. . â weakly, you guide her hand up to your cheek. her breath hitches as her palm feels the tender skin. charonâs silent while her fingertips start to explore the contours of your face. her thumb lingers at the curled crevice of your chapped lips.
â i accept your feelings and your worries. come down. â
and she does with a shy smile. your aura feels soothing around her, relaxing her woes bit by bit.
charon awkwardly bends over closer to your face and not a moment later, she feels your lips peck her cheek. a surprised hum erupts in her throat and she straightens her posture, cheeks a soft pink.
â thatâs all i got for now but after i get better, how about a date? â you smiled, knowing that she canât see it. she can still hear the smile in your voice.
â y-yeah. . .letâs do it at my place. iâll cook. â charon proposes happily, visor turning a bright yellow.
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đźđ§đđĄđđ§đ đđ - đ.đ
||Û¶à§ a part 2 to the fic "visting hours" . dallas is out of jail, but reader wants nothing to do with him...
âčââ.Ëàšà§â.Ëâ âč
You never really visited him again, not after that first time, not after giving him that letter which revealed everything your heart wished it could say but your brain wouldnât let you. It would have been too awkward.
So instead, you called. Once every week, a brief phone call just to check in and make sure he was still alive and still coming home to you. They were painfully professional when he picked up, formal in a way your conversations never were, lacking that adoration behind each word that you usually had no issue speakingâŠ
And when he was released, you didnât go to pick him up. He knew you wouldnât, and thatâs why heâs here now, standing outside of your bedroom window like some lovesick fool, waiting to be let into the dry warmth of your space.
âWhatâre you doing?â You snap, the hinges of your window squealing as you push it open, stepping aside just enough to let him in. You should turn him away, really, and in an ideal world, you would. But you just canât bring yourself to do it, not when youâve missed him this much.Â
âNo hello?â His voice is rough in a way that makes you melt, the butterflies in your stomach starting up no matter how hard you try to contain them. âThought maybe I was gonna get a better welcome than that.âÂ
The look you fix him with says enough: stern and devoid of any form of fondness heâd secretly hoped you might let show. Your hurt was guileless, and Dallas couldnât help but feel something akin to guilt bubble up at that sorry look shining behind your eyes.
âI donât think you deserve anything better than that.âÂ
He sighs heavily, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacketâactions heâs learnt to do whenever youâve cleaned your roomâbefore flopping down onto your bed. The sheets are clean, pretty and soft, just like you, and he lets himself sink into them with a low groan.
âDonât get too comfortable,â your voice cuts through the sleepy haze like a knife, rbeaking the stillness in the room and sawing straight through the flesh of what heâd built between you and the parts he didnât want you to see. âYou donât live here, Winston.âÂ
And that hurt the most. The fact that he didnât even have a place in your room anymore, the room that had practically become his too. âDidnât realise I needed to have a lease to see my girl.âÂ
âYou donât get to call me that anymore.â Quiet, uncertain, but spoken with such a firmness that it knocked the wind out of him. It was like heâd been hit by a tidal wave, dragged out to sea by the current and left to drown in the torrent.Â
âWhat?âÂ
You scoff, moving to sit on the opposite end of the bed. Not next to him, not in your spot. The mattress dips beneath you and thereâs something strangely hollow about it. âYou think you showing up here fixes things?âÂ
He shakes his head slowly. âIâno, doll. Thatâs not what Iâm doing.â He starts, stumbling over his words in a way thatâs near embarrassing. âI didnât have anywhere else to go.âÂ
âIâm not supposed to be your last resort, Dallas!â Your voice cracks, that despairing tone causing something in him to crack because heâd done this. Heâd stripped you entirely of any form of tolerance you had left, your patience worn down to the final thread, which had grown tired of being stitched back into place over and over.Â
âDonât do that.â He mumbles, leaning forward slightly. His hand brushes your knee, tentatively, uncertain on whether or not heâs even permitted to touch you. But when you donât pull away, he tugs you close, his grip unyielding until youâre settled against him, a warm weight heâd craved like a drug each night.Â
âYou know it ainât like that.â His fingers brushed through your hair idly, combing through stray knots, unnaturally tender. âI read your letter.âÂ
You hum faintly, head resting on his chest, the dull thump of his heart lulling you into a more tranquil state than before. âI gatheredâŠâ Heâd never mentioned it, but then again, why would he? It ached too much.Â
âTook me three tries to get through it all the way,â he laughed faintly, but it was lacklustre, devoid of any real humour. âThought maybe that was it. That that was your way of saying you were finished with me. With us.âÂ
âIt almost was,â you admit, refusing to meet those stupid blue eyes that you fall in love with each time you look into them. âWasnât sure I could keep visiting you. It hurts me, Dal. To see you like that, locked up like some sort of dangerous animal.âÂ
âI am dangerous, sweetheart.âÂ
You scoff, the sound muffled against the fabric of his rain-soaked shirt; he still smelt of cigarettes, something that both comforted and repulsed you all at once. âDonât flatter yourself.â
He chuckles lowly, a deeper rumble low in his chest. âI mean it,â he grumbles, lifting your chin so that you finally meet his steady gaze. âIâm bad news. Arenât good.âÂ
âYouâre good to me.â And that was the truth, the whole reason you stuck around through it all. Because he treated you like you were the sole thing on earth that mattered; he didnât always get it right, but he tried. Heâd walk to the ends of the earth and back if it meant not only having you but having you happy.Â
âYou ever gonna stop letting me back in?â His voice was a whisper now, dripping like honey in that stupidly addictive way that made you want to kiss him senseless.Â
âIâve been trying for months.â The words are barely audible, but he catches them. And while they hit hard, the truth behind them isnât entirely solid.Â
âNot hard enough.âÂ
And then his lips are on yours: soft, tender, everything youâd missed these past few months, like a fix youâd finally been allowed to fulfil after so long of spending nights alone with nothing but the shadows of your room.
Your fingers card through his blonde strands, long and unruly, but still soft in the way you remembered. He tasted of old smoke and spearmint and every possible bad decision. But never once did you pull away; not even when your brain screamed at you to do so, that you wouldnât just end up back here in a few months' time.Â
No. You didnât pull away. Because it was then that you realised: this was your boy. And as messed up as he might be, he would do anything to make it up to you.Â
||Û¶à§ dallas masterlist
||Û¶à§ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg
#the outsiders x reader#darry curtis imagine#darry curtis headcanons#darry curtis x reader#darrel curtis x reader#dallas winston x reader#dally winston x reader#dallas winston imagine#steve randle x reader#johnny cade x reader#sodapop curtis x reader#soda curtis x reader#sodapop x reader#ponyboy x reader#ponyboy curtis x reader#pony curtis x reader#two bit matthews x reader#two bit x reader#two bit mathews x reader
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>[Continuing to beam at his friend, Bartholomew rises to his feet and chuckles. Whatever he'd come here to do, he feels he's achieved now. And he feels a lot better as well.]
"I'll try to visit sometime soon... And maybe I'll have met somebody I can tell you about!"
"I'm really glad we met... It's really nice to have someone I'm not afraid of around.. someone I can be sure is a good guy.. and it's really nice to be able to relate to somebody too!"
>[Bartholomew seems to hesitate for a moment as he thinks about leaving. Almost not ready to exit this safe space and go back out there into the world. But Employee has instilled some new confidence in him.]
>[He'll never be more ready than he is now. Turning to face Employee one last time, he puts his hands together, grinning a little more sheepishly.]
"I wish I had something I could give you, like you'd given me.. a little piece of me to keep around..."
"I.. hope just knowing I'll never.. leave you, or want to leave you is enough.... I want to give you that kind of security in.. my company. I don't have that very often in others... And it's really comforting to me..."
>[Bart moves to the other's elevator, pressing the button and watching the doors open before him.]
"I'll see you later..!! I hope things get better for you, you deserve it!!!"
>[And with that, Bartholomew steps inside the elevator and faces his friend, watching the doors close. A twinge of anxiety returns, but he doesn't feel like it's so bad anymore.]
>[After the not-so-successful talk with Rexer, Bartholomew feels hopeless, defeated. Even if the man doesn't hate him, he still feels so tossed away by his former beloved. But he doesn't want to further betray the other by going against his wishes, promising to try and get better just to hide away again.]
>[What would he even be hiding from anymore?]
>[With a soft sigh, he forms within the familiar elevator, the one that belongs to one of his only close friends, only real friends. Toying with the cross around his neck, he looks over his tattered sleeves and bandaged limbs, realizing how pathetic he'll probably look to Employee, but not having the will or energy to spruce himself up.]
>[With the hesitant push of a button, Bart ascends to the floor where the other's home resides, clutching onto himself. While last time the two had interacted, he had been crushed, needed to be put back together and lifted back up by his dear friend, this time, it's like his soul had been sucked out of himself. He doesn't go here because he has nowhere else to go. He's headed here because there's no point going anywhere else.]
>[He probably wouldn't be welcome anyway.]
>[ @deadworld-protagonist]
> [You perk up at the sound of your elevator going off]
> [You walk over to the opening doors]
> [You give him a quick glance over]
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the (now closed) build a bear at downtown disney, disneyland, california
#queue#build a bear#buildabear#nostalgia#nostalgiacore#kidcore#i wish i could have visited before it closed
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Found âHuck + Tomâ vandalism on Tom Sawyer Island today. One of yâall Sawyerberries was here huhâŠ.
#I swear to god I did not do this#I wish I had!!#whoever didâŠreveal yourself#this is my last visit before it closes forever and this really cheered me up#the sawyerberry agenda lives yet#the bottom part is what really makes it for me#H + T togethur forevur an always â„ïž#yk Iâve never done a sawyerberry fic but thatâs got me inspired#itâs such a cute simple idea and itâs very them. if someone hasnât already I may have to explore#could do a lot with it. jealous Huck or sappy boastful Tom or the two of them together#sharing a secret#could be carved into the wall (or whatever) of one of Huckâs roosts#maybe Tom finds it. or maybe someone Huck would rather not let see it gets there first#Iâm sorry I donât mean to turn this into my personal diary đ«Ł#sawyerberry hive forever strong. peace and luv on planet earth#sawyerberry#tom sawyer#huckleberry finn
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đ§đšđ đ€đ§đšđ°đ§ đšđ« đŹđđđ§
Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]Â
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isnât good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
ïœĄđŠč°â§â.á
FallÂ
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.Â
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet heâs heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.Â
âGood morning!â You pull your coat on quickly. âSorry.âÂ
âGood morning,â he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. âShould we go?âÂ
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesnât check it while you walk, and only glances at it when youâre taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says itâll be warm water that falls.Â
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because thatâs where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.Â
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and canât help wondering what it is thatâs missing. Something is, something Peter wonât tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, heâs busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.Â
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. âI wish I had more time,â he says.Â
âItâs fine,â you say, âyou canât help it.â
âWeâll do something next weekend,â he says. The lie slips out easily.Â
To Peter it isnât a lie. In his head, heâll find the time for you again, and youâll be friends like you used to be.Â
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.Â
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere youâd never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.Â
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.Â
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. âI have to tell you something,â he says, smiling shyly.Â
âSure.âÂ
âI signed us up for that club.âÂ
âEpigenetics?âÂ
âMolecular medicine,â he says.Â
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. Itâs still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. Itâs gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peterâs bag and sort through his jumble of possessions âstick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodegaâs worth of protein barsâ and grab his camera.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âIâm cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,â you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.Â
âTechnically, I signed us up a few days ago,â he says.Â
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around âagoâ, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. âSemantics,â you murmur. âAnd molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?â
âIt has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.â
âI like oncology,â you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, âand I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.âÂ
âI canât go without you,â he says. Simple as that.Â
He knew youâd say yes when he signed you up. Itâs why he didnât ask. Youâre already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.Â
âWhen is it?â you ask, smiling.Â
â
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. Itâs boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.Â
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks youâre not looking. Only when she isnât either.Â
â
âGood morning,â you say.Â
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that heâs quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the cafĂ©, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: youâre still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.Â
âTell the joke,â he says, slamming his coffee down. Heâs careful with yours. Heâs given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.Â
âI was thinking about you as a businessman.âÂ
âAnd thatâs funny?âÂ
âWhen was the last time you wore a suit?âÂ
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesnât know. Later, youâll remember his Uncle Benâs funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you donât remember yet. âWhen was the last time you wore one?â he asks. âI donât laugh at you.âÂ
âYouâre always laughing at me, Parker.âÂ
The cafe isnât as warm today. Itâs wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. Thereâs no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
âYou okay?â Peter asks.Â
âFine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?âÂ
âDonât think so. Did you ask nicely?âÂ
âI did.â Youâd called him last night. You wouldâve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it âyou donât want Peterâs help, you just wanted to see him.Â
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone youâve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didnât recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didnât matter âhe was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice againâ until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.Â
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like heâs up late. If he is, it isnât to talk to you.Â
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, âHere, Iâll show you a song.âÂ
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Shouldâve Come Over. It feels like Peterâs trying to tell you something âhe isnât, but it feels like wishing he would.Â
âYou okay?â you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.Â
âIâm fine, why?âÂ
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. âYou look tired, thatâs all. Are you sleeping?âÂ
âI have too much to do.âÂ
You just donât get it. âMake sure youâre eating properly. Okay?âÂ
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest youâll ever get. âYou know May,â he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, âshe wouldnât let me go hungry. Donât worry about me.âÂ
â
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You canât help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.Â
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when itâs dark and you know itâs a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New Yorkâs not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You canât count how many times youâve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.Â
Youâre not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.Â
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you donât really care. Youâre not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and itâs fine, really, itâs okay, everything works out eventually. Itâs not like itâs all because you miss Peter, itâs just a feeling. Itâll go away.Â
âYouâre in deep thought,â a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. âOh,â you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, âsorry.âÂ
âWhy are you sorry? I scared you.â
âI didnât realise you were there.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. Youâve never met before but youâd like to see him up close, and you arenât scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.Â
âCan I walk you to where youâre going?â Spider-Man asks you. Heâs humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.Â
âHow do I know youâre the real Spider-Man?âÂ
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldnât want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.Â
You canât be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. âWhat do you need me to do to prove it?â he asks.Â
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. âI donât know. Whatâs Spider-Man exclusive?âÂ
âI can show you the webs?âÂ
You pull your handbag further up your arm. âOkay, sure. Shoot something.âÂ
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.Â
âCan I walk you now?â he asks.Â
âYou donât have more important things to do?â If the bitterness youâre feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesnât react.Â
âNothing more important than you.âÂ
You laugh despite yourself. âIâm going to Trader Joeâs.âÂ
âYellowstone Boulevard?âÂ
âThatâs the oneâŠâÂ
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. Itâs a short walk. Trader Joeâs will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and youâre in no hurry. âMy friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.âÂ
âAnd youâre going just for him?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âNot really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.âÂ
âDo you always walk around by yourself? Itâs late. Itâs dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,â he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.Â
âI like walking,â you say.Â
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, heâs running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. Youâre having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man youâre walking beside now.
âIs everything okay?â he asks. âYou seem sad.âÂ
âDo I?âÂ
âYeah, you do.âÂ
âMaybe I am sad,â you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joeâs already in view. It really is a short walk. âDo you everââ You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, âDo you ever feel like youâre alone?âÂ
âIâm not alone,â he says carefully.
âMe neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.âÂ
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking youâre being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. âSometimes I feel like Iâm the only person in the world,â he says. âEven here. I forget that itâs not something I invented.âÂ
âWell, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?â You smile sympathetically. âIt must be hard.âÂ
âYeah.â His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then thereâs a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. âIâll come back,â he says.Â
âThatâs okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.âÂ
He sprints away. In half a second heâs up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.Â
You buy Peterâs chips at Trader Joeâs and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesnât come back.Â
â
I donât want to study today, Peterâs text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?Â
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.Â
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. Youâd been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When youâre older! heâd always promise.Â
Peterâs waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. âLook what I got,â he says.Â
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. Thereâs a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.Â
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven youâve eaten from a hundred times. âThere,â he says.Â
âDid you cook?â you ask.Â
âOf course I didnât cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. Iâm an excellent chef.âÂ
âThe only thing Mayâs ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.âÂ
âHope you like marinara,â he says, nudging you toward the stove.Â
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. Heâs dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.Â
âItâs for you,â he says casually.Â
âItâs not my birthday.âÂ
âI know. You like cake though, donât you?âÂ
Youâd tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. âWhyâd you make me a cake?âÂ
âI felt like you deserved a cake. You donât want it?âÂ
âNo, I want it! I want the cake, letâs have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, itâll be amazing.â You donât bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. âThank you, Peter. Itâs awesome. I had no idea you could evenâ that youâd evenââ You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. âWow.âÂ
âWow,â he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. âYouâre welcome. I wouldâve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.âÂ
âIt mustâve taken hours.âÂ
âMay helped.âÂ
âThat makes much more sense.âÂ
âDonât be insolent.â Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesnât let go for a really long time.Â
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. Itâs good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
âSit down,â he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. âRemoteâs by you. Iâm gonna get drinks.âÂ
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. Youâre halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.Â
âI brought you something too, but itâs garbage compared to this,â you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.Â
Peter laughs at you. âYeah, well, say it, donât spray it.âÂ
âI guess Iâll keep it.âÂ
âKeep it, bub, I donât need anything from you.âÂ
He doesnât say it the way youâre expecting. âNo,â you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, âyou can have it. Sâjust a bag of chips from Traderââ
âThe rolled tortilla chips?â he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. âYou really are the best friend ever.âÂ
âBetter than Harry?âÂ
âHarryâs rich,â Peter says, âso no. Iâm kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.âÂ
âEat your own.âÂ
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isnât that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesnât check his phone, the tension you couldnât name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. Youâre flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You wonât look a gift horse in the mouth; you wonât question what it is that had Peter keeping you at armâs length now itâs gone.
To your annoyance, you canât stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.Â
âHave something to tell you.âÂ
âYou do?â you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.Â
âIs that surprising?âÂ
âIs that a trick question?âÂ
âNo. Just. Iâve been not telling you something.âÂ
âOkay, so tell me.âÂ
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. âMe and Gwen, weâre really done.âÂ
âI know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.â Your stomach pangs painfully. âUnless youâŠâ
âSheâs going to England.âÂ
âShe is?âÂ
âOxford.âÂ
You struggle to sit up. âThat sucks, Peter. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âBut?âÂ
You find your words carefully. âYou and Gwen really liked each other, but I think thatââ You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. âThat thereâs always been some part of you that couldnât actually commit to her. So. I donât know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe itâll break your heart, but at least then youâll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.â You avoid telling him to move on.Â
âIt wasnât Gwen,â he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.Â
âObviously, sheâs the smartest girl Iâve ever met. Sheâs beautiful. Of course itâs not her fault,â you say, teasing.
âReally, that you ever met?â Peter asks.Â
âSheâs the best girl you were ever gonna land.âÂ
He rolls his eyes. âYeah, I guess so.â After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, âI think we were done before. I just hadnât figured it out yet. Something wasnât right.âÂ
âYou were so back and forth. Youâre not mean, there mustâve been something stopping you from going steady,â you agree. âYou were breaking up every other week.â
âI know,â he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.Â
âWhich, itâs fine, you donâtââ You grimace. âI canât talk today. Sorry. I just mean that itâs alright that you never made it work.â You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, âDoesnât make you a bad person. Youâre never a bad person, Peter.âÂ
âI know. Thank you.âÂ
âYouâre welcome. You donât need me to tell you.âÂ
âItâs nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.âÂ
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I shouldâve said it the moment I got home.Â
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.Â
Good, because I have so much Iâm keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.Â
âÂ
He visits with a whoop. You donât flinch when he lands âyouâd heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.Â
âSpider-Man,â you say.Â
âWhatâs that about?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âThe way you said that. You laughed.â Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. Heâs got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but itâs not as though each of his fights are bloodless. Theyâre infamously gory on occasion.
