#insane screaming is beneath the cut!!!

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[vinnyvamppp]

Lord almighty save me, my brain has been spiraling ever since I read Viltrumite Mark going into heat. 🩷🩷🩷 Now I’m picturing all the variants having a heat cycle (separately with reader ofc [unless— 👀 reader would break, I fear in the best way though]). Any chance I can request other versions of it, like with No Goggles, MoHawk, Sinister, Omni-Mark or Shiesty? 👀👀👀

𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨𝐨

A/N: Every main, side, and popular variant is in this bitch.

Warnings: Smut, Knotting, Overstimulation, Breeding Kink, Pheromone Play, Power Dynamics, Sub/Dom Dynamics, Heat Cycles, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex, Cum-Eating, Anal Sex, and etc.

Synopsis: Each version of Mark Grayson—bratty kings, calculating monsters, broken gods—crave the same thing: your body, your loyalty, your soul. You’re a cure and a weakness they crave to keep. Consume him.

⭐: Lensless, Sinister, Variant #17, Shiesty/Hooded, Mohawk, Masked, Main Mark, Omni-Mark (Teasers): Gangbang, Thragg, Nolan, Atom Eve, Rex, and Rae. (Viltrum Marks Ver: Here.)

Viltrumite Heat Cycles x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.1k

Sinister Mark

Sinister Mark didn’t fall apart. He broke others physically, mentally, and existentially. The idea of something breaking him was absurd. The usual cocky demeanor—full of false-promising smiles, had been replaced by something raw: an expression of strife.

So when the heat started... he ignored it. He thought he could power through it like a broken rib. Pain meant nothing to him. Weakness didn’t exist in his vocabulary. This couldn’t be happening to him. The Invincible, utterly devoid of humanity, felt his knees weaken.

Then he smelled you, and suddenly, he was falling.

It hit him right in the middle of a mission, screams drowned beneath the crackle of fire, blood coating his knuckles, a ruined building collapsing behind him as survivors scrambled to hide. He should have flown home. Instead—he flew to you.

Now you stood in front of him in your apartment, lips parted, wearing that thin tank top he had imagined ripping off in more than one intrusive fantasy.

"Mark?" you asked cautiously, eyes scanning his tense body. "You look... flushed." He didn’t respond at first. He just stepped inside, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a predator locking onto its prey after weeks of hunting.

"I told myself I wouldn’t do this," he muttered, the door clicking shut behind him. "That I could outlast it."

The red haze burning behind his eyes had only intensified. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. His jaw clenched, muscles flexing as he fought against the last threads of restraint. He couldn't explain what was happening, only how it felt—the kind of arousal that outpaced even the blood pumping through his veins.

"But then I thought about you," he said slowly. "About how you'd feel under me. How you'd sound." His smile was humorless. "That's all it took to lose control."

He crossed the room in a blink. One hand slammed into the wall beside your head; the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing your neck. You drove him insane in ways other women could only dream of.

"You smell unreal," he rasped—like temptation, like trouble, like a nuisance he wanted to carry.

"Mark, what is thi—" you started, but he cut you off with his mouth.

His lips crashed into yours with brutal desperation. There was no hesitation, just raw hunger and the urge to conquer. His tongue forced its way between your lips, teeth clashing clumsily against yours as he fought to taste every part of you. His hands roamed up your sides and under your shirt, gripping you tight, possessive, like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He expected you to melt. To plead. Maybe to behave sweetly, submissively, the way you sometimes did. But no—you twisted your fingers into his hair and yanked, just enough to make him groan. The ichor from his bloodstained hands smeared across your waist.

"You already know how this ends," he growled, pulling back just long enough to rip the tank top from your body. "I'm not gentle. And right now? I’m not asking."

His mouth latched onto your throat, your collarbone, devouring the skin there with a feverish fervor. Your fingers tangled again in his hair as he groaned into your neck, grinding his hips against yours, caging you completely against the wall.

"This heat—it’s made me insane for you," he hissed. "I see you in my dreams. I wake up hard and furious that you’re not next to me." You shivered. "Then make it real."

He lifted you effortlessly, his lips claiming yours again, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man possessed. You could feel the heat radiating from him, burning into your skin, muscles twitching beneath the strained spandex of his suit.

Mark wasn’t the type to surrender to anything. But tonight, he surrendered to you.

He kissed you like an afterthought—like you were the inevitable conclusion to every version of his day. It was slow at first, almost mocking, daring you to push him away. But you didn’t and you wouldn't because you enjoyed the attention. The kiss deepened with a low growl caught in his throat—teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to sting. His hand curled possessively around your jaw, guiding you, as if he already owned every inch of you.

His breath ghosted over your face, and then you were dropped onto the mattress. He dove in after you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

It was slow, but not sweet. He peeled your clothes off like he was unwrapping a weapon. His hands slid beneath your shirt, brushing your ribs—his eyes flickering with dark amusement even as his touch trembled with lust. His fingers traced every curve that had haunted his dreams.

Your palms pressed against the mattress, knees spread just wide enough to hold your balance but not wide enough for him. You felt the bed dip behind you as he settled in—looming, warm, suffocating. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises.

His breath seared your neck—hot, hungry, trembling with restraint. His chest pressed flush against your back, his body vibrating with need. You shivered, not from cold, but from the way he gripped you, as if he needed to devour you to survive.

"You’re so wet I could drown in you," he growled into your ear, his voice curling around you like smoke. "Maybe I should."

His hand traced a deliberate path down your spine, dragging heat and chills alike until he reached your hips. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down just past your hips before letting them fall. He paused there, worshipful, possessive. One finger slipped beneath your panties, teasing—and with a hard tug, he tore them apart.

He left your underwear for last, dragging his thumbs over the soaked fabric before sliding it off, letting his eyes drink you in. "So worth the wait," he muttered. He didn’t break eye contact with your reflection in the mirror across the room. His nose twitched as he inhaled sharply. "You love this," he said, voice low. "Don’t lie to me. I can smell you."

Before you could even scoff, his teeth sank into your shoulder—a deep, burning mark that drew a startled cry from your throat. The pain melted fast into pleasure, flaring hot and low in your belly. His hips ground against your ass, cock pressed thick and heavy between your thighs. His whole body trembled, every shred of his usual composure slipping.

"You love this," he growled again. "Don’t lie. I can feel your body begging me to ruin it." You pushed back against him—grinding slow, deliberate, a smile tugging at your lips. "Go ahead," you whispered. "Show me how weak you really are." His groan was feral. "Still so mouthy," he hissed, voice ragged. "Fine."

There was no warning, no teasing. Just one brutal thrust—stretching you open, hot and unrelenting. A gasp tore from your throat, your hands scrabbling for the bed frame as your back arched into him. He held you there—chest pressed to your back—his whole body shaking from the effort not to lose control.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he muttered, his voice splintering. "You always do."

You bit down on his shoulder until he hissed, dragging your nails down his side until his hips bucked into you, the bed shuddering beneath the force. He didn’t stop. His body was on autopilot now, pounding into you until your vision blurred and your body clamped around him like a vise.

The heat didn’t just fuel him—it destroyed him. It turned his pleasure into something darker, something he had no hope of resisting. He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to etch himself into your nervous system. "Fuck," he rasped, forehead pressed to the back of your neck. "You’re so tight, so warm... I could die inside you."

His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, the words so hoarse and broken they barely sounded like him anymore. He rolled his hips, grinding slow and deep, making you feel every desperate second he was buried inside you. His fingers slipped down between your thighs—stroking the swollen, soaked mess he had made of you. Your body shuddered at his touch, and a cry escaped your lips, only spurring him on.

"You’re dripping," he groaned. "All for me. Only for me."

He wanted every gasp to come from him. Every soft whimper to bear his name. He would fuck you slow and cruel just to see how long it would take before you started begging. And afterward—when you were wrecked and mindless—he would kiss you sweetly, because that was the worst part: how completely you unraveled him and how much he lived for it.

It was a craving so deep it rewired his instincts. Pain felt good. Pleasure felt like war. His eyes rolled into his skull at the sight of your ass bouncing back against him, the sheer force rocking you into his pelvis over and over. "Look at you—pathetic," he panted, the words filthy but breathless. "So easy once I start fucking you right."

The heat was overwhelming. His strangled whimpers filled the air around you, cracked and broken, raw with desperation. "Just squirming for me... so much for that sharp mouth."

There was no real bite behind the words now. Only the heaving rasp of a man on the edge of combustion. His body shuddered against yours, his hips stuttering. For a moment, you could feel his cock softening—but every dragging pull of your body around him yanked him back in like a magnet.

He pounded into you, hips moving erratically, his breaths ragged, sweat dripping down his temple. The orgasm building inside him sent violent twitches down his spine, his thrusts matching the rattling pace of his racing heart. He drove into you hard and deep, the swollen tip of his cock catching against your cervix each time, sending you reeling.

His hands were everywhere—greedy, rough, almost clumsy with need. You felt him rut against you like a man lost, desperate to get closer, closer still. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, slick and loud, as your head dipped into the mattress from sheer sensory overload.

He made you wait for it. His tongue trailed your nape first, teasing along the curve of your neck, slow and lazy, like he was memorizing you. And when he finally bit, it wasn’t playful but rather purposeful and ragged. A deep—anchoring pressure that made you jolt under him. You felt the throb of it shoot down your whole body.

He wanted you marked, bruised, maybe even bleeding. He wanted proof that you belonged to him, proof that no matter what happened tomorrow, tonight you were his. You weren’t a weakness. You were a religion, and this was his new form of prayer.

He moved faster, harder, his hand clutching your hip so tight it was almost painful. You knew it wouldn’t take much more—the way you clenched around him, the way your body opened for him, made his mind blank.

When you came, screaming his name, your body convulsing so hard you thought you might shatter, he sobbed. Not loud—just a soft, wrecked sound against your ear, so broken it barely made it out of his throat.

Because you had won again. He was truly weak during these ruts—and though he'd never admit it—he secretly wanted it that way. The night was far from over. His balls were heavy with another load already, the ache undeniable, and you noticed. You always noticed.

As you turned, straddling him for another round, he stared up at you, eyes wild and almost feverish. His voice broke when he murmured, "Please. Please ride me. I’ll shut up. I’ll be so quiet."

The scent of scorched cedar clung to the air, thick and heady. It wrapped around you, seeped into your skin, and filled your lungs until it made your head spin. You breathed it in and felt hunted—and weirdly, wanted.

When you sank onto him again, it was a slow, brutal stretch. His cock filled you completely, locking into place as he groaned through gritted teeth, his hands trembling where they gripped your hips. His forehead dropped to your neck, his fingers curling under your jaw to guide you down harder onto him when the knot started swelling.

He didn’t panic, nor did he hesitate. He had planned this. And when you tried to move, he growled low in your throat and pinned you down harder, hips grinding deep to milk every ounce of sensation from both your bodies.

"I don’t want fast," he whispered roughly. "I want slow torture. Let me feel every single inch... again." You could only gasp as he rutted up into you, deep and slow, grinding your bodies together until it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

Omni Mark

He hadn’t planned to see you tonight. Omni-Mark had half the galaxy kneeling at his feet, another third begging for mercy, and the rest daring to defy him. That should’ve occupied his attention. But the heat came early.

It was unforgiving. He fought it at first, of course he did. Viltrumites were above their biology—or so they thought—but this wasn’t a subtle ache or dull need. This was a burning, a low snarl in his blood that turned every thought into you. Whether it was your voice, your body, or your scent.

Now, here he stood in your doorway, fists clenched so hard his gloves tore, sweat beading on his forehead despite the icy chill in the air. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, his voice low, reverberating like thunder in a canyon. You raised an eyebrow, only half-dressed in a sleep shirt. “I never asked for anything. I want you to let go, Mark.”

That made something snap in him.

In an instant, he was on you, hands gripping your waist, slamming the door shut with the other. His mouth crashed into yours in a passionate, suctioning kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. His lips were soft, molding against yours as his tongue gently caressed yours. You barely registered the way your feet left the ground—his grip tightening possessively. He pulled away just long enough to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

“You’re soft… too soft,” he breathed, eyelids fluttering like he was trying to snap himself out of the trance you had pulled him into. “You think I haven’t dreamed about this?” he growled against your ear. “You think I haven’t imagined burying myself in you while the universe burns around us?”

You clawed at the armor along his arms, gasping when he bit down on your neck—hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. You felt the growl building in his chest, the way his whole body vibrated with restraint. “You’re my weakness,” he confessed between fevered kisses. “I should’ve destroyed you when I realized what you meant to me.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

He dropped you onto the bed like the princess you were. His costume peeled away in pieces, every inch of exposed skin rippling with tension—the kind of power that could level continents, yet somehow was gentle with you. You reached for him, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice trembling. “If you touch me right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Maybe I want to be ruined,” you whispered, your words like honey blessing his ears.

He crashed down onto you, desperate, kissing you with reverence and fury at once. His mouth mapped every inch of your body like a man on borrowed time. His lips trembled slightly against your skin, and an unfamiliar greed lingered in his touch. His hands explored and gripped every valley and curve he could reach, leaving your skin warm with the imprint of his palms.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your mouth, over and over like a mantra. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.” His voice cracked, that calm, collected demeanor unraveling to reveal the boy he once was.

Omni-Mark didn’t believe in surrender. But with you beneath him, gasping his name, begging for more, he didn’t need to.

He kissed like an emotion given shape—like someone who was never taught softness, only possession, but craved it so. When his mouth met yours—it wasn’t tentative. There was no gentle testing of the waters. It was hunger and desperation, devouring you like he was terrified he’d never taste you again. His hands cupped your jaw, a little too tight, while his body caged you in with muscle and need, heat radiating off him in heavy, sweltering waves.

He watched the way your knees buckled when he finally pulled back, panting, red-eyed, drunk on the taste of you. “You call that a kiss?” he rasped, lips already slick with yours, pupils blown wide. “Try again. Put your back into it.”

You felt the shift instantly. His hand curled around the back of your neck, firm but not rough, holding you there as his tongue pushed deeper into your mouth. The kiss grew sloppy—fast, breathless, and messy—his breath catching every time your hips brushed. He walked you backward without breaking the connection, steps deliberate until your thighs met the edge of the bed frame. His hand dragged down your side—palming the curve of your ass like he was checking to make sure you were real.

When your fingernails scraped gently up the back of his neck, he moaned into your mouth—quiet, raw, almost ashamed of how much it affected him. His cock was already hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants, grinding into your hip like a need he couldn’t reason with anymore.

He unwrapped you like you were a relic unearthed in some war-ravaged city. Like something precious and divine that was buried beneath fabric. His fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, but he didn’t yank. He peeled it away, inch by slow inch, eyes locked onto you as your breath shuddered with every inch of exposed skin.

When he got to your underwear, his hand lingered—not out of hesitation, but because he was reeling. His thumb brushed over the fabric, memorizing you, before he diligently undressed you. His eyes glazed over like a man about to feast.

You were already seated in his lap when the snap beneath his skin finally broke open and all that restraint crumbled into dust. His scent grew sharp and sticky, like the smell of rain on dry earth. His arms came around you from behind—forearms like iron bars across your stomach as you rocked against him. You could feel every inch of him beneath you: his cock—heavy and flushed—already pressed between your slick folds. His head bowed low, lips dragging from your shoulder to the shell of your ear.

“You’re shaking,” he muttered darkly, his voice frayed with strain. “Is it the heat... or me?” You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pressed your hips back deliberately, grinding into him slowly, cruelly. He shuddered, biting back a moan like it betrayed him.

He wasn’t ready to slide into you yet. He wanted you to feel it first. Wanted you gasping from the pressure of him nudging against your entrance. His teeth sank into your nape like he was starving, tongue dragging after to soothe the sting only to suck the skin back into his mouth.

“This isn’t about power—it’s about you letting me have it all,” he whispered against your neck, his voice wet and sick with hunger. He wanted to ruin you so gently you’d fall even deeper in love. “Tell me to stop. Just say it. Please.” His final warning, his final plea. He was never the most talkative, but he whispered murmurs against your skin like it was his coping mechanism.

Heeding his warning, you ignored him. Instead, you ground down harder, once, twice, teasing your entrance just enough to let him slip inside. It was over.

He groaned, the sound uncharacteristically high, and thrust up in one gripping, seamless motion. Your body gave with a lurch, your eyes fluttering shut as the air punched from your lungs. He bottomed out instantly—nudging every ridge, heavy, and throbbing deep inside you, but didn’t move.

“No?” he whispered. “Then take it. Take all of it.”

“I warned you.” He gritted his teeth, biting back broken whines. His forehead pressed against your neck, lips brushing over your skin as if to muffle his own groans.

“I’ll be gentle—then I’ll break you. And you’ll thank me." Your body pressed flush against his, the cool air in the room doing nothing to temper the heat radiating off his skin. Omni-Mark’s breath was steady at first—controlled, just like everything else he did. Even now, with you seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, he held himself like a soldier at war. His palms smoothed over your waist, thumbs stroking reverently at the dip of your hips, almost as if he was trying to memorize how you felt beneath his hands.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured against your shoulder. "You were supposed to make me stronger. Not... this."

His thrusts were slow, intentional, and deep. Every movement pressed you forward just enough for his pelvis to grind against your clit, the friction exquisite in its cruelty. He wasn’t rutting—he was studying you. Each drag of his cock was a question: Will this make you break first? But you didn’t.

Instead, you sank your hips back harder, rolling your spine as you moaned, letting him feel just how much you needed him. You caught his gaze over your shoulder, lips curling into a smile that wasn’t soft—it was sharp, daring. His fingers flexed hard enough around your hips to leave bruises, the illusion of his control slipping.

"Quiet?" you teased through heavy breaths, tilting your head back against his shoulder. "Is that focus... or fear?" He said nothing, almost smiling to himself as you mocked him. He just growled low in his throat, his hands clenching tighter as he jerked you back onto him, forcing you to take him even deeper. His breathing hitched violently.

His hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers pressing firmly against your clit, stroking tight, slow circles that made your whole body jerk. Your hands clutched at his knees for balance, pleasure spiking through you like electricity.

"You speak so boldly," he rasped against your ear, his voice almost tender despite the way his fingers worked you. "But I can feel it. How badly you need me."

His free hand moved to your breast, kneading and squeezing, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. His whole body was trembling now, his thighs shuddering beneath you as he thrust upward with brutal need. His hips stuttered. His breath caught ragged in his throat. The moan that escaped him was broken and rough, like it hurt to keep it inside.

He clamped his hands around your thighs, grinding you down onto him with force, pelvis slapping hard against your ass. The rhythm grew messy, erratic. You gasped as he spread your legs wider, one hand bracing you open, the other never relenting from your clit. You were shaking, spasming around him, nerves lighting up and snapping under the overwhelming pleasure.

He felt it—felt the way you clenched around him—and his groan turned desperate. That’s when it happened.

His breath hitched against your skin, hot and heavy, and he sank his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder—not sharp, but crushing. A deep, anchoring bite that made your knees buckle. There was no teasing graze. No playful nip. It was brutal and real, the final claim.

Your blood hummed beneath his tongue. His growl ripped through his chest like something primal and unhinged, all of his restraint gone in an instant. When he pulled back, your neck throbbed with the mark he left—a vow burned into flesh.

He stilled for a second, trembling, forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he could fuse you to him if he only squeezed hard enough.

And then he came. It wasn’t silent—it tore from him in a broken, gasping sound, raw and utterly human. His hips bucked forward once, twice, grinding himself as deep as he could go. You could feel the heat of him spilling inside you, thick and hot, flooding your cunt until it leaked out around the base of him.

The knot swelled suddenly, locking you both together with a sharp stretch that made you both gasp aloud. He stayed buried to the hilt, unmoving for a moment except for the erratic trembling in his thighs. His fingers curled around your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head back so he could kiss you—soft, almost reverent, as if he couldn't believe you were real.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t stop. "We’re not done," he murmured hoarsely against your lips. His voice was frayed and trembling, nothing like the god he was to everyone else. It was raw and human and yours.

"I've made you cum before," he panted. "Again. And again. Tonight’s no different."

You could already feel him swelling again, already twitching inside you, the knot keeping you right where he wanted. It was thick, full, and practically immovable as he rested his forehead against your cheek. His hips began to move again, slow and grinding, sending aftershocks of pleasure straight through your gut.

Omni-Mark wasn’t the type to give up. Not when it came to you. Especially not now. Not when he had all night and all of you.

Full Masked Mark

He didn’t knock. You found him in your room, standing in the dark—half-shadowed beneath the blue light leaking in from the city. He hadn’t removed the mask, just hovered there, tense, and breathing too hard.

“Mark?”

He didn’t respond. You took a step forward, and he flinched—his hand tightening into a fist so hard his knuckles cracked beneath the glove. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, cracking like old porcelain. “I—I can’t trust myself.” You stopped moving. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

He nodded once. “The heat. I felt it coming for days. Thought I could outrun it.” His head tilted, his voice almost breaking. “I ran here.” You didn’t question it. Not the fact that he trusted you with this—something he clearly didn’t understand, something that made him feel wrong. You stepped close enough for him to see the softness in your eyes.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Mark.” His brows furrowed, his body suddenly becoming tense. But the way his body ached for you, the way his strength spasmed as he imagined fucking you raw with the memory of countless nights fucking his fist in your bed… he couldn’t tell.

His breath hitched audibly behind the mask. “You don’t know that. I’m not like the others. I—I think about you too much. I dream about you. And in those dreams, I—” His voice cut off with a choked gasp.

“I miss her,” he whispered. “She’d know what to do.”

Your heart broke. He was burning up inside, trembling with unspent want, haunted by grief and biology and years of holding himself together with cracked pieces of identity. You stepped closer. “Let me help you,” you whispered, hands gently brushing the hem of his mask. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He didn’t move as you slid it off. Underneath, his face was flushed, wet with tears he hadn’t realized he was crying. His jaw was clenched like he was fighting himself from the inside out. And then you touched his face—just a thumb across his cheek—and the dam burst.

He surged forward, mouth on yours in a desperate, needy kiss. There was no dominance, no force—just raw emotion and trembling urgency. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Wanted you. But it never felt fair.”

“It’s not about fair, Mark,” you whispered, unzipping his suit slowly. “It’s about what we want.”

His lips found your throat, reverent and shaky, like he was worshipping every inch of you he touched. His fingers trembled against your skin as he helped you undress, his breath stuttering every time you made a sound. When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was with a gentleness that felt sacred. He was utterly devoted, his lips parting as unabashed whines and whimpers in your name spouted from his lips.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, nuzzling your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “You feel like home.” You pulled him in, let him bury himself in your arms and your body, and let him feel safe while the storm inside him raged and broke.

“Don’t let go,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. “Even if I fall apart.”

You kissed him back, holding him through the fire. “I won’t.”

And he didn’t fall apart. He broke open, in the best possible way.

And then he kissed you like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It’s wet and trembling, like he’s trying not to let his body take over too fast. His hands shake where they touch you, fingers curling into your shirt as if you might disappear if he lets go. “M-missed you,” he stammers into your mouth, kissing again before you can reply. He chases your lips, nose bumping clumsily against yours, and sighs when your hands pull him closer. “Let me stay... just a little longer.”

Like being wrapped in something wet and hot and too much. His scent is thick with desperation. It pulses with each pant from his lips. The longer he holds back and the heavier it becomes—need turned physical. A pheromone so raw it drips off him like sweat. It smells of molten amber and pine sap. The type that fogs up mirrors, clings to your sheets, and fills your mouth. It says, He’s not fucking for pleasure—he’s fucking to survive. And only you can keep him sane. His bones ache, every cell in his body screaming to break his restraints, but he can’t help but treat you gently.

You could tell his usual gentleness and restraint were bursting at the seams. Almost like he was still deciding if he should even be touching you at all. But then you made a sound—soft, breathy, inviting—and it destroyed whatever hesitation he had left.

The scent of you had soaked between your thighs—a dizzying blend of heat and arousal that made his chest rise with ragged restraint. His jaw clenched. His eyes devoured you, shoulders heaving, hands trembling with the effort of not lunging. The suit remained half on—his skin flushed and damp beneath the edges of his armor. But even while he stayed dressed, he made sure you weren’t.

Because in heat, Mark didn’t want just access to your body—he wanted your vulnerability. All of it. And before you knew it, your back was against the mattress.

His cock is thick, not monstrous, but unmistakable and it fits him perfectly. Hard, flushed, curved slightly upward, the tip already slick with need. It twitches when you look at it, eager, the kind of erection that speaks more of obsession than pride. And when he finally presses himself against you, it’s not just hunger—it’s worship in motion.

His body trembled as he positioned himself between your legs, jaw clenched so tight it ached. His skin burned under the mask, damp with sweat, heart pounding out of rhythm like it was trying to crawl from his chest. The heat coiled in his gut like a second heartbeat—violent, possessive, undeniable. His cock throbbed with every shallow breath he took, already leaking against your thigh, twitching with the need to bury itself deep.

He entered you slowly, almost reverently, but it was clear from the start: this wasn’t about control anymore. Not that he had any. Your folds are slick, swollen, already glistening with arousal; he's too far gone to pretend not to notice. His wildest instincts flared against his reddened skin. His breath hitched the moment you tightened around him, the heat inside him flaring like a wildfire fanned by gasoline.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this. I didn’t know you would feel like this,” he said, through a lump of saliva stuck in his throat. You two have had sex before, but this was a transcendence of normal sensations. Like an aphrodisiac had poisoned his every being—only craving to have you. Every inch he gave you sent a tremor through his spine. His hands gripped your thighs too hard, fingers digging into the plush of your skin as if anchoring himself to reality—to you. Choked gasps echoed from you as pain mingled with pleasure.