âDid you get hurt?â you ask. Youâre worried. You could help him, if he needs it.Â
âAw, this? Thatâs a scratch. Thatâs nothing, donât worry about it. Iâve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.âÂ
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and itâs not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.Â
Peterâs not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter canât jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
âSorry. You just reminded me of someone.âÂ
His voice falls deeper still. âSomeone handsome, I hope.âÂ
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesnât follow, you add, âYes, heâs handsome.âÂ
âI knew it.â
âWhat do you look like under the mask?â
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. âI canât just tell you that.âÂ
âNo? Do I have to earn it?âÂ
âItâs not like that. I just donât tell anyone, ever.âÂ
âNobody in the whole world?â you ask.Â
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps thatâs all Novemberâs are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesnât part from you.Â
âTell me something about you and Iâll tell you something about me,â Spider-Man says. âIâll tell you who knows my identity.âÂ
âWhat do you want to know about me?â you ask, surprised.Â
âA secret. Thatâs fair.âÂ
âHold on, howâs that fair?â You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. âWhat use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesnât bring me any closer to the truth.âÂ
âItâs not about who knows, itâs about why I told them.â Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Manâs side. He shakes himself off. âJerk!â he shouts after the car.Â
âMy secrets arenât worth anything.â
âI doubt that, but if thatâs true, that makes it a fair trade, doesnât it?âÂ
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, âAlright, useless secret for a useless secret.âÂ
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they arenât useless, then, so you move on.Â
âOh, I know. I hate my major.â You grin at Spider-Man. âThatâs a good one, right? No one else knows about that.âÂ
âYou do?â Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.Â
âI like science, I just hate math. Itâs harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât drag the knife. âOkay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.â He clears his throat. âI told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. Iâm trying really hard not to tell anybody else.â
âHow come?âÂ
âIt just hurts people.âÂ
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.Â
âTell me another one,â he says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âI donât know, just tell me one.âÂ
âHow do I know you arenât extorting me for something?â You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. âYouâll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.âÂ
âIâm not showing you anything,â he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.Â
Peterâs shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesnât ask for secrets. He doesnât have to. (Or, he didnât have to, once upon a time.)Â
âWhere are you going?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âOh, nowhere.âÂ
âSeriously, youâre out here walking again for no reason?âÂ
âI like to walk. Itâs not like itâs dark out yet.â Youâre not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden âFlushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. âWalk me to Kissena?â you ask.Â
âSure, for that secret.âÂ
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. Itâs exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why youâd want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.Â
âI burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,â you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. âIt blistered and I cried when I did it, but I havenât told anyone about it.âÂ
âWhy not?â he asks.Â
He shouldnât use that tone with you, like heâs so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they donât, and half the time youâre embarrassed.Â
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. âI didnât think about it at first. Iâm used to keeping things to myself. And then I didnât tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldnât make sense. Like, bringing it up when itâs a scar wonât do much.â Itâs a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
âIt was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.âÂ
âMaybe Iâll tell someone tomorrow,â you say, though you wonât.Â
âThanks for telling me.â
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.Â
âThis is pretty far from Trader Joeâs,â he comments, like heâs read your mind.Â
âJust an hour.âÂ
âAre you kidding? Itâs an hour for me.âÂ
âThatâs not true, Spider-Man, Iâve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,â âyou try to meet his eyes despite the maskâ âmy heart in my throat. Werenât you scared?â
âIs that the secret you want?â he asks.Â
âI get to choose?âÂ
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Parkâs playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.Â
âIf you want to,â he says.Â
âThen yeah, I want to know if you were scared.âÂ
âI didnât haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?â He shifts from one foot to the other. âI donât think Iâve ever thought about it before. I wasnât scared of the height, if thatâs what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didnât have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.âÂ
âWhen they lined up the cranesââ
âIt felt like flying,â Spider-Man interrupts.Â
âLike flying.â
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.Â
âThatâs a good secret.â You offer a grateful smile. âIt doesnât feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.âÂ
âSo tell me another one,â he says.Â
â
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where youâd text him and heâd ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasnât that you couldnât like him, angry as he was; thereâs always been something about his eyes when heâs upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, itâs an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.Â
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where heâd been. Skating, heâd always say. Most of the time he didnât have his skateboard.Â
Youâd only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing heâd kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.Â
Youâd always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter âwhether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyoneâ it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course youâll fit, of course you couldnât go home, not this late, May wonât care if we keep the door open âthe suggestion that the door being closed mightâve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.Â
Now youâre nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasnât tried to stop her, but heâs still busy.Â
âWhatever,â you say, taking a deep breath. Youâre not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time wonât change a thing. âItâs fine.âÂ
âIâd hope so.âÂ
You swing around. âDonât do that!â
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. âI called out.âÂ
âYou did?âÂ
âI did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesnât know how to get a goddamn taxi!âÂ
âI like to walk,â you say.Â
âYeah, so youâve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? Itâs freezing out, Miss Bennett!âÂ
âItâs not that bad.â You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. âIâm fine.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with staying at home?âÂ
âThatâs not good for you. And youâre one to talk, Spider-Man, arenât you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.âÂ
âI donât do this every night.âÂ
âDonât you get tired?â
Spider-Manâs eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. âNo, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?âÂ
âI donât know. Youâre in a full suit, I canât tell. I guess you donât⊠seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.âÂ
âWant me to do one?âÂ
âOn command?â You laugh. âNo, thatâs okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.âÂ
âSo where are you heading today?â he asks.Â
Thereâs a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. Youâre surprised he canât feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. âI can see your stubble.âÂ
He yanks his mask down. âHasty getaway.âÂ
âA getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, thatâs not very gentlemanly.âÂ
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. Itâs cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
âLuckily for you, crime is slow tonight,â he says.Â
âLucky me?â You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. âYou realise Iâve managed to get everywhere Iâm going for the last two decades without help?âÂ
âI assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.âÂ
âThatâs what you think. I was a super independent toddler.âÂ
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. âSure you were.âÂ
âIs there a reason youâre escorting me, Spider-Man?â you ask.Â
âNo. Iâ I recognised you, I thought Iâd say hi.âÂ
âHi, Spider-Man.âÂ
âHi.âÂ
âCan I ask you something? Do you work?âÂ
Spider-Man stammers again, âIâ yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.âÂ
âI was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.â You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. âI couldnât do what you do.âÂ
âYeah, you could.âÂ
He sounds sure.Â
âHow would you know?â you ask. âMaybe Iâm awful when youâre not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.âÂ
âNo, you donât. Youâre not awful. Donât ask me how I know, âcos I just know.âÂ
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, youâre gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. âWell, tonight Iâm going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said heâd buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Bennyâs. Have you tried that?âÂ
Spider-Man takes a big step. âTonight?â he asks.Â
âYep, tonight. Thatâs where Iâm going, the Cinemart.â You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. âAre you okay? You look like youâre gonna throw up.âÂ
âI can hearâ something. Someoneâs crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?â He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. âBye!â he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.Â
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. Heâs lithe. Â
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than youâd agreed to meet.Â
âSorry!â he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. âGod, Iâm sorry! Iâm so sorry. You should beat me up. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âWhat the fuck happened?â you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. âYouâre sweating like crazy, your hairâs wet.âÂ
âI ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Donât answer that. Fuck, do we have time?âÂ
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. âYou couldâve called me,â you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, âwe couldâve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?âÂ
âForget about my favourite girl? How could I?â He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. âNow shh,â he whispers, âfind the seats, donât miss the trailers. You love them.âÂ
âYou love themââ
âIâll get popcorn,â he promises, letting the door close between you.Â
Youâre tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.Â
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.Â
â
WinterÂ
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as youâre walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. Heâs friendly, and youâre getting used to his company.Â
One night, youâre almost home from Trader Joeâs, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, âHey! Running girl! Wait a second!âÂ
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You donât know his name, but Spider-Manâs a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.Â
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.Â
âHey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?âÂ
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.Â
âYou okay?â Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. Itâs sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. âCome on, letâs go,â âhe takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside himâ âitâs freezing!âÂ
âPeterââ
âJesus Christ!âÂ
âPeter, what are you doing here?â you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.Â
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.Â
âI wanted to see you. Is that allowed?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. âNo?â he asks, a hairâs width from murmuring.Â
âShit, my groceries are soaked.âÂ
âItâs all snacks, itâs fine,â he says, pulling you to the stairs.Â
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.Â
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.Â
âSorry I didnât ask,â Peter says.Â
âWhat, to come over? Itâs fine. I like you being here, you know that.âÂ
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peterâs house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, âYou okay?â with a meagre nod.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks eventually. âYouâre so quiet.âÂ
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. ââM thinking,â you say.Â
âAbout?âÂ
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, âcos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week heâd barge into the club room and say, âFuck, Iâm sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,â until it turned into its own joke.Â
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.Â
âFuck,â heâd said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, âsorry. My last class is onââ
But he didnât finish. Youâd laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasnât about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.Â
But Peterâs been distant for a while now, because Peterâs Spider-Man.Â
âDo you remember,â you say, not willing to share the whole truth, âwhen you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?âÂ
âSo you didnât need me,â he says.Â
âI was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.âÂ
Peter holds your gaze. âIs that really what you were thinking about?âÂ
âJust funny,â you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. âSo much has changed.âÂ
âNot that much.âÂ
âNot for me, no.âÂ
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. Heâs found a crack in you and heâs gonna smooth it over until you feel better. Youâre expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but youâre not expecting the way he pulls you in âyouâd slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. Itâs really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. Heâs never looked at you like this before.
âI donât want you to change,â he whispers.Â
âI want to catch up with you,â you whisper back.Â
âCatch up with me? Weâre in the exact same place, arenât we?â
âI donât know, are we?âÂ
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. âOf course we are.âÂ
Peter⊠What is he doing?Â
You let yourself relax against him.Â
âYou do change,â he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, âyou change every day, but you donât need to try.âÂ
âI just⊠feel like everyone around me isâŠâ You shake your head. âEveryoneâs so smart, and they know what theyâre doing, or theyâreâ theyâre special. I donât know anything. So I guess lately Iâve been thinking about that, and then youââ
âWhat?âÂ
You can say it out loud. You could.Â
âPeter, youâreâŠâÂ
âIâm what?â he asks.Â
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.Â
If you're wrong, heâll laugh. And if youâre right, he mightâ might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like itâs gonna put you to sleep.Â
Heâs Spider-Man.Â
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course itâs Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.Â
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesnât tell you much, but you trust him.Â
You wonât make him say anything, you decide. Not now.Â
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.Â
âI was thinking about you,â he says.Â
âYeah?âÂ
âYouâre quieter lately. I know youâre having a hard time right now, okay? You donât have to tell me. Iâm here for you whenever you need me.âÂ
âYeah?â you ask.
âYou used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldnât be home to make sure I wasnât alone.â Peterâs breath is warm on your forehead. âI donât know what youâre worried about being, but Iâm with you,â he says, âân nothing is gonna change that.âÂ
Peter isnât as far away as you thought.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.Â
âCan I stay over tonight?â he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.Â
âYeah, please.âÂ
His thumb strokes your cheek.Â
â
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as youâve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.Â
Heâs alive and well, as evidenced by Peterâs continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesnât drop in on your nightly walks.Â
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peterâs increasing affection, but now that you know heâs Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you wouldâve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know heâd do to you. After all, heâs been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parkerâs ears.Â
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peterâs out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesnât seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connorsâ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.Â
Itâs not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what heâd said, how he wasnât scared, but not being scared doesnât mean he wasnât hurting.Â
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You donât mind when Peter doesnât answer your texts anymore. You didnât mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesnât text you back you convince yourself that heâs been hurt, or that heâs swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
Itâs not a good way to live. You canât stop giving into it, is all.Â
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesnât lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.Â
âHey,â he says, âyou all right?âÂ
âShould you be up there?â the person recording shouts.Â
âIâm fine up here!âÂ
âAre you really Spider-Man?âÂ
âSure am.âÂ
âAre you single?âÂ
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didnât know it was him before is a mystery âit couldnât sound more like him. âIâve got my eye on someone!â he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when heâs Spider-Man lost to a good mood. Â
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.Â
âHello?â Peter asks.Â
You bring the phone snug to your ear. âHey, Peter.âÂ
âHi, are you busy?âÂ
âNot really.âÂ
âDo you wanna come over? I know itâs late. Come stay the night and tomorrow weâll go out for breakfast.âÂ
âIs Aunt May okay with that?âÂ
âSheâs staring at me right now shaking her head, but Iâm in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?âÂ
âSheâs always allowed as long as you keep the door open.â
You laugh under your breath at Mayâs begrudging answer. âAre you sure sheâs alright with it?â you ask softly. âI donât want to be a burden.âÂ
âYou never, ever could be. Iâm coming to your place and weâll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?âÂ
âNot yet, butââ
âOkay, Iâll make you something when you get here. Iâll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?âÂ
âI have to shower first.âÂ
âTwenty five?âÂ
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing youâre not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. âHow about Iâll see you at seven?âÂ
âItâs a date,â he says.Â
âMm, put it in your calendar, Parker.âÂ
â
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. âYouâre gonna get sick.âÂ
âIâll dry fast,â you say. âI took too long finding my pyjamas.âÂ
âI have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.â Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. âI wouldâve waited,â he says.Â
âItâs fine.â
âItâs not fine. Are you cold?âÂ
âPete, itâs fine.âÂ
âYou always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,â he laughs, âsuper stern.âÂ
âIâm not stern. Look, take me home, please, Iâm cold.âÂ
âYou said it wasnât cold!âÂ
âItâs not, Iâm just dampââ Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. âHandsy!â
âYou like it,â he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.Â
âI donât like it,â you lie.Â
âOkay, you donât like it, and Iâm sorry.â Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. âNow letâs go. I gotta feed you before midnight.âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
âApparently, nothing is.âÂ
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, youâve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.Â
âI see Peter hasnât won this argument yet,â you say in way of greeting. Peterâs desperate to do his own laundry now heâs getting older. May wonât let him.Â
âNo, he hasnât.â She looks you up and down. âItâs nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me youâve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Canât you buy a treadmill?â she asks.Â
âMay!â Peter says, startled.Â
âI like walking, I like the air,â you say.
âCanât exactly call it fresh,â May says.Â
âNo, but itâs alright. It helps me think.âÂ
âIs everything okay?â May asks, putting her hand on her hip.Â
âOf course.â You smile at her genuinely. âI think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I donât know what Peter told you, but Iâm not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.â
She softens her disapproving. âGood, honey. Thatâs good. Peterâs gonna make you some dinner now, right?âÂ
âYeah, Aunt May, Iâm gonna make dinner,â Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.Â
Peter shouldnât really know that youâve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joeâs or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you havenât mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. Thatâs information he wouldnât know without Spider-Man.Â
He seems to be hoping you wonât realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that heâs about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. âWarm up,â he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peterâs a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.Â
âI can do the dishes,â you say. You might need a breather.Â
âAre you kidding? Iâm gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.â Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. âWarmer. Good job.âÂ
You shrug away from his hand. âLoser.âÂ
âConcerned friend.âÂ
âHandsy loser.âÂ
âShut up,â he mumbles.Â
As flustered as youâve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When heâs done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.Â
You look down at your socks. Peterâs room is on the smaller side, but itâs never been as startlingly small as it is when Peterâs socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.Â
âThereâs chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,â he says.Â
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think youâre in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. âIâm all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go âcos you think I do then Iâm fine.âÂ
âThatâs such a long answer,â he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. âYou donât have to say all of that, just tell me no.âÂ
âI donât want ice cream.âÂ
âWasnât that easy?â he asks.Â
âWell, no, it wasnât. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.âÂ
âBecause Iâm adorable?âÂ
âPersistent.âÂ
âYeah, I guess I am.â He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.Â
âPeterâŠ?â you murmur.Â
âWhat?â he murmurs back.Â
You touch a knuckle to his chest. âThisâ YouâŠâ Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once âPeter doesnât like you as you desire, how could he, you arenât beautiful like he is, arenât smart, arenât brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. Itâs why his being with Gwen didnât hurt; she made sense. And for months now youâve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But itâs not you, itâs never you, and whatever Peterâs trying to do nowâ
âHey, you okay?â he asks, taking your face into his hand.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âWhat?â He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. âI canât hear you.â Â
You raise your voice. âWhy did you invite me over tonight?âÂ
ââCos I missed you?âÂ
âI used to think you didnât miss me at all.âÂ
Peter winces, hurt. âHow could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? Itâs like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.âÂ
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. ââŠCollege isnât hard for you.âÂ
âItâs not easy.â He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. âWhatâs wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?âÂ
Youâre being wretched, you know, saying it isnât hard for him. âYou didnât. Really, you didnât.âÂ
âBut why are you upset?â he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
âIâm notââ
âYou are. Itâs okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?â He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. âEven if it takes a long time.âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âYouâre not fine.â
âHow would you know?â you finally ask.Â
Peter stares at you.Â
âI know you,â he says carefully, âand I know you arenât struggling like you were, but that doesnât mean it didnât happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.âÂ
âI didnât realise that I was,â you say, licking your lips, ââtil now. I didnât get that it was on the surface.â
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. âIâm here for you forever, and Iâll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,â he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peterâs bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.Â
Things arenât meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you âholding youâ was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like itâs an impossibility?
When he comes back, youâll apologise. He hasnât done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but donât you keep one too? Heâs Spider-Man. Youâve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.Â
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.Â
âAre you sure thereâs nothing wrong?â he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.Â
âIâm sorry for being weird.âÂ
âYouâre not weird,â Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.Â
âItâs just âcos things have been different between us.â And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because youâre not just Peter anymore, youâre Spider-Man. Iâm only me, and I canât do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.Â
âYeah, they have been. Good different?â he asks hesitantly.Â
âI think so,â you say, quiet again.Â
âThatâs what I thought.âÂ
âI donât want you to feel like I donât want to be here. I just worry about you.âÂ
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. âDonât worry about me,â he says, âJesus, please donât. Thatâs the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.âÂ
You curl into the lump of comforter youâd made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like itâs golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupidâs bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.Â
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.Â
âAm I going too fast?â Peter murmurs.Â
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.Â
âIs it something else?âÂ
You donât move.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. âAlright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. Youâre still cold.âÂ
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.Â
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, âIs this alright?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. âPlease donât take this in a way that I donât mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry youâre gonna get stuck in your head forever.âÂ
âI like thinking.âÂ
âI hate it,â he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, âwe should never do it ever again.âÂ
âIâll try not to.âÂ
âWould you? For me?âÂ
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. âIâll do my best.âÂ
âGood. Iâd miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.âÂ
You relax under his arm. You arenât sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. âIâd miss you too.â
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesnât flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. Heâs holding your arm, and youâre snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.Â
âDoor open,â she says.Â
âNot that either of us want it closed, May, but weâre adults.âÂ
âNot while Iâm still washing your clothes, youâre not.âÂ
He snorts. âGoodnight, Aunt May. The door isnât gonna close, I promise.âÂ
âI know that,â she says, scornful in her pride. âYouâre a good boy.â She lightens. âThings are going okay?âÂ
Peter covers your ear. âGoodnight, Aunt May.âÂ
âI have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I canât ask a simple question?âÂ
âI love you,â Peter sing-songs.Â
âI love you, Peter,â she says. âDonât smother the girl.âÂ
âI wonât smother her. Itâs in my best interest that she survives the night. Sheâs buying my breakfast tomorrow.âÂ
âPeter Parker.âÂ
âIâm kidding,â he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. âJust messing with you, May.âÂ
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers. Â
â
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book sheâd given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.Â
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. Itâs chemistry, sure, but itâs biology too, wrapping your and Peterâs interests up neatly. If it werenât for Peter you doubt youâd love science as much as you do. Heâs always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.Â
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!Â
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.Â
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Manâs webbing.Â
You wait until youâre at the alleyway between Portoâs Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.Â
âSpider-Man?â you ask, shoulders tensed in case itâs not who you think.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. âShit, donât break your ankles.âÂ
âMy ankles?â He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you donât know; what a fool youâd been for falling for his put upon tenor. âTheyâre fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?âÂ
âYou just dropped down twenty feet!âÂ
âItâs more like thirty, and Iâm fine. You understand the super part of superhero, donât you?âÂ
âWho said youâre a superhero?âÂ
âNice. What are you doing down here?âÂ
âI was testing my theory. Youâre following me.âÂ
âNo, Iâm visiting you, itâs very different,â he says confidently.Â
âYou havenât come to see me for weeks.âÂ
âYes, well, Iââ Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. âHey, youâre the one who told me to take a day off.âÂ
âI did tell you to take a day off. Itâs not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. Thatâs a lot of responsibility for one person to have.âÂ
âBut itâs my responsibility,â he says easily. âNo point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I donât mind it.âÂ
âDo you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?â you ask, cheeks hot.Â
âNo,â he says, fondness evident even through the mask, âjust you.âÂ
âDo you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but itâs not that far.âÂ
Spider-Man nods. âYeah, Iâll walk you back.âÂ
He doesnât hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You canât believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he canât pretend to save his life.Â
âAre you having a good semester?â he asks.Â
âItâs getting better. Iâm glad I stuck with it. I love biology, itâs so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, itâs not something everyone understands.â You give him a look, and you give into temptation. âMy best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.âÂ
âItâs definitely for dorks.âÂ
âRight, but I love being one.â You offer a useless secret. âI like to think that itâs why weâre such great friends.âÂ
âMe and you?â Spider-Man asks hoarsely.Â
âMe and Peter.â You elbow him without force. âWhy, do you like science?âÂ
âI love itâŠâÂ
âYou know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like weâve been friends for a long time.â Youâre teasing poor Peter.Â
He doesnât speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise heâs stopped, you turn back to see him.Â
Peterâs gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. Itâs the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didnât want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: youâd meant to wind him up, not make him panic.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask. âCan you hear something?âÂ
âNo, itâs not thatâŠâ Heâs masked, but you know him well enough to understand why heâs stopped.Â
âItâs okay,â you say.Â
âItâs not, actually.âÂ
âSpider-Man.â You take a step toward him. âItâs fine.â
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. âDo you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?âÂ
âYeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. Itâs not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.âÂ
âI know you were,â he says, emphasis on know, like itâs a different word entirely.Â
âBut meeting you really helped. If it werenât for you, for Peter,â âyou give him a searching lookâ âI wouldnât feel better at all.âÂ
âIt wasnât his fault?â he asks. âHe was your friend, and you were lonely.âÂ
âNoââ
âHe didnât know what was going on with you, he didnât have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldnât tell anybody, and I know it wasnât an accident, so what was his excuse?â His voice burns with anger. âItâs his fault.âÂ
âOf course it wasnât your fault. Is that what you think?â You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. âYes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I donât know many people and Iâ Iâ I hurt myself, and it wasnât as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?âÂ
âPeterâs fault,â he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesnât bother enthusing it with much gusto.Â
âPeter, none of it was your fault.â You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, donât let me ruin this. âI was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasnât your fault, thatâs just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasnât as bad as you think it was and it wasnât your fault.âÂ
âI wasnât there for you,â he says. âAnd Iâve been lying to you for a long time.âÂ
âYou couldnât tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.âÂ
ââŠI didnât even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.âÂ
You hold your hands behind your back. âWell, he was a familiar one.âÂ
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms arenât in his reach. âItâs not because I didnât want you.âÂ
âPeter,â you say, squirming.Â
He steps back.Â
âI have to go,â he says.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âI have toâ I donât want to go,â he says earnestly, âsweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But Iâll come back, Iâllâ Iâll come back,â he promises.Â
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
â
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isnât there. You check your phone but he hasnât texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasnât been seen.Â
You arenât sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said heâd come back, but he didnât, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what youâd say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? Itâs different for him. It isnât like heâs in love with you⊠youâd just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache youâd suffered before.Â
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.Â
â
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and youâd found yourself attached to the Modeâs beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that itâs your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.Â
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you canât stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. Itâs served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.Â
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time youâve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.Â
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon youâll be ready to talk about it. Â
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, youâre supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.Â
You put your face in your hand. Next year, youâll avoid the insect-based electives.Â
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.Â
You donât raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.Â
âDid you eat breakfast?â Peter asks quietly.Â
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.Â
You tense.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. âYou donât look like yourself. Your eyes are red.âÂ
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.Â
âWhat are you reading?â He frowns at you. âPlease donât cry.âÂ
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. âIâm okay.âÂ
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. âCan you tell me you didnât wait long for me?âÂ
âTen minutes,â you lie.Â
âOkay. Iâm sorry. There was a fire.â He rubs your arm where heâs holding you. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âWill you go half?â you ask, nodding to the sandwich heâs brought you. Itâs tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. Youâve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.Â
âI know youâre hungry,â you say, tapping his elbow, âjust eat.âÂ
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peterâs here, you donât feel so sick âheâs not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach wonât be ignored.Â
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. Youâve never seen him stop before heâs done.
âIt was in the apartments on Vernon. Iâ I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.âÂ
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. âAre you hurt?â you ask, coughing.Â
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. âHow long have you known it was me?â he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.Â
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. âThe night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ârunning girlâ. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,â âyou whisper, weary of the quiet cafeâ âSpider-Man, and I realised itâs him that sounds like you. That he is you.âÂ
âWas that disappointing?âÂ
âPeter, youâre, like, my favourite person in the world,â you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. âWhy would that be disappointing?âÂ
âI thought maybe you think heâs cooler than me.âÂ
âHe is cooler than you, Peter.â You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. âI guess youâre the same person, right? So heâs just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.âÂ
âYou flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.â
âWell, he flirted with me first.âÂ
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you canât look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way heâs looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didnât get it then, but youâre starting to understand now.
âIâve made a mess of everything,â he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. âI havenât been honest with you.âÂ
âI havenât, either.âÂ
âI want to ask you for something,â Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. âYou can say no.âÂ
âYouâre hard to say no to.âÂ
âI need you to talk to me more,â âand here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your spaceâ ânot just because I love your voice, or because you think so much Iâm scared youâll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.â
We do, you think morosely.Â
âItâs not your fault,â he adds, the hand that isnât holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, âitâs mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldnât have let it be a secret for so long.âÂ
âNo, I doubt theyâre stupid,â you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. âItâs not easy to tell someone youâre a hero.â
His palm smells like smoke.Â
âThatâs not the secret I meant,â he says.Â
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
âSo tell me.â
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. âYou want to trade secrets again?â he asks.Â
âPlease.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, but I donât have as many as you do,â he warns.Â
âI find that hard to believe.âÂ
âI donât. Itâs not a real secret, is it? Iâve been trying to show you for weeks, weâŠâ
He tilts his head invitingly.Â
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isnât a secret.
âIâll go first,â he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. âIâve wanted to kiss you for weeks.â He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. âWhatâs your secret?âÂ
âSometime I want you to kiss me so badly I canât sleep. It makes me feel sickââ
âSick?â he asks worriedly.Â
You touch the tip of your nose to his. âItâs likeâ like jealousy, butâŠâÂ
âYou have no one to be jealous of,â he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, âPlease, can I kiss you?âÂ
You say, âYes,â very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldnât be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isnât the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesnât hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. Itâs so warm you donât know what to make of him beyond kissing him back âkissing his smile, though itâs catching. Kissing the line of his Cupidâs bow as he leans down.Â
âIâm sorry about everything,â he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.Â
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. Itâs still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peterâs hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.Â
Peter drops his hand. âOh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didnât snow, weâd be blind.â
âI canât be cold much longer,â you confess. âIâm sick of the shitty weather.âÂ
âI can keep you warm.âÂ
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.Â
âDid you want my meskouta?â you ask.Â
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.Â
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if youâd thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, youâd tease.
âYou never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.âÂ
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. âThey could make a novella of things I havenât told you about,â you murmur wryly.Â
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, weâll work on that.Â
â
Spring
âSorry!â
âNo, itâsââ
âSorry, sorry, Iâmâ shit!â
ââokay! All legs inside the ride?â
âI couldnât find my purseââ
âYou donât need it!â Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. âYou donât have to rush.âÂ
âAre you sure you can drive this thing?âÂ
âHarry doesnât mind.âÂ
âI donât mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. âNothing ever is with us.âÂ
Peter grabs you behind the neck âwhich might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thingâ and pulls you forward for a kiss you donât have time for. âIf we donât check in,â âyou begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lipsâ âby three, they said they wonât keep the roomââ He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. âAnd then weâll have to drive home like losers.âÂ
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. Youâre rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. âSorry, am I the one who lost her purse?âÂ
âPeter!âÂ
âI canât make us un-late,â he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.Â
âAlright,â you warn.Â
He reaches for your knee. âItâs a forty minute drive. Youâre panicking over nothing.âÂ
âItâs an hour.âÂ
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peterâs hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesnât question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. Thereâs so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.Â
Itâs been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. Itâs not that Lenox Hill isnât one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), itâs that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. Youâre a little less scared of the future everyday.Â
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.Â
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasnât anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.Â
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, heâd looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, youâre cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what heâd done when youâd curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
Heâd hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, heâs a treasure. Thereâs no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, youâll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. Itâs like when you talk to one another, you canât stop.Â
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel heâs reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when youâre sleeping.Â
There are hectic, aching moments âvigilante boyfriends become blasĂ© with their lives and precious faces. Youâve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. Itâs easier when Peterâs careful, but Spider-Man isnât careful. You ask him to take care of himself and heâs gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.Â
He hadnât patrolled last night in preparation for today.Â
âDid you know,â he says, pulling Harryâs borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, âthat todayâs the last day of spring?âÂ
âAlready?âÂ
âTonightâs the June equinox.âÂ
âWho told you that?âÂ
âAunt May. She said itâs time to get a summer job.âÂ
You laugh loudly. âOur federal loans wonât last forever.âÂ
âHarryâs gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.âÂ
You nod emphatically. Itâs barely a thought. âObviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?âÂ
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. âBetter than the Bugle.âÂ
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. Itâs not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. Thereâs a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel heâs ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.Â
âThere it is, sweetheart,â he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, âthatâs what dreams are made of.âÂ
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasnât changed.Â
Itïżœïżœs about as hot as itâs going to get in June today, and, not knowing if itâll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. Thereâs nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.Â
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. âItâs cold,â he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.Â
âI can feel it,â you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.Â
âYou wonât come in and warm me up?â he asks.Â
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.Â
âIâm trying to prepare myself.âÂ
âMm, you have to get used to it.â He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that heâd want one still makes you dizzy. âThank you,â he says.Â
âYouâll have to move.âÂ
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling âheâs so strong, the water so cold.Â
Peter doesnât often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. Heâll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when youâre on his side to force you sideways.Â
âOh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!â he says.Â
âHow will I run?â you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.Â
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that heâs precious with you, too. Thereâs devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. âI donât need you to do a running start, sweetheart,â he says, tilting his head to the side, âIâll just lift you.âÂ
âLast time I laughed so much you dropped me.âÂ
âExactly, you laughed, and this is serious.âÂ
The world isnât mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8âs parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peterâs breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.Â
Heâs a beholden thing in the sun; you canât not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â he says.Â
You rest an arm behind his head. âThe rash guard is a good look?âÂ
âSweetheart, you couldnât look cuter,â he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. âI wish youâd mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I wouldâve prepared to be a more decent man.âÂ
âYouâre decent enough, Parker.âÂ
âMaybe now.âÂ
âWell, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,â you say.Â
Youâre teasing, but Peterâs eyes light up with mischief as he calls, âOh, great idea!â and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You canât avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.Â
He shakes himself off like a dog.Â
âPete!â you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.Â
âIt just didnât help,â he says, pulling you back into his arms, âyou know, the water is cold, but youâre so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and youâre just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds agoââ
âPeter,â you say, tempted to roll your eyes.Â
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile heâs sporting, they look like anything but tears. âTell me a secret?â he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.Â
A soft smile takes your lips. âNo,â you say, tipping up your chin, âyou tell me one first.â
âWhat kind of secret?âÂ
âA real one,â you insist.Â
âOhâŠâ He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. âOkay, I have one. Ask me again.âÂ
You raise a single brow. âTell me a secret, Peter.âÂ
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. âI love you,â he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.Â
Youâre lucky heâs already holding you. âI love you too,â you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. âI love you.âÂ
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You canât know what heâs thinking, but you can feel it. His hands canât seem to stay still on your skin.Â
The sun warms your back for a time.Â
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.Â
âThatâs another one to let go of,â he suggests.Â
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.Â
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.Â
âIâll start the shower for you,â he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.Â
âDonât fall asleep standing up,â he murmurs.Â
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. âI wonât.âÂ
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.Â
ïœĄđŠč°â§â.á
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat âthank you for readingâ€ïž
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đđąđŻđąđ„ đđđ§đđ„đđ đđđ§đŹđąđšđ§ | s. gojĆ + s. ryĆmen

đđČđ§đšđ©đŹđąđŹ: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?
đđšđ§đđđ§đđŹ: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.
đđšđ«đ đđšđźđ§đ: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)
đđźđđĄđšđ«'đŹ đđšđđ: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ââ



ââŠâ
âây LadyâŠMy Lady!â
âHuh?â You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. âOh, Iâm sorry, Utahime. You can come in.â
âJeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.â Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. âAnd I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.â
You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. âWell, weâve been friends for how long? Iâve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.â
âHmph, even then,â Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. âYou donât see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empireâs greatest warrior by their given name.â
âNo, but I always tell you I donât mind. Besides, you usually do it when weâre alone, and thatâs enough for me.â
âIf thatâs what makes my Lady hapââ
âIt does.â You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth.Â
âAs you wishâŠY/n.â You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isnât done talking, âBut I know the matter of my name isnât something thatâs having you lost in your thoughts.â Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. âWould you like to tell me whatâs corrupting your mind?â
With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.
âUtahime,â you begin with her name, still facing the window. ââŠWhat do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?â
âTch,â you didnât have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. âWhat is there to think?â
âHehe, well, weâve known each other since we could walkââ
âYeah, and â pardon me, my Lady â but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.â The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you donât say anything, containing your laughter. âThat manâugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!â
The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. âWellâahemâwhat about Lord Ryomen?â
Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. ââŠâŠAs of recentâŠScaryâno, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?â
Another heavy sigh, âI guess that would be the caseâŠâ
You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that youâre standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone â both human and non â with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.
As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent â your continent â is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen.Â
You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.
In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengenâs scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen â the Six Eyes and Limitless â sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.
To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that arenât of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of âTengenâs True Children,â the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human â or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengenâs âFallen Star,â a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.
âWhat about their visits seems to make you upset?â Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur.Â
âI donât knowâŠI suppose itâs because things are different than a decade and a half ago.â It was one way of speaking the truth.
âWhy, of course, things would be different now. You expect Iâd be looking after a tiny heir all my life?â She giggles. âAlthough, that would be quite nice.â
âOh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldnât it?â You add on to her humor. âYet, thatâs not what I meant. Itâs been so long since the three of us been in this palace together â let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.âÂ
âMmm, I have observed thatâŠBut still, even with this war going on, it shouldnât negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.â
You smile at the memory. âI remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.â
You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you â not at you, but at the recollection instead. âThat fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy â still is, Iâll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of himâŠAnd then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, âYou? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princessâ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone whoâd tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.â I was too stunned to speakâŠI shouldâve choked his ass out!âÂ
ââPfffthahaha, stop, youâre scrubbing too hard!â You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. âYou could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.âÂ
âPlease, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.â She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right.Â
âAnd the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldnât be wiped off that night.â
âYouâre goddamn right, my Lady!â That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. âAhhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon kingâs wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,â she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. âThis was distinguishable.â
You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. âHis human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each otherâs respect â more on my fatherâs part.â
âThat, he wasâŠtruly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like heâd cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day heâd catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,â the mere thought of the deadly beingâs scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahimeâs way. âEven the spars he had with your father and Gojo, Iâm amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.â
âHehe, imagine how I felt when heâd catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him â not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.â
âOhhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldnât stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didnât have the drive to wield and charge.â She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. âItâs not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thingâŠâ
You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. âFor my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword â handmade and light for my hands.â
âMen.â Utahime shakes her head once again. âYet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot moreâŠcalm.âÂ
Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. âI only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagineâŠ.â
You and the two lords have been friends for years â decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement trueâŠ
It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words.Â
Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish â not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojoâs relationship with every passing day. Â
It made you feel sick â powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play â the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever.Â
âIt may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesnât mean itâs not worth the execution,â Utahimeâs voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. âIâm sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldnât have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all thatâll be left is a clash between two factions.â
âThat may be true,â yet your tone was somber. âBut if he canât convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then Iâm afraid thereâs nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And Iâd hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their bloodâŠâ
Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, ââŠ.Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.â Â
Me? âMe?â
âYes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them â they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.â Â
âBut thatâs just based on titles and old conversations that donât hold up to the nowâŠOut of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one whoâs still a naive babe with hands clean.âÂ
âNow that is not true, my Lady!â Fierce brown eyes bore to you. âJust because you donât have blood on your hands doesnât make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.â
âThat is my stated birthrightââ
âAnd so!â You held your tongue; she was not done yet. âYou have proven that birthright true from what youâve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didnât sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And letâs not forget how youâve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing itâs the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after allâŠWhat Iâm saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; youâve become a face I can trust and depend on, and Iâm glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.âÂ
You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.
âSo, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those twoâs minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whateverâs left to rebuild their past alliance.â
There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend â no one knew you better than she did. So, thereâs no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument.Â
Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. âPerhaps youâre right.â
âOf course, Iâm right; Iâm your best friend!â Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. âAnd as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution youâre looking for will be easier to find.â
âMmm, your advice is well-received like always.â You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, âSee you in the morning, Utahime.âÂ
With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, âSleep well and tight, my Lady.â
The warm presence of your friend is missed now that youâre alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasnât the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.
You turn back to your mirror â your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesnât seem to help give a proper answer. HmmâŠPerhaps itâs something Iâm not supposed to see.Â
With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahimeâs advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress.Â
What you didnât anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation.Â
âHey.â
Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person.Â
You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony â a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal youâve ever met â or, at least, any human royal youâve ever seen. Â
The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face thatâs morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw â the first thing that had your mind recollect him.
âLord Ryomen.â His name didnât feel proper to say. Itâs been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man youâve heard about all this timeâŠyet a companion of yours nonetheless. âFather told me you would be here in two days. How did youââ
âYou know Iâm not one to wait.â He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. âEspecially when it comes to visiting this place.â
âAnd of Uraume?â The mention of the demon kingâs trusted adviser quirks his brow. âIs it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?â
âYou think Iâm weak on my own?â
âNâNo, of course not!â You were quick to refute â you had to be when it came to him. âItâs just that I would feel bad; theyâd worry about where you are.â
âAnd here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,â he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. âUraume knows to look after the ship when Iâm gone or be my eyes when Iâm not around. Iâm not a child that needs protecting.â
You bow to him. âOf course you arenât, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.â
He hums, tilting his head while examining you. âGood. Lift your head.â You do as youâre told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. âItâs cold; why is your fire not set?â
You look at what heâs referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. âI told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will doââ
Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isnât where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasnât there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.
Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. âIgnoring the coldâs existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.â Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. âYou are not me; you should fear the cold.â
You nod to his lesson. âThank you, Lord Ryomen.âÂ
âThereâs no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.â Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.
You donât know why â maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement youâve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. âYes, Lord Sukuna.â
âHmm.â He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since heâs laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. âYou still have the sword.â
It wasnât a question â an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, âYes, I make sure itâs nice and clean from dust.âÂ
Sukuna scoffs. âI give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.âÂ
âIt would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldnât sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.âÂ
He tilted his head again. âAnd when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,â The word caught you off guard. Protect? âI expect them to use it as itâs intended. I will allow it this time, but I wonât be too forgiving the second. Understood?â
You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didnât mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. âProtect?â
His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face â or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly.Â
âPrincess,â he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. âYou know why the King has wished to see me despite whatâs occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.âÂ
You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?
âBut that would result in more problems for me. Iâd have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until Iâm gone â your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.â His eyes were on you, dead serious. ââŠBut that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.âÂ
âMy Lord,â it was your turn to speak. âI wouldnât hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses â both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.âÂ
âMmm.â He took your words. Thereâs no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. âI can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.â
The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if heâs coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, âYes, my Lord?âÂ
âPrincess, I want toââ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. âHeâs here.â
The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. âWhâWho?â
ââŠ.No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!â
âOh, câmon Utahime â an hour, give me one hour!â
âDonât you DARE open that doorâHEY!âÂ
You and Sukunaâs eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open â it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. Itâs covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figureâs left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was â outside of their voice alone â was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head.Â
Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. âLord Gojo, itâsââ
âPRINCESS~~!â Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever heâs in your presence, just like heâd do during your childhood years. âGlad to see that Iâll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!â
His jest has you giggle, âAnd I thought Iâd told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.âÂ
âI second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.â Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojoâs shadow. If looks could kill, sheâd stab Gojoâs throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, âMy apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring heâd come to speak a word withâHoly Tengen!â Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you arenât alone in the first place. âL-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.â She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasnât here to lecture her.Â
But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, âYouâve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.â His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. âAlone.â The final word was all for the white-haired lordâs watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna.Â
âYes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,â Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojoâs arm and tugs. âThat includes you as well, Lord Gojo.âÂ
âEhhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?â Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. âI also have things to discuss with the princess Iâve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.âÂ
âAnd here you are, barging into their room!â she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. âKicking their door and making yourself known doesnât modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow â Iâm sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.âÂ
It was now that you finally decided to interject. âItâs all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.â You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. ââŠI will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.âÂ
Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. âAs you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.â She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night.Â
And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires â two childhood friends. Nevertheless, itâs back. The suffocating tension youâve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word âfriendâ feels teeny within it. You canât lie to yourself; youâre weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event.Â
Then again, itâs better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends â close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your fatherâs and respective empiresâ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.
âSo,â You turn to Gojo to start with. âLord Gojoââ
âOh, câmooon, what did I say about using my last name?â Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. âWeâre friends, no? Itâs not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!â
His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. âMy apologies, Satoru. Itâs just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.â
The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. âEven so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I donât want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.âÂ
ââŠIf thatâs what will make you happy, Satoru.â The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then thereâs what he referred to you asâ
âYour princess?â Sukunaâs voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room. Â
Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, âYes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. Iâd say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But Iâd be lying since I see them as more than that.â
Sukunaâs quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. âEvery time I see your scrawny self, you prove youâre the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords Iâve ever dealt with.â Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. âThe person before us is indeed a royal above many â above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.â
Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldnât dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was â let alone look at him. âHah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because Iâd rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.â
âHmph, Iâm surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,â you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. âDonât think that youâll be lucky with me.â
âOh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but Iâve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?â
âVery. Iâm a being of actionââ
âAction? Or destruction?â The light blue of Gojoâs eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. âBecause from all Iâve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, whoâs to say youâre worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.â
âI can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family whoâs killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement Iâll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.âÂ
âNot if my business is taken care of first.â
The demon growls. âLike hell, it will.âÂ
âMy Lords, please!â
The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lordsâ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you.Â
Gods, I shouldâve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned â or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.
You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, âLord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?â
âHah?â The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. âI was here first.â
âYes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.â You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. âNow, Lord Goââ
âAht aht!â
ââŠLord Satoru,â He beams a big grin. âWhat do you wish to speak with me?â
âWell, although this is something meant for the two of us,â meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldnât care less about his presence being unwanted. âBut thisâll suffice; it doesnât hurt to have an audience.â You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles.Â
âMy Lady,â he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. âIâve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold â a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.âÂ
You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.
âBut then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to âmaintain a good relationshipâ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. Iâve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.â He pauses for a light chuckle. âI can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.â
âMhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didnât take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.â The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. âThere are many things I hold close to my heart â you and our friendship being part of them.â
âI agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship weâve had these years â decades, even â has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And thatâs whyâŠâÂ
Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like SukunaâŠ
âPrincess, merciful child of Tengenâs Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.âÂ
It all took one second â one mere second.Â
One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.
One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.
One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly.Â
He snarls, âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?â
Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. âEhhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You donât know what a marriage proposal is?â His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?
The fingers of Sukunaâs upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. âHmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?â
âKhh, donât act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. Itâs gross.â Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. âActing human doesnât suit you at all, fuckface.âÂ
The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. âHah! Me, human!? Thereâs a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak â held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; itâs beneath me to care for those below me. However, I donât tolerate those that mess with whatâs mine.âÂ
The word had Gojoâs eyes taper. âLet them go.â
âNo. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.â You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. âBecause any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.âÂ
You couldnât hide your gasp. It snuck past you â the perfect reaction to what you heard. HâHis wedded? Me? Lord Sukunaâs wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like thatâŠ!
âYour wedded?â Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. âYouâve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.âÂ
âTch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?â Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. âDid you honestly think Iâd allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, arenât you too old for fairy tales?â Youâre still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each otherâs existence? Any regular person would feel as if theyâre experiencing a whirlwind right now.Â
Wait a minuteâŠ
âOh, weâre talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.â Itâs Gojoâs turn to get a kick out of this. âFrom what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of aââ
He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukunaâs doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm.Â
Please, wait, stopâ
âI already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,â red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. âBut I donât mind severing your tongue to make a point.â
The skin around the cut on Gojoâs skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. âIâd like to see you try, you ugly prune.âÂ
NO, STOP IT!!
This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, youâve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends â companions you used to laugh and engage with together â wanting to rip each otherâs throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept oneâs proposal over the otherâŠthat would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear!Â
âI accept both!!â
The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet.Â
You didnât know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. WhatâŠWhat did I say just now?
âWhat did you just say?â As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed.Â
Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like theyâd soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do Iâ
ââŠExpress to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whateverâs left to rebuild their past allianceâŠâÂ
And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another â preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.
I am the princess, but their friend above all elseâŠYou remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. ââŠ.I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.â
The menâs bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. âBoth of ourââŠ! Surely you donât mean thatââ Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion.Â
âI do.â A deep breath before you answered him. âI will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.â
The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. âAnd just why is that?â
You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. âUnderstand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives â it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends againâŠAs you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor Iâll forever appreciateâŠ.But I cannot choose one over the other.â
âBullshit,â Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. âYou can; you just choose not to.â
âNo, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continentâŠâ You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. âA rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; bloodâs already been spilled and soaking Tengenâs soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I canât be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldnât take the life of the other?â
That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, âWhat happens between us shouldnât concern you, my princess.â
âYouâre wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern thatâs been eating me alive, watching my allies â my friends â fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?⊠No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.â
âIt wouldnât be blood on your hands.â
ââŠBut it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.â
The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didnât falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.
A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. âSo, thatâs it, you accept both proposals.â
A curt nod. âYes, my Lord.â
âYour final decision?â
âCorrect.â
The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down â like it was his bed. âHaaaaaah, you are your fatherâs kid, all right,â you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. âA pacifist heart.â
âHmph, such a dumbass reason,â Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and youâre amazed he hasnât already skinned you and Gojo. âYou are not a child anymore. You canât possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.â
âYouâre right: I am no child, for Iâve never been as serious as I am now.â Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, âItâs either both of you or nothing at all.â
His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. âTsk, both or nothingâŠMeanwhile, you know I canât be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.â
Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. âFinally, something I can agree with the devil himself. Heâs right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone â you being the top of my list.â
You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. âI understand you both, but if you two canât let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myselfââ
âLet the fog clear?â Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. âSorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages â sorcerers from this bastardâs empire!âÂ
âAn action that validates your anger and course of action,â you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. ââŠHowever, Satoru didnât order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.â
The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. âRidiculous.â
âNo, whatâs âridiculousâ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.â Gojoâs turn to interpolate. âOne of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footstepsââ
âAre you saying my people didnât have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?â
âYour people sure kill like they donâtââ Another swipe of Sukunaâs fingers glid the air; this time, Gojoâs Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. âHah, just like their leader.â
Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. âThe demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.â
âThen allow me to fulfill my mistake,â the silver-haired manâs eyes glow. âAnd let me kill the demons responsible â just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.â
âOver my dead body, human trash.â
âMy Lords!â The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. âThis is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something Iâd accept unmistakably under different circumstancesâŠBut, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men whoâve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tallâŠ.or none stand at all.â
Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down â fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.