His hips rocked with shallow, fluid thrusts, but his body betrayed him. Sweat dripped down his temples. His thighs flexed beneath you. The very fat of his lips felt suffocating now, his groans catching behind it, as if he were trying to bite down every sound—but the whines slipped through. Small, needy, devastated.

When his mouth found your neck, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a branding. His teeth grazed your skin, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting—only to repeat the ritual again and again. You felt the tremor in his chest every time he breathed you in. With every nip, your body jolted against him, clamping down as you curled into him. He was trying to restrain himself, to stay present. To worship you. Your skin curved upward as shaky gasps left your fingers clawing at his shoulder blades before you barely grazed his shoulder with your fangs, and he gasps—a full-body jolt that ends with him moaning your name. “Ah—wha—fuck, do it again—please, I—I like that, I really like that—” His hips buck into yours without rhythm, lost in the sensation.

But his body pulsed with hunger, and your scent had soaked into his bones like poison. He was hard—too hard—the kind of painful pressure that fogged his brain and turned every thought into a raw, burning need to come. He didn’t last long before instinct buckled his knees.

Suddenly, he surged forward, hips snapping into yours with more force, more desperation. “Can you feel how deep I am? I need to be deeper.” His body moved on its own—sharp, ragged thrusts as if chasing relief he already knew wouldn’t come easy. He whimpered against your collarbone, low and broken, like it hurt to need you this much. Like, if he came, it wouldn’t be enough. He tried to slow down again, pulling his hips back to regain control, but the second your body clenched around him in reply—he lost it.

He flipped you onto him without thinking, your chest sliding against his sweat-slicked torso. His hands ghosted over your back like you were made of glass, but his eyes? Glazed. Wild. You sank down on him again, and he cried out—not loud, but breathless. Helpless. “It’s okay, Mark… I’ll take it from here.”

You started to ride him, each movement smooth and sensual, and it shattered what little composure he had left. Gooseflesh peppered across your skin as your vision blurred, moving absentmindedly through groans. His hands clawed at your hips—desperate for something to hold. His thighs trembled beneath you, every muscle pulled taut like a man bracing for impact. You were moving too good, too slow, too deep—and the look on your face drove him mad.

“Mark… oh, f—fuck, Mark.” His name on your lips was like a spell. “Say my name again… please, I need to hear it when you touch me, m—mommy.” His groan was so broke it borderlined slutty. You leaned down and nipped at his chest, your tongue tracing the contours of his body, and he arched into you so sharply it bordered on pain. The groan that left him was guttural and shameful—his cock twitching so hard inside you it made your stomach flip. He was trying to last. You could see it in how hard his jaw clenched, how his fingers trembled where they held you, and how his entire body was one breath away from breaking.

You rolled your hips faster, and his head fell back against the pillows, mouth parted in a gasp that never fully came. His release hit like a landslide, thighs spasming, chest heaving beneath you. He spilled inside you with a full-body jolt, his fingers digging into your skin like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His hips kept moving—just barely—like his body hadn’t realized it was over. Like it didn’t want it to be.

His hips roughly buck upwards, the dominance within battling with his personality. He swells, his pelvis pressing into you as it forces every obsessive emotion out of him. And even as he lay there, breathless, unraveling beneath you, he didn’t let go. One hand slid up your back. The other held your hip still, his cock still twitching inside you. His body was still burning.

Because it wasn’t over. Not even close.

It wasn’t his choice; he tried to fight it. He wants to hold back. But when he finally gives in and marks you, the bite is sloppy—messy with saliva and a low, broken whine in your ear. He bites twice, just to feel it again. His knot slowly forms as he clings to you, speech slurring as he becomes barely coherent. You feel his whole body tense as his teeth graze, then dig in. The second bite is deeper, so sudden you yelp. His grip tightens. “I—I’m sorry, I just—I needed you to know you’re mine.”

Main Mark Grayson

You didn’t expect him to show up at your place at two in the morning—especially not looking like that. Hair wild, eyes glowing faintly gold, his shirt drenched in sweat and clinging to his chest. His hands were shaking and his voice was frantic.

“Hey—hi—uh, this might be crazy, but I think I’m, like… dying?”

You blinked. “Mark… what?”

He paced your living room, tugging at his clothes, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, so, um—my dad kind of warned me this might happen one day? Something about Viltrumite biology and… a heat cycle?” Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh. Suddenly, you were very intrigued.

He froze mid-ramble, turning to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “I smelled you, okay? On the way home. I was flying, and then boom—your scent hit me like a truck, and now I’m like—" He gestured down to his very obvious, very painful erection. “THIS.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm while your thighs absolutely clenched. “Mark, sit.”

He obeyed immediately, flopping onto your couch like a broken marionette, head falling into his hands. “I swear I’m not a creep. I just—God, you smell so good—”

You crossed the room slowly and sat next to him. He tensed like a live wire.

You touched his knee, and he whimpered. The poor boy almost looked embarrassed before his jaw clenched to bite back another sound. It was subtle, but his head tilted as his nose flexed—inhaling your scent like the sweetest dessert as heat broke his skin into a red flush.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It hurts. It aches, and all I can think about is you. How soft your skin is. How you taste when I kiss you—God, I’ve imagined it so many times—” You took his face gently in your hands, turning him to look at you. “Mark,” you said softly. “Do you want this? With me?”

He nodded so fast it almost looked painful. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve wanted this—but not like this. I didn’t want to scare you. But now I’m losing it, and I need you. Please.”

You kissed him before he could spiral further. He gasped, then melted into it, grabbing your hips like they were the last stable thing in his universe. His mouth was hot, desperate, already starting to shake as the heat flared stronger.

You slid your hands under his shirt, feeling the sweat-slick heat of his skin. He shivered, grinding up against you with a needy groan. “I feel like I’m going to explode,” he whispered against your neck. “Like I could fly through the moon just from touching you.”

You tugged the cloth off, eyes roaming his flushed, muscular form. Within seconds, a familiar musk perspired from his pores. It was warm. An after-battle scent that's adrenaline-laced with sweat-slicked sandalwood and a subtle sweetness of red apple skin. The smell of his cologne clashed as if he had tried grounding himself before arriving. The kind of scent that clings to your sheets and drives you crazy when he’s gone. Suddenly, you felt vertiginous with a mixture of lust and reason clashing within your veins. It was so easy to relinquish control to whatever temptation awaited.

“…Are you mad? Or are you gonna kiss me before I combust?” He said nervously, brows furrowing upwards.

You blinked, surprised—then realized he’d mistaken your stunned silence, the way your breath caught, and your hands hesitated for doubt. Not awe. You straddled his lap, gently guiding his trembling hands to your hips, grounding him now.

“Mark,” you said softly, pulling his mouth back to yours, “I’m not scared. I want this. I want you.”

He groaned into your kiss—relieved, wrecked, like the words unraveled something in him. And when he kissed you back? It was like he was learning it all for the first time, like you’re teaching him with every sigh. But the moment his hips shift against yours, instinct takes over. He groans into your mouth, the kiss going from nervous to needy in seconds. His fingers curl into your thighs, pulling you closer with soft pants between kisses. Again and again—faster, deeper—like he's afraid of what happens if he pulls away. “You make it worse. Being this close—I just—please… let me have this.” And when you nod, he kisses you like it’s a thank you and a promise in one.

He didn’t hold anything back. His hands found your waist, your thighs, your chest, everywhere at once, guided by instinct and passion. His breath caught as you guided his hands, his hips, and his rhythm.

Mark Grayson didn’t know what he was doing, but he learned fast.

You barely got your shirt off before his mouth was on your throat again. Not kissing. Breathing, tasting even. He was fumbling at your clothes like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to take them off or just fuck you through them. He doesn’t mean to be messy—but his heat is driving him crazy.

Inhaling your scent like it soothed the ache in his chest. His hands trembled at your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin like he was trying to remember how to be gentle, how to be Mark—but the heat was too much.

He's been aching for hours. His cock started reacting before he even knew why—just the sound of your laugh, or the memory of how your hand felt the night before, was enough to make him twitch. Like a magnetic force building pressure in his chest and groin that no amount of willpower can settle. His heart beats faster when you’re close, but not because he’s nervous. But from burying his face in your skin and rutting like an animal.

The instinctive, all-consuming need to bury himself deep and never leave—to feel your cunt pulse around him until he doesn’t know where you end and he begins. He wants to merge with you in every way imaginable. Every inch of skin feels like it's starving to the point where sex might not be enough. His nervous system feels alight, all senses searching for yours, like that's their purpose.

His calloused fingers slid your panties down your thighs, soaked through, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His hips lifted, hand palmed at his soiled erection before yanking down the fabric. Veins ran the length of his cock—the usual pink tip was an irritated red—and it was heavy as it smacked against his abdomen. He jumped, bucking into the air as cold precum bubbled from his tip.

Too impatient to fully undress, he let you take the reins, legs wrapping around his waist. His breath hitched like you’d struck him. You settled into his cross-legged lap, chests pressed together, skin to skin, cockslick hot between your folds—and he froze.

Not from hesitation. But because his entire body short-circuited.

He entered you slowly, like he was trying to feel every second of it. Your walls stretched around him, wet and pulsing, and he moaned—deep, wrecked, like he hadn’t even meant to. You clutched around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your back as your bodies fully sealed together. Every bulging vein was caressed, arousal threatening to erupt.

He rocked his hips, slow and intense. Grinding into you like it was the only thing keeping him conscious. Then came the whisper. Low. Ragged. Right against your throat. “Mine…” His hips rolled with it. You gasped. “Mine,” again, softer, needier, as his cock dragged in slow circles inside you, the pressure growing unbearable.

He buried his face in your neck like it would keep him grounded, hips moving with desperate rhythm—not pounding, but grinding, searching for friction, pleasure, and closeness. Like your body was his whole world. He shook. A full-body tremor that told you he was losing it. Your legs tightened around him, head tilted towards the ceiling as strobe lights clouded your vision from his thrusting.

Through hitching breaths, you stammered, “That’s it. Just like that. You feel it too, don’t you?” You gulped, his lips tracing over your bobbing throat. “I can’t think, I can’t—God, you feel so good.” He heaved, tongue running over your clavicle as he sought every drop of sweat. “You’re squeezing me so hard—are you trying to kill me?” His tongue tickling you sent shivers down your spine, causing his arms to wrap tighter, feeding off every vibration.

And then he fell forward. Not collapsing—just pressing you back onto the mattress, hips never leaving yours. Still buried inside you, still grinding as he held you like his anchor. His mouth found yours, kissing you hard, hand at your lower back dragging your hips forward—trying to keep you pressed to his cock even as his muscles gave out. “Harder. Please. I can take it,” you gasped, fingers clawing at the couch material. “God, you make me lose control. I can’t stop—not when you sound like that.” A whimper and deep groan rumbled in his chest as he nearly doubled over, his hips pushing forward as your head collided with the armrest.

When he finally came—deep, groaning, clinging—his thrusts didn’t stop. He just rode through it, fucked through it, face against your chest, body shaking. And when the wave passed? He shifted you both gently, his body still connected to yours, curling behind you like a second skin. You stared wide-eyed; his eyes were glazed over, and he whispered uncharacteristically in your ear. “I’m gonna keep going until your legs won’t close without me between them.” He’s not cruel. He’s possessed. He wants to wreck you because he loves you—and it terrifies him how much he needs it. “I just need you so bad,” he pants. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Your knees bent as he nudged closer, cock sliding back inside you from behind—spooning now, softer, deeper, but no less desperate.

He kissed your shoulder. His hand found your thigh and pulled it up. His cock dragged in slow, aching thrusts that felt like a secret. But the moment your hips shifted—even the slightest grind back against him—he whimpered. His hips rolled forward on reflex, just enough for you to feel how he was still thick, still twitching inside you, still needing.

He started moving. Small thrusts. Like he was trying to be good, to hold back. But every slow drag of his cock inside you made his breath catch, made his arm around your waist tighten. Your body was still so wet, so warm, so welcoming. It pulled the heat right back to the surface—he pummeled into you now, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips snapping forward in slow, aching rolls that never left you empty. Every inch of him throbbed with restraint. His body buzzed with heat and urgency, but you could feel the emotion under it.

He was fucking you like he meant it. Like your body answered a question he hadn’t realized he was asking. His hand slid over your thigh—palm dragging up your slick skin until he reached your chest. He gripped it, not hard, just possessively. Like if he held you tight enough, he could force the ache in his stomach to ease. Like the way your breath hitched made it bearable.

Your ass rocked back against him now, unconsciously meeting every rut of his hips, and he gasped quietly, but cracked open with it. His pace faltered, and then, he grinded.

A long, deep press of his cock, slow enough for you to feel every vein, every throb as he pulsed inside you. He whimpered again as you clenched, mouth open against your nape like he couldn’t breathe without you. “Oh, fuck, Mark.” Your voice cut through his thoughts like a knife; a deep groan vibrated in your throat as an impending orgasm washed over you.

He’s trying to be gentle—he swears he is. But the second you cry out his name, the dam breaks. He groans low in his throat, body trembling as he leans over you, breath hot against your skin. “Fuck—I need to…” He presses his lips to the base of your neck first, shaky and reverent—then you feel the slow pressure of his teeth. He bites down harder than he intended, and your back arches. His heat-maddened body needs you claimed. Mark shudders, lips wet as he pulls back just enough to whisper, “You’re mine. Sorry—I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop.” His hand flies over your mouth to quiet the pain and pleasured grunts. He couldn't handle it. Until you bit into the web between his thumb and pointer finger.

He yelps—then moans, breathless, like you just knocked all the air out of him. His face flushes red all the way to his ears, his hips stuttering against you. “D-don’t stop doing that,” he begs, voice cracking. You feel him start to swell, and he panics—eyes wide, voice stuttering, body tense. He tries to stop moving, but it only makes the pressure worse—and suddenly he’s knotting inside you with a choked groan.

“Can we do this again? And again? And—fuck, I’m not done.”

And he wasn’t pulling out. Not until you whispered that he was yours. And not even then.

Mohawk Mark

You didn’t move. He was already in your apartment when you walked in—standing dead center in the living room, like he owned the place.

Shoulders squared, jaw tight, fists flexing at his sides like he was trying to decide if he wanted to grab something or break it in half. His nostrils flared as he exhaled slowly through his nose, teeth catching his bottom lip. Not angry. Not quite.

Something worse. Something hungry.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running his tongue over his teeth like he could taste you in the air. “You always leave the door unlocked like that? Or just for me?” He almost sounded flattered. You cocked a brow. “You broke my window last time. I figured this was safer.” That almost made him grin. Almost.

Instead, he tilted his head and stared at you like he was trying to figure out how loud you'd scream if he pinned you to the wall right now. “You smell that?” He muttered, eyes narrowing. “That’s me. Going fucking crazy.”

“This what you wanted?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “Parading around like that, all soft and smug? You get off on teasing me while I’m like this?” You glanced down at yourself—shorts, tank top, nothing special—but his eyes were molten.

“Are you teased, Mark?”

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Shit, you’re—mm…” He grimaced to himself.

His hands twitched again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cross his arms or slam them on either side of your head. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch—just watched, jaw ticking, eyes following your every move like a predator holding himself back by a thread.

“I expected more restraint,” you murmured. “Didn’t think you'd lose control this fast.” He’s mentioned these heats before, almost braggadocious in an excessive way. He was a sexual deviant, skilled within his own right, and you knew that very well… but you don't recall him seeming so… lewd during these ruts.

He scoffed. “Restraint’s for people who aren’t boiling inside their own goddamn skin. You ever felt that? Like your bones are gonna split open if you don’t fuck something?” You inhaled slowly, thighs clenching. “Sounds intense.”

“It is.” His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“You sure you don’t like it?”

He finally moved—just a step, but it was heavy, purposeful, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold back a war. His voice dropped into a growl. “I like watching you squirm when you pretend you’re not dying for it too.” You smirked. “I’m not pretending.”

His pupils blew, and he heaved as if sick. He took another step. “You should’ve stayed away tonight,” he said. “You don’t know what I’ll do to you if you let me.” You closed the space, lifting your chin. “Then show me.” The moment cracked like lightning.

He grabbed your waist hard enough to bruise, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest table with his hips grinding into yours. One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, the other sliding under your shirt with zero patience. You gasped, nails digging into his arms. “I’ll be gentle when you stop making it fun,” he hissed in your ear. “You want it rough?” His eyes peered into yours with an intensity that made your heart thrum. He could hear it.

“Good,” he growled. “Let me ruin that attitude while you still remember your name.”

He doesn’t ask for a kiss. He leans in like he’s about to win something—eyes sharp, mouth already curled in that half-smirk that makes you want to slap it off or bite it. There’s heat in his stare, but it’s not desperate. It’s deliberate. Like he’s letting you know what’s about to happen without saying a word. And when he finally does kiss you? It’s firm, demanding, but not cruel. The kind of kiss that says, “I see you. I respect you. Now shut up and let me in.”

His hand’s usually on your jaw, thumb under your chin, tilting your face just how he likes it. He likes a little resistance—loves when you kiss back with a bite, when your teeth graze his lip just enough to make him growl. Your hands wrap around the width of his shoulders, feet shuffling beneath you as his teeth attack your lips. You're barely able to reciprocate the usual energy.

He laughs into your mouth. A low, cocky rumble, like he’s already planning his next move. He kisses like a dare—like he wants to know how much you can take before you start pulling his hair and grinding back. But there’s tenderness under the heat. A kind of quiet reverence in the way he pulls back just slightly to breathe against your lips before diving in again, slower this time, almost careful. Like he doesn’t say the soft stuff out loud—but he lets you taste it. He’s panting, flushed, pupils blown wide. Smirking like he didn’t just almost lose his mind. His tongue flicks over his lips, the cold metal ball of his piercing just teasing you of what could be.

His teeth now bite at your bra strap just enough to make it snap. Your pants come off mid-makeout, fingers fumbling until he just rips them at the seams. “Oops,” he grins, not sorry at all. He doesn’t slow down, his hands linger on your thighs, his mouth hot against your neck. “Shit, you should see how wet you are for me. You feel that?”

He makes a mental note to “kidnap you.” It's about time you lived with him; having to travel so far ticks his gears. You’d assimilate perfectly, having been adorned with a matching mohawk. His thoughts are interrupted the second your nails scratched up his chest—just hard enough to leave a faint trail over the curve of his pecs. He stopped smiling. His jaw flexed. His hands slid down your waist. Then lower.

You hopped back onto the edge of the bed like you’d done it before and you had. With him. Because with Mark, it was always the same deal: you push, he pushes back harder. You spit fire; he kisses it into your throat.

Your legs were already bending when he grabbed them, hauling your thighs up until your ass slid into his lap and your weight tilted. You dropped forward to the floor, hands planting flat against it as your body stretched into that long, open line. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t supposed to be. You didn’t need to be told what he wanted. He didn’t need to say it.

His cock slid against your ass—thick, hot, already leaking—and your mouth curled into a smirk. You arched purposefully. A little taunt, a little “you can take it, right?” attitude radiating off you, even as your thighs trembled from the stretch. He grunted, lips quirking in response. And then he pressed into the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. It was dizzying each time, but today especially. The sight of it alone causes him to pant. His scent is overwhelming. Makes the air taste heavy. It forces submission from the inside out as you feel your stomach twisting. The smell sticks to your sweat, resembling charred sugarcane and gasoline.

You felt the give, the pressure blooming in your gut as his cock breached you, thick and unforgiving. He guided your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above your knees, using your legs to tilt your body into the angle he liked best—deep. He didn’t thrust. He carved. Mark grunted—low, restrained, shocked by how tight you were. You squeezed him hard, involuntarily, and he twitched so violently his hips nearly stuttered out of rhythm.

His hips pummeled forward, nearly knocking you off balance, your fingertips digging into wooden floors. The rocking presses him against every ridge inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tighter than I thought… knew you’d be trouble.” He was thick, his cock pulsing with heat and slick from his own need, and the sensation of being filled that way had your vision going white around the edges. Every thrust after that was short, deep, grinding. You were being taken. And he was barely holding himself together at the seams.

Your pelvic muscles tightened every time he reared back, his fingers gripping you with such vigor that his hands went numb. His gaze purely focused on your ass, the sight alone nearly busting his balls as he gritted. Peering over your shoulder, you watch as he whispers to himself—hand nudging himself deeper with every stroke. Planting your feet against the sheets, you began to bounce back against him; loud pops echo in the room in tandem with your moans.

“You’re gonna ride me like I’m nothing, huh? Fucking do it.” You almost make it look easy, his toes spreading from the pleasure, being your encouragement. “I'm gonna fill you til' it leaks out of your nose, babe. You ready for that kind of damage?” His hand against the small of your back, head lolling backwards as unfiltered groans left him. His voice cracking occasionally, fingers ripping at the sheets, the hairs of his mohawk becoming slick to his scalp.

One hand against his chest, the other gripping his jaw as his whole body convulsed under you, chest arching, hips jerking up in desperate, erratic thrusts even after he spilled inside you. And even when it was over, when he’d emptied himself with a full-body tremble and a cracked moan, he didn’t stop moving.

His hands slid weakly down your back, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin like he didn’t know how to stop touching. His breath came in short, broken gasps—mouth open, throat dry, eyes glassy with disbelief. “Still hard—how the fuck am I still hard?” His spine curved forward as he continued to bounce you against his cock, his jaw slack. “You feel so good, I’ll die here, I don’t care.”

His body twitched under yours, overwhelmed but addicted—his cock still twitching inside you, trying to stay hard even as overstimulation set in. He whined when you clenched. Actually whined. His thighs trembled, head turned to the side, face flushed and lips parted in a half-smile, half-wrecked expression that made it impossible to take him seriously—except he was so serious.

He slipped out of your pussy with a wet, audible drag, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. He was breathing heavily, shakily, even as he pulled you up like you weighed nothing. His hands framed your thighs, one arm cradling your back as he stood with you wrapped around him.

Your cunt was already dripping from being stretched—slick enough that when he used the arousal to lube your ass, it was an immediate, obscene slide. The angle—chest to chest, your back hitting the wall—meant he could slam up into you, balls smacking your ass with every thrust. The shift from vaginal to anal only made it more intense—your walls fluttered around him from sheer overstimulation, gripping his cock like your body didn’t want to let him go again.

It was instinct and control, primal and practiced, each movement slamming forward with just enough mercy to keep it beautiful. The sound of your skin meeting his hips echoed in the room—wet, filthy, rhythmic.

He reached down and grabbed the back of your neck, not to choke, just to feel your pulse as you took it. You barely had time to turn before he lifted you. One arm behind your back, the other under your thigh. His mouth slammed into yours again—sloppy, hot, teeth and spit and praise held between clenched teeth. He licks into your mouth like he’s chasing something—dominance, control, maybe a bit of sanity he left behind two cities ago.

You clawed at his shoulders. Bit his bottom lip. His cock was slick, messy from the first round, pressing against your slick folds as he walked you toward the wall like a man on a mission.

You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, and he fucked you standing—hard, deep, devastating. But still precise. Still so goddamn good it made your knees shake even while they were off the ground. He whispered something against your cheek, nothing coherent, just the sound of someone wrecked and reverent.

The stretch? Piercing and intense. His knot leaves you gasping, trying to squirm, but he holds you down, ramming his knot deeper with each thrust until it pops inside and locks you together. You can feel it throbbing, almost bruising, and he loves the way you twitch around him. He grinds through the swelling, making it worse for both of you—and better. “Too much? That’s the point.” There’s no warning. Just a cocky snarl, his hand locking in your hair and shoving your head to the side. “You ready, sweetheart?” You don’t get the chance to respond—he sinks in hard. Deep enough to bruise. You scream, and he laughs, moaning into the skin. “God, that’s hot. Fuck, keep squirming.”

Annoyance floods your veins as you crane your neck. You sink your teeth into his collarbone, and he shouts, hips snapping. “FUCK—oh, that’s what you’re on? You wanna bite now?” He’s panting, pale, flushed, eyes wild. “Bite harder. C’mon, make me bleed, I dare you.”

You clench around him, “Yeah, make me your little toy. I’m built for it.”

Lensless Invinicble

He hasn’t said a word for over an hour— which, for No Goggles Mark— is basically a war crime. He’s sprawled out on the couch like he’s been shot, one arm flung over his face, the other dangerously close to palming himself through his sweats, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. That self-sabotaging little shit. He’s so obviously in heat it’s comical. Sweat slicks his collarbone, his jaw is clenched tight, his shirt is lifted over his abs like a mating call, and a flush rises from his chest to the tips of his ears. And still, nothing, not a single word.

So you break first. “You good?”

His fingers twitch. His mouth moves like he might respond. Then, silence again. Of course.

You walk over, stand above him, arms crossed. “Mark.”

He groans, dragging his arm off his face to reveal bloodshot eyes and a crooked grin. “Dude,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to cave.”

“Cave?” you echo, raising a brow.

He smirks, shifting slightly, letting his hips roll just enough for you to see the outline of him pressing hard against his pants. “Yeah, cave. I mean, I’ve been lying here like a Victorian heroine in heat, and you didn’t even check my temperature. Rude.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“Little bit,” he chirps, breath catching as his thighs tense. “Dude, like, on a scale from 1 to melting down in your lap? I’m somewhere around… please slap me, choke me, tell me to shut the fuck up, and I’ll still get hard.”

Your face twitches, and that’s when he knows he’s got you.

“You like this, huh?” He taunts, grinning through a low, shaky breath. “Me all pathetic and wrecked. Just lying here, trying so hard not to hump the fucking couch. You gonna be a hero and save me, or… just watch me lose my mind?”

You kneel beside him, now he twitches.

“God, I love when you do that,” he mutters. “All serious and controlled while I’m three seconds away from grinding myself into a puddle.” You glance down at his flushed neck, already marked up from earlier in the week. Old hickeys, faint bruises—like trophies. Your trophies.

“You are so lucky I have bad taste in men.” You sigh, feigning annoyance as you two share knowing glances. “If I touch you, will you stop talking… or just moan louder?”

“Okay, rude again, but also… accurate. Now come here. Get on me,” he says, voice deepening on the last word. His breath hitches again, and for a moment, he shudders—hands fisting in the cushion, thighs shaking.

You lean close, your lips brushing his ear. “You could’ve said something.”

“No fun in that,” he pants, finally reaching for you. “Wanted to see how long I could suffer. I always ruin the fun too fast. Mark me. Scratch me. I’ll wear it like a fucking badge, babe.”

He rolls over, yanking you into his lap, lips ghosting along your jaw. “C’mon. Don’t make me beg.”

“You already are.”

“…Shit. That’s hot.”

His heat ruins him. He’s unhinged, usually pacing the walls of your shared home like a caged animal, trying not to wake you, but failing. His brain short-circuits with the memory of your mouth, your voice, and your bite. It's self-inflicted torture—he delays touching you just to feel the high of suffering. And when he finally breaks? It’s like watching a dam explode. You’re not just his girl—you’re his goddess, his favorite kind of punishment. And this need? It’s sacred, in the dirtiest way possible. For a loose cannon with unparalleled brutality, you’ve got him on a leash.

His hands hovered at the hem of your shirt, fingers twitching like he was trying not to break apart mid-touch. “Dude, I can’t—I need—fuck, just lemme, please—”

You didn’t even answer. Just raised your arms, and that was all it took. He yanked the shirt over your head, tearing it in the process, and shifted you beneath him with a groan, mouth already dragging over your stomach like he didn’t know where to start. Your bra went next—half-bitten, half-torn—and when your chest spilled free, he just stared. Wide-eyed. That smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and sinful, but his eyes were already glassy—like he was drunk off the tension and starving for your skin. It was a smile like he knew a secret and you were the punchline. All teeth and dark promise.

His tongue found your sternum, teeth grazing as he mouthed down one side, up the other, breath shaking against your skin. “I’m gonna say the worst shit if you let me keep going. Like, really bad. I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Ten minutes passed, and he still hadn’t made it past your ribs—just kissing, licking, groaning, hands dragging up your thighs like a prayer with no end. You knew he was struggling, his sweat pebbling against your thighs. It was sudden, your fingers curling just below his jaw and yanking him upward. The sound he let out was between a groan and a chortle.

He looked at you like you were the final scene in a movie he’d watched a thousand times—obsessed, twitchy, reverent… and just a little off. It was unhealthy. He was in love. His smile didn’t match the heat in his eyes; it was crooked, teasing, like he was holding in something far worse than words. His fingers ghosted along your thigh, warm and slow, but there was nothing calm about the way they twitched—like he was barely holding back from sinking them in.

It was dangerous. Like if you stopped now, he wouldn’t ask you to stay. He’d make you. And still, you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. You let him worship you like the pretty little problem you are.

And so, with shaking fingers, he shoved his slacks down like they offended him, groaning when his cock sprang free—already flushed, already wet at the tip. The air hit him, and he trembled, panting through his teeth as if just being exposed was enough to short-circuit his control.

Your hand snapped up to his throat—tight, deliberate—and the moan that tore from him was instant, filthy, a cracked whimper that vibrated against your palm. You pressed him back into the cushions, straddling him with one thigh slotted between his twitching legs. His hands found your hips, but they were too unsteady to hold you down—more like he was asking permission with every touch.

You kissed him mid-moan—sloppy, messy, mouths colliding with teeth and spit and breath you didn’t care to control. His lips chased yours like he needed them to stay grounded, like losing contact for even a second would break him. His tongue was desperate. Uncoordinated. He whimpered every time your hips rolled. You reached down between your bodies, guided him to your entrance, and sank down.

He groaned. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a pathetic little sound trapped in the back of his throat as your warmth surrounded him—tight, slick, all-consuming. His head hit the back of the couch, and his mouth hung open in disbelief, fingers digging into your thighs before thrusting upward. A thick, wet sound of arousal coated flesh echoed between walls, his lip caught between his teeth. As you set the pace, his hand clasped the width of your ass as he forced you to swallow him whole.

That’s all it took for your fingers to tremble, for your grasp to slip. “You hear that? That slick sound when I push in? That’s what I do to you. That’s mine now. Say it.” Words refused to form, only a disgruntled sigh escaping in their place. “Shaking already? C’mon, baby, you like when I talk like this. Look at you—gripping me like you want me meaner.”

Finally, your gaze shifted towards him as your hand cracked across his face once more. Your body leaned forward as you pressed weight against his windpipe. Head bowing to catch him off guard, biting his shoulder, the muscle jumping beneath your teeth, as a stinging pain filled his side. He stops moving, his breath catching. He gasped for air, rasping beneath your palm. “Dude. Holy shit—okay, okay, that was—fuck.” He’s grinning like he’s about to explode. He was a whore. Your whore, and he loved every second of it.

Each roll of your hips dragged a strangled noise from his throat. His hands flew to your waist but didn’t guide—just held. Clung. Like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. His cock twitched inside you every time your walls clenched, and his abdomen jumped with every bounce of your hips. “Oh my god, that’s not fair. That’s—you’re cheating; this isn’t normal. No one’s supposed to feel this good.” His toes curled into the couch foam, unable to tell if he was cumming or unprecedented amounts of precum were coating his cock.

You leaned down, lips ghosting his cheek, your chest brushing his as your breath fanned across his ear. And while staring him in the eyes, while he was mid-moan, you spit into his mouth before delivering a final slap.

And that was it. His grip faltered. His hips jerked. He started to move—just a little—shallow, instinctive thrusts as he gasped beneath you. His eyes widened between delight and surprise. You could feel the sweat pooling at his lower back, the way his thighs flexed beneath you with every slow grind of your core against his pelvis.

Then you pulled off—just to tease, but not before you were flipped around and impaled once more; your ass nuzzled against his pelvis.

He made a noise like he’d been stabbed, both hands flying to your hips as you sank back down onto him in reverse cowgirl. Shivers crawled down your skin as heat from an impending orgasm made your vision blotch. You took all of him at once, and his reaction was feral. His head rolled back, a curse strangled in his throat, and his legs shook like he was trying not to thrust up blindly.

Your ass smacked against his abdomen as you rode him—harder now, rougher—and you reached between his legs to cup his balls. They were already tight, already twitching, the heat and overstimulation building to an unbearable edge. You rolled them in your palm, gentle but precise, and he nearly screamed through his teeth, hips jerking up so hard it lifted you both. His hips unrelenting as he fucked up into you. “You ride me like that again and I’m gonna black out. I’m gonna fucking die. Keep going.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mark. Just take it. I don’t want soft.” And with that he just lunges, no warning, no restraint, sinking his teeth into the nape of your neck like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to reality. He moans like biting you is better than cumming. He didn’t speak for a brief pause, and that's when it became sickly.

His scent is of bruised plum and metal. It's strongest when he’s holding it in—when he won’t speak, won’t beg, won’t stop. When his heartbeats migrated to his dick. Then he keeps biting. Little ones. Bruising ones. Like he’s chasing the high of your yelps. “Dude, it hurts so good. I don’t even know if I’m still hard or if I’m just that fucked up. Keep going. Keep going.” Your fingertips curl into his calf muscle.

His entire body convulsed beneath you. One hand fisted in the couch cushion. The other grabbed your ass like he was trying to ground himself—but failed. You felt his cock pulse inside you, hot and overwhelming, as he came hard, breath leaving him in broken, unbelieving bursts. He twitched beneath you, thighs quivering uncontrollably, soft curses tumbling between panting moans. He’s rutting even though he knows it makes it worse. He’s overstimulated and absolutely getting off on it. You reach back to touch him, and he moans, full-body shaking, begging you to keep going until he breaks again.

So, you don’t stop. Neither does he, because he’s having too much fun. “C’mon let's go again. Don’t start whining now—you’re the one who started this.”

His knot swells too fast, too hard, and he’s already trembling before it locks in. Hips stuttering as he tries to pull out and realizes—he can’t. And the look on his face? “Oh my god—dude—I’m stuck. I’m literally stuck in you. This is—holy shit—this is the best day of my life.”

Shiesty/Hooded Mark

You found him leaning against the counter in the kitchen— acting as if nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t in the middle of a full-blown heat spiral. He was shirtless, his hair matted with blood, and a bandage hung off one shoulder as if he had forgotten it existed. His hair was pushed back, and his veil hung low around his neck, revealing a face that was too calm for someone whose chest was visibly heaving.

“Stop staring,” he muttered without looking up, a crooked smirk playing at his lips. “Unless you’re planning to help.”

“You look like shit,” you deadpanned. He rolled his neck slowly, his eyes finally meeting yours. They glowed with that sick, golden hue, and he was sweaty and raw. “I look like someone who just took down three versions of himself and came home hard as fuck. Same thing.”

You squinted. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love that about me,” he replied, pushing off the counter and stalking toward you. His hands flexed at his sides as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pin you or put them through a wall. “You know what this is, don’t you? I can smell your damn skin, and it’s driving me crazy.”

You crossed your arms. “So suffer.”

“Oh, I am,” he breathed. “But not for long.”

He backed you against the fridge, slow and heavy, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. His mouth hovered at your neck, not kissing, just breathing in deeply as if he could swallow you through scent alone.

You shoved him, but it was pointless, really, more instinctual than anything else.

He grinned. “Still so fucking defiant,” he muttered, grabbing your wrists and slamming them up against the cold metal behind you. “God, I missed this mouth. Say something cruel.”

You stared him down. “You whine more than a virgin.”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering as if you’d praised him. “Do that again. Be mean to me.”

“You’re a freak,” you said flatly.

“And yet you’re the one who’s been riding me for months,” he replied through a tight grin. “Guess that makes you my freak.” His voice came out in a rasp. He loved how cold you could be; it made it all the more fun to ruin you, to watch you fuck yourself on his cock until you went limp. Usually by now you’d be bent over before finishing your sentence—yet he couldn't bear to. Not with his body practically vibrating, completely feral for you.

You gritted your teeth. “You’re bleeding on me.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have waited so long to come home,” he said, burying his nose against your pulse. “Didn’t wanna admit I was in heat. You’d gloat.”

“Am gloating,” you replied with a smirk.

He growled low in his throat, his hips rutting into yours with zero finesse. “Yeah? Let’s see how smug you are when I’ve got you shaking.” You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a promise or another Mark-level bluff?”

He licked the corner of your jaw—slow and deliberate. “I’m starving and you’re wet. Bite me, babe.”

So you did. Your teeth sank into his throat, and he groaned, his head tipping back. “Oh, fuck yes, there’s my girl.” He was panting now, grinning. “Shit. You like hurting me, don’t you?” He grabbed your hips hard, pulling you closer. “Do it again. I want bruises.”

His adam’s apple bobbed. Usually, he wasn’t a masochist; if anything, he was overly dominant in bed, but his inhibitions were loosened. Breaking even, as his eyes held a different reality than his words. It was only to taunt, as when your tongue flicked over your lips, preparing for another taste.

His lips crashed into yours as if he had just lost a fight and this was his prize. His mouth dragged against yours with a growl in his chest—blood still on his tongue, and the weight of battle clinging to his skin. He was cocky even here—biting at your lips between each kiss as if testing how far he could push before you snapped. When your nails dug into his biceps—he laughed against your mouth.

You rolled your eyes as he smirked against your lips, already dragging his teeth across your bottom one just to be annoying. “Careful,” you murmured, gripping the front of his suit. “Do it,” he muttered, his voice low and gleeful. Oh, how he loved when you pretended to be in control.

His hand grabbed your thigh, lifting and pinning you to the wall without warning—your lips barely parted before he was back on you, kissing you like he had something to prove. You broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, panting against his mouth. “You really think this is working?”

“Oh, it’s working. You’re already grinding on my thigh,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

“Because you put me there,” you shot back.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower, as if he wanted to make you forget what you were about to say. His tongue flicked against yours in a rhythm that was just a little too practiced. You pulled back, your eyes narrowed.

“You kiss all your enemies like this?” you asked.

“Only the hot ones,” he responded with a smirk.

He did it mid-banter, almost annoyed by your clothes. One second you were snarking back, the next—rip. The seam of your shirt tore in his hands. He chuckled when you glared at him, his lips grazing your ear. “Buy you another one,” he breathed before kissing down your spine. Pants? Gone in a blur. Underwear? Teased off with one finger and a smirk. “You always taste better when you’re pissed at me.”

He sat back on the bed with that infuriating grin still tugging at his lips, watching you crawl toward him with that glint in your eye—the one that said you were going to cause problems on purpose.

You slid to his right instead, your shoulder brushing his thigh, your eyes locked on his cock as it twitched between his legs. You placed one hand on his knee, your lips parted, and then slowly bent forward until your head rested just above his lap. His breath hitched.

And then your mouth wrapped around him.

He groaned, his head tipping back, but he didn’t get to stay passive for long. You shifted slightly, lifting your hips—giving him just enough of a view to see how wet you already were. Your legs bent at the knee as your back arched, your ass high and ready to be touched—and he got the message.

His hand slid down the curve of your spine, lingering just above your ass like a threat, before diving between your thighs. His fingers met slick heat, and his cock twitched inside your mouth.

Two fingers pushed in slowly—testing—before curling as if he already knew exactly what spot made you twitch. You gasped around him, and he moaned in reply, his free hand tangling in your hair as your hips rocked into his touch.

Every time he thrust his fingers deeper, you sucked harder, like a trade-off. Every time you moaned, he pressed deeper into you, his fingers soaked, knuckles dripping as your body clenched around him like it was begging.

Your thighs quivered against his ribs. Your spit dripped onto his lap. His abs tensed every time you swallowed. You were both losing it. His fingers caressed every ridge—pads searching for that gummy spot that made you keen. The strokes were long, ending at the tip of his fingers before plunging in once more—your own arousal coating your insides as it glued his fingers together. It took everything in him to not bring his digits to his tongue and swirl your arousal across it. His taste buds ached as his mouth swelled with saliva. He could imagine it now—the faint tang of sweat, sweet like molasses and burnt herbal.

Your mouth worked over him like you were daring him to come too fast—your lips swollen, your throat taking him deeper each time you sank down, your tongue dragging slow and purposeful. His cock twitched between your lips, and you felt it—every pulse, every subtle tremble of restraint breaking. “Fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, his head spinning.

And he felt you, too. The way your body clenched around his fingers, soaked and twitching as his hand pumped between your thighs with growing intensity. Your hips rocked against his wrist, your heels kicking air each time his fingertips curled just right.

You choked just slightly, his cock hitting the back of your throat as your body jerked—but he didn’t stop. His palm slapped wetly against your ass, the obscene sound of his fingers fucking into you barely audible over the slurp of your mouth and the low, guttural whimpers pouring from his chest.

His voice was tight, right on the edge. But your pussy was shaking, your thighs trying to close, your back arching in that telltale way—and he felt it coming. You moaned around his cock, a deep, muffled sound vibrating against his length, his legs jerking in response.

His fingers slammed deep, curling sharp. You gasped, mouth full, throat convulsing, and then everything snapped. You squirted all over his hand with a cry you couldn’t hold back, your legs shaking, your ass twitching in the air. Your arousal spilled down his fingers, soaked his wrist, dripped onto the sheets.

And the second you spasmed like that around him, his hips stuttered, his breath hitched, and a low, fucked-out growl rumbled in his chest as his cock throbbed inside your mouth. You felt the first warm spurt hit the back of your throat, followed by another—and another—as he came hard, one hand yanking your head down to bury himself deep, the other still stuffed inside you, his fingers riding out the pulses of your orgasm.

His thighs flexed. His stomach clenched. His voice cracked with a half-moan, half-laugh that sounded just a little too close to worship. You swallowed it all, deliberately.

Then let him slip from your lips with a slick pop, your breath ragged, sweat cooling on your back as his hand finally slid from between your thighs, his fingers shiny and trembling. He looked down at you like you were divine punishment, still twitching from overstimulation, breathing like he’d fought a war—but grinning like he’d die to do it again.

His chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air, his jaw slack, lips parted around a breathless whine. You could still see the way his muscles jumped—little tremors of pleasure his brain had no control over.

Temptation overtook him as his hand shot up—twitchy and instinctual. He couldn’t speak. He just leaned forward, his lips brushing your fingertips, and licked your arousal clean. Each drag was shaky, his mouth hot and eager, licking the mess he'd made like it was sacred. His lashes fluttered as his tongue circled your knuckle, the sound of his breath catching every time your taste hit his tongue. He whimpered—soft, broken—like it hurt to keep going, but he couldn't stop.

Every noise he made was involuntary. Every twitch in his hips, every stutter in his breath, every faint jerk of his cock against his thigh—it was pure overstimulation. His body was wrung out, undone, and still begging. And when he pulled your fingers from his mouth, licking the corners of his lips like a man starved, you knew he wasn’t done.

To him, heat felt like madness dressed in power. Everything was louder—your heartbeat, your scent, the memory of your lips. He was a god in a cage, and you were the only key. You were the one thing he didn’t need to conquer—he wanted you willingly, but if you fought, he ached harder. Every roll of your hips, every defiant glare, only sharpened his focus. He would fuck you like he was trying to outrun the heat clawing at his brain—but the truth? He didn't want it to end. Mating with you wasn’t about reproduction. It was absolution.

“It’s consuming me,” he spit out, breathless. “I can feel it in every goddamn nerve.” You touched his shoulder. He grabbed your wrist instead, shoving it to his chest. It hit like tension in a dim room—quiet, deliberate, intoxicating. The kind of scent that makes your breath catch before your thoughts do. There’s intimacy in it. One that thickens as your taste is savored on his tongue. The smell was of black tea and a faint rosewood, perhaps ink-stained leather. He grabbed your chin—dragged his tongue along your neck, then bit down slowly. It was deep, controlled, like he was branding you. His chest rumbled, almost pridefully.

He didn’t need to speak—you felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, steady and possessive. You pushed up onto your hands, your spine arched, your thighs trembling as your knees left the bed. The tension in your core burned as he slid his hands beneath your pelvis and lifted. Your body tipped forward, your thighs locking tight around his waist, your ankles crossed at his back as his cock pressed flush against your slick folds—heavy, aching, ready.

He adjusted his grip, one hand under each thigh, supporting the weight of your lower half as your toes dangled uselessly in the air, your legs trembling from the position. The angle was unnatural—perfect—your arms still grounded you, your pussy tilted toward him like an open mouth begging to be filled. Your thighs tightened with every breath he took, every twitch of his cock as he positioned himself. And he pushed in all at once. “I can feel your heartbeat around my cock,” he said, his voice a gritted rasp.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp, your head tilting back, your arms shaking beneath you as your cunt clenched around him from the sudden fullness. You could feel every inch of him—every throb, every twitch—so deep it felt like he’d never leave your body again.

Your legs locked tighter. Your arms strained to keep balance while your body pulsed around him, helpless to anything but the slow, punishing drag of his hips. And he moved. Just a steady, ruthless rhythm, rocking you forward with every thrust—forcing your body to take him in angles that made your stomach tremble. “Don’t pass out yet—I’m not done proving I’m stronger than you.”

“Oh, fuck off. You’re disgusting,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm.

His heart nearly swelled. Fuck off? He’s influenced you. “Call me disgusting again. Go on. I’ll moan your name while I keep ruining you,” he said, his voice thick with desire. It was sudden; the knot started swelling so fast it pulled a ragged sound out of him—a half-moan, half-growl, his teeth clenched like it hurt to feel this good. He was trembling—addicted— and pulsing around the knot that wouldn't let go. He was fighting for his life. You clenched down at his words, your heels nudging him deeper as his knee nearly buckled.

“You’re mine, mouth and all. So shut the fuck up, or I’ll make it worse. Just tell me I’m your bitch. I’ll wear it like a crown. I can take more. Sit on my face again, like last time—I’ll breathe later. Tie me down and fuck me dumb; make me useless. That’s what you want, right?” It all spilled out in broken fragments like a truth serum.

“We’ll see,” you responded.

Variant #17 (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!)

You come home to silence, which is odd. Because Variant 17 is never quiet. He likes to remind you he’s there—pacing, hovering, teasing, demanding attention even when he doesn’t need it, especially when he doesn’t need it. The apartment looks fine. There are no signs of a fight. But something buzzes under your skin the second you shut the door behind you. That strange, oppressive heat in the air… You round the corner to the bedroom and stop short.

He’s already there, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, elbows on his knees—breathing like he just ran a marathon. His skin is flushed, and his pupils are blown. The second he sees you, he grins.

“Finally,” he says, his voice low and gravelly with strain. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.” Your eyes flick to his throat, bitten and bruised from the last time he threw you against the wall. The marks still haven’t faded, just like yours. “Oh no,” you mutter. “Again?”

His smile sharpens. “You say that like I planned this.”

He stands slowly, almost lazily, despite the twitch in his jaw, and stalks toward you. His suit is on the floor, and his knuckles are bruised. He smells like sweat, ozone, and you. You backpedal, but he doesn’t chase. He just says, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You scoff. “Because you’ve been humping the couch like a damn dog in heat—”

“Because I am,” he snaps. “And you left me here suffering.”

You try to shove him, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Still so stubborn,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Fine. I’ll fuck the resistance out of you.”

He doesn’t kiss your mouth—not yet. Just watches you. That cool, calculated expression is gone now, burned out by the haze of his heat. He’s not just attempting to be dominant—he’s deranged with it, shaking slightly as he presses himself harder into you.

“You’re lucky,” he mutters, his voice strained. “Before you, I had an ex that resisted too. You know what I did?” His eyes narrow. “I fucked her until she cried and then begged me to make her a queen.”

“You’re disgusting,” you say flatly.

He just smirks. “You say that now.”

He knows you don’t mean it, and if you did, you're now stained by his very presence, defiled by his wants. The desperation takes over. His hips rut against yours shamelessly—his teeth dragging across your jaw—fingers digging into your thighs as he hoists you higher. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance, but it only makes him hungrier.

“I was gonna be patient. I was gonna convince you,” he growls. “But this—this is your fault. You made me wait. You let me suffer. And now you think I’m gonna stop before you’re begging me to stay?”

The slick from his precum smears against your bottoms. He is feral, utterly consumed by his desires. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to chide him. “How many orgasms does it take to turn a little rebel into a queen?” His authority is being questioned with every action. He walks like he owns you, talks like he’s already won. His words are sharp, cocky, laced with superiority and amusement, like he’s just entertaining you until you break. But his body tells the truth.

He kisses you like every second your lips aren't on his is a personal insult. The moment your mouths meet —his hands slide into your hair, tilting your head back with a quiet, commanding drawl. It's slow at first, but controlling. But when your hands fist in his shirt—tugging—he loses it. He bites your lip and moans into the kiss. His hips rock into you, and he groans like he hates how good you feel. He pants, licking into your mouth again like he's ready to devour the last of your resistance.

His fingers twitch at his sides when you don’t move fast enough toward the bed. The way he breathes through his nose to keep it even—calm, cold—while his pupils are already blown wide from scenting your skin. The clench in his jaw when you lean in close, and he doesn’t flinch, but he stops blinking. He says he’s in control. He says he’s patient. But his hands shake when they finally touch you.

Every article of clothing is gone. There’s no grace anymore, just hunger. He strips you like you’re the only cure, moaning when your thighs press together. You’re left as his equal, in lust and in the nude, as his damp cock presses against you within the confines of his boxers.

The second the fabric left your skin, he changed. What started as cocky hands pulling your underwear aside—slow, smug, practiced—now turned frantic. The moment your bodies were bare, he hesitated, just for a second. Like the sight of you finally being exposed knocked the breath clean out of his chest.

His cock twitched, and his jaw clenched. He groaned—low, guttural, like his body betrayed him by reacting before he had the chance to mock you for it. He didn't speak. Otherwise, the words would've come out shaken, and his pride couldn’t handle that.

Instead, he flipped you onto your back, hooked his arms under your knees, and folded you in half—knees tucked high to your chest, back arched off the mattress. Your hands instinctively gripped behind your thighs, holding them there, perfectly presented.

Then he moved over you. His toes dug into the sheets, his body hovering just enough to control the angle—forty degrees of domination, cock aligned with brutal precision as he pressed forward with an unsteady breath. The slide-in was deep. His composure crumbled almost immediately as he realized you held the very power he attempted to steal. Completely open and vulnerable to him, and yet his nerves felt alight.

You watched his expression twist, his eyebrows pinched, mouth parted, pupils dilated—as the sensation rocked through him. He moved hard from the first thrust, his hips slamming into yours with rhythmic force, his abs tightening with every movement. But for all his aggression, it wasn’t anger—it was panic masquerading as power. He was unraveling too fast. Your walls fluttered around him, and he twitched, his thrusts faltering.

He tried to hold it together. Tried to go faster, deeper, rougher—tried to dominate. But his face gave him away. “You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be, Mark,” you mused, although through choked sobs. The air leaving your lungs came in short bursts, unable to breathe as he pummeled into you, your body curling into itself. You open your mouth to taunt, only for his face to close in, his breath fanning your face. “Say it. Say you’re not mine. I dare you.”