âIâm sorry if what Iâm saying or doing is selfish, andâŠyou may be right that Iâm going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,â Do not cry, do NOT cry. âStanding idly every passing day watching the men Iâve grown toââ Love? Isnât that too intimate of a word to assume? ââŠtreasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.â
Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, youâre frightened beyond belief by what youâre saying. But youâre sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well youâre following her counsel.
âPlease, I justâŠcanât bear it.â
Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. Youâre bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much youâre chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how youâre managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know heâs in deep sleep halls away. Itâs just the three of you in this space â or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukunaâs cleaves.Â
Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men donât dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourselfâŠ.Well, at least the northern prince wouldnât dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, âAnd how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?â
A worthy question to ponder. ââŠIâm sure heâd come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,â the belly of the eastern king grumbles. âIâm sure heâd be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.â
Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. âWell, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting likeâŠa âreal couple.â Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesnât mean weâd be on the same page.â
Sukuna nods curtly. âIâd rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.âÂ
The other shrugs. âEven if the worldâs fate depends on it.â
The menâs grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people canât stand each other. What youâre posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isnât entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesnât change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that itâs a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friendsâŠ
âŠWhich is why what youâre about to do is indubitably unlike you.Â
ââŠWhat are you doing?"
But despite that, itâs a course of action that highlights your determination.
ââWoah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!â
Even if itâll go down as the most downright humiliating thing youâve done to yourself.
Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesnât decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.
âMy Lords,â you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. âThis formâŠisnât meant for any regular eyes to see â an offering only a slim few Iâd trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.â You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukunaâs giant size. âAs your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mineâŠand I am yours.â
Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.
âYou are mine, and I am yours?â he lifts his eyebrow. âWas that not true already?â You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, youâre surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm.Â
âYouâd have to prove it true â here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yoursâŠYou too, Gojo.â You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. âDemonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.â
Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.
âWell, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.â He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. âAnd on the many nights coming after.â
The beastâs words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. âNot if I have something to do about it, four-eyesâŠâ
You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer.Â
âYouâve made this night a whole lot more interesting.â
And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
âMmmmâŠAhhâAhhh!!â
âKeh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.â
âFuck, I can hear the sounds from hereâŠOh, fuuckâŠ!â
The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isnât yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues.Â
Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the Kingâs audience to rest.
âŠBut it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.
How could they sleep when youâre being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two arenât the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well.Â
And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husbandâŠYet, youâre not as prepared on the chance youâd face both realities simultaneously.Â
All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at â more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.
Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit â way thicker than yours â inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadnât known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.
Nonetheless, that indignity doesnât cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!
âNnnn, ahaahnâŠâ Sukunaâs finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monsterâs hold. âOh GodsâŠOhhh!!â
âDamn, you look so good,â Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. âLooks like it feels good, huh, princess?â
âSure feels like it,â every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. âHm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.â
The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. ââŠI-Iâfffmm!âdonât knowâŠâ
âHmph, you dare lie to me,â he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. âLike your body doesnât speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.â
âTh-thatâs notââThe graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukunaâs thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair.Â
The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. âOnly one finger in, and youâre already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I havenât added another, then youâd really be prepared for meâŠâ You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukunaâs cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.
âWooow, calling the future heir a whore; mustâve forgotten whose room weâre in.â The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being.Â
âThey donât seem to mind, at least their cunt doesnât,â uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. âWho wouldâve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,â each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. âWas, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?â
âHoly shit,â Gojoâs hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Starâs hold is too hot for the young man to witness. âGod, I wanna fuck you so bad, babyâŠâ
Sukuna clicks his teeth. âWell, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.â
âAnd have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,â He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once itâs added sends shivers up Gojoâs shoulders. âA princess should be treated like a pearl â tended to with the utmost care.â
âGoâjoooâŠâ You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.
âWhat did I say about using my family name?â He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina.Â
ââŠS-SaâMmmph!â The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.
âShhh, itâs okay,â He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. âRelax, just focus on me.â Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. âWhatâs my name, cutie?â
âSaaaâŠSatoâOhhh!!â And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. ââŠtoâruuâŠâ
His teeth glisten under her grin. âThatâs my good girl.â
Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadnât thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl.Â
But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.
Sukuna raises a brow. âWhat a shout.â He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.
âAhhhh, there it is,â Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. âThat was cute as hellâthe way you twitch feels so goodâŠâ Another poke to your cervix, and your legs canât help but wrap around Gojoâs waist.
âSatoru, pleaseâŠ!â You plead with knitted eyebrows. âPleasee, be gentle with meâŠâ
Blue eyes narrow. âGod, who told you to be so adorable?â Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. âDonât worry, baby, Iâll treat you right tonightâŠHmmm.â
The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half.Â
Hands writhe around to calm around Gojoâs cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, itâs bound to come earlier than expected. ââNnaaa, Satâruuu, w-wait!! I canâtâAhaann!!â
ââMmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like thatâŠâ He doesnât listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he canât stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear.Â
âT-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!â Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; itâs coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojoâs skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the princeâs girth and your asshole clamping around Sukunaâs fingers.
And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. ââMmfff, ffffshit, so tightâŠ!â He canât stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. âFuuck! Yeah, cutie, thatâs right; ride it out,â he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. âRide it outâŠâ
Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. âDone already, human?â Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. âBetter be ready for me still.â
âEhhh, but Iâm not done here.â The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes.Â
A thread snaps in the wake of the otherâs words, and Sukunaâs lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.
âGahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck wâMmmph?!?â With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the otherâs palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.
âShut up,â Sukuna orders with annoyance. âSo damn chattyâŠAnd you,â he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. âStay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.â
His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojoâs chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent âoâ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldnât get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individualâs well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body â not even one!
However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, itâs better. Gods, no, youâd be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch thatâs plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.
âDaahhnn, ohmyGâNnnm!!â Itâs finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, âS-SukunaaâŠfuull, so fuulllâŠâ
âI bet you are.â He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, âHmmm, fuck, so tightâŠâ
The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukunaâs movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.
Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukunaâs hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.
Sukunaâs pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojoâs pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. Thereâs no room for restâŠ! ââOhhh, hoooohâKunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseeeâŠ!â
ââPlease, please,â please what?â He mocks you, knowing youâre powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. âJust whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?â
âOhhh, Iâm gonnaâshtoooop!!â He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. âOhhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuckâŠ!!â
âKehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,â dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon kingâs lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, youâre sure he drew blood.Â
âAhhsshhâohmyGod, ohmyGod!! Sâkuna, donât!!â Desperate pleads slur out. âIâm gonna break; yâre gonna break meeeâŠ!!!â
âGood, I want you to be broken,â he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. âBreak for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?â
Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesnât need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than thatâŠAnd yet, your anus and chasm canât stop squeezing like crazy.
âïżœïżœYess, my Lord,â you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. âI am your pet from thisânnmm!!âthis moment until theâŠvery last.â
Anxiety doesnât diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yoursâyour first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And thereâs Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you.Â
You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukunaâs, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that youâve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldnât adequately foretell.
Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukunaâs mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojoâs with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.
For a few seconds, itâs utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.
âLook what you did,â he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. âYou werenât kiddinâ when you said you wanted to break them.â
âHmph, donât ever take me for a liar,â the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. âOi, dove, you hear me?â
âPrincess, you all rightâŠ?â
Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
âMy Lady, are you sure youâre feeling all right?â
âHuh?â You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it. Â
You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; itâs part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.
ââMmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like thatâŠâ
âStay still, or I can make it hurt real badâŠHmmm, fuck, so tightâŠâ
Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men â your childhood friends â so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukunaâs stomach, Gojoâs slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth.Â
âPrincessâŠâ the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like youâre his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation youâll probably never forgetâŠ
âPrincessâŠâ Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you canât tell if that is scary or intriguingâŠ
ââŠâdy LadyâŠ.MY LADY!!â
âYâYes!?â Your attention swerves to reality, Utahimeâs face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression.Â
âWhat on Tengenâs Earth is going on with you?â She says with a sigh, âAre you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it mustâve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didnât keep you awake for too long.âÂ
You shake your head to your best friend. âNo need to apologize, Utahime. And itâs all right; the Lords didnât give me too much trouble.â
She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. âStill, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, tooâŠIf you donât mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?â
Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information youâre about to give. ââŠApparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriageââ
âMARRIAGE!!??â
âShhhh!!â With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waitingâs mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. âPlease, Utahime, not so loud.â
The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, âMy apologies. ButâŠmarriage??â
âI know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.âÂ
âMmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good messageâŠOr perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?â
They did. Thatâs what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojoâs eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think youâd live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone â especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that youâd only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine.Â
ââŠThat might be it, as well.â You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself.Â
However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, âI think that is the case, seeing as though youâre trying to hide the smile from me.â
You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. âIâm smiling?â
âAha!â Oh no, I fell for it. âGotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?â
âWâWellâŠI donât know myself,â it was an honest answer; you didnât know the answer yourself. âThe matter caught me off guard; I wasnât expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrivalââ
âThatâs not my question, my princess.â You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. âIt made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each otherâs throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, Iâm relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.âÂ
You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, âAnd judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me youâre on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Ladyâs hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If itâs the latter, Iâll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , itâs something out of a fairyââ
âUtahime, calm down!â You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell sheâs itching to plan your wedding â whenever that be â once your tea time is finished. âIâŠI didnât accept their proposals, not yet.â
The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. âWhat do you mean!? You didnât? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.â You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldnât formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahimeâs brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small âoâ shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.
âPrincess,â her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. ââŠWhat exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?â
âPRINCESS! PRINCESS!!â
Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahimeâs apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, âMaiden Miwa! Iâve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?â When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, sheâs huffing and puffing. âAnd stand up straight!â
âEek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!â Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. âPrincess, Iâm here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!â
Huh??!! âPardon??â
âYes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, thatâs what they told meâŠOh, there they are!âÂ
âMiwa, shhhh, donât point!âÂ
You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now theyâre here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men.Â
Perhaps this was the union youâve wished for â the union that could finally bring you three back togetherâŠPerhaps.
ââŠTell them that Iâm available to speak.â

© đđšđŹđĄđąđ đ«đđČ2024 â reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly â header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by @cafekitsune.
#đŻđđđđ Ëââ§ê°á â à»ê± â§âË đŸđđđđđ: đđđđ#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryoumen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic
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it's just one of those things... your husband, nanami, likes you close.
but, your husband is actually a very sane individual and decides its best not to keep you leashed down. however, it didn't make it easier when you brought up the idea of visiting your family during the spring.
nanami loves your family, but he loves them in his way. he loves them from far, far awayâperhaps not even a phone call away, just a yearly birthday card kind of closeness. It's not an energy he wishes to be around.
but, he wants whatever makes you happy, so he lets you go for a week.
a grueling, seven-day week. one filled with work, overtime, stress and anger, all to an empty house to crawl back to. it's okay -- its all he can tell himself as he tucks into bed lonely as hell.
he wills himself to sleep, begging his mind to leave you alone. let you have your space without his voice in your ear. he thinks you want this -- this... disgusting silence.
little did he know, you were five cities away waiting by the phone.
just waiting. hoping at least a good night text would fall your way. you know he's up thinking about you. he has to be.
so, when you get home a week later. you're pissed and touch starved and nanami starved. you had a mind to let him have it, to spew everything you've been pining over while he's been too busy to text or call.
it also doesn't help that you got home four hours before him, having time to cool down and shower off. a part of you wants to call him -- perhaps he's getting drinks or dinner with a friend, but if he didn't contact you for a week, you'd be sure not to contact him. its the only way you know how to teach him.
he arrives home when you're wrapped in your pajamas, glass of wine in your hand, and waiting for this exact moment.
"welcome home, my beautiful wife."
he begins, and it brings a small smile to your face. it's already seeming like he's redeeming himself. "you know I love you."
"really? i don't know... just thought i'd see it more when we're apart," you mumble, chewing on your lip over the rim of your glass. you can't see nanami's expression, but you can feel the quirk in his brow - the tightness in the corner of his lips.
"well, don't be vague. you're mad at me." he knows, yet he's still so calm. you refuse to glance back at him, even when he's taking off his shoes and pulling off his tie. it's something you'd usually help him with. this time, you help yourself to your wine.
"look, a week apart did us both a world of good, I promise you."
"yeah? would your hand agree with you, there?"
he laughs. "not everything's about sex, dear. I'm capable of holding out for a week." another wordless sip of your wine, and he's approaching you. "but, just because I can, doesn't mean I want to go into day eight without it."
it takes every fiber of your soul to say, "'m sorry, nanami. i'm just not in the mood tonight."
if you didn't know him so well, you wouldn't have caught the slight twitch in his brow at the news. however, he takes it well with a small smile on his face. "of course. i'll be in my office."
you sip your wine, cursing him internally for his politeness. he could have anything he wanted from you if he just said it. but, he never will. if its your will to go to bed without giving yourself to him, then so be it. he won't beg at your feet like a child.
but... what if you wanted him to?
you're not keeping track of time anymore, but you feel renewed with a headful of wine and time spent with nothing but thoughts of him. it's genuinely unnerving to you just how in love you are. nanami is so gentle, strong, beautiful and polite. it fucking makes your head spin.
then, you feel like a monster..
the feeling wills one foot in front of the other, all the way to his office door. it's not closed, just cracked. golden desk lamp lighting spills out into the hall in rectangular designs. you find yourself fixating on it in your drunkenness.
the door squeaks as you push it open, and you peek inside to see where he was amongst the organized chaos of books and work papers.
"ken?"
surprisingly, he's not staring right back at you. he's face down over his desk, resting so that you can't see his faceâonly the back of his head and all his disheveled blonde hair.
when you approach, he stays completely still. worry begins brewing in your chest.
"you know you can come to bed..." you whisper, leaning against the side of his desk. his pretty eyes flutter open at the softness of your voice and touch, quirking a smile.
"didn't think i could lay next to you and keep my hands to myself." he sits up into your hand, shivering as you massage over his scalp. he's like a little orange kitten, nudging your hand with sleepy eyes.
"don't you dare go ghost on me for a week ever again. do you know how obsessed I am with you?"
"i can guess." he chuckles softly, swallowing something down as he looks up at you. "I'm so sorry. just figured you would want your time to yourself."
"that doesn't mean you can't text me."
"then, i'm throwing my hands up and taking my wrongs." there he goes again, not even so much as debating his reasoning; he just wants you. if being the bad guy means he can lay down his gorgeous, tipsy wife, he'll be the worst person in the world.
there's newfound speed behind his actions as he spins his chair around, reaching out to grab you by the hips. it's so fluid and familiar, but it gets your pulse racing, the beat between your thighs mimicking the rhythm of his heart. he's so close to everything -- to you, to all of it.
he kisses your tummy where the hem of your shirt kisses the waistband of your shorts. he's breathing you in, memorizing the sound of you, it seems. your hands find the back of his neck, thumbing circles into the fuzz, there. it's a moment he'd never speak about again, but the ones you cherish the most. he just holds you. like, it's been over five minutes now...
"i'm sorry. i love you so much."
he nods into your stomach, kissing the ticklish sliver of bare skin there. you're dewy with the after-breath of him, but you love the warmth. you want him back when he pulls away.
"i love you." he nods, giving you those eyes when he looks up at you. your heart fucking pummels and rushes through your body, nearly bringing tears to your eyes -- he's so beautiful. "and I love this fabric on you."
"please. please take it off, kento. i love you so fucking... so fucking much." you're breathless already, and all he's done is kiss you. it's a little embarrassing, but neither of you care. tomorrow morning when he kisses you awake, you'll shrug off your demeanor on the alcohol but you weren't that drunk. you just missed him.
"take it off, please. take it off..."
"huh?"
"please, don't fucking tease me i'm so horny right now. nanami kento, i love you so much, please."
"wow, girl." he trails his lips to your waistband, taking it between his teeth shortly. "are you begging for it?"
"fuck my pride, i don't have it with you anymore." you gasp, tightening your fist in his hair to lead him just... down. of course, he's too fucking strong. he doesn't budge. "kentooo-"
he stares up with wide eyes for just a second longer before giving in. he mumbles, "all right, all right." just before yanking your shorts and taking you apart. he drives his chair forward as he slides open your cunt on two fingers, showing you his tongue and diving in. he's done this hundreds of times, but you'll never be used to the feeling.
he knows every inch of your body - how you vibrate when he flicks your clit that one way or dips his tongue the other. he has your orgasm down to a science, but he still takes his time massaging around your labia, kissing the crook between your thighs.
you were already so close, you cuss. "fuck - what ar- what are you doing?!"
"if you would just have some patience," he responds vaguely, holding your thigh and kissing across the inside. with rushing breaths, you try to calm down, swallowing as you watch him. "you were about to finish, I could tell."
"so, you stopped?"
"i know you've been drinking... so you won't last past this round." of course, only he would know that and actually apply logic to it. it hits you dumbfounded. "I'm selfish. just wanted you to cum when I'm inside a'you."
there's absolutely nothing you can say to translate your thoughts, all you can do is breathe out a shaky moan. you were so fucked off of his tongue, right now.
"desk? bedroom? hm?"
or
you want me to fuck you on my desk or in our bed?
bed sounds better, that way you can pass out immediately afterwards. your mind swims thinking about being back in his arms tonight.
it seems you said that out loud, because he gives you a small smile, then carries you all the way to your bedroom.
he fucks you slow and deep tonight, letting you rest on your back as he held your legs over his waist. you're mewling in reaction, biting down on the inside of your wrist to keep the embarrassment at bay. nanami's being so devious, fucking you like this. he knows it'd take you longer to cum, but he wants that.
he wanted to savor this. you. all of it. all he can do as he stares down at you is admire. he loves the way your breasts rise and fall with each shaky breath. he loves the way your neck dips every time he hits that spot or touches you there.
inside of your warmth is home for him. he just loves you so fucking much that you're the only thing on his mind when he cums alongside you.
he even thinks his left eye drops a tear when he collapses in bed with you. though, he'd never, ever admit it.
then, he kisses the top of your head as you drift away into spinning dreams and whispers:
"god, what did i ever do before you?"
#i get so flustered writing him HELP#wanted to do something kind of fluffy???#.the wife guy!! <3#.nanami <3#nanami jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#jjk x reader#nanami x reader#nanami smut#jjk nanami#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami x you
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Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character
Word Count: 4.6k
On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, youâre separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.
Chapter Two
ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist
Eden is a home.
It is a person. A place. A community
It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.
You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, youâll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.
Preservation.
Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.
It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.
You are but one piece of a large whole.
âWhat are you doing here so early?â
You glance up, smiling at your assistant. âCould ask the same,â you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.
Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. âThought Iâd get here early since youâre going out today with Zac and his group.â They rub at their eyes. âShouldnât you be at the gate already?â
âShit,â you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. âDouble shit,â you groan.
Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. âIâll handle this.â Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. âWe doing a refurb on this?â
âNo,â you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. âSome of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.â
âTranscribe then,â murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. âWhere are you going again?â
âZac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.â You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. âHe said thereâs a library.â
Samâs head pops up. âSeriously?â
You nod excitedly. âSaid the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.â
âUntouched?â asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. âWhat a fucking find.â
âI know!â you exclaim. âCould really use some encyclopedias.â
âAnd dictionaries,â adds Sam longingly.
Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. âZac said I can bring back as much as I want.â
âDid he really?â Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. âThat man is sweet on you.â
âWhich is why I take advantage,â you giggle.
Sam bursts out laughing. âGo. Theyâll leave you behind.â
With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what theyâre cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.
As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.
âHave I held everyone up?â you ask tentatively, glancing around.
âNot at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.â Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.
You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. âTaking a whole convoy?â
âWeâre going to need it.â
âFor a small town?â
Zac chuckles. âIâm dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.â
âI get a security detail?â you ask excitedly and Zac nods. âFancy.â
Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. âThereâs a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, weâll come back.â
âNo activity then?â
âNone,â confirms Zac. âWeâve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.â
âThatâs fortunate,â you murmur.
While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.
Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. âHear Iâm looking after you today,â he says, going in for a hug.
You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.
âAnd helping me haul books,â you add.
Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. âWeâre ready.â
Zac nods. âLoad up!â he shouts.
Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.
Itâs several hours of open road and clear weather.
You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. Itâs a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and heâs coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.
âReady?â he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.
âBackpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.â
Ben blows raspberries. âCanât forget the foldable wagon.â
You playfully smack him on the arm. âYou want to haul all those books back yourself.â
âNo thank you,â he mutters.
The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.
âHere it is,â sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.
The library isnât overly big. If anything, itâs what youâd expect from a small town.
âNow I know youâre excited,â he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. âBut you stay close. Weâre entering from the back.â
All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. Itâs been almost six years since youâve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.
While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.
Adrenaline surges within you.
A few wiggles.
And thenâ
Click.
Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.
âDraw your weapon,â whispers Ben. âWe need to do a sweep first.â As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. âAnd leave the damn wagon.â
Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. Itâs a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.
Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. âItâs clear.â He turns in your direction. âIâll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.â
âGot it,â you say with a mock salute.
Ben rolls his eyes but heâs smiling. âAnd donât drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.â
You stare him down but Ben doesnât budge, matching your stare with one of his own. âI mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?â
âSure. Got it. Understood.â
Ben checks his watch. âWe have a few hours before weâre expected back at the meet point. Take your time.â He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. âWife packed a few sandwiches. Promise Iâll share.â
You snort and wave him off. âBring me my wagon, Ben.â
âOn it,â he calls over his shoulder.
As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since youâve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the governmentâs resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.
This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.
Of all the books in your communityâs collection, theyâve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time youâve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.
Like a jubilant child, you want to run aroundâto touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you donât dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.
But you know better. You do.
Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, youâll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.
Ben does leave you alone, and youâre left to wander.
Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.
âWhere are you?â you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.
Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.
Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the âReferenceâ section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.
Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasnât had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. Itâs likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.
Youâre completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.
Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.
Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.
Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.
âThere are people outside,â he whispers.
Thatâs when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldnât be people.
You swallow, mouth becoming dry. âHow many?â
Ben shrugs. âNot sure. But thereâs two groups.â
âTwoââ You shake your head slightly as thatâll clear your racing thoughts. âWhat do you mean two groups?â
Benâs mouth turns downward. Itâs an Iâm sorry but even that is loaded.
Weâre not getting out of this.
Thereâs a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someoneâs thrown a beer bottle. Itâs still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.
Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.
Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, itâs all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.
âIs that them?â you ask softly.
Ben doesnât look back at you as he answers. âJust the one. These guys came in loud.â Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. âSurprised you didnât hear them.â
âLost in my books.â Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. âWhat about the second group?â you ask tentatively. âOur people?â
Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. âNo. Not sure who they are.â He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. âTheyâre all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.â
Two groups. Two different groups.
Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. âOnly noticed them when one of these guys went around back.â He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. âFucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.â
âWho are they?â
Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. âNo fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers orââ
He pauses, gaze growing distant.
âOr what, Ben?â you prompt.
He doesnât answer, only readies the rifle. âAll I know is we need to go.â
All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.
Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. âI have to leave the books. Donât I?â
âAfraid so,â replies Ben. But he smiles, and though heâs trying, you see the strain. âNext time Iâll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.â
âPromise?â
âPromise,â he affirms. âLetâs go.â
At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.
âClearâ he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.
The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.
There is no one around. No one. And yetâ
A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.
Youâre yanked to the side, and then spun around.
Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you donât entirely comprehend whatâs happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.
âOh, fuck,â you breathe. âBen. Weââ
Horror floods your lungs.
Blood.
Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Benâs body.
âOh my god. Ben.â
You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.
âGo,â he gasps. âGo.â
âIâm not leaving you here.â
As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.
âHere,â he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. âLeave me and fucking run. Iâll distract them.â
Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.
Your eyes burn. âYou promised me books.â
He smiles, and thereâs more red than white. âYou know I always deliver on my promises.â
With a groan thatâs more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.
âGo,â he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.
You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.
It comes from everywhere, but you donât falter, donât pause to check your surroundings. Youâre not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.
âFucking grab her!â someone yells. âGrab her!â
You donât know if itâs the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.
Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.
In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.
It is everything.
With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.
The blow comes out of nowhere.
You witness a brief taste of freedom.
And then itâs yanked right from under you.
A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.
âCome here,â growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. âLet me get a good look at you.â
You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.
âStop your fussing.â
A quick blow to the face and youâre circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.
 âLook at you,â he laughs.
Itâs one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.
âPretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on myââ
His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out whatâs happened. Itâs a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.
With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.
âDonât move.â A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. Itâs still warm. âGet up.â
A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.
Someone grabs the back of your neck. Itâs a harsh hold, and youâre yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.
The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. âFucking move and Iâll shoot you.â
You remain perfectly stillâperfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.
âTold you not to fucking move.â
The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.
âSorry,â you murmur.
He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you canât entirely place it. Itâs an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.
The strangerâs gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then youâre shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, youâre half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.
While their rusty trucks are still there, they arenât alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the maraudersâ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that arenât dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.
When one of them moves, theyâre kicked until they fall back into compliance.
âFound this one out by the houses,â says the man holding onto your left arm.
Soldiers. They have to be. This isnât some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.
A small trio of them standing nearby turn.
The centermost soldier speaks. âA woman?â His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.
He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. âThese fuckers donât let their breeders out of their sight.â
Breeders.
You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and youâre without a weapon. Entirely powerless.
Survival. Always survival.
He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. âLooks healthy,â he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. âStop moving.â
Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. âOpen your mouth.â
You glower, and donât comply.
He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.
âHas all her teeth,â he announces, dropping his hand. âCanât be one of theirs.â
âWe need to show the Lieutenant,â says the soldier to your right.
The man before you stares, and keeps staring. âDo we?â
You donât like the implication.
âWhatâs this?â
A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.
The man holding your left arm speaks up. âFound her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.â
All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.
Instead of an American flag, itâs a Union Jack.
His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. âThey donât bring their women out.â
âThatâs what I said.â
âAre their numbers that low?â
âWith how weâve been picking them off I wouldnât be surprised.â
They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.
âIâm not with them,â you say, and they all go silent.
Skull Face glowers. âYouâre not?â
âI was running from them.â You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. âTheyâll tell you. Theyâre the ones that shot him.â
Skull Face appears unmoved. âDoesnât mean youâre not with them.â
You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. âWhy would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldnât I be shooting back at you?â
âNo,â he replies flatly. âIf you were with them, youâd be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.â
âShe has to be with them. Thereâs no one else here.â The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Faceâs right. The accent is different. Scottish.
âI came with one other. Those men shot at us.â
Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.
âAnd where are they?â asks Skull Face.
You swallow, knowing the truth. âBehind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.â
Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. âWho are these men?â
âWhat?â you ask, perplexed.
âThese men.â He points to the facedown marauders. âWho are they?â
These men are strangers to you. âSlavers?â When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. âCannibals?â
âSheâs playing dumb,â mutters the Scots.
âHush, Soap,â mutters Skull Face. Â âWho are they? What name do they go by? Itâs an easy question. Everyone knows it.â
You shake your head. âIâI donât know.â
Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. âIf you donât answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.â
âShe had these.â The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. âAnd this.â The Glock is presented.
Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. âThey donât give their women weapons, Ghost.â
So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.
âNo,â he agrees. âMakes it easier for them to fight back.â
The very idea sobers you.
âWho are they?â you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.
Ghost glances up from the car keys. âYour worst fucking nightmare.â
âLieutenant!â The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.
Ben is not with them. Ben isâ
Ghost nods and steps back. âWeâre taking her with us.â The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.
âPick three of these bastards at random,â he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. âPut them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.â
Ghostâs hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in closeâso close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.
âYouâre riding with me.â
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley fanfic#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon riley x fem!reader#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x fem!reader#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley cod#simon ghost x reader#ghost simon riley#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#post apocalyptic#cod au#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#ghost x f!reader#ghost fanfiction#ghost fanfic#simon riley fanfiction#simon riley fic#simon ghost riley fic
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Mind and Body.
Cregan Stark x chronic illness Targaryen!reader
Summary: Cregan visits King's Landing, spotting a princess who'd been hidden away due to her constant illness. He's enamored.
A/n: based on an ask!
Masterlist
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"Lord Stark," Alicent greeted. "How wonderful for you to journey so far."
There was an agreement for the Warden to visit every five years to ensure his loyalty to the Realm and vice versa. Not that King Viserys was ever worried about Cregan. But the North was far and it was important to each side to check on the development of the other.
"'Tis only my duty to the North," he answered.Â
The two walked quietly to the council room. Viserys had quickly grown ill, so most business would be conducted there. When he was well enough to go.
Which meant Alicent and Otto were in charge of their meetings when the king was absent.
âŠ
The initial greeting was pleasant, even if the king was slowly decaying in front of him.
But Cregan had been free to wander around the castle as their guest. The next talk of business would not be until the morning, so he decided to take advantage of that.
The sun was beginning to set, just a hint of the dark creeping onto King's Landing. Cregan stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Even their cold nights here were hotter than the chill of a warm Northern day.
"Princess, surely you should rest!"
His head snapped back towards the open doors behind him. His curiosity was beyond peaked. Princess Helaena was fine. He'd given her a brief nod and a polite acknowledgement hours ago.
And soon enough, a ghostly presence passed by the doorway. Cregan felt his breath catch.
Silver hair. Grey complexion. And a gown and cloak that dragged with every step.
He was struck.
Her guard followed behind, a resigned look in his eyes.
"I feel fine," her voice softly commented. It was weak, like she never used it.
As they journeyed down the corridor, the voices faded and Cregan found himself following them.
"You've still yet to regain your strength from your scare last week. You'll catch a chill," her guard reprimanded. His armor clunked together with each step, a reminder of the life he abided by.
She was like a gust of wind that chilled you from the bottom to top of your spine. And Cregan quite enjoyed the cold.
"I only wish to leave my chambers for a moment." Her movements were slow and lethargic, yet graceful and calculated.Â
"You should have waited for me to gather your boots. I have no doubt the stone is freezing over. Please."
Cregan noted just how comfortable this guard was with telling the Princess off. They'd obviously gotten to know one another well.
She released a ragged sigh, pausing in her steps to look over her shoulder. "I-" She froze completely at the sight of Cregan behind them. She hadn't even heard him following, and he didn't make himself known.
Her guard followed her line of sight with ease, immediately moving into a defensive position at the sight of the large stranger.
"Forgive me," Cregan immediately covered, holding his hands out to show he wasn't a threat. He took cautious steps forward more into the light of the nearest window so he could be more seen. "My curiosity got the better of me."
Her guard turned, relying on the princess for her answer to the situation. It was up to her, after all.
Her head tilted to the side and she stepped past him to close in on Cregan.
As she neared, he noticed just how shallow her cheeks were sunken in. The grey in her complexion was an unwelcome one. Her eyes held a dullness to them, despite the intensity of their gaze.Â
"Cregan Stark, my princess," he greeted, tipping his head down and holding out a hand. He only hoped she'd accept it.
She stared for a while before remembrance ran through her. "Stark of the North. Right." She took his invitation, a shaky hand falling on his.
He noted how cold they were. But he stashed that fact away and kissed her knuckles gently as any gentleman should.
He also noted the ready look in the guard's eyes. Like he'd pummel him just for stepping a toe out of line.
"I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting you," Cregan continued, letting her hand fall back to her side. "How the Crown has hidden a pretty girl away, I cannot understand."
For once, her lips quirked up on the ends, a soft breath escaping her nose. She finds his comment humorous. "You mustn't lie."
True, she's a bit worse for wear, but she still holds the Targaryen beauty that's so coveted.Â
"I have not yet," he insists. "Nor do I intend to."
She gets antsy, unsure what to say. Her guard catches on and steps up to the pair. "Excuse us, Lord Stark. Princess Y/n much needs her rest."
"Of course. Excuse my ignorance. Please." His last word is directed right at her as if assuring she'd understand that he meant no harm in his actions before.
She still doesn't speak, only staring as her guard gently turns her back to where they were coming from. "Please start moving back to your room. I will catch up with you in a moment."
She doesn't fight, beginning the willowy trek back to her room. Slow steps once again.
Both watched until she turned the corner, and her guard's worried face switched immediately to questioning. "Ser Criston Cole, Commander of the City Guard," he introduced himself. "Might I ask your reason for following the princess?"
"I only saw her pass through the doorway. Curiosity truly got the better of me. I've not seen her around-"
"-and you won't," Criston finished. "Between you and I, it would be better if you forgot her entirely."
The Stark was thrown off by Criston's sudden aggression. And so he got defensive. "The Crown cannot simply hide away a vital member of its lineage!"
Criston grabbed Cregan's collar with both fists. "I'd warn you to walk away from this now." He was older than him, clearly trying to use that as an intimidation tactic.
Too bad nothing intimidated the Wolf of the North.
"And if I do not?"
"The Crown doesn't take it lightly when its weakest member is targeted."
"What is wrong with her?"
Criston, realizing his intimidation is doing nothing, lets go of him. He gives a glare that clearly says 'none of your fucking business' and begins to walk off in the direction of the princess. "Stick to snow and barbarianism, Cregan Stark!" He calls over his shoulder.
If anything, the guard's gall encourages Cregan. He loves a challenge.
âŠ
The next time he spotted her was while sparring. The training courtyard of King's Landing was very different from that of Winterfell, but he took the opportunity to train with gratitude.Â
It was quite amusing to see Cregan sweating profusely in a thin tunic while the others wore multiple layers.
Not that he would brag about his adherence to the cold. Out loud, anyway. In his head was different.
And when his eyes wandered up the castle walls, there she was.Â
Seated in a comfortable chair on her tiny balcony that was clearly drug in and out every night she sat. She was covered in a thick fur, but there she was. Maybe the outdoor air brought her comfort. Her handmaiden brushed through the woman's overly shiny locks.
It was hard to tell exactly what she was looking at, but it was clearly in his direction, so he did his best to avoid staring.
Easier said than done.
Every few hits, he'd find himself looking up to make sure she was still there. She truly felt like a ghost, potentially disappearing now that he'd spotted her.
But she didn't. She only watched from above.
âŠ
By the fifth day of meeting with Alicent and Otto, he brought it up.
"I also couldn't help but notice the princess you keep hidden from sight. I want to ask about her."
Alicent had been waiting for this. Criston had tattled on the man that first night.Â
Otto was more amused. "Ah yes. I believe it's time we spoke of her. For once."
The queen gripped the chair tightly, earning a small 'tsk' from her father. "What is there to say? She's sickly."
Cregan leaned forward in his chair. "Why keep her locked away from the people?"
"She is not-" Alicent calmed herself and began again. "She is not 'locked away.' She is too ill to attend matters. That is all I wish to say of it."
"Humor the boy," Otto reprimanded. "Once you've spotted her, she's hard to forget."
"Forgive me for my bluntness," Cregan continued. "What illness does she carry?"
Alicent forced herself to keep speaking. "The maesters don't know. We've brought in every kind of maester and septon we could find. It just⊠comes and goes like the tide. You've not seen her at her healthy side, and for that, I am sorry. She can be a joy when she feels alive."
"She looks like death, no doubt," Otto asked Cregan.
"Like she's seen through its eyes," he agreed. "But not completely dead. There's still a small flame."
Otto liked that answer, smiling. "I like that. Now, back to the NorthâŠ"
Cregan couldn't wait for the next sighting.
âŠ
Had he stayed up late in the library, just hoping to see a glimpse of her during the dark hours? Yes. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone.
But it paid off.Â
Like clockwork, she journeyed through the open doorway to the library, pausing when she spotted Cregan.
And she changed her course, moving into the room.
He felt that gust up his spine again, though it eased within moments.
She looked a little better. There was just a tiny increase of color to her cheeks than the last encounter.
Perhaps she was getting better.
"Do you always watch the men train from your balcony?" He braved to ask. He wanted the answer. He needed to hear if it was a special occurrence for him.
"No," her soft answer came.
He felt thrill warm his face. "Then why do it now?"
"I had to⊠cool myself. I was feverish."
Well, now he feels like a dick for trying to flirt with a woman close to death.
"Forgive me. I meant no offense."
"'S alright." Her attention turned to the vast shelves aligning the walls.Â
He looked around too, though not in that direction. "Where's Ser Criston?"
She manages a smile and gazes back at him. "Think I can't outrun my guard dog?"
He exhales with a guilty look. "I truly don't believe you can, Princess."
"Good. You're right." She moves past him. "He was excused for the night. I snuck out during guard change."
"Quick," he remarked, watching her journey one of the large wooden tables there and sit. "I want to know more about you."
"There is not much to know." She rested her head in her hand. "Though, I can entertain your questions enough."
"Alright. Your age."
"Eight and ten."
He nodded. That was only a two years difference. "Have you always been sick?"
"No. I developed a horrid fever when I was four. No one thought that I'd make it. And I never really recovered. I've been stuck in this⊠state."
"And the kingdom just⊠forgot?"
She shrugs. "When the King never announced the recovery of his daughter⊠they make assumptions."
"Do they believe you to be dead?"
"I don't know what they believe. I don't talk to them."
A sadness filled Cregan at her declaration. He was beginning to realize just how much he takes his health for granted. He couldn't imagine a day without greeting his people. It felt like a stake in his heart. "Then I apologize for disrupting that when I spotted you in the hall that night. I should have kept to myself."
"No," she mused. "I'm grateful that you did not."
His head tilts. "Truly?"
She grows a tired smile. "I've never met a Northerner."
"And now that you have?"
Her eyes lazily travel over his body, taking her time to appreciate every part. When her eyes met his again, her smile only grew.
âŠ
Cregan's three week stay was now entering its final week. He had found himself over and over again running into the silver-haired princess.
He tried to keep their meetings stashed away in his mind, but the look Otto gave him over dinner had told him he'd done a poor job of it.
So, there they all sat. Cregan Stark and the Targaryen dynasty- Otto and Alicent, Aegon II, and Aemond. Helaena found herself often staying within her chamber, eating with her young children. Sometimes eating with her ill sister when the two grew lonely.
Cregan was never good at small talk. He was a man that always got straight to the point. And the arrangements between the Crown and the North were at a standstill. It caused a light tension over the food.
They just couldn't agree. With the death of Viserys nearing, Cregan wished for reassurance that the next King or Queen would hold the North's arrangements. Alicent's word wasn't enough to reassure him. He needed more.
But that argument was hours ago, and now they all sat awkwardly over their plates.
Cregan had managed to bond with Aemond briefly over discussions of blacksmiths and longswords. It was something he knew well, and the prince clearly had an interest in it. It was better than sitting in silence.
Aegon had no interest whatsoever. He drank away his worries, no doubt planning his next trip out into the night.
"We all heard the rumor," Aemond mused through his quirked lips.
"Rumor?" Stark asked, sipping from his cup.
At the sudden question, each of the royals heads tipped up. They needed to know the truth.
Aemond smirked and leaned forward. His voice lowered. "That you killed a bear with nothing but a club and your hands."
He looked around the table, seeing everyone's eyes on him. He cleared his throat and set his goblet down with a light thud.Â
A nod.
A collective intimidated breath fell across the table.
Aemond was impressed. He tipped his cup to the Northman and took a swig.
"Your Grace," a guard interrupted, bowing his head. "Princess Y/n," he announced.
Cregan didn't catch the others reactions, instead turning as much as he could in the direction of the door.
He'd feasted with them for over two weeks and only now did the ill princess join them.
She had color to her cheeks now, the light pink standing out beautifully. Lively.Â
She was finally in a gown fit for a princess, deciding to uphold her appearance.Â
She clearly wanted to be there.
It was quiet as each step echoed until she reached the seat next to Aegon. The prince reached out, tugging her chair back to encourage her to sit.
Now seated across from Cregan, her eyes met his.
And she smiled.
"It's good to see you up," Otto announced. "I didn't dare to think you'd recovered this well."
She watched the servants tend to her. "Neither did I, but Criston was nearing the idea of simply locking me in my room to get me to rest."
They all found that relatively amusing. Except for Alicent, who only stared with a guilty look. They all knew the queen was sleeping with the Commander of the Guard. She ordered him around like a dog, having him watch her ill daughter like a hawk.
"It is," Cregan spoke, clearing his throat again, "It is good to see you." His voice was softer, clearly meant for her. His eyes took her in a way the gods would scorn. Like she was something to worship.
When healthy, he thought she was a version of the earth itself. Like the warmest day in Winterfell when the wind was just cool enough to remind you to be awake. Or the beauty of falling snow. It bites when you get too close, but he wouldn't be frightened of death in its embrace. She was not sunshine or light, but she was beautiful in her own way, dragging death alongside her wherever she went.
His eyes only left hers when he heard Aegon clear his throat obnoxiously.Â
"Sister, I thought you were dining with Helaena tonight?"
"The twins were⊠rather tiring today and she wished to rest instead."
He nodded, accepting that answer, but his eyes were trained on Cregan now, squinting as if he could read him. His fingers picked the meat off of a bone on his plate absentmindedly.
Alicent was about the same, recognizing the longing look in the Wolf's eyes.
âŠ
The princess had excused herself early from dinner, still not entirely up to the usual standard of supping like the others.
That gave Cregan no excuse when Alicent dismissed everyone except for him.
So here he is, stuck sitting at the large table and Alicent paces around it like a lion and its prey.
"I don't like the way you look at her," she started. "She is ill. Have you no morals?"
"Like what?" Cregan challenged. "Look at her in what way?"
"Like you want her."
Her bluntness is not something he expected. He's a bit thrown off. But the queen isn't entirely wrong. "Your Grace-"
"-Do not give her false hope," Alicent says in a lower tone. A pleading one. "She cannot take a heartbreak. She cannot take any outside occurrences tormenting her. She'd surely die."
In truthfulness, Cregan had not considered what would happen if she did grow attached, only for him to leave. The thought hurts. "I mean no harm to her. She is magnificent."
Alicent pauses like the words were poison. "Do not lie to me." Her anger grows. "She is ill. She will always be ill. She'll spent her life in her chamber, in her bed. Do not act like that is not the case."
"Meaning what, my queen?"
"That she could never be a wife."
âŠ
The queen's words had haunted Cregan more than he cared to admit. He mostly hated that she might be right.
When he saw the princess again the next day, she was more chipper than he'd ever seen her before.Â
"Lord Stark!" She greeted, her steps a bit quicker than before, though still not he'd consider fast.
He gave a brief smile, continuing his walk down the corridor.
Her face fell a bit. "I-Is something wrong?"
"No. I'm only rushing to meet with your mother."
She sighed, trying to keep up with him. "I thought you did not meet again until the morrow."
"You'd be correct in that."
His tone was matter of fact, no room for the gentle pronunciations he'd used before. It was clearly hurting her. It hurt him, too. But he was on a mission.
So she stopped, watching the Northerner walk away with heavy footsteps.
âŠ
He threw the doors open, not waiting for the guards to do it. "I've decided you're wrong."
It was a bold move, causing the Queen to stand and frown. Not many challenged her, especially in this way. To arrange a meeting midday and then enter in this fashion? Suicide.
Otto was amused, not moving from his seat. He gestured to a chair in encouragement.
But Cregan stood, his hands flat on the tabletop. "You've promised the agreement will continue to the next ruler in line, and I said I could not take your word. That I needed more proof of your insistence. Well, I know what I want."
"I appreciate a man who is bold, Lord Stark, but I implore you not to make demands of the Crown," Otto tried to ease.
"No," Cregan began again, his anger turning to Otto. "Though I doubt there will be much fight to this demand. After all, it seems you will not notice its absence."
"And what is that?"
He paused. "The princess. The one hidden away from prying eyes. I will make her my wife. If she'll have me."
Otto was genuinely not expecting that. Alicent grew angry. "That is my daughter! You will not take her away like a bartered cow!"
"That was not my intention. But fine. Let me rephrase." The Wolf rolled his shoulders back, standing tall before the two. " I wish to court your daughter. No alliance involved. No quill to parchment. No deals. This is not part of our agreement."
"How is it not?"
"If you let me court her, it means you have faith in the North. In me. I don't need a parchment to say that."
Otto sighed. "Let me get this clear. You wish to marry a princess of whom will spend her life half dead?"
Cregan shrugged. "Half dead is half alive. And I like the odds. I like her."
"Surely she won't last in the North," Alicent reasoned. "The second the air seeps through your window, she'll die."
"The same way she's dying here?"