His brows knitted tighter. His mouth hung open. A trembling gasp escaped when your body clenched just right. His hands, once firm on your thighs, now gripped like he was afraid of being pushed out. And when your legs shook in his hands, when your slick dripped down to his balls with every brutal thrust? He lost it. “I’m supposed to be building an empire, and instead I’m here—drenched in you, shaking, because my body thinks I’ll die if I don’t fuck you.”

You felt him stutter—his hips stalling, jaw slack, and his body shaking from the effort to keep control. His cock throbbed deep inside you, his breath turned ragged, and still, he fucked into you like you were the only anchor he had left. Then suddenly… he remembered who the fuck he was. Sure, he could be a brat, even doing this for the sake of vengeance. He persevered regardless.

He pulled out in one slow, wet slide, watching the way your body clenched and twitched at the loss. His back arched inwards, and he looked down at you—ruined, smug, triumphant—and for a moment? He just stared. His hands were everywhere now—pushing your legs apart wider, guiding your hips into the perfect angle, dragging your ass back into place. You tried to shift. He didn’t let you. His grip was unyielding, fingers sinking into your flesh with possessive finality.

It was different, one fluid jerk. Buried to the hilt, grinding slowly, deliberately—just to feel your walls flutter. His body rolled against yours like a machine built for precision destruction. Each thrust carried weight and rhythm like a punishment laced with adoration. He felt it. Felt your legs twitch, your walls tighten, and your breath catch. Instead of slowing, he pistoned forward, chasing your peak like it was his right to feel you come around him again and again, until your moans weren't pretty anymore.

“You live with me. You sleep in my bed. And you still act like you’re not mine?” He was falling apart. And you never said a word. He could throw a fit if he wanted to, but your defiance is what drove him mad. Because this was his undoing—not the position, not the pleasure, but you. The way you let him think he was in charge… until he wasn't. And when your body clenched around him, slow and deliberate? He moaned, not cocky, not cruel, just ruined. His knee momentarily bent into the plush mattress as his thighs shook. It was like you’d stolen something from him. And he was grateful.

His hips continued to piston as if to punish you. But every word was backed by panic. Just this involuntary drive to make you stay, to make you need him back. Because underneath all that power, he was terrified that if he lets up—just once—you’ll walk away. And that thought derails him. So he fucks you like he’s proving something. And every time you moan his name, every time you whimper, or beg, or tease him? His heart races. He’s more addicted to you than he’ll ever admit. And that’s why he dominates. Because if he doesn’t stay on top, he’ll fall apart.

“You’re lucky I even let you touch me like this. You’d be a wreck if I left right now,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Your cunt squeezes, causing him to slam deeper, earning a yelp to crawl from your throat. His ego and god complex nearly shattered upon hearing it. His dick was twitching, muscles jumping beneath his skin as he grimaced in pleasure.

Burned sugar, sandalwood, scorched velvet, and ash. That’s his scent. It’s infuriatingly addictive. Sweet in a toxic way, like cotton candy laced with smoke. It doesn’t feel like comfort—it feels like compulsion. You hate how much you like it. It clings to the back of your tongue, gets stuck in your hair, and when he’s inside you? It’s everywhere. He leans down, nose nuzzling into your scalp as he inhales it like a drug fix. He reeks of dominance slipping into madness.

Dipping his head slightly, he bites into your clavicle with no mercy. A sound between a snarl and a moan leaps from his throat. The unrelenting pounding of his hips caused his teeth to grind slightly. If he doesn't claim you now, he’d lose himself. Not like you two had a choice, as he came without warning—a strangled groan being the only indication as your insides spasmed around him. He murmured into your collarbone, “Tell me I’m yours. Say it. Even if you don’t mean it, lie to me.” You obliged, the words barely coherent but enough to make his ears ring. A pained and pleasured whine left you; no amount of tensing his abdomen withheld the flood he released, his dick bulging inside you as the knot formed. Your insides practically latched onto him.

With bated breath, he leaned back, staring proudly at his work before he sighed, frustrated. “I was winning, and then you made that noise—fuck.” A quiet whine echoed in his voice. “All that attitude and you still came first. Typical.” Your eyes finally focused, narrowing on his gaze.

“Don’t… don’t fucking look at me like that. I meant to last longer,” he says, his voice ragged. “I was supposed to be building an empire, and instead I’m here—drenched in you, shaking, because my body thinks I’ll die if I don’t fuck you.” His eyes scanned over the marking, almost like his name was carved into it. Suddenly leaning up, you clamp down on his chest with your teeth, and he freezes mid-thrust, then growls. “Ohhh, so that’s how you want it?” His breath is ragged now. “You little fucking traitor. You think biting me’s gonna save you?” But his hips rut harder. “Do it again. Prove you’re mine too. You’re coming into my empire anyway.” Truthfully, you didn’t mind. But he had finally earned you. TEASERSSSS (Part 3, if requested. Congratulations, reader!!)

@ploiigee

(Photo stitching made by me!)

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR IX

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.3k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I hope I got everyone who asked to be added to the taglist. if possible, if you want to be added, can you let me know in the most recent chapter? that way I don't have to scour through all the previous chapter comments, I'm worried I'll miss or forget to add you 🩵

RACE TRACK

You were having the time of your life.

The last thing you expected when Jason texted you about a second date was to end up behind the wheel of a vintage muscle car, roaring around a private race track like you were in Fast and Furious: Gotham Drift.

Yet here you were—hands gripping the steering wheel, wind whipping through your hair, tires screeching against hot pavement.

And the best part?

You were driving.

“You know, my brother used to love cars,” you babbled, voice rising over the thunder of the engine. “We used to sneak out to the track at night and watch others race. He swore he’d be a professional driver one day.”

Jason’s ears perked up at the mention of your brother.

It was subtle, the way his posture shifted—just a slight tilt of his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He kept his expression relaxed, but inside, his mind sharpened,

He leaned in, ever so slightly, hoping you’d keep going. Hoping you’d slip something. A name. A location. A breadcrumb he could follow.

But instead, you let out a wild cheer, head thrown back in exhilaration as the car hit the straightaway.

“This is amazing!” you shouted, laughter bursting from your chest, raw and unfiltered, as the engine snarled like a beast beneath the hood. The tires screeched against the asphalt, and wind tore through the open windows, stealing your words and replacing them with pure adrenaline.

Beside you, Jason barked out a laugh—half amused, half alarmed—but his eyes kept flicking toward the speedometer.

You were a very good driver.

You were also going very fast.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he called over the roar of the engine, “but are you trying to kill us on our second date?”

You grinned, wild and unrepentant, shooting him a quick glance. “Is that fear in your voice?”

Jason scoffed, but the way his hand clenched the door handle said otherwise.

“In your dreams,” he shot back, though his voice pitched a little higher as you took the next corner without so much as tapping the brakes.

You let out a delighted laugh and downshifted with an aggressive flick of your wrist, sending the car into a perfect curve along the bend. The tires screamed. Jason did not—but it was a close thing.

“God, you’re insane,” he muttered, but there was unmistakable admiration in his tone.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, eyes gleaming as the straightaway opened up ahead. “Think I can hit 120?”

“Absolutely not—”

But you were already gunning it.

The engine howled, the track blurred, and Jason’s curses were lost to the wind. You were flying now, a streak of black and chrome cutting across the asphalt.

As you were having the time of your life something in the rearview mirror caught Jason’s attention. His eyes narrowed and subtly he angled the side mirror, just enough to catch the glint of something, cutting through the sky behind them.

A small, black silhouette trailing in their wake, a Bat drone.

Dick.

Jason’s jaw ticked, just once as he glanced back and subtly raised his middle finger at the camera.

BAT CAVE

Dick, who had been leaning over Barbara’s shoulder watching the live feed, blinked in disbelief. “Did he just give our bird the bird?”

Barbara didn’t even look up, her jaw working steadily as she lazily chewed her gum. She casually tapped a few keys, zooming in on the grainy screen. “Yep.”

There was a beat. Then her chewing slowed.

“Wait… what’s he doing?”

Both of them leaned in, eyes narrowing as Jason shifted in his seat. The camera caught the subtle movement—his arm reaching behind the passenger seat, fingers curling around something just out of view. Then, without warning, Jason twisted toward the drone in one fluid, practiced motion.

And the screen blinked to static.

Barbara whipped around in her chair, eyes wide. “He just shot my drone! That was a custom build!”

Dick took a small step back, hands raised as if she were about to launch something sharp at his head. “Okay—okay, I didn’t think he’d see it!”

Stephanie smirked. With a few keystrokes, she brought up the final frame before the drone feed cut to black—Jason caught mid-motion, his face half-lit by sunlight and locked in a cocky smirk, one hand proudly raised with his middle finger aimed directly at the lens.

She grinned. “This would make a killer profile picture. The ladies will go crazy for it.”

“Stephanie!”

“What was that?!” you exclaimed, twisting slightly to glance over your shoulder at the sudden pop that echoed behind you.

“Eyes on the road!” Jason yelped, one hand flying out instinctively to steady the wheel as you started to turn. “What was what? That was just the… exhaust. Yeah. Backfire.”

You squinted at him. “Sounded more like a gunshot or explosion.”

He winced, then plastered on a smile far too fast to be innocent. “Performance vehicle. Loud pipes. Very normal.”

You didn’t look convinced, but before you could press further, the track opened up again into a long, gorgeous straightaway—and Jason seized his moment.

“Alright, speed demon,” he said, leaning close with a glint in his eye, voice low and tempting, “think you can beat your last time down this stretch?”

Your attention snapped back to the track, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Is that a challenge?”

He shrugged, smug. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, you are so going to eat those words.”

The car shot forward once more, tires screaming as you floored it, laughter spilling past your lips. Jason leaned back, grinning as the wind whipped around him—less concerned now that you were distracted, and more impressed than ever at your driving skills.

He’d have to apologize to Barbara later.

Probably.

Maybe.

Barbara was already turning to glare at Dick. “I’m going to strangle him.” She crossed her arms, jaw tight. “And you’re not off the hook either, Romeo. That drone wasn’t cheap.”

Dick winced. “We’ll pay for it.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You two better.”

He held up his hands in surrender, then turned quickly—perhaps wisely—to Stephanie, who was back to lounging at the nearby console, one leg hooked over the arm of the chair, scrolling through a tablet.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

Stephanie didn’t miss a beat. “She likes red wine and has a secret sweet tooth—keeps chocolate-covered almonds in her bedside drawer.”

Dick arched a brow.

“She’s not subtle about it,” Steph added, shrugging. “Lavender bath salts. Her Spotify history is a surprising mix of everything, but she primarily listens to indie rock, electronic house, and top 40 hits. Gotta say… not what I expected from a scientist like her. I would’ve clocked her for some Beethoven, maybe a little Philip Glass if she was feeling edgy.”

Barbara raised a brow. “You hacked her Spotify? How is that even relevant to the Joker case?”

“Hey, I’m just covering all my bases,” Steph shot Dick a knowing wink, “and I temporarily borrowed access,” Steph corrected. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Dick waved a hand. “Keep going.”

“And that painting you noticed hanging in her apartment?” Steph tilted her head with a grin. “Gustav Klimt. The Kiss, limited reproduction. She’s an art lover—deep dives into symbolism, expressionism, romanticism.”

Dick leaned back, brows drawing together thoughtfully. “Huh.” Then he paused looking to Stephanie.  “You got all that since yesterday?”

Steph looked up, smug. “Please. I got all of this in one hour”

ART GALLERY

You were still buzzing from your date with Jason—adrenaline thrumming through your veins, your hair windswept, your cheeks sore from smiling. You had barely made it home and kicked off your shoes, when your phone buzzed again.

Another missed call. You ignored it.

Instead, your attention drifted to the text that had just come in.

Dick:

Got any plans tonight?

You bit your lip, heart skipping. Two dates in one day should’ve been too much. Should’ve felt like whiplash. But somehow, with him, you couldn’t say no.

Which was how you ended up here—standing in a dimly lit private gallery, surrounded by warm golden frames and soft overhead spotlights.  It was just the two of you. No crowds. No noise. Just the art and him.

You turned to Dick with wide eyes. “How did you even do this?”

He flashed you that signature smile, that you’ve come to associate to him— warm and utterly charming. “I have my ways,” he said casually, hands in his pockets as he led you deeper into the exhibit. “And finally, we get to the main piece.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on the painting in front of you. “Is that—? No. Is this what I think it is?”

You both spoke the artist’s name at the same time, voices overlapping in perfect harmony. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes, both of you frozen in mutual shock.

“He’s my favourite artist,” Dick said, voice softer now, almost reverent.

Your lips parted. “He’s my favourite artist. Are these the originals?”

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Yeah. You recognize this one? The Harpist, 1895?”

“Yes!” you gasped, stepping closer, instinctively leaning in to examine the texture, the detail, the brushwork. “The lines, the composition...”

“Pre-Secession movement,” Dick said smoothly, strolling beside you like a seasoned curator. In a van parked discreetly outside, Barbara’s voice crackled in his earpiece.

“Now say: ‘Look at the tension between two and three dimensionality.’”

Dick echoed obediently, “Do you see the tension between two and three dimensionality? It’s… incredible.”

You turned to him, laughing in disbelief. “How do you know this?!”

He just grinned and pivoted smoothly, guiding you to the next painting.

“This is one of my favourites,” he said.

Your breath caught. 

“Undine, 1902.”

“Undine, 1902,” Dick repeated a heartbeat later.

You stepped closer to the canvas, your voice dropping to a hush. “Gorgeous,” you murmured. “Dick, this is amazing.”

“Innovation became Intrinsic…”

“…to Degas and other modernists,” he continued reciting Barbara’s information. “You can see the influence of art nouveau in the curvature and thematic flow.”

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with something between shock and admiration. “You really know your stuff.”

Dick smiled faintly, hands clasped behind his back in his best art-patron pose. “You know,” he added, “he was a strong advocate in the finger painting movement.”

Silence.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…What?” you said, your brow furrowing.

Dick froze. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. “I—uh…”

BAT CAVE

Unknown to Dick, it was no longer Barbara coaching him. Jason and Tim sat hunched over a custom console, cackling at the fact they managed to hack into Barbara’s comms.

Tim leaned back with a satisfied smirk, spinning slightly in his chair. “Told you I could get into her comms.”

Jason grinned, shushing him as he leaned forward with a glint in his eye, dragging the mic close to his mouth. He pressed the button and, with the voice of Barbara Gordon—courtesy of a little audio sorcery—he purred, “Sometimes, he would finger his paintings…”

“…to get closer to them.”

Dick squinted slightly, doing his best not to react outwardly even as his stomach dropped. What the hell was Barbara saying?

“He… um…” He cleared his throat. “He used his… he…”

You tilted your head, confused by the sudden hesitation.

Dick forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “The intimacy with the canvas. To finger a painting—”

Your eyes widened. His did too.

“—To paint,” he corrected quickly, voice rising in pitch as he panicked, “using hands. With his hands.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your expression teetered between bemusement and concern.

“Sometimes he would use mud and sticks,” came Barbara’s voice again—or what sounded like Barbara’s voice.

Your brows furrowed. “He did?” You squinted at the painting in front of you, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t remember reading that.”

Dick winced internally, already praying to every art god in existence that you wouldn’t fact-check this later.

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…”

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…” 

“…He would use his dick.”

“…He would use his di—” The word stopped dead in his throat as his brain finally processed it.

Your head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle your neck didn’t cramp. You stared at him, eyes wide, searching his face.

Dick cleared his throat, his fingers twitching as he reached up to scratch behind his ear—only it wasn’t a scratch. With one swift, practiced motion, he tore the earpiece out and tucked it into his pocket, all without breaking stride.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice a touch hoarse, “I think that’s enough talking.”

He gestured toward a tall, sheet-covered frame near the far end of the gallery. “Let’s let the paintings speak for themselves.”

Curiosity flickered across your face, but before you could ask anything, he reached up and pulled the linen sheet down in one smooth motion.

The fabric fell away—and time seemed to stop.

Framed in delicate gold leaf and soft lighting stood Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss. The gilded masterpiece shimmered beneath the spotlights, rich with warmth and intimacy, every curve and contour singing with emotion and longing.

You took a breath—but it hitched, catching in your throat. “Oh my god…” you whispered. “This is amazing. It’s so beautiful… just… just incredible.”

You stepped closer and without thinking, your arms slipped around Dick’s, your head coming to rest gently against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Barely even breathed.

“Yeah,” he murmured finally, barely audible over the hum of the room. “It is…”

But his eyes weren’t on the painting.

They were on you.

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[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Prove It

The apartment was quiet…just the low hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you. You were straddling Nika’s lap, breath catching between kisses, but your body refused to relax.

Every time your hips dipped forward, even the slightest grind of pressure, that voice in your head screamed: She’s still healing. You could hurt her.

Nika sensed it.

She pulled back just far enough to see your face, her lips swollen, pupils blown wide with want. “Why are you holding back, ljubavi?” she asked, voice low, breath warm against your jaw.

You bit your lip, gaze flicking to the thick compression sleeve still hugging her right knee. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve barely started rehab. I’m not gonna be the reason you…”

She cut you off with a scoff, her tone sharp but hot with hunger. “You think I’m glass now? That I can’t take my girl losing it on me?”

She adjusted her position on the couch, planted her feet wider, and tensed her thigh beneath you…hard.

“Sit” she ordered, patting her flexed leg. “You’re not gonna break me, Y/N. I want this. Let me show you what I can handle.”

You stared at her, throat dry. There was something about the way she said it…like a challenge, like a promise. The muscle under your thighs jumped with tension, powerful and steady, practically begging for you to trust her.

Slowly, you shifted. Let her guide you. Your clothed heat pressed directly onto the firm line of her thigh, and your breath hitched at the contact.

“Good girl,” Nika purred, her hands gripping your hips tightly, dragging you forward once, slow and rough, making sure you felt everything.

The friction made your stomach clench.

“You feel that?” she whispered, nipping your earlobe. “That’s strength, baby. That’s for you.”

You whimpered, the tension of restraint unraveling in your spine. You started to move against her slowly, testing, your clothed center brushing her leg with every pass. She guided you with both hands, setting a rhythm.

“That’s it” she said between gritted teeth, voice husky and accented, every word soaked in arousal. “Take what you need from me.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. The slow grind became needy, your hips moving faster, your nails digging into her shoulders as pleasure flooded your body.

She leaned back slightly, watching you..watching you come undone on her thigh like it was her favorite view in the world.

“Look at you” she groaned. “Fucking dripping for me. You’re soaking through those little shorts, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, your face flushed and skin burning. “Nika…”

“Oh, you love this,” she smirked, cocky and breathless. “You love knowing I can still take care of you. Even broken, I’m still the one who gets you like this.”

Her hands trailed under your shirt, gripping your waist, her fingers hot against your skin. She rolled her thigh up once..hard..and you cried out, jerking forward.

“Ride me” she growled. “Come on, baby. Lose yourself. Show me how bad you want it.”

You obeyed.

Your hips rocked with abandon now, chasing every bit of friction her flexed muscle gave you. Her thigh was slick with your arousal, your body trembling against hers. Your moans were growing louder, breath ragged, skin tingling.

“Fuck…Nika…I’m close” you gasped, voice breaking.

“Yeah?” she rasped. “Come on, ljubavi. Use me. Let me feel it.”

She leaned in, licking a stripe up your neck, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“You’re not hurting me. You’re driving me insane.”

That pushed you over.

You clenched…body arching as the orgasm ripped through you, messy and loud, your cries muffled by her hoodie as you collapsed into her chest. She held you, thigh still pressed snug between your legs, letting you ride out every last tremor.

You were panting, dazed, your body limp against hers.

“I fuck” you mumbled, breathless. “You’re insane.”

She chuckled against your neck, cocky but tender, brushing your sweaty hair from your forehead. “Told you,” she whispered. “I’m still strong. Especially for you.”

You smiled against her collarbone, still trembling. “Okay. I believe you.”

Nika tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you…slow and deep and sweet.

While your body was still trembling…Nika slid her hands up your thighs coaxing your hips to stillness. Her leg, slick with your arousal, twitched slightly beneath you and her grin was devastatingly satisfied.

She kissed you again…deeper this time. Lazier. Possessive.

“You’re still shaking” she murmured against your lips, breath warm, voice soaked in pride.

You nodded, unable to form words, sinking your forehead against hers as you tried to come down.

But Nika wasn’t done.

She leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck…slow and lingering. “You think I was gonna stop there, ljubavi?” she whispered, voice raspier now, fingers trailing beneath the waistband of your shorts. “That was just the warm up.”

Your breath caught as her touch slid lower, teasing the soft fabric between your legs.

“But..your knee”

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze searing.

“I said I can take it.” Her fingers flexed against your hips. “And I’m going to take everything you give me tonight. Starting with that pretty little pussy I’ve been thinking about since rehab started.”

Your entire body flushed. You whimpered, hips lifting into her hand on instinct.

She smirked. “There’s my girl.”

Without another word, she hooked her fingers into your shorts and panties, sliding them down your thighs with care and hunger. You lifted your hips to help, completely bare now, still wet and twitching from your first release.

She stared.

“God, look at you” Nika whispered, voice reverent. She brought her hand to your center and ran two fingers through your folds, groaning when they came back soaked.

“Still dripping,” she said, biting her lip. “I want to see how many times I can make you come before you forget your own name.”

Your hands gripped her shoulders as she slid her fingers back, slowly, teasing your entrance with featherlight circles.

“Nika,” you gasped, rocking toward her.

“I got you,” she said, and then she pushed in two fingers deep, knuckle full, curling instantly against that spot she knew like second nature. Your mouth fell open in a soundless moan, your head falling back.

Her hand moved expertly slow at first, deliberate, then faster, with confidence only she could wield. Her other arm wrapped around your lower back, holding you close as her fingers fucked you hard and deep.

The couch creaked. The room filled with the wet sound of her hand working you open.

“You hear that?” she growled in your ear. “That’s you. That’s how bad you need me.”

You were losing it. Your nails scraped down her back, your hips grinding desperately into her hand, chasing the edge again.

“You’re so tight, baby,” she panted, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So fucking perfect. You feel me?”

“Yes…yes, Nika…don’t stop, please.”

She didn’t.

She curled her fingers hard..once, twice..and your body snapped. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, coming hard for the second time, legs quaking around her as she fucked you through it, fingers still stroking deep inside you until your voice broke into sobs.

And still she didn’t stop.

“You’ve got more” she murmured, tilting you back against the couch, lowering herself between your thighs. Her breath hit your swollen center, and she smirked when she saw your eyes widen in panic pleasure.

“Nika, I can’t..”

“Yes, you can.”

Her tongue met your clit before you could argue again…slow and firm and relentless. She licked you like she was starving, her strong hands locking around your thighs to keep you in place as you squirmed.

You were sobbing her name now, writhing, overstimulated but unable to stop. She moaned against you, loving every twitch and cry you gave her, eating you like it was her life’s purpose.

And when you came a third time…a broken, shattered thing, shaking so hard you thought you might pass out…she didn’t pull away.

She kissed you through it, soft and slow, licking up every drop you gave her.

By the time she finally slid up your body again, your eyes were glassy and your legs refused to close.

She kissed your temple.

“You okay?” she asked gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face.

You nodded weakly, still panting. “You’re… unreal.”

She smiled, kissed you like a thank you. “Told you I’m strong.”

“You’re a fucking problem” you whispered, laughing breathlessly into her mouth.

“Only for you,” she murmured. “And I’m not done yet.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

In another life || Seong Gi-Hun ||

A/n: Im not happy with that ending so I'm fixing it.

Au: Where the reader is a daughter of the richest VIP, she was often helping Kim-Jun, she and Gi-Hun fell for one another

*Spoilers*

The heavy silence of the sky, circling the three towering buildings like vultures. Below them, chaos unfolds. Blood stains the pristine glass of the Triangle. Cries echo from the Circle. The final three players are little more than ghosts now, barely clinging to life and purpose—333, 456, and the small child held tight against Gi-hun’s chest.

But up above, far removed from the carnage and desperation, you sit in a gold-trimmed VIP box high above the arena. The other VIPs leer and chuckle through gold masks and liquored breath, but you don’t move. You haven’t since the game began.

You’ve been watching him. Heart in your throat, hand trembling, eyes glued to the man who had fallen in love with.

Seong Gi-hun.

His shirt is torn, stained with blood and dust. His face is swollen and bruised from the last fight. Yet even now, with his hands trembling, clutching the baby of a dead woman as if she were his own, he doesn’t beg. He doesn’t run. He protects.

“He’s fascinating,” one of the VIPs purrs, their mask molded like a lion. “Bet you 5 billion he jumps.”

You don’t respond. You’re already pulling off your mask.

Everything felt suffocating.

Your father, seated beside you, doesn’t look at you—but you feel his eyes shift the second your heels clack against the marble floor. “Sit down,” he says lowly, a warning veiled in affection. “This isn’t your place, sweetheart.”

You spin on him.

“This isn’t a game, Daddy. That man—he’s not some pawn. He’s the only one in that arena who deserves to live.”

He says nothing. But his fingers tighten around his glass.

Your voice wavers—but your spine doesn’t. “You said you’d give me anything. Anything I asked.”

His jaw clenches.

You press your hand to the control panel on the wall—VIP access only—and punch in the override code you made him give you months ago. His eyes widen. “Y/N—”

“I want him,” you say, turning back to the screen, voice shaking. “And I want her safe.”

On the screen, Gi-hun stands at the edge of the circle platform, wind ripping through his blood-matted hair. Behind him, Player 222—just a baby—is tucked beneath a ripped jacket. The bridge groans. The final button gleams red.

And then—

“We are not horses. We are humans. And humans are—”

“Stop the game!” you shout.

Your father slams his hand down. “CUT THE FEED!”

But it’s too late.