That shut Alicent up.
"There are great maesters in the North. They know the effects of the cold on the body. I have no fear of that. I'll tend to the fires in her chamber myself if I must- even collect the wood myself if you're so frightened. I am no idiot. I can keep her alive and happy."
The two considered the man's proposal. It was a strange one. But they recalled the look between him and her at dinner the night before.
"She'll never give you children," Alicent said with remorse.
He nodded. "I'm prepared to deal with that."
Otto look to the Queen, giving a tilt of his head.
She sighed. "If she wants you, she's yours."
âŠ
Three days left in his stay, and he had spent two days without seeing her.
He didn't wish to go to her chamber. She deserved the privacy. That and⊠he didn't know where it was.Â
So instead, he resorted to staying up late, hoping she'd appear.Â
She didn't.
âŠ
Criston Cole passed Cregan, a glare in his eyes.
Cregan followed, grabbing the guard from behind and pinning him against the wall. "Where is she?"
Criston hissed through his teeth. "Why do you assume I've hidden her?"
"Tell me."
He spit in the Wolf's face.
Cregan only blinked, the rest of his face unflinching. "Where is she?"
"In her room. Where she always is," he seethed.
Cregan's head tilted menacingly.
Criston continued. "West wing. Up the stairs, the door at the end."
He slammed the guard against the wall one more time for good measure, then stormed off.
âŠ
He knocked on the door, and her handmaiden answered. "Oh. You're not the maester."
He frowned. "The maester?"
A soft voice came from inside the room, catching the handmaiden's attention. She nodded and opened the door for him.
He stepped in.
The princess laid on her bed, looking quite literally like death. It was worse than the first time he'd sighted her.
She was thinner, her cheeks sunken in again, her skin the dull grey he hated. Her hair was greased with sweat. Yet at the sight of him, she tried to give a weak smile.
Nearing her side, he sighed. "I had⊠I had no idea, Princess."
Her handmaiden moved to the other side of the bed, going back to dabbing the princess's forehead with a wet cloth.Â
Y/n hummed at the chill. "'S alright."
"So, these are the ill spells you were speaking of." It was a statement, rather than a question.
"Yes," she sighed. "'S so sudden."
"I see that." He reached out to her hand, brushing his fingers over hers. He didn't want to overstep. But she was the one to intertwine their fingers.Â
He spent the rest of the day in there, leaving when the maester entered. He stopped him, leaning in to speak lowly to the doctor. "I want you to feed her meat. Lamb, pig, I do not care. But have it brought to her."
âŠ
The maester did as he commanded. And the next day when Cregan visited, she was chipper.
Was she entirely well? No. But the protein had her sitting up in bed, speaking to her handmaiden as her hair was being braided.
It warmed Cregan.
He grinned when he entered, sitting at her side comfortably now. "You look much better."
"I feel better," she smiled. "The maester said you helped."
"That's ridiculous. What do I know about health?"
But they both knew. They all knew.
"Mother told me something odd."
He froze. "Oh?"
"That you wish to marry me."
He took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. Perhaps she's rejecting him.
"Is that true?"
He nodded, his fingers playing with hers. "It is. If you'll have me."
She smiled, gently waving her handmaiden off now that her hair was done. The girl left with a knowing grin.
"I'll have you, Cregan Stark."
He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over the light pink in her cheeks. "Then I am a lucky man."
âŠ
And in the North, she blossomed.Â
He kept a steady diet of red meat for her, watching as she no longer spent every day in their chamber, even getting to journey out to the courtyards and sit through petitions.Â
The two spent every night cuddled under the furs of their bed. The fire always burned, he made sure of it.Â
Her mind loved Cregan, and now her body could too.
................................................
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Uchihas reacting to âI hate youâs
Request are open! Request rules here!
Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Obito Uchiha, Madara Uchiha, Itachi Uchiha, Shisui Uchiha
Warning: slight angst, nothing else.
Obito Uchiha (Villain)
â§ âI hate you,â he stood there, his expression unwavering as your voice seethed with anger. Your voice could cut through thick glass as you shouted at him, but he felt nothing whatsoever. Even as your eyes bore into him, filled with a hatred so intense it could burn a hole through his soul, it wasnât directed towards him. No, not ever. Yet despite the venom in your words, he didnât flinch. Instead he listened intently, his expression indifferent. âThatâs okay,â he responded, his voice devoid of any apparent emotion. In any other scenario, he wouldâve crumpled under the weight of your vitriol, weeping and pleading for an explanation as to why you might hate him. But not now, because he already knew why.
â§ He knew how you mourned him for years, believing him dead and gone, only to find out the hard way the reality. He knew you visited his grave, and wished that you were in his position. He knew that your trustâyour perspective of reality had been shattered the very moment his mask fell from his face. With a heavy heart, he continued âI would too,â his gaze never left yours, watching as tears streamed down your reddened cheeks. It had been years since heâd seen you this close, yet you looked young and pretty. The prettiest heâs ever seen you, even with tears glistening on your pretty face.
â§ âI hate you so much,â your voice cracked with pain and resentment as you spoke to him. Your Obito. The revelation that he was still alive, but causing so much pain and suffering shattered your world, leaving you emotionally fractured. âWhy? Why do all of this? Why hurt so many?â You ask, searching his face for remorse but finding none, âBecause this world is broken,â he answers steadily, his voice awfully gentle to you. âYou have nothing in this reality,â his arms open, showing you the distress and chaos that is currently occurring around you. He wanted you to see how your comrades laid lifelessâto make you understand that you lost your friends, your family, your âhappy endingâ. â Let this happen, and you will be forever happy,â he pauses briefly, searching for the right words to say. He chose his words carefully, locking eyes with you, âWith me. With a better version of me. One that will keep you happy for the rest of your life,â Despite your heart-wrenching cries, he did nothing to stop this war. As you wept before him, he knew your pain would be temporary. He knew that once his plan took actionâthe infinite Tsukuyomiâyou would find happiness. Even if you hate him now, he reassured himself, you wouldnât think the same after his plan was completed.
Obito Uchiha (Shinobi)
â§ Obito, a strong and beloved jonin from the Leaf village, stood there, his chest tightening at the words that just came out of your mouth. His expression shifted as his mind struggled to comprehend what you had said. Suddenly, without a second thought, his words slipped through his lips as he tried to make sense of what you told him, âWhat⊠did you say?â he asked carefully, his eyes frantically darting over your face as if searching for an answer. You met his gaze, repeating your words with unwavering conviction, âI said, I hate you,â
â§ As you repeat yourself, Obitoâs heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his throat constricting as it became harder to breathe. He could handle any other response, any other thing you could have said, but hearing your harsh words was almost too much for him. âWhy? What did I do? I donât understand,â he manages to ask in desperation, trying his best to move closer to you. His heart clenched and turned inside his chest, and he boiled with fear. He loves you! He loves you to the moon and back! Why would you say that you hate him when he eats, sleeps, and breathes for you? You were his everything, so how could you hate him when he loved you so dearly?
â§ âBecause you never notice how much I try for you. Youâre always looking for Rinâs approval, and what about me? Iâm left in the dark with nothing. Iâm done with you. Iâm done with trying to make you realize Iâve been in love with you for years,â you pour your heart out to him, desperate and hurt, and thatâs when he realizes what this was about. Though his heart slightly fluttered at your revelation, he still felt awful for the way you were feeling all this time. The tingling sensation in the back of his mind kept bothering him as he examined every inch of your expression. âThatâs⊠why?â He asks with a drop of his shoulder, sighing in pure relief at your confession, which only fueled the burning anger inside you. âI thought it was for something else I mightâve done⊠(Y/N), I donât know if youâve ever noticed, but Iâm in love with you,â his confession caught you in surprise, his voice revealing his true feelings with no hesitation. What once was nervousness and anxiety had now been replaced with determination as he yearned to seek for a solution. It was true, he was deeply in love with you, but people still thought he had something for Rin when he didnât. However, he did hide the fact that he liked you out of fear of another rejection. With Rin, he handled it well, but with you? He wouldnât be able to take it. âIâm sorry if I ever made you feel horrible. Iâm sorry I never noticed, and Iâm sorry I hid it from you for so long. I love you, over anything there is in this world. The only thing I want is you, always and forever you,â
Madara Uchiha
â§ âI hate you,â your words felt like a slap to the face, making Madara turn around to face you swiftly. Although his face was deemed expressionless, his body tensed and tightened the more he processed your words. He had obviously been taken aback by your audacity to say such things, but he tried his best to hide his discomfort. With arms crossed over his chest, he scoffed and parted his lips, ready to give you a piece of his mind. âGet over it, woman,â he snarls at you with authority, and slight annoyance. You, his wife, should never say that to him. Heâs given you everything; a home, a family, and more importantly, love. âYou are acting like a child over something that should have never pestered you in the first place,â although your words had not hit him hard when you first spat them, they started to annoy him the more they set in, âIf you hate me, why even decide to say yes when I proposed? If you are going to bother me with such nonsense, I will not bother with you,â
â§ His words were meant to hurt you as much as you hurt him, and when he notices the pain in your eyes, heâs satisfied⊠until heâs not. Until that annoying tingling feeling lingers under his skin as he watches your eyes brim with tears. The tingling feeling that pulled on the tendons of his heart any time you cried was crawling under every inch of his body. âOh please, do not start with the tears,â he groaned in annoyance, but the salty tears were already streaming down your puffy cheeks. Despite this, he didnât move an inch to comfort you, but watched you as you cried for a couple of minutes until he released an exasperated sigh. âWhy? Why do you care so much for those people when all they have done is hurt you?â He asks with irritation, referring to your clan members whoâve hurt you in the past. He has said something out of line, and you argued with him about it, which ended you two up here.
â§ âBecause we should be better people than them. Violence should never be the answer,â you sniffle with clenched fist, âBut that is something you seem to never stop thinking about,â you admit, trying to hold in your tears. You didnât want to keep crying like this in front of him. You wanted to be strong, âAnd if you think I am such a burden, then why keep this ring on my fingerâ,â you were surprised when his fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from taking off the ring he had gifted you the night he proposed, âBecause I know who I married. The same nagging woman I am with now, is the same nagging woman I fell in love with. If I had any regrets of marrying you, you would be back in your clan,â he scoffs and pulls your head to his chest with an annoyed expression âI love you, you stupid woman,â to any other person, your relationship mightâve seemed strange, but to you, this moment showed you just how much he truly loved you. Even if he has weird ways of showing it.
Shisui Uchiha
â§ Wait, he didnât quite hear you well. Wait, what did you say? He turned towards you with a raised brow, his mouth slightly parted as he tried to figure out if you had said what he thought you said. Noticing his lost expression, you had no choice but to repeat yourself, much to your annoyance âI hate you,â this time, he did hear you. Loud and clear. To him, it felt like he took hours to respond to you, but in reality, his answer left his mouth almost immediately, âNo you donât,â It wasnât meant to be cocky, it just sounded like it was. At least, to you it sounded cocky, and it made you even angrier with him. It annoyed you that he never took you seriously, âOh, so now you think you know how I feel, do you?â you spat at him, hands clenching into tight fists as your eyes locked intensely, âYou never care about anything! You come home and sleep and donât even have time for me. I know you have a hard job, and I donât expect you to be there at my beck and call, but at least asking me how I am would be enough,â you stressed, waving your arms frantically around you in desperation. You had been like this all week, stressed and unable to talk to anyone, because the only person you could ever rant and banter about things that bothered you in life was barely there for you, and when he was, it was like he wasnât! He would barely listen to you anymore, and would expect you to listen to him. And you did, you always did. But you wanted something in return, and that was a sliver of his attention.
â§ âYou're telling me you hate me over something so little?â he asks with furrowed brows, making you even more annoyed, âOver something so little?â You repeated through gritted teeth. His face, for once, contorted into one of annoyance, something you had never seen on him before, âYes! Little! Because you know how my line of work is! You know that I barely have time to sleep, let alone waste my time with useless banter!â You were left speechless, standing in front of him with hurt eyes. âYeah, useless. Youâre right. Because my feelings donât matter,â you scoff, âThatâs not what Iââ you interrupt him by turning away, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as realization finally hits him. You werenât trying to waste his time, you just wanted to spend time with him. He had been so lost in his work, so busy caring for himself that he completely neglected you.
â§ âOh darling,â he takes your hand again, a frown painting his face, âIâm sorry, okay? I didnât mean any of the things I said. Iâm just stressed out. Everything's happening so fast, and the clan isnât helping at all.â he sighs and pulls you in towards him, engulfing you in his tight embrace, yet you didnât say anything, âI know Iâve been neglecting you, and you deserve better. Please, let me make it up to you,â he whispers into you hair as he lowers down to kiss your head, âI couldnât live with myself if I didnât have you by my side,â
Itachi Uchiha
â§ âI hate you,â you mumble under your breath as you look at your lover. No, he wasnât your lover anymore. He had left the village years ago, leaving you behind with a broken heart and a broken image of him. He was a monster who murdered his entire clan, and even though he had left years ago, he still looked the same as when he was still in the village, with only one difference. Those eyes. Those red eyes that stared deep into your soul. They terrified you. The eyes that you once loved and cared about so much looked down at you with no emotion. They were empty. They were dark. They were hurt. âI hate you, for everything that you did,â you pushed him, backing away from him with angry eyes. His cloak told you everything you needed to know. He was part of the Akatsuki, he was the enemy now. He was a traitor, and although your words were meant to hurt him, he closed his eyes and nodded, understanding your hatred towards him. âI understand,â he says in such a soft voice. His voice that you missed so much.
â§ You didnât understand why he came to visit you. Why come in the middle of the night to see you? Why? Why waste his breath coming back to see you when he knew you wanted nothing to do with him? Because this would be his final goodbye. There were only a handful of people Itachi cared forâTwo, to be exact. His brother, and the love of his life. He knew that soon heâd perish, and this was the final time he would ever see you again. Not that it mattered. He tried not to think about it, thinking it would make things worse. It would be better if he never came to see you, but his heart got the best of him, and so he sat there at your window, looking at you for one final time.
â§ âYou donât,â you clench your fist, hurt by his mere presence, âI donât want anything to do with you, and I will report you to the higher ups. Unless you came here to kill me, which I donât doubt,â you were defenseless, but you wouldnât go out without a fight. Never. You would fight until the very end, but soon you realized he wasnât there to kill you. âI have no need for that,â he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, âI came by my own selfishness. I donât expect you to understand, and I accept your hatred, which I deserve,â he looks at you, red eyes burning into yours, âI simply wanted to see you for a final time,â he smiles and reaches out for you, pushing your hair out of your face, âMy love,â and with that, your vision goes black as your consciousness slips away from you. You would wake up the next day tucked into your bed with a necklace tucked tightly in your hand.
Sasuke Uchiha
â§ Words never hurt this Uchiha, he was used to every awful thing anyone could throw at him. He cared too little about anything and everything, and that's what you hated the most about him. He barely cared about anything you did or said, at all times. He didnât care how you looked because he never complimented you, he didnât care how you acted because he barely spoke to you. You felt like you were in a relationship with a ghost, in fact, the comparison was not even close, because dating a ghost would be ten times better than this. And with every passing day of being emotionally neglected by your partner, today was no different. He was back in the village, and instead of coming to you firstâto his homeâhe decided it was better to meet with Naruto and Sakura over seeing his wife who waited patiently everyday for him. You questioned if the ring on your finger meant anything to him at all at that moment. Despite this,
â§ When he got home, you were so happy, yet he showed no sign of interest in anything you did for him. You cooked and he ate, saying nothing about the taste of your new recipe. In fact, he seemed like he didnât notice that you had learnt to cook a new dish just for him. Even so, you shrugged his annoying attitude off and asked about his day instead. Your question seemed to annoy the tired man as he became uninterested in mid conversation. When you asked him what was wrong, he shrugged you off. You kept questioning him until he snapped at you, telling you how you were annoying him with all your worries. This had been the final straw. You always gave everything in the relationship. You understood he wasnât the best at showing his emotions, but it didnât mean he could act like he didnât care about you. Like you were nothing. The argument got heated and it ended up with you opening your mouth without thinking. âI hate you!â After your words fell out of your mouth, the room fell silent. He who had been looking away from you, had now turned his full attention towards you, âYou donât mean that, stop being dramatic,â the sight of him rolling his eyes hurt you more than it ever did. âYou donât care about anything, Sasuke. I do everything to try and please you. I could even say I live for you, but itâs never enough! You donât take a sliver of your time to appreciate me. You think I have to be there for you whenever you need me, but can just leave whenever you want!â you yell, hitting the wall in frustration.
â§ âYou donât care about me! You don't love me anymore!â you were in a current state of pure anger, letting out everything you ever wanted to say to him. This makes him stand up and walk towards you, taking your wrist in his hand. You look up at him, tears of frustration prickling in the corner of your eyes. âIf I didnât love you, I wouldnât have married you. You mean a lot more to me than you think. I⊠Iâm sorry if I donât show it,â he sighs, âI love your cooking, I love your storiesâI love hearing about everything that happened throughout your day. Youâre the only thing I can think about when Iâm away,â he lets go of your wrist and places a hand on your cheek, âDonât hate me, because youâre the only important thing in my life. Youâre my wife, and IâŠâ he stops himself, trying to build the courage to complete his sentence. A small blush decorates his cheeks before he sighs, âI care for you a lot,â your husband wasnât perfect, but you still loved him a lot, and you knew he loved you too.
#naruto obito#naruto obito uchiha#obito x you#obito uchiha x reader#obito headcanons#obito x reader#obito uchiha#madara uchiha#madara x reader#madara uchiha x reader#itachi uchiha#itachi naruto#itachi x reader#itachi headcanons#itachi uchiha x reader#shisui uchiha#shisui x reader#shisui headcanons#shisui x you#sasuke uchiha x you#sasuke uchiha x reader#sasuke x reader#sasuke uchiha#naruto headcanons#naruto reactions
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Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadnât been the most⊠morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.
He just didnât think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadnât seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldnât have.
âGood afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.â
Danny âthe Phantomâ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Dannyâs enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucieâs vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.
With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gothamâs slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.
The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprisesâ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.âs pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldnât even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogueâs scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didnât.
Blackmail.
His overly polite smile widened as Bruceâs mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.
âItâs an honor to meet you, sir. Iâve heard much about your genius in⊠research and development.â
By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batmanâs tech.
He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather⊠invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.
You know what they say: dead men tell no tales⊠but halfas are generally blabbermouths.
âIs that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.â The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruceâs active nightlife.
âYes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.â
Wow, Danny didnât think heâd ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham Highâs bake sale.
Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. Heâs at best a Becky.
âWill you be staying, Mr. Fox? Youâre the head of the R&D department, correct?â
âAh, yes-â
âOh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!â
Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.
âOh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.â
âThatâs alright. I suppose it gives you⊠plausible deniability⊠should things go wrong, haha!â Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.
Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.
As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.
âWhat do you want,â he gritted out. Danny wasnât about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruceâs problem children.
âAh, it must be because Iâm from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.â
You uneducated jerk, he doesnât say.
Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.
ââŠâ Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other manâs blood pressure rising. âWhat is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?â
âRelax, Brucie,â Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. âIâm just here to discuss a possible merger that Iâm sure youâll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your⊠wayward bird.â
He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. âVery well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.â
Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.
âHereâs the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.â
He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.
âThis is⊠very fair.â
Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasnât interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.
Heâd brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didnât have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gothamâs economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. Heâd also have Penguinâs empire to distribute it to those who couldnât make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gothamâs welfare department. Well⊠once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldnât try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking⊠the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. Heâs in the process of building childcare centers andâŠ
Itâs a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gothamâs morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government werenât about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.
Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.
Make money laundering fronts.
ïżŒ
âOf course, Mr. Wayne. You didnât think Iâd come in here demanding money, did you?â
âI considered it.â
âI am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but Iâd rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when itâs doing so much to help the people.â
Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.
Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.
Nice.
âYouâre a criminal.â
âSays the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.â
Bruceâs hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee theyâd prepared. Oo, nice!
âAh, I heard youâre adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?â He slipped back into using Bruceâs first name. The proposal was formal. This⊠was very much not.
âWhat about it?â
âThatâs very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.â Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. âDidnât I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?â
The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batmanâs imposing figure. âI did.â
âNo, you didnât. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,â Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.
âDonât you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, Iâll-â
âSit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.â Danny snapped. âYour sonâs in your office. I donât harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and Iâll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissionerâs daughter.â
Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.
âYour other son,â Danny continued. âIs doing quite well. Heâs learning that he has hobbies again. Heâs actually working under me, you know.â
âHeâs what.â
Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldnât tell Bruce about anything. Heâs still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.
âAh, thatâs precious information. Youâll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information Iâll give you for free.â
Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.
âThe League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. Itâs getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill youâve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is⊠unnaturally focused on Jason.â
Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruceâs face and inclined his head. âShould negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.â
ââŠThank you.â
âYou are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure youâll find little problems with it. Ah,â Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. âAnd you should probably check up on Timothy. Heâs probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.â
âIâll see you out.â
âOf course.â
Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.
Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruceâs contemplative silence to put itself into words.
Sure enough, âWhat⊠what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?â
âIâd tell you to ask him, but you two arenât on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, heâs found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.â
âI see.â
Well, Dannyâs not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.
ââ
âDanny.â
âOh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.â
Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didnât exist.
âMind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?â
Danny smiled. âNo idea.â
âUh huh.â
Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teenâs face twitched in annoyance. âDoubt? At me? Why, I never!â
A bread roll thwacked him in the face.
#dpxdc#danny phantom#batman#bruce wayne#jason todd#tim drake#dc x dp#red hood#bamf danny phantom#crime lord Danny#accidental crime lord Danny
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so...we can all agree vi is an ass girl, right?
modern!au. 18+ content ahead. post contains lesbian sex and dry humping. inspired by this video from love and deepspace. i didnt know they got down like that. wc : 3.081.

she didn't show it often before, but lately violet could quickly become so achingly desperate for you.
she didn't show it often, but violet could become so achingly desperate.
at the start of your relationship, she tried to play off her need for you in a casual way, brushing it off as just being a very attentive girlfriend. you never had a problem with, always open and accepting of whatever little bits of attention she would give to you.
but then one day she slips, and she can feel your dynamic shift as soon as it happens.
she was away visiting her family for the holidays, body snugly tucked under the covers in her childhood bed as she held her phone above her face. the house was quiet, the air was cold, and she was having an internal battle with the reasonable part of her that told her to call it a night and drift off to sleep already...
and then there was the other side. the one that suddenly brings to her attention the steady heat thatâs been building beneath her stomach after you sent the prettiest photo of you all dolled up in your parentâs guest bathroom. the one that made her bite her lip as she observed every inch of you through the screen before instantly liking the photo and sending back a flirty message. the one that now gravitated her fingers to calling your phone in the middle of the night and hoping and praying youâd pick up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you did.