Alarms scream through the arena. Lights flash red. The final round is frozen mid-motion, and on the screen, Gi-hun stumbles forward in shock, blinking against the sudden sirens. Drones descend from the clouds. A black VTOL aircraft lowers above the Circle building.

Gi-hun throws himself over the baby as masked agents swarm the rooftop, expecting to be executed. But instead—

You step off the aircraft.

“Gi-hun!”

He looks up, eyes wide. The blood on his hands. The baby. The wind.

“Y/N…?”

You run to him. You don’t care about the cameras. About the rules. About the legacy of the blood money behind your name.

You wrap your arms around him and the baby, burying your face into his shoulder as the world spins around you both.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper. “You’re not going to die for a game.”

He doesn’t speak. Can’t speak.

Only clutches you harder.

The VTOL hums quietly as it cuts across the dark sky. Gi-hun sits beside you in a heated cabin, wrapped in a sterile blanket, the baby asleep against his chest.

He’s still too stunned to speak. But his hand never leaves yours.

You glance at him—his profile lit by the soft golden interior lights—and smile gently.

“I told you I’d get you out.”

He laughs—broken, hoarse, but real. “You’re insane.”

“Mm,” you nod. “I am my father’s daughter. But I’m nothing like him.”

Gi-hun’s eyes shift toward the baby, then toward you.

He looks at you like you’re the only real thing left in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You lean your head on his shoulder.

“No more games,” you whisper.

He nods.

Together, the three of you disappear into the horizon—leaving the arena, the blood, and the system that chewed him up far behind.

The world never found out what happened to Seong Gi-hun.

As far as the public was concerned, Player 456 vanished after the 2024 Squid Game finale. No victor was announced. No footage released. The VIPs who had placed their bets were paid off in hush money, and the game continued its shadowy legacy—now with tighter controls, and one less unpredictable human variable.

You had ensured that.

Because Seong Gi-hun had been extracted.

Saved.

And now he was yours to protect, just as fiercely as he’d once protected a stranger’s baby in a death game with nothing left to lose.

The Cottage in New Zealand

The house isn’t large, but it’s perfect.

Stone walls, a garden overgrown with sunflowers and tomatoes, and a wraparound porch that overlooks the ocean cliffs. Far from Seoul. Far from money. Far from blood-soaked arenas and masked devils.

Inside, the air smells like breakfast and baby powder. Warm and lived-in.

Gi-hun is standing at the stove, hair a bit longer now, cheeks a little fuller. He’s humming something under his breath—something happy—as he flips pancakes one-handed, the other arm gently cradling a sleepy-eyed baby against his chest in a carrier.

Jun-hee’s daughter. Now yours. Now his.

A picture of the woman having her own spot tucked in the corner of the kitchen. You two pray to it everyday and baby now called Hana, she will know how brave her mother was.

You peek into the kitchen, barefoot and wearing one of his hoodies. He always pretends he hates when you steal them, but the fond smile on his lips whenever you wear them says otherwise.

“You’re up early,” he says, not even turning around—he always knows when you’re there.

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your cheek against his back. “Hana kicked me. She’s got a strong left foot.”

“She gets it from you.” He grins.

You laugh softly and slide to his side, peeking down at the baby in the carrier. Hana is blinking up at you with sleepy, curious eyes.

“I think she’s gonna have your nose,” you murmur.

Gi-hun leans over and kisses your forehead. “She already has your stubbornness.”

The wind is soft out on the cliffside. Ga-yeong, now fifteen, is sitting with her back to the house, sketching in her notebook. She had cried for days when she first reunited with her father. You remember watching from a distance, holding Hana and sobbing quietly as the little girl he fought so hard to stay alive for collapsed into his arms.

Now she calls you “eomma” with shy affection, braids her hair to match yours, and always makes an extra plate when she cooks. You never asked her to. She just does.

You step outside with Hana in your arms, and Gi-hun follows, carrying a thermos of tea.

“We’re really doing this,” he murmurs, sitting beside you on the porch swing.

“What?”

“Living.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “Told you I’d give you more than the games ever could.”

He turns to you, brushing your cheek gently. “You gave me everything. My daughter. A second chance. A family.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, then let your lips linger a bit longer, until you hear Hana’s little coo. She smacks his cheek with a chubby hand. Gi-hun laughs and lifts her into the air.

“Ya! Little traitor!” he teases, snuggling her. “You’re supposed to like when eomma kisses appa.”

Hana squeals in delight.

Later That Night, with The baby asleep.Ga-yeong is on a video call with a friend from school.

And in the quiet of your shared room, Gi-hun wraps you in his arms, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks softly. “That they’ll find us?”

You shake your head. “My father kept his end of the bargain. We’re ghosts now. This is our life.”

He looks at you like he still can’t believe it’s real. That you’re real.

Gi-hun presses a kiss to your temple, then murmurs:

“I’d die for you, you know.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” you whisper. “Now… you just have to live with me.”

His chest rises and falls. He closes his eyes. And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares waiting.

Just soft breathing.

Just love.

Just peace.

The game is over.

Forever.

[wonyology]

Behind the Mask (m!reader x Babymonster's Ahyeon)

Summary: Two highschoolers. A city full of secrets. And a double life that's getting harder to hide, especially from someone who matters the most.

tags(?): fluff, oneshot, my spin on an alternate and more realistic world with superheroes (?), i don't even know man

AHYEON x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~9.6k

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

GANGNAM-GU - NIGHT TIME

A breeze rustles through your jacket as you stand near the edge of a rooftop. Below, Gangnam is buzzing with cars crawling through busy intersections, people enjoying themselves on a Friday night, skyscraper LEDs looping advertisements and K-pop music videos into the sky… Classic Gangnam. 

Your fingers hover over your newly handmade web shooters strapped to your wrists, the latest version. They looks sleeker, more stable than the last two versions. The first one exploded before you even tried it. The second one jammed on your second test. This one… you trust. Hopefully. You made them from parts you found in electronic junk yards, tiny details bought at Yongsan electronics market and… some stolen chemicals from school.

You haven’t even tried swinging at a low-level tall building yet. You don’t know where the courage to climb up here came from, but here you are. You crouch a little, fingers flicking across the small screens to adjust the pressure. Trigger activated. Cool down time set. Okay. You’ve run the simulations. You’ve trained enough. You know the math - calculated arcs, swinging practices in abandoned garages at 3AM, agility tests… But this is different. That building across the street is about 40 meters (?), maybe 20 stories tall. Perfect height.

You can do this, Woochan. You can do this.

You exhale.

You run.

One, two, three strides. You leap, firing your web shooter mid-air.

Oh shit.

No… no.

No.

I don’t wanna die like this.

Thwip.

The web finally comes out, cutting through the night and latching onto one building with a satisfying sound. You’re suspended for one second, then-

Oh.

Gravity yanks you down. Your stomach flips. Memories flash in front you as you plummet down - too fast, too real. Your fingers tighten instinctively around the line. Then-

Snap

You pull. You’re slingshotted forward, your body catching the tension as you forget how to breathe. You’re not falling anymore. You’re finally swinging. The city rushes beneath you with headlights blurring into streaks, buildings flashing past in your peripheral vision. Someone screams. Your legs dangle for a second. 

Shit, tuck in.

You shift your body mid-air, wobbly but it still works. Not clean, not flashy. But at least it works. You’ll practice it later.

Thwip.

This time the web comes out with no hesitation, connecting better. You swing again, faster. It feels insane. You want to laugh, throw up and scream. All at once.

You then land on an empty rooftop with a rough tumble, shoulder scraping across gravel.

Fuck it hurts.

Your chest is heaving. Hands burning. Knees shaking. You’re alive. You slowly sit up, blinking at the Seoul skyline, glowing and maybe unbothered by the fact that you almost became a statistic. You let out a shaky laugh.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Glancing down at your wrist, you see your web shooters are still intact, pressure holding, cooldown ticking. You did it. And then it hits you again - that feeling. The buzz in your bloodstream. You swung, successfully. You look out over the rooftops, eyes scanning for your next target.

I’m doing this again.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Two months ago, you were just an overachieving high school student in a school uniform, lucky enough to have a chance to tour the Samsung Heavy Industries facility with your class. It was supposed to be boring. Instead, you got bitten. By a strange looking spider - something from one of those sealed off labs they pretended weren’t there. Eight legs. Red and blue. Its fang pierced deep into your skin. That afternoon when you got home, you immediately passed out in your bedroom. 

The next day? You woke up with vision so sharp you didn’t need glasses. Your reflexes were 50 times faster than the average human. Your body was suddenly toned. You saw everything differently - mentally and physically. However, a trip to the hospital that day with your parents showed nothing wrong with you. It felt new. It felt… impossible. That weekend, you put on a hoodie and jumped from a building. You sprained your ankle. But you found out you could climb walls. You had superhuman strength. Your body just knew how to move on its own. The weekend after, you tried again. With the help of math. 

Now, two months later, you’re all over the news and SNS. Blurry CCTV footage, Tiktok edits, discussions on theqoo… They call you “The Red Mask”. Mainly because you chose the most casual outfit ever to fight crime in: jacket, jeans, sneakers, a red homemade mask taped with sunglasses lens and a black beanie. You didn’t tell anyone. 

The world has changed a lot in the last few years. The US has been pouring everything into the weird high tech sector, urging every country to follow. They eventually did. Then, vigilantes and heroes started to pop up all over the globe. People with powers, masks, codenames. Governments didn’t say much, but the people knew why. Some call them heroes, others call them threats. 

In Korea? It’s not much different. Samsung owns everything - the streets, the press, three-fourths of the government. The police here only care if a politician’s kid gets their car scratched or a chaebol’s dog goes missing every two weeks. For the rest of Seoul - for normal people like you, they don’t bother to show up. Unless it’s to arrest someone. 

That’s why you chose to do this, someone has to stand up. Because you’ve seen everything - the extortion, the tech leaks, the lab incidents they pretend aren’t happening. Because if no one else is going to help the city, you will.

SEOUL INTERNATIONAL HIGH SCHOOL - LUNCH BREAK

Back to reality, you are now at school. The chatter around you fades into soft blur - chopsticks clatter, friends filming Tiktoks, someone discussing how to skip hakwon… But you’re somewhere else. Your chin rests on your hand, elbow on desk, food untouched. You’re staring out the windows, thinking about last night. Your fingers twitch slightly. You can still feel it. The wind. The arc. The tension. That split second of fear before the web finally came out. You want to go out again. You’re so deep into it you don’t even notice her walking over.

Poke.

A finger jabs your cheek, unexpectedly hard.

“Ryeo Woochan. Hello~” Ahyeon said, grinning at you. You were startled out of your thoughts.

“Oh, Ahyeon-ah.”

She slides in into the seat next to yours without asking, not that she ever needed to. The two of you have been close since the start of middle school. You don’t remember how it happened, only that one day she was just there - sitting next to you in art class, borrowing your pencil while shyly smiling at you. You’ve been falling ever since. 

Ahyeon has always been the type to see good in everything with her positive attitude - even back when you were all braces and oversize sweaters. Now you’ve grown, literally. 20cm taller than her, maybe slightly better looking than before. She’s in the school art club. She dances and sings like she was born doing it, sometimes under her breath when she thinks no one’s listening. But you always are.

You glance at her now, trying not to stare for too long. Her smile hits you deep in the heart - eyes curving into crescents, nose scrunching just the way you love. That smile could ruin your whole day and still makes it worth it. She notices you looking and suddenly does that thing she always does when she sees something unbearably cute, pretending to bite the air. This time, she leans closer and playfully bites near your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh.

“What are you biting?”

“You.” she says with her cheeks tinting pink. “Not really.” she scrunches her nose again and looks down at her tray, flustered. You smile, it’s always been like this. 

Ahyeon naturally has a lot of aegyo, it just comes out with no effort. The little pouts, the playful teasing, the habit of playfully nagging at you when she wants attention. She always denies it, insisting that it’s not like her at all. But you’ve known her long enough.

And it’s so adorable.

Like a squirrel. That’s what you called her back in middle school. It started as a joke, but everyone started to see it too. The chubby cheeks when she’s eating, the way her hands fidget with whatever’s nearby, how she lights up when she’s excited. She hated it at first. Now she just rolls her eyes whenever you bring it up but never tells you to stop.

“What are you thinking about, dummy?” Ahyeon asks, cutting your trance of thoughts.

“Just… thinking of building new tech stuff. New gadgets.”

Hey, it’s technically not a lie. You are planning on building a new version of the web shooter. The current one heats up too fast. There are plans for a new suit too. She narrows her eyes at you.

“You always sound like you’re in a scifi movie when you say stuff like that, Woochan-ah.”

You shrug, picking up your chopsticks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re such a nerd.” She smiles again, soft and bright.

“You hang out with me. What does that make you, dummy?”

“Patient.” She grins, too hard. You roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. Things have always been like this - teasing, easy, comfortable in a way that no one can explain. She picks up a piece of rolled egg with her chopsticks and chews for a bit then says.

“Yah, come over to my house tonight.”

“Huh?”

“My house. My mom asked. She said it’s been like forever since you came over.”

She glances at you. “She misses you, y’know.”

“Your mom misses me?” you raise a brow.

She shrugs. “I guess. She just said ‘What happened to Woochanie? That boy doesn’t eat here anymore.’” She deepens her voice, mimicking her mom with surprising accuracy. “‘Did you two fight? Should I call his mom?’”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” you laugh.

She bites her chopsticks while asking.

“So… you free?”

You glance down at your tray. You technically are free, unless something in Seoul explodes. But right now, with Ahyeon eyes looking at you like this.

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

She beams - the nose scrunch, the spark in her eyes. It makes you feel like a normal highschooler again. Even if it’s only for a little while. Then-

“Don’t you disappear on me this time, okay?” her voice softens a little, enough to make your chest tighten.

“You’ve been… weirdly busy lately, at night.” she says. “And you don’t reply to my text. Or Tiktok. Or reels.”

Ahyeon’s not pouting or nagging. She just sits there and plays with her chopsticks. A frown on her face  - the kind she tries to hide when something actually bothers her. And your heart twists at the sight. You want to tell her everything. About the bruises. The close calls. About the reasons why your phone stays unanswered while Seoul sleeps. About how you made all of those devices.

But you can’t. 

So instead, you offer her the only truth you can give her right now.

“I’ll be there, Ahyeon-ah. I promise.”

Ahyeon looks at you for a second, deciding whether she should trust you or not. Then, she slowly nods.

“Okay.”

A moment of silence passes. She then perks up suddenly, pulling out her phone and shifting her mood to something lighter.

“Ooh! Wait, have you seen this one yet?” she says, leaning closer to you and swiping quickly. You take this chance and lean your head closer, enough to touch hers. Ahyeon doesn’t pull away. Her hair smells nice. There’s a tiny smudge of ketchup near the corner of her lips. Her eyes squint a little when she’s concentrating on scrolling. She hums to herself, that one song of Blackpink. You’ve heard it a hundred times by now. For a second, you forget about everything, focusing only on her.

“Red Mask guy. He was in Gangnam again. Rora recorded it last night, it’s all over Tiktok now.”

You already know what it is. A shaky video of you darting through the air, landing on the edge of a building for split seconds to catch enough momentum before swinging and vanishing into the night. The caption reads: “he’s real, i finally saw him omgg #theredmask #vigilante #korea #redmasksightings #viral #fyp”

Ahyeon laughs softly, her hair brushing your nose.

“Isn’t he cool?” her voice dreamy.

“Is that so?” a smirk appears on your face while you try to bite back a smile. She catches it and gives you a look.

“What? Are you jealous?”

You shrug. “Why would I be jealous of a guy who swings around Seoul in a ski mask?”

“Red mask.” she corrects. “Maybe he’s super hot under there.”

You laugh, a bit too hard.

“Maybe he’s a 42 year old creep and stalks people in his free time.” 

Ahyeon snorts. “Ew! Stop.”

“Just trying to protect you.”

She wipes her mouth with a napkin, giggling.

“Don’t act like you know who he is. He might be hot. I’m just saying, if he showed up at my windows, I wouldn’t scream.”

“I would.” you said, trying to say calm.

“Jealous?” she grins.

“Nope. Just saying.” you look at her. Deep down, somewhere, the part of you that wear the mask hopes that she really meant it. Before either of you could say anything, the bell rings. It’s time for class again.

“Ugh, I’m so done with you already.”

“You say that everyday and still sit with me.”

“Because I’m patient.” she huffs, bumping her shoulder into yours. You both fall into steps as the whole cafeteria hurries to clean up. Trays are stacked, chairs scrape against the floor and students flood the hallways again to drag themselves back to class. You walk side by side, like always. 

I hope today ends well.

The sun hangs low by the time school ends. The sky is painted with warm gold and light blue. You and Ahyeon walk together. She talks about something funny Rora said, you nod along, listening and smiling at her cute speech. But your phone suddenly vibrates. You pull out your modified phone - a notification from an app you made, wired to CCTV systems and intercept police comms, emergency dispatch signals. 

ALERT: WANTED PERSON - DONGDAEMUN, JONGNO-GU.

LAST SEEN NEAR EXIT 5. MATCHING 75% TO DATABASE FOOTAGE.

Your heart sinks. You were supposed to walk home with Ahyeon. Dinner at her family’s place. But if the alert is right, someone could be hurt. You are the only one fast enough to stop it. You quickly slip the phone away, swallowing like your throat hurts. Ahyeon looks at you, still cheerful.

“You okay?”

You force a smile.

“Ah… actually, can you head home first? My mom just texted. She needs me to run some errands. Like now. Urgent.”

Her smile falters immediately.

“Oh.”

You hate the way that sounds. Maybe Ahyeon expected it, and she is disappointed, again. You then reach out and take her hand. She looks up at you, surprised.

“I’ll be there, Ahyeon-ah. I swear. I just need to do something for my mom first, okay?”

You squeeze her hand. “Don’t start without me, okay?”

She stares at you for a second longer, expression still sad. Then she nods.

“Okay… But don’t forget, Woochan-ah.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

And with that, you turn and head in the opposite direction as fast as you can. You duck down a side street, slip behind buildings and change into your vigilante clothing.

DONGDAEMUN, GANGNAM-GU

You swing forward past traffic, over rooftops, between signs and utility poles. The wind roars in your ears. Your body moves on instinct now, swinging and landing much smoother. You then land on the side of a building, fingers and foot gripping the edge. It’s muscle memory at this point.

Down there, Dongdaemun is busy. But somewhere in that mess, danger is always moving.

Thwip.

Thwip.

Thwip.

You continue swinging near the subway area, gliding over honking traffic and landing briefly on the roof of a small supermarket. Your phone pings again.

NEW LOCATION: SIDE ALLEY BETWEEN HARDWARE SHOP + BAR. 40 METERS AWAY.

No time to waste now. You spot the alley ahead - narrow, dark. There he is. Too tall, heavy with his hoodie up. His hand holds a knife, the other presses against an old man’s chest, pinning him to the wall. The victim’s bag is already on the ground.

“You think this is a fucking joke, old man?”

You swing in fast.

“Hello~”

Thwip.

“What the fu-”

Your web hits his wrist, yanking the knife clean out of his hand. It clatters to the ground. You land hard on him. 

“Let him go, man.”

“You fucking id-”

You drive your knee into his chest mid sentence - hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He staggers back with a grunt but doesn’t fall. The old man now grabs his bag and takes his chance, disappearing without a word. You refocus as the thug lunges at you, angrier this time. You sidestep, land a quick jab to his ribs, then a clean elbow to the side of his head. He stumbles. 

“Woo, you okay, man? You’re wanted and still do dumb shit like this?”

He stays silent. You decide to move in to finish the job, but he’s hiding something. A second knife flashes from his sleeves, low and fast. Slash.

Oh fuck.

Pain tears across your side - just under the ribs. You dodge on instinct just before it goes deeper. 

“God damn, I thought we agreed to do this fair and clean.”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m gonna kill you if that’s the last thing I do as a free man.”

You grit your teeth, hand flying to your side. Warm. Wet. It’s deep enough to hurt like hell when you move. He charges again.

Thwip.

You shoot. The web strikes him stronger this time, launching him backward into the wall.

“I’ve had enough with you. This is my favorite sweater too.”

You shoot a few - pinning his arms, then his legs. One more to seal his mouth shut.

“Be nice until the police come to pick you up, okay?”

He’s done.

You stand there to catch your breath. Blood is already soaking the side of your sweater fast, hot and sticky.

Should’ve worn my jacket. 

You jump to the top of a nearby building and tear open the emergency gauze roll from your backpack. You slap it on and tape it down. It will do for now, not elegant but it will hold. You were too cocky this time. You were deep into playing the hero and forgot about doing it the safe way. Dumbass.

The city blurs around you in bright lights and noise. Then it hits your mind. 

Ahyeon. Still waiting. 

You hurry before it is too late. You pull on your beanie and check your web shooters one last time before launching into the air again. You swing around until you land behind a closed convenience store a few blocks from her place. You peel off your vigilante outfit and stuff it into your backpack. The gauze on your waist still holds but is already a little warm. You throw on your school uniform, a hoodie underneath your blazer to hide everything. You then hurry to the flower shop next door and pick a small bouquet - white daisies and pink roses. Ahyeon’s mom would love this. You run up the steps to her family’s apartment, heart thudding harder than it should. The pain flares near your ribs but you straighten your posture and knock. 

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT

The door swings open. Ahyeon stands there - eyes wide.

“You came!”

Her mom appears behind her.

“Woochanie! Look at you! You grew again, didn’t you?” She smiles while wiping her hands on her apron and tells you to come in. You hold out the flower bouquet with a sheepish grin.

“For you, Ms.”

She takes them, clearly touched. 

“Aigoo, such a sweet boy. Come on, come on. Ahyeonie, help him with his backpack, honey.”

You step inside, the comforting scent of home cooked food grazes your nose immediately - smells like something spicy. Her family’s apartment is warm, familiar. Ahyeon then gently comes and takes your backpack from your shoulder. Her fingers stay on your shoulder longer than needed. You try not to react but a small ‘ouch’ comes out as the weight shifts, flaring pain along your side. She doesn’t say anything but her eyes notice the way you wince when she takes your backpack. Like something’s off but she hasn’t figured it out yet. 

“Told you I wouldn’t miss it.”

She looks at you, nose scrunching in that lovely way that you adore more anything.

“Took you long enough. I was about to be mad at you.”

You laughed quietly.

“I would’ve deserved it.”

From the kitchen, her mom calls.

“Come on, kids! Wash your hands and come eat before the stew gets cold.”

Ahyeon gives you one more look before grabbing your wrist and leads you to the sink. You wash your hands with your side still aching, still manageable. After drying your hands, you follow Ahyeon to the dining table. The table is already set. You both take your usual spots - Ahyeon beside you, across from her mom who’s just finished placing the last dish on the table. She claps her hand together.

“Look at this. Just like the old days.” She then glances to the empty chair beside her and says.

“Your dad had to run to some urgent meeting. Government contracts and all that. But no worries, more food for us.”

You offer a polite smile while bowing your head.

“Thank you for the meal, Ms.”

“Eat up, Woochan-ah. You’re too thin these days. I cooked extra just for you.”

You dig in, trying not to move your left side too much. The stew is hot, flavorful and comforting - everything you didn’t know you needed. It has been so long since you last visited her family and nothing’s changed. Not only the food but also the way her mom fusses over you like you were part of the family. The meal goes by peacefully with Ahyeon’s mom quietly putting more rice into your bowl every time it dips below halfway.

“So? How are midterms looking? Does Ahyeon still bother you at school?”

You glance sideways to Ahyeon.

“Mom!”

“Everyday, Ms.”

Ahyeon then scowls at you but her mom just grins proudly.

“That’s how you know she likes you, Woochan-ah. She only pesters people she likes.”

Her mom adds with a teasing tone.

“Should Woochanie come over and tutor you again, honey?”

That gets her. “No, mom! Stop doing this.” 

“I’d love to spend more time with her, Ms.” 

Ahyeon’s face flushes a shade too pink while glaring at you, cheeks puffing slightly.

“You’re unbelievable.” she mutters.

“Aigoo… kids these days.” her mom just laughs, shaking her head fondly. The rest of dinner goes by with comfort. The table empties little by little with Ahyeon helping her mom carry the dishes to the sink. You offer to help only to be waved off with a smile. Once the table is cleared and dishes are stacked in the sink, her mom turns back to the both of you.

“Woochan-ah, go play or do something in Ahyeon’s room for a bit. I need to call her dad before he gets on the subway back.”

She then gives you a wink. “”You know where everything is.”

Ahyeon tugs at your sleeves wordlessly, cheeks still faintly pink. You follow her down the hall, past familiar furniture and into the room that hasn’t really changed in years. She closes the door gently behind you two. You stand there for a second, taking it in before the silence between you starts to stretch. You turn to her. She’s watching you. Her arms cross loosely, not defensive but uncertain.

“You.” Ahyeon says, that tone of her make you turn around.

“You’ve been really weird.” Her voice is soft with a hint of anger.

“For the past 2 months, you’ve been… different.”

Oh shit.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. She steps a little closer.

“You’re always tired. You zone out. You disappear at night and don’t text back. You always play with that weird phone of yours. Even tonight, you flinched when I took your backpack, like something hurts.”

You try to hold her gaze but your stomach knots up. You can feel the weight of her words pressing into your heart. She swallows. Just like that, a tear slips down her cheek. So you reach up, your hand trembling slightly as you swipe the tear from her cheek with your thumb. Your thumb linger and slowly curve to cup her cheek. It feels warm, soft. Ahyeon doesn’t flinch or pull away. You hold her there, hoping she will forgive you.

“I’m really angry at you.”

Her voice cracks and with it, more tears fall. 