"vi? are you alright?"
loaded question, she thinks to herself. in perfect health? of course. of sound mind? debatable, but for the most part yes. alright? no, definitely not at the moment.
"yeah, yeah, iâm alright princess. just wanted to talk to you."
"aww, you're such a sweetie. how'd i get so lucky, huh?"
and yes, she does appreciate and silently adore the sweet sentiment. but the sound of you cooing at her with just the tiniest hint of a rasp in your voice from tiredness only cements her fate, having to use all of the rational energy she has left to stop whimpering.
"tell me how your trips been. wanna hear your voice for a little longer."
"no problem. well im fine, everyone here is good. besides my aunt nat, she's still moody because no one allowed her in the kitchen again-"
you go on about your family and their shenanigans, and she cant help but quietly laugh along when you giggle about some of the stories and memories you've made. but the 'conversation' takes a turn when you start to talk about her.
"you know i miss you, right?"
she feels a subtle pang in her chest, half longing and half desire. "oh yeah?"
"yeah. rolled over in bed this morning and kept trying to find you till i realized where i was. it's weird not waking up with you."
she hums, hoping you cant hear her stuttered breaths through the receiver. she doesn't know why hearing about you subconsciously looking for her embrace is what does it for her, but she can only give a short response as one of her hands trails down into boxers.
"wish i could've been there with you, baby."
"mmm, me too. missed your warmth, swear you're like my own personal heater. wish you could be here with me now."
her breathing stops and her eyebrows raise. "oh yeah?"
"yeah. missed your hands, too."
fuck, fuck fuck fuck. she's taken off guard, mind racing at your words and tone and before she knows it she has two fingers stuffed inside of herself while she quietly whimpers for you to keep talking to her.
"fuck, just a little more baby, please, 'm so close-"
"aww, you're such a good girl for me, aren't you violet?"
she swears she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds when she cums, walls clenching around her fingers and eyes rolling back into her head as she reaches her peak while you talk her through it.
the next week when she picks you up from the airport she can see it, a glimmer in your eye and quick in your smile that wasn't there before. she tries to ignore it when she pulls you in for a long-awaited embrace but then she just gets so enveloped in your warmth, your smell, the feeling of your body pressed hers. she's only yanked out of her lovestruck stupor when you whisper a sly little comment in her ear about how long and tight she's been holding you.
"call me crazy but if i didnt know any better i'd say you're feeling a little desperate for me."
so the cats out of the bag. she's super attached to you, so what? it's not like you ever complained about it, instead constantly using her neediness to your advantage to get what you want from her. you'll likely never have to beg and convince her to get up from bed to change the thermostat again, only needing to graze your hand across her chest and press a lingering kiss to the space beneath her chin before she's leaping out of bed and speedwalking down the hall.
and don't even get her started on her libido. the both of you had an amazing sex life already, able to almost instinctually tell what brought the other the most mindblowing pleasure possible. but ever since that night, it's like her desire for you only increased tenfold, barely able to go a day without getting her hands on you or vice versa.
it only reached a head when you decided to truly test her limits.
she had taken up a later shift to help out loris who had a date, which meant by the time she returned home she was too tuckered out to have her way with you. but during times like these, she could always count on the early morning sun waking her up just in the rich window of time for morning sex. but when the light rays peek through her bedroom window and she uses her arm to pull you closer she finds you absent, your side of the bed cold.
after a brief search through the house, she opened her text messages just to find your sent a sweet text only an hour before sheâd woken up to tell her your friends had invited you on a last minute girls day around the city the night before, and you didnât want to wake her from her sleep since she seemed exhausted when she got home.
vi groans and falls back into the pillows, lousily texting you back a short message to tell you she loves you and hopes you have fun with your friends. sheâll be alright, she can go a few more hours without you near.
but only an hour later after sheâs showered and eaten a quick breakfast she feels the ache start to build in her chest, eyes darting up to the clock on the wall and groaning when realizes just how long this day is going to feel.
everything she tries to do to keep her mind off of you fails miserably. doing chores? she's thinking back on the time when the both of you first split up household duties when you moved in together, feeling giddy at sharing something so menial with the girl she was enamored with. making herself a protein shake for the gym? now she's stuck in a daydream about all the times you've been in this kitchen together, sharing sweet baked goods and sweeter kisses as you settle into domestic bliss.
she has got to get out of the house.
jayce understood her problem as soon as she called inviting her down to the gym for a few hours to work off any âpent-up energyâ sheâs currently... unable to get out in her preferred method.
it works for a while, the familiar smell of sweat and the slight ache in her muscles grounding her back into reality as she makes casual gym talk with jayce. she's just starting to feel like the absence of you is off of her mind when she hears your text notification on her phone, accidentally leaving her place as jayces spotter to open up her phone.
as soon as her brain registers that youâve sent her pictures she makes up some lame excuse to get to the bathroom, tuning out her friend's groan of disapproval as she speed walks to the restrooms and locks herself in one of the stalls.
the first few messages are sweet, little selfies of you and your friends as you enjoy your day together as you get some sweet treats together at one of the malls concession stands. a lovesick smile involuntarily grows on her face, always happy to see you smiling and enjoying yourself with the people who care about you. but her eyes start to squint when you start to send pictures of you trying on various outfits from some of the outlet stores, posing demurely in front of the trying room mirrors.
but then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when suddenly shes getting photos of you in her vagina's favorite enemy - lingerie.
even before vi started acting so eager about your body, it wasn't hard for you to catch on to the fact that the woman was so clearly an ass girl. even on five hands, you wouldn't be able to count the number of times youâd caught her staring or sneaking small glances at your behind, not to mention how she thought she was being discreet about her affection for it with the numerous times sheâd slap it when walking by you. she tried to laugh it off when you brought it up in conversation, assuring you that she loved each and every part of you and could never pick a favorite.
but now you were determined to really see how much she wanted you, using every dirty trick in the book you could think of. she feels her face get hot as she looks down at her phone, the image of you in lacy lingerie, back facing the mirror as the magenta fabric (nearly the same shade as her hair, jesus christ,) stretches across the swell of your ass and crisis crosses across your back.
her brain short circuits. before she can think about it sheâs saving the pictures to her phone and calling you at the speed of light.
âhey, violet. howâs your day?â
âyou are so⊠evil. amazing and beautiful and evil.â
your giggle rings through the receiver, melodic and teasing. âwhat's the problem? you don't like the set?â
âdonât even joke. when are you getting home?â
âmmm not till late, the girls wanted to go to a club tonight.â
âoh youâve got to be kidding me-â
âdo you want me to send you the address?â
vi hasn't been to a nightclub in months, at first harshly avoiding the hard party scene in favor of her sobriety before feeling no need to indulge in the party scene once her life became more stable, especially after she met you. but she never stopped you from going out and having fun with your friends, tagging along once in a blue moon to sip on a mocktail while she chatted up the bartender and stared at your ass while you danced.
tonight was an extremely necessary blue moon.
the air is hot, and the feel of her drink burns her throat as vi waits at the bar, blue eyes wide and aware as she stares at the clubâs crowded entrance like it owes her money. the bartender asks if sheâs alright, scared sheâs waiting for someone to arrive to jump them before she assures them sheâs fine. they slowly nod and get back to making drinks, nearly dropping a glass out of fright when she slams her glass on the bar and quickly makes her way over to you.
if she wasn't so laser-focused on finally getting her hands on you she might've been a little cocky at the fact that you look like you were about to salivate at the sight of her, knowing she made the right decision to wear the tight pants she knew you loved on her. in only a second sheâs got her hands settled on your waist, not caring that your friends are laughing at her clear excitement over seeing you in your club outfit, a tiny dress so she can see the wide expanse of your legs, your arms, your shoulder - fuck, the straps of the pink bra arenât even hidden by the strapless dress-
âwanna dance with me?â your voice is nothing short of flirtatious, and you already know your answer by the way you start to walk past her to the dance floor, already predicting how she follows you like sheâs on a leash.
as the both of you grind and dance in the middle of the club every thought racing through viâs head is centered on you, physically and mentally unable to focus on anything else when she finally has you so close again after what felt like years. she feels a familiar sense of euphoria when her palms glide up and down your waist, smirking to herself when she feels you shudder when her hands reach up to cup and discreetly squeeze your breasts. sheâs feeling happy about finally starting to turn the tables back on you before you arch your back into her, your ass pressing into her as your hand reaches up to her head, nails dusting along her cheek before reaching into her hair and pulling.
itâs only to be expected that thatâs her breaking point, dragging you through the dancing bodies and into the back of the building until she can find anywhere to get you alone, thanking any god that exists above that she finds an open storage closet and drags you inside, pressing you face first towards the door. a little voice in her head reminds her not to be too rough with you, but itâs quickly silenced when she sees just how much you crave it, how your back is yet again arching and your hands are clenching into fists from their places on the wooden door.
it's nice, to remember that you want her as much as she wants you.
in only a few seconds sheâs given into it, pressing you further into the door by pressing her body against yours and grinding her crotch into the fat of your ass, eyes lidded and head dropping to rest on your shoulder from the rush of pleasure she feels below.
âvi, oh my god-â your voice is light and airy, every word almost choked out as you struggle to prevent yourself from moaning out and alerting every person in the bar about what the two of you were up to.
âi know, fuck, I know, baby. i just-â she cuts herself off with a groan when she lets her hand travel down your front and under your dress to your panties, face running hot when she feels just how wet youâve gotten. sheâs all but rushing to ruche up your dress, mind going fuzzy yet again at seeing the pink fabric covering your ass and how it feels under her when she begins humping you yet again.
ânngh, knew it. knew you were an ass girl.â you giggle.
âgod, please stop talking-â
whatever snarky little comment you were going to make dies in your throat when her arm comes up and around your neck to hold your jaw, turning your head around and smashing her lips onto yours. you whimper and moan into her mouth, violet greedily eating the noises of your pleasure as she takes you up against the door.
you pull back for a few seconds to catch your breath, both of your eyes drifting to the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips together.
she can feel it, then. an almost electric charge that runs form her body into yours. you lean into her touch, arch into her further like youâre trying ot merge your bodies into one. when her other hand tightens around the pushed-up fabric of your dress and she gets that absolutely adorable scrunch between her eyebrows you know what sheâs asking, and you gently nod your head.
and so she presses her lips back to yours, her crotch further into your ass, and rides you in the cramped nightclub storage closet. she's grateful that you seem to be enjoying it just as much as she is, her mind completely focused on getting closer and closer to her peak. she can feel it building quickly, a growing heat below her stomach reach to burst at any moment. all it takes is you, sucking on her tongue before mumbling muffled words into her mouth begging for her to finish against you. she cums with a stifled moan into your mouth, only amplified when she feels you shudder and go loose in the legs beneath her.
youâre both panting, sweaty, and tired as you stare at each other. itâs a comfortable silence as you help each other adjust - vi fixing your dress and you attempting to put her hair back in her signature style.
âso,â your voice lilts up as viâs busy fixing her jacket, debating if she wants to take it off to cool down or not, knwoing sheâll probably just wrap it around your arms outside anyway. âyou gonna admit it yet?â
she rolls her eyes, looking at you with an exasperated but fond look in her eyes that makes your stomach flip. âyou just love being proven right, donât you?â
âabsolutely.â
âfine, you were right. are you happy?â
âvery. now, letâs go home annnd maybe,â your fingers hook into the loops of her pants and tug her closer,âyou can show me a little more just how much you need me, yeah?â
maybe, vi would show her neediness for you more often. just a little.

#shaboingboing#3k words...drabble right...#arcane#arcane x reader#vi#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi x reader smut#vi smut
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sleeping with the enemy (one-shot)
pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader
rating explicit 18+
summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriendâs worst enemy.
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âHow bad is it that I want us to lose?â you mutter, fiddling with your pompoms as you stand courtside.
âAgainst them?â Your friend looks out at group of athletes in red warming up for the game. âPretty bad.â
The rivalry between the Hawks and the Wolves is one of the most vicious in college basketball history. You proudly cheered for your team up until a couple of nights ago, when the Hawks power forward dumped you over text.
Your relationship with Max had been relatively new, lasting just over a month. Still, it pissed you off that he didnât have the respect to break up face-to-face.
The worst part of it was that he was trying to convince you to sleep with him for the first time the night before he ended things. He got frustrated and left your dorm in a huff. Then, he texted you that he isnât looking for a relationship.
Youâre sure it was his plan to get you in bed then bail all along, but he gave up once he got too impatient.
You wanted to take things slow. You thought maybe you could have something real with him. What a waste of time.
Now, as you stand on the sidelines of your collegeâs basketball court, the tension is palpable as both teams warm up for another game against their worst enemies. The crowdsâ conversations loudly blend into a dull murmur in the stands behind you.
âI donât think itâs bad at all,â the cheerleader on your other side chimes in. âMax is a jerk. He deserves to lose.â
You scowl at your ex as he rushes through a running drill on the other side of the loud gym. You had told your close friends on the squad about what happened. They may hate him even more than you do.
You glance at the opposite side of the court where the visiting team is warming up. You spot player #10, Cameron sprawled over the back of his red jersey, as he runs warm-up passes with one of his teammates.
Max loathes him. And itâs not just because of the collegeâs long-standing rivalry. Your ex told you countless times what an asshole Rafe is and how much he trash-talks on the court.
Regardless, you could see it for yourself. Rafe taunts his opponents. He laughs in their faces when his team wins. He never shakes hands at the end of a game. He even shoved Max a few times, earning fouls.
You realize youâre staring at Rafe when his teammate misses a pass, sending the ball rolling towards you.
Youâre so angry at Max that you almost want to wish Rafe luck when he comes near, picking up the ball off the glossy floor.
His gaze flashes at you as he straightens, and when you notice his blue eyes trail down your body, your skin pricks with heat. Youâre sure you see a hint of a smirk on Rafeâs face before he turns around.
You probably shouldnât be excited that your side of the rivalryâs most hated athlete is looking at you like that. But youâre not feeling particularly loyal to your team right now.
A loud whistle blows through the gym. The game is starting.
In Rafeâs mind, the only bad thing about basketball is that the sport has no tolerance for scrapping. Aggression is part of football. Itâs encouraged in hockey. But the foul system in basketball is stupid. He never gave a fuck about sportsmanlike conduct.
He could have considered other sports, but heâs a natural at this. He has the height and agility and confidence for this sport. Itâs what made him captain after his first year as a shooting guard.
Rafe paces to the center of the court for the coin toss, staring down at his opponent. Max Hammondâs always been easy to fuck with.
And honestly, it pisses Rafe off that lately, heâs seen the cheerleader on his rivalsâ team that heâs been eyeing all season on Maxâs arm. All the more reason to fuck with him.
âHowâs that knee?â Rafe taunts. Their last game, he dunked over Max hard enough to send him hurling to the floor. Rafe laughed when he saw his opponent clutching his knee.
âShut up,â Max mutters with a scowl. Rafe smiles pompously. Then, he wins the coin toss.
You halfheartedly chant through the cheers youâve memorized when the game starts. The players rush up and down the court, shoes squeaking against the floor, sweat sheening their skin.
It feels weird keeping your gaze off of Max. You used to follow him with lovestruck eyes throughout every game. If only you knew what a douche heâd turn out to be.
So, for this game, you watch Rafe. You shouldnât feel so satisfied every time he pushes past Max and earns a point for the rivals youâre supposed to be booing, but you do.
Shadows move with the edges of Rafeâs muscles under the bright gym lights. His lips are parted as he rushes down the court, feet moving quickly, hands controlling the ball with expert precision.
When the game ends with a loss for the Hawks, youâre not all that upset. Mainly because Max looks so devastated.
Afterwards, you decide to go out to a local bar with a few of your friends. You want to let loose. Maybe youâll even find a meaningless hook-up. After the mess with Max, you want some fun, and youâre definitely not up for looking for any sort of emotional connection.
Both college campuses arenât far apart, so the bars and clubs in town often see an overlap of students. Most people donât care about the rivalry, especially when theyâre off-campus.
But the athletes and cheerleaders never allow the tension to dissipate, especially after a game. The winners are always loud and celebratory, while the losers stare daggers at their enemies. Tonightâs no different.
The bar is dark and packed and loud and humid, your fingers wrapped around an emptied glass as you sit at a table with a couple of your friends.
When Max walks into the bar, unease rolls through you. You wonder how long itâll take for you not to be so frustrated by his presence.
He finds seats across the bar with a few of the other Hawks players. One of your friends notices your discomfort and follows your eye-line.
âDo you want to leave?â she asks.
âNo.â Youâre determined not to let Max ruin your night. âIâm getting another drink.â
After making sure your friends donât want a second drink just yet, which only serves as a reminder of how fast you downed yours, you drift over to the bar.
You find an open pocket in the crowd and you squeeze through, your hands resting on the hard edge of the bar top. You watch the bartender take orders, not yet aware of you.
You sigh to yourself, drumming your fingers, hoping youâre just one more drink away from feeling better.
Rafe watches the stranger beside him fidget impatiently. When he looks up from your tapping fingers, he realizes youâre not a stranger at all.
Youâre the cheerleader heâs always checking out. The one whoâs been on Maxâs arm after games. But he usually sees you wearing a big smile, and thereâs nothing happy about the way you look right now.
You can see from the corner of your eye that the person beside you is looking at you. You meet Rafeâs gaze, blinking a few times to make sure itâs really him.
Youâre a bit embarrassed, considering youâd stared at him through tonightâs game. Heâs in a dark t-shirt instead of the jersey youâre used to seeing him in. You can tell that is hair is just a bit damp, surely from the shower he took after the game.
You try not to think about him in the shower.
Rafe takes you in, the way your lips purse before you speak.
âYou played well,â you say.
Rafeâs lids lower. Youâre wearing a dress even shorter than the little cheerleading skirt heâs used to seeing you in.
âMe?â he drawls, his lips curling up in a surprised smirk.
You meet his eyes for longer this time, nodding at him with an indifferent expression.
âArenât you Hammondâs girl?â he says, clearly amused, a contrast from how angry youâve heard him on the court.
Youâre surprised that he knows you were dating Max. Maybe he noticed you more often than you thought.
âNope,â you mutter. You tell him you have a name, then give him it.
Rafeâs eyes continue to travel over you, his pulse quickening as he takes you in. He knew you were hot, but he never got a chance to really look at you up close.
How the hell did Hammond fuck things up with you? He needs to know so he wonât make the same mistake.
âWhat happened?â he murmurs.
âWith Max?â you ask. âHeâs a dick.â
âCouldâve told you that.â You watch Rafe slightly tip his head back as he takes a drag of his beer.
âReally? Iâve heard the same about you,â you say. You realize you might be more tipsy that you thought once your brazen words spill out of your mouth.
âAnd what, you think itâs true?â Rafe asks with his eyes on your lips.
âI donât know. You get fouled more than any player Iâve seen.â
Rafe huffs a breathy chuckle, obviously nowhere near offended by your words. He actually seems flattered.
Out of instinct, your eyes dart to the table you saw Max sitting at. His gaze is fixed on you. Heâs likely shocked that youâre talking to someone youâre supposed to hate.
Rafe turns to see what youâre looking at. He smirks when he notices just how pissed off Max looks. He turns his attention back at you.
âYour boyfriendâs pissed,â Rafe says, a hint of mocking in his voice.
âI already told you that heâs not my boyfriend. And I couldnât care less if heâs mad that Iâm talking to you,â you answer, crossing your arms. Blue eyes dart down to your cleavage.
âSo, youâre not using me to get back at him?â he teases.
âI didnât even know you were here,â you say. âBut itâs not a bad idea.â
Rafe cocks his head, his tongue jutting under his cheek. Getting to flirt with a hot girl and annoying someone he hates at the same time is a win-win situation.
âWhat can I get you?â you hear. You look over at the bartender and regain your composure to order your drink.
âPut it on my tab,â Rafe tells him. He watches your lashes flutter when you meet his eyes again.
âThanks,â you say, lips lifting into a smile. Youâve been so deep in your anger that you havenât realized that Rafe could be the meaningless hook-up youâre looking for tonight.
âThatâs the first time you smiled since you came over here,â he notices.
âIâm in a pretty bad mood,â you admit.
âWhatâd he do?â Rafe asks, tilting his head back to Max.
âProbably something you do to girls all the time,â you say boldly. âHe made me think he wanted a relationship, but turns out, he just wanted to get laid.â
Rafeâs eyes glint with something you havenât seen in him under the muted bar lights. For a split second, his guard goes down.
âYou think I do that?â
âAm I wrong?â you challenge. His laugh is dry and humorless. He leans closer to you, his cologne cool and sharp as he towers over you.
âYou are,â he says.
The tension between you hardens. You stare up at him.
âOkay,â you say. At this point, youâre jaded and uninterested in dancing around the subject. âSo, what do you do?â
You lift your glass to take a sip. Rafe watches the way your lips lock around the straw. Heâs entranced by you, by how straightforward you are.
âIâm upfront that Iâm not looking for a girlfriend,â he says. âI donât have to play games.â
You know heâs being honest. Someone that looks as good as he does definitely doesnât have to manipulate his way into sex.
âWhat are you looking for, then?â you ask.
âFun,â Rafe replies. âAnd I think you need some fun, too.â
You feel your blood go hot. Heâs right. This man and the no-strings-attached sex heâs proposing is exactly what you need right now.
You lock eyes with him as you swallow the last sip of your drink and put it on the bar with a clack.
âI do,â you answer.
When Rafe asks you if you want to go over to his place, you donât need to even think about it.
You let your friends know youâre leaving and you follow Rafe out, his hand finding yours, callouses from his training hard over his palm.
Itâs all such a thrill. The way Rafe looks at you. The promise of casual sex with him. The glare of your ex-boyfriend as you leave. And the fact that you completely forgot about how this started as revenge on Max because youâre so tangled up in the feeling Rafe is giving you.
When you step into Rafeâs single dorm, he crosses the small room to switch on the desk lamp, casting a dim glow over the space.
You notice a few toiletries scattered on top of his dresser, his jersey slung over the back of his chair. This is technically enemy territory, but you couldnât care less.
Itâs quite bare and not very lived in, but you didnât expect him to be the type who cares to decorate.
âIâm guessing youâre not in here all that much,â you say, leaning against the door once it shuts behind you.