“You… You could've told me everything. You just kept… shutting me out. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Her breathing grows uneven. Fast. Shallow. Full of everything she’s been holding in for weeks. The frustration, the worry, the sadness of being pushed away by the person she’s closest to. 

And it hits you. Harder than anything. 

You step forward and wrap your arms around her. At first, Ahyeon stiffens. But then she just collapses into you, she’s been holding in too much now. Her fist curls into your hoodie under the blazer, forehead against your chest. A choked sound escapes her lips as she cries quietly, her body trembling with every breath. You hold her tighter. 

Like she might fall apart completely if you let go.

Like she’s the only real thing anchoring you to your normal high school self.

Your hand rests on the back of Ahyeon’s head, fingers weaving gently into her hair. You close your eyes for a second. A thousand things go by in your mind. The nights you spend swinging around and fighting crimes. The fights you barely walked away from. The times you looked her in the eyes and lied, saying you were fine and just tired. The times you watched her smile falter. 

And now she’s crying in your arms, it’s your fault. Your jaw clenches as you pull her in closer like that could somehow solve every problem. But you know it won’t. So you breathe in slowly and let the decision settle inside you.

No more hiding.

You lean down just a bit and whisper against the top of her head.

“Hey, come sit with me.”

She looks up and nods - her eyes glassy, face flushed. You gently take her hand and guide her to her bed. Neither of you says anything as you sit side by side. Everything feels quiet now. You take a second to calm down before speaking.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

She blinks, still trying to understand everything. 

“But you have to promise me something first.” you look at her, voice soft but serious.

“Stay calm. Don’t scream. And don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Ahyeon doesn’t say anything. She sniffs once, confused while trying to process everything. Her brows pull together, lips parting as if to speak but nothing comes out. So you gently cup her face, thumbs brushing both sides of her cheeks and lean your forehead against hers.

“Promise me, please.” you say again, more firmly this time. Ahyeon’s cheeks now bloom with color. She is caught somewhere between shock and something softer, love? She finally nods. You smile a little.

Then, you reach down and pull up your sleeves. She watches closely as you reveal the web shooters strapped to your wrist. She doesn’t know what it is - unlike anything she’s ever seen before. You raise your arm up to the ceiling.

Thwip.

A line of web shoots clean into the ceiling. In one smooth motion, you're launched up with legs swinging. You stop mid air, turn perfectly upside down until your face hovers just centimeters from hers.

“Hey…” you smile.

Ahyeon gasps. Her hands immediately fly up to her mouth. And then she does exactly what you thought she might do. She opens her mouth to scream. Your hand quickly covers it, your voice calm with a teasing tone but still firm.

“I told you to promise me, dummy.”

She blinks rapidly, her breath shaky beneath your palm but she doesn’t pull away. Her heartbeat is going crazy. Your enhanced senses can feel it. 20 seconds go by and she calms down just slightly, hands still trembling. Your hand then decides it is time to drop from her lips. Ahyeon’s staring at you now. Eyes locked.

Disbelief. Curiosity. Amusement.

Something else is also flickering in her eyes.

Without a word, you lean in and kiss Ahyeon.

It’s soft and hesitant at first. You’re not sure what her reaction will be but you’ve been waiting for this moment for too long. Her lips are warm, still parted from shock but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she kisses you back. Slowly. Carefully. Your heart feels like it’s about to punch out of your chest. It’s not from the rooftops, not from the danger. It’s from her this time. Her hand comes up and lightly grips your face like she’s afraid you will fall down from the ceiling. 

When you pull back, her eyes are still wide, breath uneven. She doesn’t speak. Instead she stares at you, trying to piece everything together while her world shifts under her feet. You lower yourself from the web and land easily in front of her. Her hand, which had been holding your face now lingers in the air before landing on your chest. She looks up at you - flushed and confused. You lean in closer and lift your hands instinctively to cup her cheeks again. Ahyeon now leans into it unconsciously.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur. “I’m really sorry for hurting you.”

Her brows knit together. Seems like she wants to be mad - she should be - but she’s still caught in the haze of everything. It’s all moving too fast for her.

“You’re… that guy.” she finally lets out, voice small.

“You’re the Red Mask guy.”

You nod. “Yeah, in the flesh.”

Your lips twitch into a smile.

“The guy who swung around Gangnam in a mask last night and got caught on Tiktok.”

She lets out a sound - a mix of laughter and gasp before covering your hands with hers, still resting on her cheeks. She’s overwhelmed right now. Her fingers are warm and a little shaky.

“Oh my… I can’t believe this.”

Her voice cracks at the end, breathless. You feel her thumb trace the edges of your hand. Her smile then fades gradually as her gaze drops to your hoodie - the darkened fabric is stained by blood. A slow, creeping realization settles over her face.

“Woochan-ah.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Right.

You glance down. You’re only just remembering now. The pain doesn’t hurt as much now but it still stings. The gauze you slapped on earlier has long soaked through. Crimson seeps into the hem of your hoodie, like a reminder of what you did earlier in the evening.

“It’s fine.” you say.

Ahyeon stares at you, eyes wide, hurt and panic crashing all together.

“You call that nothing?! You idiot.”

“Just a scratch.” you reply, attempting a smile.

She immediately stands up in one fluid, almost panicked motion.

“Scratch?! Are you kidding me right now?”

“Uh…”

“Sit. Down.”

You flinch at her tone. You’ve seen Ahyeon flustered, pouty, even fake angry when you tease her. But not this. This is the first time you’ve seen her genuinely upset and shaking. So you sit on her bed without a word. She pulls her drawer open and yanks out the first aid kit. It rattles in her hands as she turns around, drops to her knees in front of you. Her brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a trembling line as she zip it open.

“Take off your blazer and hoodie. Your shirt, too.”

You hesitate. The way she said that so bluntly, now she’s avoiding your eyes. Still, you obey. You peel off the blazer first. Then, the hoodie - careful not to aggravate the wound. You can feel Ahyeon’s eyes flicking up for a second then darting away just as fast. Then goes the shirt. It sticks lightly to the dried up blood near your side. 

And that’s when it happens. Her breath catches. You glance at her from the corner of your eyes. Her eyes move across your torso, the bloodied gauze, the lines of muscle before she forces herself to look away, cheeks flushing a deep pink.

“Y-You’re an idiot.” she mutters under her breath.

She’s still mad but her hands tremble just slightly as she reaches forward to clean your wound. 

“Uh… sorry.”

“Don’t ‘sorry’ me. You kept a secret from me for 2 months, you show up looking like you just fell off a building-” she mumbles, still dabbing your skin carefully. “-and then have the nerve to kiss me while hanging upside down.”

“I…uh, technically… It was supposed to be a stab but I dodged it.” you say, trying not to sound defensive. She stops cold and stares at you. The soaked gauze in her hand drops right onto the floor.

“You what?”

“Dodged it.” you say quietly, hoping it would sound less dangerous. “Y’know… it grazed me.”

Ahyeon stands up so suddenly the kit falls from her lap. Her voice raises, not loud but enough to put fear in your brain.

“Woochan-ah! You’re such an idiot. That’s not something you just casually say! You were almost stabbed! Are you even listening to yourself?!”

You start to say something but she cuts you off.

“I’ve been worrying about you for weeks. You vanish at night. You don’t answer me. And now you show up at my house bleeding, smiling like none of this matters?!” Her voice cracks, pain spilling through the anger. You reach for her wrist and she pulls slightly but doesn’t step back. You get up and take her other hand.

“I’m sorry, Ahyeon-ah. I didn’t want to lie… I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

She looks at you, eyes simmering but locked on yours. You move closer and slowly reach up to her cheek.

“But I trust you. More than anyone. That’s why I chose to tell you.”

Her breathing goes unsteady again, cheeks warm under your palm but she doesn’t look away.

“...You’re still an idiot and I’m still mad at you.”

You smile faintly. “Forgiven?”

Ahyeon exhales, finally relaxing just a little in your hands. She doesn’t answer, just gives you a glare and nudges your chest lightly with her fingers.

“Sit back down before I get even madder at you.”

You obey. She kneels again in front of you, scooping up the first aid kit with a sigh. She cleans the wound with cool pads and dabs disinfectant around the edge when you wince. 

“Ooh… careful there.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Her voice is flat but you can sense the underlying worry underneath the sass.

You try to lighten the mood. “At least you’re best friends with a street hero now!”

“You’re lucky I’ve known you for a long time.”

She tears a strip of medical tape and presses it down a little too firmly.

“Yah!”

“Serves you right.” she mutters, finally sitting back on her heels. “You could’ve died.”

You look at how she presses her lips together like she’s trying not to cry again.

“But I didn’t.” you say gently.

“Don’t set the bar at that!” she finally snaps, finally standing up to tower over you. “Tell me everything right now. No more secrets.”

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling deeply while trying to remember everything correctly.

“Okay…” you murmur. “Sit. I’ll tell you everything.”

She doesn’t sit. Instead she just crosses her arms and stares at you like she’s seconds away from killing you right then and there. So you start talking.

“Remember that school trip to Samsung Heavy Industries facilities? I got bitten there, about three or two months ago.”

She raises her brows. “Bitten?”

“By a spider. Not a normal one. It was from one of the restricted labs we weren’t supposed to go near. I was messing with a sensor door because I thought it was harmless.”

“You broke into a restricted lab?”

You try to skip through that part. “That’s not important.”

“It is extremely importa-”

“Anyway, it bit me. It was weird, it didn't look like a normal spider at all. I passed out when I got home that same day. I woke up the next day and my glasses didn’t work anymore. My reflexes were insane. I can climb walls and stick to stuff. Oh… uh, superhuman strength too.”

She just stares at you, eyes wide.

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Yeah, I know. It sounds kinda crazy.”

She lets out a breath out of disbelief and frustration. 

“Wanna see?” you ask, voice playful.

“See what?”

“A little demo.” you tilt your head toward the ceiling. 

“Woochan, are you crazy?”

Instead of answering, you step forward and gently wrap your arms around her waist. She gasps immediately.

“What are yo-”

“Hold on.”

Before she can pull back, you bend your knees and jump. In a split second, you’ve flipped the two of you up toward the ceiling. Your feet land softly above, sticking with ease. Your hands press flat on either side of her to steady you both. Ahyeon lets out a tiny gasp, her body clinging to yours in pure instinct, both arms wrapped tightly around your neck. Her face is pink with eyes wide as she looks down at the floor.

“Woochan! What the- Let me down!”

You lean in slightly. “Still the Red Mask is hot?”

Ahyeon squirms in your arms, but her grip never loosens. “This is insane. What if we fall?”

You smirk, keeping your balance easily. Your hands are still braced on the ceiling around her. 

“I asked you a question?” you tease. “Still think he’s hot?”

Ahyeon glares at you. Though it doesn’t work as she looks too cute for it to be effective.

“I- That was… before I knew he was you.”

“Oh, so knowing it’s me ruins your fantasy.”

Ahyeon is flustered but can’t come up with a comeback. You grin wider as you know exactly what that means. 

“Admit it. You still think I’m hot.” you lean in closer, forehead nearly touching hers.

Ahyeon groans and hides her face in your shoulder. “Ryeo Woochan.”

You chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Put me down.”

“Say I’m hot and I will.”

She lifts her head, eyes narrowed. “I hate you.”

“And?”

“And yes, I find you hot. Happy?” she whispers, shy and defiant all at once.

“Very.”

Then you flip the both of you back to the ground with her arms still wrapped around you and land gently like it’s nothing. She stumbles when you let her go, face still hot and hair tousled.

“You’re never allowed to do that again.” she says breathlessly.

“No promises.” You barely have time to gloat before Ahyeon’s eyes drop again to your side - to the fixed up wound still bleeding a bit through the gauze. She snaps out of it instantly.

“Your side, Woochan-ah!” She reaches out and presses her fingers gently near the tape. “You’re literally injured and swinging around like you’re invincible!”

You laugh it off. “It’ll be fine in one or two days. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?!”

“Yeah.” you nod. “I sprained my ankle jumping off a five story building when I first discovered my powers. It healed in a day!”

Ahyeon freezes, then she points at you while trembling in anger. “You. You tell me everything that you’ve done the past two months. Everything this time. Right now.” she pauses, voice breaking just enough to hit you right in the chest. 

“Or you and I are done, Woochan.”

Time stops, or at least that’s how you feel. Her eyes are glossy again, hands clenching into a fist at her side. This isn’t just about being angry. You see the fear and worry in her eyes. And she means it.

“Okay… you deserve to know.”

You both sit down on her bed and begin, no more holding back.

“I’ve stopped like twenty muggings. An arson in Seongbuk. Pulled a family out of a crashed car before it exploded. I stopped a robbery at a convenience store last week. One time I even held back a runaway city bus when the brakes failed.”

You laugh slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “That was exhausting, but it showed me how strong I could be.”

You exhale, voice becoming more quiet.

“I don’t do it for attention. I do it because no one else will. You’ve seen what Seoul is like. The cops only care about rich people and politicians. Someone has to look out for everyone else.”

Ahyeon looks at you in stunned silence, eyes locked on yours.

“... And I always wanted to tell you, honestly.” you say while rubbing the back of your neck. “But the longer I waited, the harder it became. And then I see you get sadder and sadder every time I say I’m busy… And today you got mad and cried… I, uh- I realized I never wanted to lose you over this.”

You looked at Ahyeon.

“I’m sorry, Ahyeon-ah. But that’s everything. I promise.” 

Ahyeon’s lips tremble as you finish speaking. Her fists are still clenched on her lap and you expect her to yell again, maybe call you reckless or selfish. Instead, her voice comes out shaky.

“Just… stop this, Woochan-ah. Live normally.” Tears begin to well in her eyes again. “What if something happens to you?”

The pain from your wound isn’t as sharp now but the ache from your heart, from seeing Ahyeon like this, it only grows. 

“I know… I know it’s dangerous.”

She shakes her head and looks away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You could get hurt.” she says. “You did get hurt. What if one day it’s worse than a stab and a sprained ankle? What if you don’t come back?”

Your hand reaches out and gently covers hers.

“I’ve thought about that too. But there are people out there who need help. People who don’t have anyone else looking out for them.” you admit.

Her lower lip quivers. “Then what about me?”

You squeeze her hand, firm and full of affection.

“That’s why I told you. Because I need you too. I trust you. And if I have to do this, I want you with me. From now on.”

Ahyeon stares at you, stunned.

“You want me… with you?”

“I promise I’ll be more careful. I’ll be smarter. But I can't stop, at least not now. So if you’re going to be mad at me, I understand. But if you want to stay by my side, I won’t keep you in the dark anymore.”

Ahyeon’s breathing becomes harder. And suddenly, her arms wrap around your neck, hugging you tight.

“You idiot.” she whispers, tears falling even more now. “You’re mine. So from now, we will do everything together.”

Your heart thuds.

“Together?”

“Together, me and you. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

You can’t help but smile and wrap your arm fully around her. You rest your chin lightly atop her head and whisper.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

She sniffles into your shoulder, still clinging on to you. You lift a hand and gently part her head, fingers brushing through her hair. Without thinking much, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Yah” you mumble. “Wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

She tenses a bit.

“Like… officially as boyfriend and girlfriend, I mean.” you add, heart skipping. “It’s the weekend, so…”

Ahyeon slowly pulls back, cheeks already glowing. Her eyes glance up at you, still glassy from tears. “Y- You’re really asking me out now, you dummy?”

“Took this dummy long enough, huh?”

She shyly hides her face in your shoulder again before muttering, “Maybe.”

You chuckle. “Wear something pretty, or cute, or… anything you want. You’re beautiful the way you are.”

She tilts her head up.

“Just… uh, not a skirt or a dress. Y’know, in case we have to swing.”

Her lips twitch. “You mean because you’re planning to swing me across the city like some kind of monkey?”

You mutter. “I don’t want you flashing the whole of Seoul, okay?”

She rolls her eyes, cheeks warm. “Fine. Pants and something ‘pretty’, you jerk.” she then smacks your arm lightly.

“You’re the worst.”

“But you’ll come, right?”

She hides her face again, voice soft and shy.

“Only because I like you.”

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT - THE NEXT MORNING

The weather casts a gentle glow over the rooftops of Seoul. You slip your mask on, web shooters perfectly fitted around your wrists with a newly selected outfit - a gray sweater, dark brown Carhartt jacket along with clean fit jeans. You swing past rooftops, soft breezes tugging at your mask. It’s early, but not too early. Just the right time to show up. 

You land next to her room window, sticking quietly. The curtains are open, and you can see Ahyeon - she’s twirling around in front of the mirror, her hair flairs out with every movement. The black zip-up top clings to her as she sways her hips side to side, mouthing the lyrics to the song blasting from her phone. Her black jeans fit snug, allowing her to move freely. She spins effortlessly and lets out a quiet giggle at her reflection. Her glasses slide down her nose just a little with her movements but she doesn’t bother fixing them. There’s something so effortlessly adorable about Ahyeon like this, dressed so cool but moving around in her room like a cutie. In that moment, she’s completely in her own world - confident, playful, real. You can’t help but smile. That girl is now your girlfriend. 

You lean your head slightly against the window frame and knock once - knuckles against glasses. Ahyeon freezes mid dance, her head instantly whips toward the window. You give her a small wave through the glass.

“AHHHH-” she screams, jumping back a full step. You laugh at the scene.

“Ahyeonie, what happened?” You can hear her mom’s voice from inside the apartment.

“NOTHING, MOM! Just a spider!” she shouts back, frantically running to the window. The latch clicks and the window finally slides open.

“Are you insane, Ryeo Woochan?! You can’t just- just- Ughhh! What if my mom comes in?”

You tilt your head. “But I wanna see my girlfriend.”

Her glare twitches. She tries, really tries to hold it. You can see her lips clearly threatening a smile.

“Dummy. Get in before anyone sees you.” she mutters, grabbing your arm to help you in.

“Nuh uh.”

“What?” she asks.

You grin under the mask, letting go of the window frame.

“I’m going to the front door. Gonna greet your mom properly and ask her if I can take you out on a date, like right now.”

Her jaw drops. “Woochan! Are you insane?”

You’ve already released your grip on the wall, sticking only by foot as you get ready to drop down. 

“You said you wanted to do this together right?” You smile at her through the mask. “That includes being a good boyfriend.”

She stares at you, lips parted. Her face turns red.

You give a small salute before dropping down. “Wish me luck, girlfriend.”

Ahyeon lets out a quiet gasp as you disappear from the window view. Seconds later, she runs out of room, almost tripping on the way. Her mom, halfway through cutting fruit in the kitchen, hears all the commotion. 

“Honey, what’s going on?”

“N- Nothing, mom!” 

But then, the doorbell rings.

“Is someone here?” her mom raises a brow.

Ahyeon tries to stop her but it’s too late. Her mom already reaches the door and opens it. There you are. Backpack on, wearing that slightly sheepish but still confident grin, your hair a little messy from the wind. No mask. Just you, standing properly at her door this time.

“Hello, Ms.” you bow slightly.

“Woochanie! You came again. Oh my, come in. Ahyeon’s right here.”

Her mom’s voice lights up with genuine delight as she opens the door wider.

“You didn’t have to ring the bell, sweetheart! You’re practically family now.”

You smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “I figure I should do things properly today, Ms.”

Ahyeon’s mom tilts her head curiously. “Oh? What’s so special, Woochan-ah?”

You glance move toward Ahyeon - standing just a little behind her, blushing like she wants to disappear. You then clear your throat.

“I wanted to ask if it’d be alright… if I take your daughter out. On a real date. Just the two of us.”

Her mom blinks once and slowly breaks into the warmest smile you have ever seen.

“Aigoo… you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms. We’ll stay close by. We’ll be back soon, and I promise I’ll take good care of Ahyeon.”

Ahyeon groans softly behind her mom. “Mom, he didn’t have to make it this dramatic…”

Her mom just brushes her off and reaches for your wrist, patting it affectionately.

“You sweet thing. Of course you can take her out. I was starting to wonder when you two would finally stop dancing around it.”

“Momm.” Ahyeon practically whines. Her mom only laughs.

“Go get ready, honey. Don’t be rude. My future son-in-law is waiting.” Then she turns to you, beaming. “Take good care of Ahyeon, Woochan-ah. She’s a bit stubborn but she loves you a lot.” 

You bow again, laughing a little too hard. “I will, Ms. Thank you for your permission.”

“Oh wait, come in for a bit, come in! Let me pack you two some snacks before you leave. And thank you for being respectful, Woochan-ah. I like you even more now.”

You look at Ahyeon and whisper. “Told you I’d do it right.”

She exhales loudly, hiding her face behind her sleeves. But you know she loves this too.

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT - ROOFTOP

You both get up to the rooftop of her apartment, quiet steps echoing slightly in the stairwell. The wind is gentle today, ruffling Ahyeon’s hair as she steps cautiously onto the concrete. She peers over the edge and immediately steps back, gripping your jacket slightly. 

“You’re not serious, Woochanie…” she mumbles, clearly scared.

You step in front of her and gently rest your hands on her arms. “Ahyeon-ah. You trust me, right?”

She bites her lips but nods. “I’m scared.”

You smile softly and lean in, pressing your forehead against hers. “I’m here.”

With no hesitation, you kiss her. She closes her eyes into it, clinging to your sleeves. You pull back just enough to put your mask on.

“Hold on to the food your mom packed too.” you smirk, gesturing to the small bag looped around her wrist. She glances at it then at you.

“You’re really out of your mind.”

You chuckle. “Jump and cling your legs around me, really tight, okay?”

She hesitates. “W- Why?”

You then move one hand to grip her firmly by the butt, pulling her flush against you.

“Y- Yah! Why are you touching my butt?!”

“Because of physics, dummy! I’m trying not to turn you into Swiss cheese.” You grin. “Now wrap your legs around me.”

Flustered and red faced, she obeys, arms looped tightly around your neck, legs hooked at your waist. 

“Ready?”

“No…”

You lean in closer to her ear. “Too bad.”

Thwip.

You shoot your web forward and leap off the building with Ahyeon clinging to you, screaming into your shoulder as the wind roars. Behind the scream, Ahyeon can still feel the excitement of swinging around with her boyfriend for the first time.

GANGNAM-GU - MORNING

You swing through the city confidently, weaving between buildings and over traffic with precision. Ahyeon clings tighter each time you arc high, her fists gripping your jacket like her life depends on it - technically, it really does. Her face is buried against your shoulder, but despite her squealing and yelling, you can sense she’s loving this.

Eventually, you land smoothly on a secluded rooftop in Gangnam - your favorite spot. It’s quiet here. High above the chaos down there, nice wind and the view is unimaginable. But Ahyeon doesn’t let go. You take off your mask with one hand before speaking.

“Hey.” your hand is still on her butt to keep her secure. “We’re here.”

“No.” she huffs into your neck, refusing to budge.

You laugh. “You’re still holding on to me like I’m gonna throw you off the roof.”

She finally leans back, cheeks red and eyes glaring at you. “You almost gave me a heart attack and killed me mid air.”

You just smile and carry her over to the bench near the ledge, setting her down gently before sitting next to her. Ahyeon instantly curls into your side, arms still looped around your torso like a koala - your koala. Her head rests on your shoulder, legs curled up on the bench, the food her mom packed still cradled on her lap. 

The city spreads out in front of the two of you, morning sunlight shines on everything beautifully.

“You okay now?”

“No.” Ahyeon’s voice is muffled. “But I like this.”

You smile, resting your cheek on her head.

Yeah, I like this too.

“So what did your mom pack for us?” you glance down the bag on her lag.

“Food. Obviously, dummy.” she doesn’t move.

You grin and gently pry the bag from her. “Let me guess. Kimbap, some snacks. And-” you peek inside. “Yep. Even fruit and some yogurt. Your mom must really like me, Ahyeon-ah.”

Ahyeon just hums, face still hidden against you. You chuckle, unwrapping one of the kimbap rolls and popping one into your mouth. 

“Mmm. Still warm.”

Then you take another piece, this time holding it to her face. “Say ah.”

She shifts a little, peeking up with a pout. 

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby.” you say, smiling. She glares but opens her mouth anyway, biting the kimbap from your fingers.

“There you go.” you then wipe the corner of her lips with your thumb and sneak a kiss to her temple.

“You always deny it but you love me too much.”

The city below buzzes beneath the morning sky. Ahyeon’s head still rests against your shoulder, finally relaxed, fingers absently toying with your chest. You then talk for what feels like an hour - about school, about all the crazy things you did. You told her a few more stories - how your web shooters exploded, how you got chased by a dog the first night you went out to fight crimes. She laughs at that one. The wind carries her laughter, soft and bright.

“Hey.” you glance down at Ahyeon.

She hums.

“Do you… maybe wanna help me make a new suit?”

She looks up, blinking. “Suit?”

“I mean, I’m just wearing normal clothing and some gears I modified when I go out swinging around and fight crimes. They don’t really last that long. I want to make something better now, with you. Something… ours, I guess.”

You can see the thoughts turning in her head, her expression slowly blooming into something soft and steady.

“You want me to help you make a superhero suit?”

You nod. “You’re the only one I trust to do it with me. You’re smart, creative. And I need someone to remind me whenever I get too crazy with my ideas.”

“Like sticking to the ceiling and kissing your girlfriend with no warning?” she smiles.

“Exactly.”

She shifts to your face fully, a spark in her eyes. 

“Okay. Let’s build you a new suit together.”

A few minutes passes by in peaceful silence. She then leans back a little, playing with the food box before glancing at you with a curious look.

“Do you actually like the nickname people give you?”

You blink. “The Red Mask?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Tiktok.”