âYou finally got something right about me,â Rafe replies, earning a giggle from you. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at you. âCome here.â
His dominance, not just through his words but by the way he takes up space so confidently, makes arousal swirl in your stomach. You settle beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight.
âAre you always this bossy?â you ask.
Rafe takes in your pretty features. This might be one of the best nights heâs had. He played a great game, won against the team he hates most, and the girl heâs been eyeing all season is sitting on his bed.
âRight again,â he says. Now that you left the crowds and music back in the bar, his deep voice cutting through silence reverberates through you.
You breathe a quiet laugh. You first approached him feeling so bitter, but just like that, he turned your mood around.
His eyes trail the hemline of your dress. You watch as he places his hand over your thigh, moving slowly, his thumb stroking just below where the fabric of your dress ends.
Rafeâs skin is hot, his hand heavy, and your heart-rate quickens in a second.
âYou know how distracting you are?â he rasps, recalling the countless times he saw you by the court as you danced around in your skimpy outfit.
âWhat?â you ask.
âItâs so fucking hard to focus on playing when youâre there.â
Your breath hitches as he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours. You had no idea youâd caught his attention before tonight, but by the sound of it, this isnât the first time heâs looked at you through lustful eyes.
When his lips capture yours, he squeezes your thigh, firm fingers sinking into your flesh. He kisses you again and again and again, every time deeper than the last, tongues meeting with heated ardency.
You let out a moan so soft when he bites your bottom lip that he takes your hand from where itâs resting to the bulge in his jeans, showing you how hard he is for you.
Your body flushes even hotter when you feel him, gently starting to stroke him over the denim.
Your phone buzzes loudly in your purse, vibrating in a rhythmic pattern you recognize as a call.
Rafe shifts back, his mouth an inch away from yours.
âYou donât have to get that, do you?â His tone signifies more of a statement than a question.
You pull out your phone, confused over who would call you now. You grimace when you see Maxâs photo on your screen.
Rafe notices. You breathe out a quiet laugh of surprise when takes your phone, hitting âMessageâ and sending Sheâs busy, then declining the call.
You feel each otherâs smiles under your kiss, this time moving even faster. Rafe drags his hand higher under your dress and inhales sharply once you instinctually spread your legs, allowing him to feel you.
The pressure of his fingers rubbing over your panties makes you ache.
âThatâs good, isnât it?â he rasps against your lips.
âYeah,â you whisper. He pushes the fabric to the side, feeling how slick and soft you are.
âGoddamn, youâre so wet already,â Rafe groans, enjoying the ego trip from knowing he got you like this so quickly. His lips trail to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin as he glides between your folds, tracing circles.
He shifts, losing contact with you for a moment to pull your dress off. When he sees you in just your bra and underwear, he nearly grunts in frustration from not being inside you already.
His hold on your hips is so firm it hurts as he guides you onto your back. Hovering over you, Rafe pulls his t-shirt off with urgency. Your lips quirk into a smile at how impatient and hungry he is.
You find the button of his jeans, quickly pulling it through the loop. He does the rest, unzipping and throwing his pants onto the floor. He stands to find a condom in his nightstand, tossing it beside you.
You run your hands over the curve of his muscular back when he lowers to grind over you, his cock hard and twitching.
When Rafe feels your thighs squeeze around him, he tells himself to slow his breathing, almost worried he wonât last long. This doesnât happen to him. Ever.
But then again, heâs never craved a girl this badly, for this long. Having you under him like this, bucking your hips because you want it just as bad, is unreal.
He roughly pulls the cup of your bra down, closing his wet mouth over your nipple, earning a shudder from you. As he flicks his tongue, he shifts to pull down his boxers.
You take off your panties beneath him, squirming out of them, watching him sit up and roll the condom over his length.
âYou gonna show me how good you can take it?â he mumbles, leaning over you again. You meet heavy-lidded blue eyes as he holds himself up over you, biting your lip and nodding.
The world stops spinning when he pushes into you, filling you.
âFuck,â he groans against your cheek as you squeeze him. âEven better than I thought.â
You tilt your head back and moan, taking all of him, stretching as he buries deeper and deeper, dazed at the fact that he feels so good, that he clearly fantasized about this before.
Rafe bottoms out and you dig your nails into his shoulder blades as he pulls back and thrusts into you harder, his breath hot on your skin.
You wrap your limbs around him as tight as you can as he starts to rock his hips at a faster pace. He puts his lips on yours again, your kisses wet and hungry.
The sounds of his skin slamming against yours and your disjointed, shallow breaths fill the room, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure.
Your moans get louder as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten. Rafe starts pounding even faster and harder when he feels you fluttering around his cock.
âYouâre so fucking tight,â he murmurs, shifting lower to put more of his weight on you, his fingers finding the roots of your hair. âYou gonna come for me?â
âYes,â you breathe. âYes.â
You tremble beneath him as you fall into your orgasm, holding your breath for a second before letting go. What finally sends him over the edge is when you moan his name.
Rafe comes with a low, drawn out groan, his thrusts quicker and sloppier, hips stuttering against yours. He stays inside you for a bit, his head buzzing as he comes back down from the high.
You sit up in his bed once he stands, your pulse still fast. You watch him pull his boxers back on, his skin shining with sweat.
You spot your underwear on his crumpled duvet and slide them on after fixing your bra.
You decide not to put your dress back on yet, shifting his pillow to sit back on the headboard, finding where he tossed your phone after he texted your ex for you.
You watch Rafe lean down to open the door of the mini-fridge on the floor. He pulls out a bottle and tilts his head back as he swallows down water.
The image of his tall, muscular, half-naked frame in the middle of his room, his jaw sharp as he tips his head back, his numbered jersey hanging off the back of his chair right next to him, is too nice not to capture.
You take a photo of the sight, the bottom half of your bare legs in the frame. Rafe hands you the cold bottle and as you take it in your hand, you show him your screen.
âLike it?â you say, still dazed.
He grins, dimples dipping into his cheeks, as he sinks onto the bed on his knees to sit beside you.
âYou posting that?â he asks. You can tell heâs pleased by the idea, so you share it on your Snap story with the caption Post-workout.
Minutes later, the replies from your friends flood in.
IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS
omfg this is WILD
actually diabolical lmaoooo
Maxâs message is the most satisfying of the bunch: Are you serious right now?? Call me back.
You shift to grab your dress off the floor. Youâre never calling him. He lost his chance.
âI guess Iâll see you around,â you say, standing to pull your dress on.
âYou know how distracted on the court Iâll be now?â Rafe mumbles, earning a laugh from you. âLet me get your number.â
You enter your number into his phone and smooth down your hair in his mirror.
Casual, easy pleasure. This is just what you needed and you found it in Rafe Cameron of all people. You look back at him as you put your purse over your shoulder.
âWeâll do this again,â Rafe says, drinking you in. That was mind-blowing. It canât be the only time he does this with you.
âBossy,â you agree with a smile. You slip out of his room, your legs weak and wobbly.
Youâll be sore tomorrow. And the cheerleaders and athletes who take the rivalry seriously might even give you shit for what you did tonight. But it was all worth it. Youâd do it all over again.
(continuation blurbs)
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#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron and you#rafe cameron and reader#rafe cameron and y/n#rafe cameron smut
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unexpected visit â sylus
·······âąâŠ description: In which: Your unexpected visit to Sylus' penthouse reveals a side of him you never knew, a side that he wished to always keep hidden because he was a monster. At least, that's what he told himself. But you never thought of him that way, and you want to prove it.
·······âąâŠ pairing: dragon!sylus x afab!reader ·······âąâŠ word count: 3.1k ·······âąâŠ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······âąâŠ general tags: Fluff, Smut, Light Angst, Walking In On Someone, Dragon!Sylus, Well more like Hybrid, Mentions of his lore, Body Worship, Established Relationship, Horns, Grinding, Cowgirl Position, Missionary Position, Voice Kink, Praise Kink, Words of Affirmation, Horns as Handlebars, Mentions of Aftercare, Creampie, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, POV Second Person, No use of y/n
·······âąâŠ posted on: ao3
You never thought it would be possible to sneak up on the famed Onychinus boss⊠His guard was completely down, back turned to the doorway as you pushed it open with a slow hand. His scales glittered a beautiful black with an undertone of red under the lights of his bedr-
Scales?Â
The gasp you let out alerted Sylus, and then you caught sight of his blazing red eyes. They seemed brighter than normal, matching the intense red crackling beneath the surface of the black scales. It was only but a moment that you saw the adornments along his spine before his bare chest was in your vision.
You had seen him shirtless many times, touched along the warm skin from above and below, but the way your jaw dropped slightly sent a shiver through Sylusâ spine. A hint of fear edged into his vision, his throat bobbling with unspoken words.Â
It took only a quick clear of his throat for him to steel his expression, lips curling into a smirk. Though the look in his eyes gave away the hint of nervousness. He could hide himself again, but it was painful. Retracting his scales and horns took energy, something he had learned how to do over millennia.Â
âI didnât-â he cleared his throat again, legs carrying him until he was almost right in front of you, âexpect you this early, sweetie.â His words stuttered slightly, the divet between his pecs throbbing slightly. Even though he didnât want to remember, his body rememberedâŠ
âI was eager to see you.â The smile on your face was genuine, eyes sparkling under the dim light of his bedroom. âI am eager to see you.â There was a beat of silence, and then you danced your fingers up his arm, wrapping it around his neck. âDo you want to tell me?âÂ
The softness conveyed everything you needed to say. Itâs okay if you donât want to say anything. Your eyes gazed into his, seeing the raging inferno calm into a gentle bonfire. There was no fear in your irises, only the love that you had harbored for so long.Â
âItâs justâŠâ He sighed, his eyes flickering down to your lips as he gripped your waist. His touch seared into your skin, and you swore you could see his silver hair twisting into tiny horns. âIâm a monster, sweetie. I have horns and scales. Itâs a sight for sore eyes.âÂ
âCan I see them?â Ignoring his words to tear himself down, you ran your fingers through his hair. The unmistakable hitch in his breath gave him away. âThe horns⊠And the scales.âÂ
The tips of your fingers danced between his shoulder blades, edging along a hard shell almost as if you were touching bone. It was interesting, the way the hardness seemed soft in its own way. Armor guarding him from harm.Â
There was a hesitation in his eyes, his smirk still plastered on his face. The chuckle he let out was soft, and in the small space between you, his warmth wrapped around you. He trusted you with every ounce of his soul, but he also knew how others looked at him. You, however, werenât like the others. You never were.
âAre you sure?â He sighed, eyes closing as your fingers delivered a gentle massage to his shoulders. The reminders of the wings he once had, the freedom he experienced kissing the mountaintops with you in his arms⊠He missed it. âOnce you see me like that, you canât go back.âÂ
With a chuckle, you brought him down to press a kiss to his lips. It was chaste, your mouths slotting together perfectly before you pulled away just enough to speak. With your nose brushing his, you smiled.Â
âIâll love you in every form.â The hand on the back of his neck moved to his jaw, your thumb tracing his cheekbone. âI fell in love with your soul. Your looks are just a bonus.âÂ
A true laugh burst out from his chest, eyes crinkling shut for a moment. His hands settled on your hips, his grip tight as if he didnât want to let you go. It was impossible to let you go. To let you go would be to lose a part of himself. His heart soared at your words, knowing you felt the same connection. You remembered the same connection. Even if your brain didnât, your heart did.Â
âWell, Iâm glad you at least like my looks.â The smile faded just a bit, his eyes flickering between yours before capturing your lips in another kiss. That one was more intense than the last but not overwhelming. His deep breaths filled his lungs, groaning into your mouth as he pulled you closer.Â
When he parted, he kissed the edges of your lips, leaning his forehead against yours. âYouâve already seen my back. I guess itâs time for you to see it all.â
Stepping back, there was a silence as he turned away from you. The scales were the same black color, with a soft glisten under the light. Beneath them, a light red glow had the skin around it bathed in a hue.Â
Then, those same scales spread across his wide shoulders. It was like a suit of armor settling on his body, the outline intriguing and beautiful at the same time. They went down his arms but stopped at his fingers.Â
Before you could ask if he had claws, you gasped as you looked up at him. Very noticeable dark horns sprouted up from his silver hair. It framed his face, and you knew to others it would be scary, but you were excited. Yes, he was different, but he was still the attractive Sylus you met and fell for.Â
âSo, do you think Iâm a mon- mmph!â
You cut off his question with a kiss. It was desire-filled and desperate, wanting to assure him that you loved him. You still wanted him, even after seeing that. As if it were an ultimatum. Your steps pushed him back until he hit the bed, sitting down.Â
âSit against the headboard.â You said, watching as he settled on the sheets. The grey sweatpants were low on his hips, giving you a peek at the small trail of hair from his navel. His hair was disheveled, and his chest was flushed dark.Â
Wide eyes watched you strip down to your underwear, climbing onto the bed and situating yourself in his lap. You wanted him, but you also wanted to make sure he knew how much you loved him.Â
âCan I touch you?â Your hands hovered over his arms, feeling heat radiating from the dark adornments.Â
âYes, please.â It was a whisper of a response, his eyes locked onto your face. Oh, how he itched to read your expression. He was normally so in tune with your body, but the way you gazed at his horns and the scales, he wasnât sure whether to smile or cry.Â
Your hand wrapped around his wrist, and heat immediately seared into your skin. He was hot, in the literal sense, but it didnât hurt. If anything, it only added to the intensity of the warmth inside youâa fire that burned eternally, only stoked by the raging heat from your lover beneath you.Â
âSweetie,â He started, his muscles flexing as you traced the line of scales. They were surprisingly nice to touch, gliding along each one until you reached his shoulders. It was reminiscent of wings, and while you wanted to prod more with questions, you settled on silence. âI need you.âÂ
âYouâre not a monster, Sylus.â His statement caused your hips to stutter against his, the bulge pressing against your core only covered by your panties. The silver hair was soft under your fingers, and you massaged his scalp until you touched the hard, bone-like horns.Â
His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he fought back a groan. The grip he had on your hips tightened, pinky fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. He was desperate, but he also wanted to let you speak.Â
âSensitive?â You teased, wrapping your hand around one of his horns. It was a lewd image, one that had your body trembling. A small surge of electricity shot through you, and you leaned down, your clothed breasts flattening against him. He could feel your hard nipples through the padding, swallowing the lump in his throat.
âY-â he swallowed again, his ears flushing deeper red as he tried to collect his thoughts. âYesâŠâÂ
Another groan - louder and slightly higher pitched - fell from his lips, eyes closing. If it werenât for the hold on his horn, his head would have his the wall behind him. But you held on, tightening your grip. To see him so vulnerable, so pliant under your hands as he bared his soul to youâŠ
Your lips found his in a messy kiss, head tilting to deepen it. Tongues danced to their own rhythm, and your hips did the same. Grinding down on his lap, then nipping at his bottom lip⊠It was an art to the way you kissed him. It all came naturally, as if you had been doing it for centuries.Â
A hand pushed down Sylusâ sweatpants, freeing his leaking cock that had already dampened the fabric. That own hand also moved your panties to the side, exposing your soaked pussy to the cool air. Sylus groaned into your mouth, guiding his tip along your folds.Â
Your whimper was caught in his throat, knees pushing you up until his head was nestled right inside your entrance. The stretch was delicious already, feeling yourself accommodate his thickness. With a hand on his horn and the other on the warm scales of his shoulder, you let yourself sink down.Â
Both of you moaned at the intensity, his hips sitting flush against yours. His cock twitched with each slow graze of his scales or horns, fingers threading through his hair and dancing between the dark protrusions.Â
âI love you so much, beautiful.â He whispered, resting his forehead against yours. It wasnât just a statement for the moment, the way his cock buried so deep inside you, tightening around him with each pulse of your pussy. The statement was meant for every single moment for the rest of his life.Â
âI love you too, Sylus.â Your hips shifted, body stuttering as his cock pressed against the most sensitive spot inside you. âSo much⊠So, so much.âÂ
Each movement sent shocks running through both of you. With your hands anchored on his shoulders, the thick vein of his cock dragged along your walls as you rode him. It was slow and intimate, eyes locked on each other.Â
Questions popped up, but were immediately wiped away with the desperate rutting on his cock. That could wait until you were finished. Literally. Now, all you needed was Sylus to know how much you loved him.Â
âYouâre so - ah - hot,â you whined, bouncing faster on him. Each time you clenched your pussy around his cock, his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper and deeper. He was uncontrollable, like he was in heat and just needing release. âYouâre still, fuck, Sylus.â
Just SylusâŠÂ
He was just Sylus.
Sylusâ hands pressed against your back, holding you closer to him. With his feet planted on the bed, he turned onto his side and then, eventually, let you rest comfortably against the sheets. His body enveloped yours, cock still nestled inside you.
With the new position, he struggled to get rid of his sweatpants, eventually taking them off and throwing them to the side. His hands held your waist with a tender touch, his eyes roaming over your body before settling on your face. When he spoke again, it was with a gentle voice.Â
âPanties off?â That would mean he would have to pull out, and while he was desperate to stay buried inside your tight heat, he would do whatever you asked.Â
âJust fuck me, Sylus.â As soon as he leaned down to capture your lips, you ran a hand through his hair, gliding your fingers along his horn while the other pressed between his shoulder blades.Â
It was like his spine was stronger, harder beneath your fingertips. You wondered what it would be like to give him a massage, touching along every small scale that decorated the wide expanse of his back.Â
Sylusâ hips continued their slow rolls, teasing you with just enough to have cut-up moans echoing from your lips while not enough to bring you one step closer to ecstasy. In truth, Sylus loved hearing your voice; the poetic way you strung together your words sounded like a symphony to him every time.Â
âKeep talking,â he said, the sentence halfway between a command and a plea. His whole body was hot, molten lava bubbling in his chest, and he could almost feel the pulsing of the ruby that was once laid between his pecs.Â
âFuck, o-okay,â swallowing the lump in your throst, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Low whimpers came each time he touched a new part of your body.Â
âI love the - hhng - way you t-tou-ch me.â his left hand gripped your breast, thumb flicking your nipple.Â
Despite the bursts of pleasure, you continued. âLove your - ah - horns⊠How - fuck - sens-itive you ah are,â you could barely keep your eyes open, your pupils halfway obscured by your eyelashes.Â
Sylus picked up his pace, his right hand pressing against your lower abdomen. He could feel each thrust of his cock, his tip kissing his palm. The only wall between the two is the flesh of your stomach.Â
âKeep - ah fuck - going,â Sylus breathed out, leaning his body down so he could press a kiss to your lips. You were irresistible to him. He would never get tired of seeing you, hearing you, feeling you, tasting you.Â
âYou- are- not- a- monster-â each of your words was cut off with a moan, his hips clapping against yours. Your breath mingled with his, noses brushing together as you stared into each otherâs eyes.Â
His eyes were the windows to his soul, which was yours. Everything of his was yours. Every material thing, every emotional thing, every spiritual thing. Anything that had his name on it was also yours. No question.Â
âYour eyes areâahâgorgeous,â it was a ghost of a whisper, your lips finding his in a clash of tongue and teeth. The kiss wasnât even an actual kiss, just a desperate attempt to get even closer to one another.Â
His cock throbbed, twitching inside you with each compliment that came from your heart. You meant every word⊠You knew that. Sylus knew that. He gave you his everything, and you did the same in return. Though he would never ask anything of you.
Sylus was content being alone, knowing he would never find you again, but fate has a way of reconnecting two lost souls. Just as you did before, you thundered your way into his life, showing him his true purpose.Â
He felt it in every tender love-making session in bed, and the feral fucking that happened in bathrooms or his car. There was love in fucking and there was also carnal desire in affection. You were the balances that forced the other to a happy medium. Two sides of the same coin and owners of each othersâ soul.Â
âYouâre gorgeous.â He panted, thumb finding your clit and rubbing quick circles. âSo- so- gorgeous.â As you tightened around him, his hips stuttered, the heat surrounding him and filling every ounce of his being becoming too much.Â
Your hips bucked up to meet his, finding the right amount of friction as he repeated the word gorgeous against your lips. He would never miss the chance to shower you in compliments, making sure you knew just how perfect you were.Â
âIs my pretty girl gonna - ha - cum for me?â The hand not stroking your clit held the back of your neck, his lips slotting perfectly against yours.Â
He knew you were getting close. He was more attuned to your body than anything else. Your rhythm, your touch, every bump and dip in your skin. If all his senses were taken away from him, he would still be able to feel your presence. His soul was at peace when you were around.Â
âYes, fuck⊠Yes.â You panted, eyes threatening to close. Each time you blinked slowly, he pinched your clit, pulling whine after whine from your lips. âGod, Sylus.âÂ
âSay my name, pretty girl.â He purred, his eyes locked on yours as he pistoned his cock right against your sweet spot. Stars danced behind your eyes, jaw stuck open in a perpetual moan that was stuttered with each thrust.Â
âSy- ah- Sylus!âÂ
Your high crashed over you before you could say anything else, legs locking around his waist. Each wave of pleasure caused your pussy to pulse around him, coaxing him further and further until barely seconds after you came, he was slowing down.Â
His cock twitched, shooting load after load inside you until his body slowly lost strength. The muscles in his back and legs tensed, and he lowered himself until he was laying completely on top of you.Â
At the awkward angle, you felt him slip out of you, a small trickle of his release dripping from your hole. His chest pressed against yours, face nuzzling into your neck as he breathed in gentle sighs. He made sure not to hurt you with the horns, feeling them press against the headboard behind you.Â
âI love you, Sy.â You whispered to him, letting his lips carve a path along your shoulder and neck. His legs were intertwined with yours, hands tapping up and down your torso.
âI love you too, beautiful.â The mumbled words fan across your skin, bringing a smile to your face as you carded your fingers through his silver hair. âThank youâŠâ He started, closing his eyes. âFor not viewing me as a monster.âÂ
You didnât remember the past, the heartache he faced, and the light you brought into his life. His light was back. The person who taught him how to be, how to love, and how to lose.Â
âYou will never be a monster to me.â You leaned down enough to press a kiss to his forehead. âI will always love you, no matter what.âÂ
There was a beat of silence as you listened to each otherâs hearts and the way they complemented each other, the way they completed each other.Â
âNow, can we clean up?â You chuckled, running your hand up and down the scales of his spine. âAs much as I love feeling these,â the touch on his spine is light, âI really don't want to ruin the sheets with your cum and wake up with sticky thighs.â
Sylus laughed again, a loud laugh that rumbled through his chest and had your heart soaring through the clouds. Sitting up on his elbows, he looked down at you, eyes glowing red with adoration and pure love.Â
âLetâs clean up then, beautiful.âÂ
© starsforxavi
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