You exhale, eyes on the city skyline. “Uhh… not really. Sounds just like a cheap horror movie villain.”

Ahyeon snorts. “Then why don’t you pick a new one?”

Oh yeah.

“Any ideas?”

She perks up, suddenly excited. “Well, that billionaire guy in America wears a metal suit and calls himself Iron Man. And that king from Wakanda in the vibranium panther suit? Black Panther. That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, that is cool. And I swing around, so…”

“Monkey?” she offers, half serious half joking. “Monkey Man?”

You turn to her slowly.

“No, dummy. Monkeys don’t stick to walls like I do.”

Ahyeon giggles. “But they climb! Okay, okay… Sticky Boy? Stick Wall Man?”

“I’m gonna drop you when we swing home, baby.”

Ahyeon then burst out laughing, pure joy on her face.

“Okay, okay. Seriously- Umm, Spider… Spider Boy?”

You pause for a moment, considering it.

“...Spider Man?”

She tilts her head. “Yeah. Spider Man.”

You grin slowly. 

“Alright then, Seoul’s one and only Spider Man.”

She nudges your side. 

“You’re welcome by the way. But you’re Spider Boy to me.”

You lean your head onto hers.

“I’m whatever you want.”

And I’m Spider Man.

*cue The Amazing Spider Man theme*

tah dah

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

yayyy!!! ahyeonie!!! let me know what u guys think about this one. first time writing this kind of setting so... yeah

[solxamber]

For Valentine's Event🫶🏽 Azul, Romantic [Sleepless by Dutch Melrose]

"Everything leads back to you" || Azul Ashengrotto

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Sleepless by Dutch Melrose

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 750

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pining, Friends to lovers, Azul’s a little possessive

Azul doesn’t know when it started—this pining.

Perhaps it was the first time you smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, laughter bubbling from your lips so effortlessly while he stood there, stunned, trying to figure out how someone like you had walked into his life.

Or maybe it was the first time you defended him. The first time you stood in front of him like a shield, words sharp and unwavering, cutting down anyone who dared mock him.

Or maybe it had always been there, lingering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to take hold.

Either way, he knows one thing for certain—everything leads right back to you.

And it's driving him insane.

Every night, Azul lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in endless circles.

What if you wake up tomorrow and love someone else?

The thought alone makes his stomach churn.

You aren't his. Not really. You're friends—but not lovers. There’s something between you, something unsaid, something that sits heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

But every time he sees you smile at someone else, every time he watches you throw your head back in laughter at someone else’s joke, every time he watches you slip through his fingers just a little more, his heart screams—

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

And yet, he does nothing.

Because Azul Ashengrotto does not confess first. He does not put his heart on the line without guarantees. He does not chase after things he might lose.

But he wants you.

He wants you so badly that it hurts.

One night, he snaps.

"Azul?" you blink at him, confused as he stands in front of you, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. "What's wrong?"

"You tell me." His voice is sharper than intended, but he can’t bring himself to care. "What are we?"

You tilt your head, amused. "Friends?"

The word feels like a slap.

His grip tightens. "Just friends?"

A pause. You study him carefully, a flicker of something unreadable passing through your eyes.

"You tell me."

Azul hates how the words hit him, how they feel like a challenge. He hates how you look at him like that, like you already know the answer, like you’re just waiting for him to say it.

His pride wars with his desperation.

But then you take a step forward, so close that he can see his own reflection in your eyes. Your lips part, as if you’re about to say something—

And it’s over.

He caves.

"I'm Yours."

Your breath hitches. Azul swallows hard, hands trembling as he finally, finally says it.

"I've always been yours. And it’s driving me mad because I don't know if you’re mine."

A heartbeat of silence. His pulse pounds in his ears.

Then, you smile.

"You idiot."

And before he can process it, your lips are on his.

Soft. Warm. Real.

It takes him a second to catch up, to realize what's happening, to understand that this isn't a dream. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, desperate to keep you there, to keep you from slipping away ever again.

And when you finally pull back, breathless, eyes shining, you whisper, "I've always been yours, too."

And Azul thinks—by some miracle, by some twist of fate, he’s won.

He still has sleepless nights.

Even with you curled up beside him, safe and warm, he still lies awake sometimes, watching you breathe.

His fingers trace the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes flutter slightly in sleep. His heart clenches.

Because even now—especially now—he’s terrified.

What if you wake up tomorrow and realize he's not enough?

What if you wake up and decide you want more—more than what he can give?

Azul has never been someone who trusts easily, and his fears have always been his greatest enemy.

But then you stir.

You blink up at him, sleepy and soft, frowning as you reach for him blindly. "Go to sleep, Azul," you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion. "You're thinking too much again."

Before he can respond, you press a drowsy kiss to his lips, barely a whisper of warmth before you nuzzle into his chest and fall right back asleep.

Azul freezes.

His heart feels too full, too warm, too much—

He exhales.

Closes his eyes.

Holds you just a little tighter.

And as he drifts off, he thinks—

Everything leads right back to you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[sapphicstrawcore]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ “It’s just a ride, babe.” (Sevika x you)

—Final girl pt2 ! (pt1)

synopsis: highschool au ! Halloween night. The air smells like cotton candy and fake blood, and your girlfriend looks criminal in a crimson leather jacket under flickering orange lights. The amusement park is packed, loud, and just spooky enough to make your heart race—for more reasons than one. You’ve been together for a few weeks now, and Sevika’s still everything: steady, smug, a little too hot for someone who isn’t even scared in haunted houses. But if you’re scared ? Sevika is there to help you forget about it.

girls kissing :: fluff :: she loves your butt :: teenagers being in love and horny

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ The second Sevika parks, you’re already unbuckling. You shove the door open, boots hitting pavement with a loud clack clack clack as you sprint around the front of the car like it’s a race.

Your high-heeled thigh boots were definitely not made for running, but who cares—it’s Halloween night, you’re finally here, and the air smells like caramel apples and cheap fog machine chemicals.

“Janna,” Sevika mutters behind the windshield as you fling open her door. She’s still sitting there, one hand on the steering wheel, the other caught mid-reach—your body half-blocking hers, eyes already lit up with excitement.

You grin at her, breathless. “Let’s go!”

She lifts an eyebrow, chuckling low in her throat. “What, you gonna drag me through the gates?”

You trap her hand between both of yours and pull gently. “Maybe.”

Another scream cuts through the air—not like someone’s hurt, but like they think they are. Terrified. Somewhere inside the park, a chainsaw revs and fake thunder rolls across the sky. You both glance toward the massive, glowing archway that reads ZAUN: NIGHT OF TERROR, ringed in flickering orange bulbs and fog pouring from beneath it. Shadows of moving figures flicker against the light—some masked, some running, some chasing.

You beam.

Sevika snorts, finally stepping out of the car. Her crimson leather jacket creaks as she adjusts it, one hand going instinctively to the cigarette tucked behind her ear. She looks down at you—your smoky eye makeup, your black mesh sleeves, the heels she definitely made fun of earlier—and hums.

“You’re gonna fall in those boots,” she says, but she’s smiling, just a little, in that way that makes your stomach flip. Her eyes were not on your boots. More on your ass looking really good in this short dress.

You lace your fingers through hers, cheeks warm of excitement and something else you won’t name. “Then catch me. And I know your eyes are not on my shoes.”

She huffs a laugh, already letting you pull her toward the entrance.

Behind you, another scream echoes through the night.

Perfect.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You don’t let go of Sevika’s hand.

Not when the first fog machine hisses past your legs. Not when a stilt-walker in a bloody clown costume lurches through the crowd. Not when someone in a plague doctor mask jumps out of a dark corner, shrieking. Not even when you trip a little on uneven pavement—but you recover like a champ, playing it off with a breathless laugh.

Not even when you nearly trip over a hay bale someone dumped in the middle of the path for aesthetic.

She doesn’t let go either.

She’s not saying much—just walking beside you like she always does, tall and grounded and somehow completely unfazed by the chaos of chainsaws and fake corpses all around. Her hand is warm and steady in yours, callused at the knuckles, her thumb occasionally grazing your palm.

You’re buzzing.

The park’s loud and chaotic and full of orange lights and screams echoing from every direction. Your favorite night of the year, and Sevika’s next to you in that damn leather jacket like she was built for this. Half the girls in the park probably stared when you walked in. Good.

You tug her forward, too hyped to stand still. “C’mon, we have to do the coffin drop ride before the line’s insane—”

You walk ahead just a step too fast, laughing as you go, but then—

—just as you take another too-fast step—she lets go of your hand.

Smack!

Your gasp echoes louder than it should. Not painful, but firm. Possessive. Enough to make your cheeks burn instantly.

You feel it jiggle under her palm. And so does she.

You spin around so fast your heel nearly catches. “Sevika!”

Shes grinning now, not even trying to hide it. One brow raised, hands in her jacket pockets now, completely unbothered. Leather jacket open just enough to flash the edge of her black tank top, hair tucked behind one ear, and that same cigarette still perched there like it belongs.

“Where do you think you’re going, babe?” she says, calm as anything. “You’re practically running.”

You narrow your eyes, pressing your lips together to hide the way you’re definitely smiling. “I was excited.”

“Mm.” She takes a step forward, tilting her head like she’s sizing you up. “Looked more like you were running from me.”

You stare at her. “That is not what that was.”

“Mm.” she steps just a bit closer, “ you complaining ?”

Your brain short-circuits just a little, but you manage a roll of your eyes, nose scrunching as you turn away.

“I hate when you do that.”

“No you don’t.”

She’s right.

After a beat, she adds, “You’re looking for it.”

She’s even more right.

Because you’re still smiling when you walk ahead again, cheeks hot, ears burning—and she’s still behind you, hand brushing yours, smirk like she knows she’ll do it again the second she feels like it.

And just to tease you, she slaps your ass again but more gently this time, making you laugh and try to run away in your high thigh boots and your short dress riding up just enough, your hot girlfriend running after you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You’re laughing before you even step inside.

It’s dim. Cold. Lit only by flickering green and purple LED strips lining the floor and ceiling. The entrance door shuts behind you with a click, and instantly you’re surrounded—mirrors in every direction, all warped just enough to feel off.

You take one step forward and immediately flinch—face to face with yourself. Again. And again. And behind you? Sevika. In four different places at once.

“Okay, this is—this is so dumb,” you giggle, holding out a hand like it’ll help. “Who even builds these things?”

Sevika snorts behind you. “Sadists.”

You spin around—and bump into her chest.

Not her reflection. Her. Real, warm, solid Sevika.

You squeak as her hands come up instinctively to catch your waist. She’s laughing too now, low and steady, that gravelly kind of laugh that always makes your stomach dip.

“I thought you were over there,” you breathe, pointing to one of the many Sevika-shaped reflections to your right.

She shrugs, trying really hard not to laugh. “Guess I’m everywhere.”

You groan dramatically and push at her chest, but she doesn’t budge. Her fingers tighten on your waist for just a second, enough to make your pulse spike. It’s dark enough that you know she sees the heat in your face—but you keep walking anyway.

“Okay, okay, we gotta get out of here. This was your idea.”

“It was yours.”

Liar.

You turn a corner—and immediately bonk your head gently against a mirror. “Ow!”

Sevika barks out a laugh behind you. “Babe. Come on.”

“I swear this thing is cursed.”

“I swear you have no sense of direction.”

You shoot her a glare through the nearest mirror, only it’s not her—it’s you, scowling at your own reflection. You whirl around, eyes wide, already disoriented again.

“Wait. Sev—?”

“Here.” Her voice echoes from somewhere to the left.

You spin again, only to catch her reflection—then a second later, her hand finds yours. Real. Warm. Confident fingers lacing between yours like she’s done this before.

“How do you even know where we’re going?” you mutter, tugging her close so you don’t lose her again.

She smirks, brushing her shoulder against yours. “I don’t.” You shoot her a look.

“…But you panic cute.”

You smack her arm. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet—” she tugs you slightly forward, pulling you closer as another dead-end mirror looms in front of you “—here you are, willingly trapped with me.”

The laughter doesn’t stop as you stumble into another wrong turn and crash together again—your back hitting her chest, her arms looping around you instinctively, like it’s not even a thought.

The mirrors around you feel closer now, trapping you in this warped little world of flickering lights and too many reflections. All of them showing the same thing: you and Sevika, pressed too close, shadows and smirks, her eyes sharp and knowing, yours wide and unsure if you should look at her or the mirror—or maybe just close your eyes entirely.

“Pretty sure this maze is just an excuse to make out in the dark,” you say breathlessly.

Sevika tilts her head. Her grip at your waist doesn’t change, but something in her gaze sharpens—like she’s seeing through the joke for what it really is.

She raises a brow.

“Wanna try?” she asks, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Your stomach drops and flips all at once. You blink up at her—lips already parted like your brain can’t decide what to do with itself. Her smirk widens, but it’s not cocky this time. It’s warm. Patient. Teasing in the best, loving way.

You try to scoff. You try to act normal. “You’re ridiculous.”

Sevika leans in, slow and smooth, voice low like it’s meant just for you—even if ten other fake versions of her are saying it all around you in reflection.

“But you’re thinking about it.”

God, you are.

You glance sideways. A hundred mirrors show you the same moment: her mouth close to yours, her hand at your waist, your hand still clutching hers like you’re scared to let go and get lost again.

Your smile falters for a second. The nerves spike.

“It’s just a maze,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

“Exactly.” Her thumb grazes your hipbone, slow and grounding. “No one’s watching.”

You look back at her—really look—and you know what she’s doing. She’s giving you the chance to back out. That same quiet, practiced confidence, but never pushy. Never rushing you. She knows you haven’t done this before. Not like this. Not with a girl like her.

But God, you want to.

So you nod, almost shyly. “Okay.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

Sevika’s hand lifts from your hip to cradle your jaw, fingers warm against your cheek. Her lips find yours in one smooth, confident motion, like she’s done this before—because of course she has—but she still kisses you like it matters. Like she wants it to matter.

And everything else—the mirrors, the stupid maze, the faint sounds of screams echoing from some distant haunted house—fades.

It’s just her.

And her mouth is soft but sure, her thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone, your body relaxing slowly into hers like it belongs there. The kiss deepens, just slightly at first—enough to make your knees weak and your heart race in that dizzy, fluttery way that feels brand new.

You barely realize your arms have looped around her shoulders until she smiles into your mouth.

You’re both breathing a little bit harder, but you don’t stop the kiss. If anything, she press her body to yours even more.

You feel one of her hand go down slowly, controlled, until she’s squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs through the fabric of your thin dress, playing with the hem of it with one of her fingers.

She’s teasing, playing.

And you’re falling for it.

Your cheeks are burning. Your breath comes fast. And your reflection in the mirror?

Yeah. You’re absolutely wrecked in the best way.

When she finally pulls back, it’s slow. Deliberate. Like she knows you’ll chase after her lips if she gives you the chance.

Sevika’s close, forehead brushing yours, eyes half-lidded and voice low. “Still think this maze is dumb?”

You let out a laugh—breathy, giddy, a little dazed. “Okay… Best attraction here, actually.”

Her grin returns, wide and wolfish. “Told you.”

You smack her shoulder weakly, but you’re still smiling too hard to make it count.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖ You finally find the exit to the mirror maze—only after a solid ten more minutes of kissing behind glass corners, accidentally scaring yourselves with your own reflections, and laughing so hard you nearly collapse against each other.

You’re flushed. Dizzy. Maybe a little kiss-drunk. Maybe damp down there, and Sevika hasn’t let go of your hand since.

The second the cool outside air hits your face, you’re gasping like you’ve just come up for air. The fog machines around the park spit out fresh plumes of thick mist, the shrieks of other thrillseekers cutting through the music that pulses from distant speakers.

You barely have time to recover before Sevika stops short, tugging your hand gently to pull you beside her.

She’s staring straight ahead—eyes lit up, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Hell yeah.” She looks at you, tugging your hand again. “Come on.”

You follow her gaze—and your stomach plummets.

Towering above the entire park, lit with flickering orange and red lights, is the biggest roller coaster you’ve ever seen. It rises like some demonic steel serpent into the sky, curves at an angle no sane person should survive, and disappears into a cave structure surrounded by grotesque demon statues, glowing red eyes and all. Above the queue entrance, in bright flashing letters, it reads: a few threats of death.

It’s ridiculous, it shouldn’t be that scary.

But does it work ? Yes.

Yes, it works. You’re scared.

You blink. And then again.

“Absolutely not.”

Sevika laughs—cackles, actually. “Oh, we’re doing that.”

Your grip on her hand tightens like it’ll anchor you to the earth. “That thing looks like it’s possessed.”

“Probably is.”

You glare at her. “Stop that. There are literally demons guarding the entrance.”

“Yeah, they’re hot.”

You slap her arm.

The closer you get, the worse it looks. Fake flames shoot up from the entrance. The costumed staff aren’t even trying to be welcoming—they’re dressed like tired corpse-faced executioners. The biggest grotesque demon guarding the entrance is saying in a deep robotic voice things like “YOU WON’T MAKE IT OUT ALIVE” and “SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR SOULS.”

Sevika looks absolutely delighted.

You stop dead in your tracks. “Sev. No.”

She finally looks at you—smirking, but not teasing. At least not only teasing. “Don’t be scared, baby. You told me you liked roller coasters.”

You sighs and play with her fingers in your hand like it will make you less anxious. It doesn’t work. “I do. But this is all very scary. You know— everything.”

“Hey.” Her voice drops a little as she steps in front of you, blocking your view of the terrifying gates of doom. “You really that scared?”

You scowl, which is 80% covering up panic. “Obviously.”

Her eyes flick over your face, lips twitching—not mocking, but softening. She leans in slightly, brushing her nose against yours, voice quieter. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

You exhale. “Yeah, I know…”

“Good.”

She kiss your lips for half a second before pulling back with a shit-eating grin and jerking her head toward the entrance.

“Let’s go, babe. Death’s waiting.”

“Stop saying things like that!”

She’s already pulling you forward, laughing under her breath. You go. Of course you go. Because you’re in deep now—and not just with the haunted rollercoaster.

The line moves slow.

Which should be a good thing—more time to breathe, to calm down, to mentally prepare.

Instead, every few steps forward, you get a better view of the ride.

The screams. The drop. The way the cars disappear into total blackness and don’t come out again for a full ten seconds.

You press closer to Sevika, trying not to look like you’re hiding even though you absolutely are. Her hoodie smells like smoke and blueberry gum, and you tuck your face into her chest like that’ll block out the sound of the girl in front of you shrieking “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

“Babe,” you mumble into the soft fabric. “This was a mistake.”

“Nah,” Sevika says lazily, totally unbothered, hugging you just like you’re hugging her —or hiding in her—. “We haven’t even gotten on yet.”

“That’s the problem.”

She snorts. Her arms are around you, keeping you pressed to her like she’s already claimed you as hers, no take-backs.

You try to slow your breathing. You try to focus on the fact that people survive this every day. You try not to think about your funeral playlist.

Then—you feel it.

Her hands going lower.

Until you feel a light pat on your ass. Then another. And another. Rhythmic.

You freeze.

“Sevika,” you mutter, muffled against her hoodie, “are you playing the drums on my ass right now?”

“Yup.”

You lean back to look at her, and she’s got the most infuriating little smirk on her face. Like she’s fully enjoying herself. Like she knows what she’s doing and is thriving off your reaction.

She shrugs, totally unbothered. “You looked tense. Music helps.”

“Oh my God.”

You try to glare at her, but she just drums a little faster, making an actual melody and grinning like a menace.

“Stop that,” you hiss, glancing around. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“It’s dark,” she says. “Foggy. Nobody’s looking.”

“I’m looking!”

“Then you’re welcome.”

You smack her chest lightly, face burning, but you don’t move away. Because her arm feels good around you. Because her teasing is actually helping, somehow. Because she’s acting like this is fun, and that energy’s infectious.

You settle back into her chest with a sigh.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, lips brushing your temple. “But it helps you relax.”

The line shuffles forward again, closer to the front. You can see the coaster now—almost time. Your stomach flips.

But Sevika’s still there, arms around you and both hands casually drumming a lazy beat on your ass like the most relaxed, annoying, hot girlfriend in the world.

And weirdly?

You’re starting to feel okay.

When it’s finally your turn, your legs feel like jelly. You walk toward the ride like you’re marching to your death—and it looks like it, too. The carts are all black with red claw marks painted on the sides, the kind that glow under the UV lights. The staff members stand waiting, dressed like demonic priests in long robes and blackened eyes, and the closer you get, the worse it gets.

“Keep your hands and legs inside the cart at all times…” one of them says, voice low and raspy.

“Unless you want them ripped off,” another adds with a manic grin.

You shoot them a look.

“Please don’t do that,” you mutter, climbing into the seat, still clinging to Sevika’s hand. “Just be normal. Why can’t anyone here be normal?”

The last staff member pulls the bar down with a loud click, leans down to double-check your seatbelt, and murmurs:

“Don’t forget to pray.”

You stare at him, deadpan. Your eyes almost in furry.

“Fuck off.”

Sevika loses it.

Her laugh is loud, warm, and entirely too delighted. She’s sitting beside you, already settling in like this is the best night of her life.

“Janna,” she says, still chuckling. “You’re such a menace when you’re scared.”

“You brought me here.”

“Hell yeah. And it’s worth it. You look like you’re about to cut someone’s throat.”

You barely have time to respond before the cart jerks forward. Your heart stutters—and then the dreaded clack-clack-clack begins.

The climb.

It’s steeper than you thought. Way steeper. You lean back into the seat, clutching the safety bar like it’s a lifeline, your whole body tense. The higher you go, the more the park falls away beneath you. Lights blur. Screams echo somewhere behind. And the wind picks up, cold and sharp against your face.

Sevika, of course, is chill as hell.

She’s got one arm stretched along the back of your seat, legs wide, like this is just another lazy Friday night. She glances over at you once, takes in your death grip on the bar, and raises an eyebrow.

“You breathing?”

“No.”

She grins.

“Want me to distract you?”

Your eyes dart to her. “How the fuck—”

Before you can finish, she leans in and kisses you. Just like that. Slow and sure, mouth warm against yours, like she’s got all the time in the world.

The coaster hasn’t even crested the top yet.

Your brain short-circuits. You melt into it without meaning to—half from nerves, half from how casually she just does it. Like kissing you at the edge of death is the most normal thing in the world.

When she pulls back, you’re breathless.

“Don’t look down.” she says, smirking.

“What ?”

Because you’ve just reached the top.

And there’s a full second of silence, suspended in the air, Sevika’s hand still brushing your thigh.

And then—

the drop.

You don’t even have time to scream at first. Your stomach flies up into your throat and your soul definitely tries to escape your body. It’s like falling into a black hole—your vision blurs, wind slaps your face, and Sevika is yelling something next to you that you cannot hear over the way your own voice finally rips out of your chest.

You scream so loud you don’t even recognize your own voice.

The cart whips around a corner. You slam into Sevika, who barely budges, one hand gripping the bar, the other still casually around your shoulders like she isn’t about to be launched into hell.

She throws her head back, laughing.

“YOU GOOD, BABY?!”

“NO!”

Another twist. You scream again. The cart drops out from under you in a sudden dip and shoots back up before you can even process it.

Another twist. You scream again. The cart drops out from under you in a sudden dip and shoots back up before you can even process it.

“I HATE YOU,” you yell, eyes squeezed shut.

“YOU’RE HAVING FUN!”

You open your eyes just long enough to see a loop coming—and immediately regret it.

“SEVIKA—“

“I GOT YOU!”

You don’t know what she means by that, but a second later, your body flips upside down, the world spins, and you swear you see your life flash before your eyes.

Then it’s over. Just that part.

The coaster doesn’t stop. It never stops. Another turn, another drop, and you’re halfway in Sevika’s lap at this point, your hand clawing at her thigh like you can anchor yourself there.

She just laughs again, breathless and thrilled.

“You’re insane!” you scream.

She looks over, wind tossing her hair, cheeks flushed, grinning like a devil. “So are you!”

Somewhere in the chaos, she leans in and presses a quick, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby—” another sharp twist—“you’re not even crying!”

You punch her arm mid-turn.

“I WILL IF THIS THING DOESN’T END—”

You can barely breathe. Your throat is raw. Your heart’s sprinting. Sevika’s laughing like she’s drunk on adrenaline and the sound of your terrified shrieking. And weirdly?

You kind of love it.

The ride finally starts to slow—braking hard, jerking you both forward. Your head whips back against the seat, and your hair’s probably a disaster, but you made it.

You slump against Sevika, chest heaving, body still buzzing with panic and… okay, fine, maybe a tiny bit of exhilaration.

Your eyes are wet and you feel a tear running down your cheek but you don’t sob. It’s just the shock.

Beside you, Sevika exhales a deep breath—satisfied, like she just got laid. She stretches her arms out over her head, grinning wide, thriving.

Then she looks over. And sees you.

The only thing she can do at the moment is laughing.

She reaches over, gentle now, brushing her thumb under your eye to catch a stray tear. Then she leans down, presses her lips to your temple, and grins.

“Wanna go again?”

You groan.

“Only if I get to scream into your mouth this time.”

She laughs so hard the guy in the next row stares.

As silly as it can seem, it’s already too much for me to write sexual tension lmao. I kinda feel naked and exposed. Probably won’t write more than girls kissing and curious hands 💔 I LOVE my teasing sev headcanon though, it was so fun writing her playing with reader’s ass like that😔 most probably because I love doing that too ngl

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos @blessupblessup @riotstemple29 @lia-winther @shxdy0ariia

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Eight - The Battle of Starcourt

Summary: It was the final battle in the mall, but you would have never expected what was going to happen in the end.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, angst, fluff, blood, violence, weapons, college, moving away

Word Count: 7k

Note: Last chapter of season three! I’m so excited to write season four, but I think those chapters may or may not take longer to write and get out so expect possible delays in between posting new chapters!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

“What is that?!” Erica shouted, eyes wide as she stared at Eleven’s leg. The piece of the Mind Flayer was still writhing beneath her skin, making Eleven scream in agony.

“Keep her talking!” Jonathan yelled, already running off to find something, anything, to help remove the creature. “Keep her awake, okay?”

Your full attention was on Eleven, desperate to distract her from the pain. Mike cradled her in his arms, then looked at you urgently.

“Help me get her on her side!” He said.

You nodded and gently helped roll Eleven onto her side, hoping the shift in position might ease some of her pain.

Robin suddenly began to ramble in a panic. “You know, it’s…it’s not actually that bad. I mean, the goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg and the bone came out of her knee–”

You stared at Steve with wide, alarmed eyes, silently pleading for him to make her stop. Steve caught your look and turned to Robin.

“It was like six inches or something, it was insane–”

“Robin,” Steve cut her off.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry,” she winced, turning her gaze back to Eleven.

Jonathan returned with a knife and a wooden spoon, crouching down beside Eleven.

“Okay, El? This is gonna hurt like hell, alright?” He warned, pulling on a pair of gloves.

Eleven, already sobbing, gave a tearful nod. “Okay.”

He handed her the spoon. “Need you to stay real still. You’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin muttered, horrified as Jonathan prepared to cut into her skin.

Your heart pounded as you held onto Eleven, offering as much comfort as you could. Jonathan looked at you, silently asking for permission to proceed.

You inhaled shakily, but nodded. “Do it.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth, lowering the knife to her leg. The second the blade pierced her skin, Eleven let out a blood-curdling scream. Everyone turned away, unable to watch. You kept holding her, grounding her through the pain.

He tried to reach inside with his fingers, but the creature squirmed deeper, out of reach.

“Jonathan!” You cried. “It’s not working!”

“Stop talking!” He snapped.

“No!” Eleven screamed, spitting out the spoon. “Stop! Stop!”

Nancy rushed forward and grabbed Jonathan’s shoulder. He stopped instantly, pulling his hand back as Eleven sat up, trembling and sobbing.

“I can do it,” she said, panting. “I can do it.”

Beside you, Steve slid down and sat close. He saw your shallow breathing, the way your hands trembled. Without saying a word, he reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. You squeezed back without looking, grounding yourself in his presence.

Eleven placed her hand over the wound, her face scrunched in pain. Using every bit of her strength, she used her powers. The creature resisted, writhing violently, but she was stronger. She screamed as she forced it out.

Suddenly, the glass windows of a nearby store exploded, shards raining down. Instinctively, you threw your arms over your head. Steve immediately shielded you with his body, keeping you safe.

The creature hit the floor with a sickening thud and began to crawl away, until a heavy shoe came down, crushing it completely.

You looked up, your breath catching.

Standing there were Yasmin, Joyce, Hopper, and Murray.

You stood beside Nancy and Jonathan as your group explained everything to the others.

“The Mind Flayer built this monster in Hawkins,” Mike said. “To stop El, to kill her, and to pave the way into our world.”

“And it almost did,” Max added. “That was just one tiny piece of it.”

“Wait, so…how big is this thing?” Yasmin asked.

“It’s big,” Jonathan replied. “Thirty feet, at least.”

“Yeah,” Lucas chimed in, glancing apologetically at Hopper. “It, uh…sort of destroyed your cabin. Sorry.”

Hopper just sighed.

“So just to be clear…” Steve started, clearly trying to wrap his head around it. “This big, fleshy spider thing that hurt El, it’s basically some kind of gigantic weapon?”

“Yes,” you answered.

“But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon…with melted people?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow and shrugging slightly. “Yeah, okay. I’m…just making sure.”

“Are we sure it’s still out there?” Joyce asked, skeptical. “Still alive?”

“El beat the shit out of it,” Max said. “But yeah, it’s still alive.”

“But if we close the gate again…” Will began.

“We cut the brain off from the body,” Max said.

“And kill it,” Lucas added. He looked around. “Theoretically.”

You all exchanged looks, everything about the situation sinking in.

“Yoo-hoo!” Murray’s voice echoed from across the mall as he jogged over, waving papers in the air. “Yoo-hoo!”

He slammed blueprints of the Russian base onto the table. Everyone gathered around as he explained what he knew. But Erica and Dustin quickly chimed in, shooting the plan down. They’d been down there for a day and nearly died. They insisted they knew the tunnels better than anyone and had a better chance getting around.

They were adamant about going down into the Russian base with the adults to help close the gate. Hopper shook his head firmly, refusing to let them go. Erica and Dustin groaned in frustration.

Yasmin chuckled at their persistence, then made her way over to you. You smiled, hugging your mom for what felt like the hundredth time since reuniting.

“I knew you and Joyce were acting weird,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Yasmin chuckled. “Yeah, well…you’d think I’d be a better liar.”

You scoffed. “It’s definitely ironic.”

She rolled her eyes, then pulled back to take a good look at you. “You okay, sweetie? You didn’t get hurt fighting that thing?”

You considered telling her about the back of your head, but decided not to worry her. Not right now. You shook your head. “I’m fine. The Mind Flayer, though? Can’t say the same.”

Eventually, Hopper reconsidered and handed Dustin a walkie. “Hey, heads up. You can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

Dustin explained that he had already set up a radio tower at the highest point in Hawkins. To stay in contact from that distance, they’d need a head start and a car.

Hopper let out a frustrated sigh, then tossed him the keys. “Go.”

You watched as Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Erica grouped together, preparing to leave. Steve caught your eye and gave a small wave. You waved back, wanting to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Murray, meanwhile, gathered you, Nancy, and Jonathan. He handed over the keys to his house in Illinois and rattled off the combinations to every lock. You all listened closely, trying to absorb every detail. When he was done, Murray placed the keys in Jonathan’s hand and walked off without another word.

You walked over to your mom again and wrapped your arms tightly around her. “Please be safe,” you whispered into her shoulder.

Yasmin let out a soft sigh. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie,” she said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know how to handle myself.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding. “I know you do.”

She smiled, cupping your face in her hands. “Just…stay safe. Far away from all of this. Okay?”

“I will, mom,” you said.

You turned to join Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids. Mike and Max were helping Eleven walk. All of them felt tense. Just as you started to move, you heard your name.

You turned back. Hopper stood there, arms open. “Come here.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him. He held you protectively, the way a father would. And that’s what he was to you.

“Be careful,” you murmured.

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes. “Don’t get into trouble.”

You grinned. “You too, dad.”

Hopper’s smile grew wider at the word. He watched you head off, pride in his eyes. Yasmin stepped up beside him, her gaze following the kids as they moved away. She noticed Hopper staring and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” She asked, unsure why he was looking at her like that.

He just shook his head slightly, still smiling, and said nothing.

As you climbed into Nancy’s car with the others, a strange feeling settled in your chest. You couldn’t shake that persistent thought that something was about to go terribly wrong tonight.

Nancy jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, but it didn’t start. She tried again. Still nothing.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“I…I don’t know,” Nancy stammered, her panic rising. The engine sputtered but wouldn’t start. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Come on!” She shouted, slamming the steering wheel.

“Didn’t your mom just buy this car?” Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. I’m sure it’s fine,” Nancy said, trying to stay calm.

“Did you leave the lights on?” Will questioned.

“No.”

“Do we have gas?” Lucas added.

“Yes!” Nancy snapped. She kept turning the key, but it was useless. “Come on!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop!” Jonathan said from the backseat. “Pop the hood.”

The three of you climbed out. Nancy popped the hood while Jonathan leaned over the engine. His face tightened.

“What?” Nancy asked.

“The ignition cable’s gone.”

You frowned. That wasn’t just a malfunction, someone did this.

A car engine revved in the distance. The three of you snapped your heads to see Billy’s Camaro in the far distance, facing towards you.

Your blood ran cold.

You rushed to the car, banging the door open. “Back in the mall! Go!”

The kids scrambled out and sprinted back inside. You followed close behind, hearts pounding.

Inside, Mike grabbed his walkie and tried calling Dustin and the others. “Come on, come on, answer…” But there was nothing. You were trapped in the mall.

Pacing, your eyes landed on Nancy crouching next to one of the Russian guard’s bodies. She picked up a gun, checking it over.

You instinctively reached for your own gun in your holster to make sure it was still there.

“You’re gonna kill him, aren’t you?” Max asked.

“It’s just a precaution, okay?” Nancy said firmly.

Will looked between them. “And not just Billy. If he knows we’re here…so does the Mind Flayer.”

Nancy’s eyes flicked toward the crashed car at the other end of the mall. “No chance that thing’ll drive, right?”

You blinked, the idea hitting you instantly. “Nance! You’re a genius.”

Nancy blinked in confusion, but Jonathan caught on.

“We don’t need it to drive,” he said. “We just need the ignition cable.”

You all ran to the damaged car, trying to tip it, but it was too heavy.

“Let me try,” Eleven said, limping forward.

“El–” Mike started.

“I can do it.”

You all stepped back as Eleven tried. She focused, but nothing happened. Her powers weren’t working. You stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, El. You rest. I’ve got an idea.”

With your instructions, thanks to junior year physics, you used leverage and teamwork. Using different tools from the mall and pure strength, you pushed until the car rocked, then flipped upright.

“Told you. Physics,” you said, breathless.

Nancy popped the hood. You and Jonathan worked on opening it. He grunted in frustration, so you stepped in and forced it open. Once you managed to open it, you dug through the engine.

Your stomach twisted again, knowing that something wasn’t right. Jonathan finally yanked the ignition cable loose when you heard Mike’s voice shout.

“Nancy!” Mike shouted.

You all looked up. Through the glass ceiling above, the Mind Flayer was stomping on top, ready to fall right through.

“It’s taking too long,” Hopper muttered, pacing restlessly in front of the door. Joyce was checking the adjacent room while they waited for Murray’s signal.

Yasmin let out a breath and rolled her eyes. “It’s not. Stop being so impatient.”

“She could’ve died back there,” Hopper said, the worry thick in his voice. “She almost did.”

Yasmin’s expression softened as she looked at him. “She’s safe now. She’s on her way to Murray’s. That thing won’t find her. Not before we kill it.”

Hopper turned to face her, hands on his hips. “Hey, this isn’t how this is supposed to go, all right?”

Yasmin raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘I told you so. That’s why we needed to go back to the kids,’” Hopper continued.

“Oh, right,” Yasmin said with a smirk, then began to mock him. “Yeah, you’d be like, ‘well, it’s hard to listen to you when you always make everything sound like the end of the world.’”

Hopper blinked, looking slightly offended. “I don’t sound like that.”

She just grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

He shook his head. “You know…despite everything, despite all the arguing…I think we make a pretty good team.”

Yasmin laughed. “Oh, so now I’m not difficult to work with just because I’m a woman, huh?”

Hopper huffed. “Hey, I never said that.”

“But you thought it,” she teased, chuckling at his expression.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You already know I think you’re good at your job. Way better than I am at mine. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Her cheeks felt slightly warm at the compliment. She quickly looked away and shrugged. “Hop, I’m kidding. We made it this far, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. We did.” Hopper watched as she sat down on the steps. After a moment, he joined her. “It’s hard to be a team when you don’t live around here anymore, though, Agent.”

The reminder hit Yasmin harder than she expected. California. It had always felt like the right move, far away from this town.

Hopper noticed her hesitation. “You’re still moving, right? That’s the plan?”

She hesitated, gaze flicking to the ground. “I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.”

“‘What happens’? What do you mean by that?” Hopper asked, his brow furrowed.

Yasmin tilted her head slightly. “I mean, if we actually make it out of here alive, I think we deserve a little celebration.”

“Yeah…”

“I hear Enzo’s is nice,” she said, watching him closely. “What do you think? Friday, eight o’clock?”

Hopper blinked, as if trying to process the question. “Uh…El likes to watch Miami Vice on Fridays. It starts at ten, so I…I can’t be out too late.”

She grinned. “Okay, then. How about seven?”

“Seven?” He echoed. Yasmin nodded. “Enzo’s. Friday. I meet you there?”

She shook her head. “Why meet me there? You pick me up instead.”

He nodded slowly, repeating her words like he didn’t want to get anything wrong. “Pick you up. Seven PM. Friday.”

She smiled. “Yeah. It’s a date.”

Hopper stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest. “Just to be clear, I mean, just so there’s no confusion…when you say ‘date,’ you do mean like a real–”

“Yeah, Hop?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking, or I’m gonna change my mind.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

You, Nancy, Jonathan, Will, and Lucas dove behind the car. Max, Mike, and Eleven took cover elsewhere.

The ceiling shattered. The monster crashed to the ground, roaring and stalking the mall. You held your breath, barely daring to move.

Suddenly, Mike’s walkie crackled.

“Guys, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice rang out. The Mind Flayer screeched in rage, snatching the walkie with a tentacle and hurling it. It landed near the car you were hiding behind.

Steve panicked when no one answered. He heard the loud roar of the creature and started to think of the worst case scenarios. The only thing on his mind was you. If anything happened to you, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

He started running towards the car, needing to get them out of the mall. Robin followed him after Dustin gave her an extra walkie, getting into the vehicle with him. He drove back to Starcourt as fast as he possibly could, his heart beating against his chest rapidly. He was thinking of everyone in the mall, especially you.

In the mall, the monster prowled, searching. You risked a glance in the car mirror and saw it. It was roaming around.

You heard a noise from somewhere and the creature roared, its head turning towards the way Max, Eleven, and Mike went. It found them in the Gap, using its tentacle to scope the store.

The monster was way too close to them, but before it could reach them with its tentacles, Lucas grabbed his slingshot and a rock from his pocket, and stood up.

“What are you doing?” You whispered to Lucas.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back.

He carefully used his slingshot to pop a balloon in the far end of the mall. Lucas quickly sat back down. The Mind Flayer turned and slithered away. You took the chance as its focus was elsewhere.

“Go, go, go!” You quietly shouted.

Everyone ran. The kids piled into the car. You, Nancy, and Jonathan worked fast to install the cable.

Billy’s car engine roared to life again nearby. He was going to charge straight toward you.

You pulled out your gun and stepped in front of Nancy’s car.

“Get the car started!” You yelled. Nancy and Jonathan froze for a second, then bolted into the car.

You aimed and fired, but it was proving to be useless. Billy hit the gas hard, speeding towards you.

You closed your eyes, using your hands to shield you as you braced for impact.

CRASH!

Billy’s car veered off course, slammed into from the side.

You turned to see what happened, shocked to see that Steve had just rammed into Billy. Relief flooded you instantly.

Jonathan finally got the engine going. “Get in!” He shouted at you.

You dove into the back next to Lucas. Jonathan drove up to Steve and Robin, with Nancy calling out to them. They scrambled in, just as the Mind Flayer appeared again. Jonathan hit the gas. The monster chased you all through the darkened streets.

Jonathan kept driving when the walkie-talkie in Robin’s hand suddenly crackled to life. You could hear Dustin’s voice, and then another girl’s voice responding.

“Suzie…” both Steve and Robin said at the same time, realization dawning on them.

“Who’s Suzie?” You asked, glancing over at Lucas.

“Dustin’s girlfriend,” he replied casually.

Your eyes widened. “Girlfriend?!”

But before you could process that any further, the Mind Flayer was still hot on your trail. Its relentless pursuit kept your attention more focused on the ongoing danger than on whatever Dustin was asking Suzie over the radio.

And then, out of nowhere, Dustin and Suzie began to sing.

Everyone in the car went silent.

They were singing. In the middle of a life-or-death chase.

You just sat there, blinking in complete confusion. Were you hallucinating? Was this some kind of joke? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. And yet, the two of them kept going, performing the full song without hesitation.

When they finally finished, Suzie gave Dustin the number he needed, which was Planck’s Constant.

You raised an eyebrow and looked back at the walkie in Robin’s hand. “Planck’s Constant? Seriously? I could’ve told him that.”

Lucas let out a laugh. “He’s never living that down.”

Right then, the Mind Flayer suddenly slowed and began to turn around.

“It’s turning around!” Steve shouted from the back.

“What?!” Nancy called from the front.

“It’s turning around!” Steve repeated, louder this time.

“Maybe we wore it out?” Lucas suggested.

Jonathan didn’t buy it. He spun the car around, following the creature as it made its way back toward the mall. “I don’t think so.”

Your stomach dropped at the thought of Max, Eleven, and Mike. They were still inside. And if the Mind Flayer was heading back, it meant something was wrong. Maybe Billy had found them.

You arrived at the mall just as the creature slipped back into the building. Everyone jumped out of the car, preparing to rush in, when suddenly, you and Lucas had the same idea.

“The fireworks!” You both shouted.

You grabbed as many as you could carry and ran inside with the others. The scene was chaotic. Eleven lay sprawled on the floor, the Mind Flayer towering over her.

You stood next to Jonathan and Nancy, fireworks in hand, heart pounding. Lucas threw the first one, and it exploded with a loud crack, grabbing the monster’s attention. All of you started throwing fireworks at the Mind Flayer, creating loud noises and light to distract it, while also hurting it.

The creature shrieked in pain, crashing into the walls as the fireworks exploded around it. You kept throwing them, one after another, but you knew the supply wouldn’t last much longer. The gate needed to be closed now.

Through the smoke and chaos, you spotted Billy on the ground, writhing from the impact of the blasts. But your focus snapped back to Eleven as she was trying to crawl away.

Then Billy lunged and grabbed her leg, yanking her back and pinning her down.

Your heart dropped. You wanted nothing more than to rush down there, to help her, to stop him. But you knew it wouldn’t help. Charging in recklessly would only get you caught too, and maybe even killed.

Yasmin, Joyce, and Hopper burst into the control room, boots pounding against the floor as alarms blared and the massive gate pulsed with light behind the glass. Hopper didn’t hesitate. He raised his gun and fired at the ceiling. The Russian scientists scattered, fleeing in terror.

Yasmin stood frozen for a split second, her breath caught in her chest as she stared through the window. The gate roared with unnatural energy. These Russians were opening it.

Her stomach twisted with dread.

Hopper cracked open the briefcase in his hand, revealing three keys. He handed a key to Joyce, then one to Yasmin.

Yasmin took hers quickly, her fingers trembling.

They split, each running to their panel. Hopper looked at them. “On three. One. Two–”

But he didn’t make it to three.

Hopper turned just in time to take a brutal punch to the face. He collapsed to the floor with a groan, the Russian man standing over him. Joyce lunged for the rifle nearby, but the man caught her and threw her aside. Yasmin launched forward, kicking him in the back. He stumbled, but not for long.

Before she could reach her weapon, the man was on her. She blocked his punch and landed one of her own, but he was too strong and too fast. His fist crashed into her side. Pain exploded through her side, and she stumbled back, hitting her head hard against a console.

Everything started to spin.

She gasped, reaching blindly, forcing herself to stay awake. The machines whirred around her. Lights flashed.

She blinked rapidly and saw Joyce lying nearby, unmoving.

“Joyce,” she whispered, dragging herself across the floor. “Joyce, come on.” Her voice cracked with desperation. She shook her friend and felt a flicker of relief when Joyce stirred.

“What happened?” Joyce groaned.

“No time,” Yasmin choked out. “We have to move.”

She helped her up, her own body screaming in protest. Then Yasmin turned her gaze to the window and froze.

Hopper was inside the room fighting the Russian with everything he had.

“No,” she breathed.

The walkie crackled. Dustin’s voice shouted through, telling them to close the gate now.

Joyce’s hand went to the panel on the far right. Yasmin staggered to the left panel, yanking her belt off and looping it over the key. She stretched with her free hand, straining for the center panel.

She grunted, pushed harder, her fingers barely brushing the cold metal.

Then, finally, she felt it. She grasped it quickly.

Yasmin’s eyes darted back to the glass windows just in time to see Hopper hurl the Russian into the machine. The man disintegrated instantly, sparks and ash vanishing into nothing. Hopper turned, shielding his face from the violent energy.

The walkie screamed again. “Close it now!”

Yasmin looked at Hopper. And Hopper…he was already looking at her.

Everything else fell away.

His face was bloodied, bruised. His breathing ragged. But his eyes softened when they found hers. Full of pain. Full of love.

And Yasmin knew.

He wasn’t getting out of there.

Her heart split open. She shook her head slightly, tears spilling from her eyes as her hand hovered over the key. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Not when she had finally let herself love after all these years. Not when he had made her believe it was possible.

Through the glass, Hopper smiled through tears, a smile just for her. A soft, sad, crooked smile that told her everything he wanted her to know. He nodded once, telling her it was okay.

Yasmin’s lips trembled. She turned to Joyce, who was already crying, and nodded her head.

Yasmin squeezed her eyes shut, and finally, they turned the keys.

And the gate began to close.

Hopper was gone. Just like that.

But in her heart, he stayed.

You soon ran out of fireworks, and the gate still hadn’t closed. Time was running out. The Mind Flayer’s roars echoed louder through the mall as Billy continued to pin Eleven to the ground.

Then, something happened that made your heart drop. Billy stood up and placed himself between Eleven and the creature. You wanted to scream, to get Eleven out of the way. The Mind Flayer struck, its tentacle lunging forward to finish Eleven.

But Billy stopped it. He held his arms out, shielding her with his own body.

Your mouth parted in shock, eyes widening as the tentacle drove itself into Billy instead. Blood spurted out from the impact, and he let out a scream of agony while the Mind Flayer roared in his face.

You turned your head and looked down the stairs to see Max, watching it all unfold. You could see it in her eyes, that she was about to run to him. And before she could even move, your legs carried you forward, rushing down the stairs just as Max let out a scream and tried to bolt toward her stepbrother. You grabbed her, wrapping your arms around her tightly as she thrashed and sobbed, trying to break free.

Then, the Mind Flayer collapsed.

Its limbs slammed against the floor before dissolving into a sickening pile of mush and bones. That’s when you realized the gate must have finally closed.

Billy fell too, hitting the ground hard. You let go of Max. She moved slowly toward him, tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving with each sob. She knelt beside him as he weakly opened his eyes and choked out a final, broken, “I’m sorry,” before closing them again forever.

You sank to the floor. Max turned to you and collapsed into your arms, weeping. You held her tightly as she cried into your chest. Glancing toward Eleven, you saw her watching both of you in silence. You reached out a hand, pulling her into the embrace.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You knew those words wouldn’t heal anything. Nothing could. Her brother had just died in front of her, and the scars from that would never fade.

Sirens blared outside. Police officers, firefighters, and paramedics flooded into the mall, evacuating everyone. You stood out front, waiting anxiously, your eyes scanning the crowd for your mom and Hopper. Your pulse quickened with each second they didn’t appear.

When you finally saw Joyce and Murray, relief washed over you, until you realized your mom and Hopper weren’t with them.

Then a hand gently touched your arm. You turned to see Steve, who looked at you knowingly. He could tell you were searching for Yasmin and Hopper. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close when he noticed the tears in your eyes.

“Hey, they’re here,” he said softly, rubbing your back. “Maybe they’re still insi—”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes fixating on something in the distance.

You followed his gaze, breath catching when you finally saw your mom. Yasmin had spotted you too. You instantly pulled away from Steve and ran into her arms, clutching her tightly as tears of relief streamed down your face.

But she didn’t say anything. Not a single word. Just a loud, broken sob.

You froze, furrowing your brows and pulling back slightly to look at her face. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Where’s Hopper?” You asked.

Yasmin didn’t speak. She just shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks. You stared at her in disbelief, your chest tightening. You couldn’t breathe.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No. You’re wrong.”

She only hugged you tighter.

Your tears of relief turned to grief. A lump rose in your throat.

Eleven stood in the far distance, searching for Hopper, until her eyes met Yasmin’s. And the moment Yasmin shook her head, Eleven’s face crumbled.

You broke from your mother’s embrace and turned around to see Eleven. You ran straight to her and threw your arms around her. The two of you clung to each other, sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to.

Your heart ached at the thought that you’d never get to talk to Hopper again. Never laugh with him. Never hear his voice.

You couldn’t even imagine how your mom was feeling. The heartbreak in her eyes said it all. She had found love again, real love. She was finally letting herself feel it, and now it was gone. Just like that.

It was all over now.

You finished packing your last box, shoving the remaining items into it with a tired sigh. Glancing around your room, now empty and unfamiliar, you couldn’t believe you were actually leaving this place for good.

At the Byers’ house, Dustin, Mike, and Nancy were helping pack up. The U-Haul truck was already there, and once everything was loaded, Joyce would drive it over so you could add the rest of your and your mom’s things.

Max and Lucas were helping you here. It made sense to split everyone into groups since there was still a lot to get done.

Eleven had been staying with you and your mom for the past few months. Your mom had officially decided to sell the house and move to California, and as it turned out, Joyce had the same plan. The two women, being close friends for years, figured it would be a good idea to live together in a big house.

You didn’t mind. You were excited to live with Jonathan and Will, who already felt like your brothers, and of course, Eleven, who had become like a younger sister to you.

And since the new house was close to your university, there was no need to live in a dorm. It was perfect, living with family while attending your dream school.

There was a knock on your bedroom door, and you turned to see your mom step inside, an envelope in her hand.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly, walking over. “You doing okay?”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Yeah…I think so.”

“I know it’s hard,” she said with a small, sad smile. “It’s tough leaving your friends behind. But you’ll still get to see them. I can always help everyone with the travel costs.”

You gave her a faint smile. “I know…”

She pulled you into a hug. “I found this letter in one of El’s boxes. It’s for you, from Hopper.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart tightening. You took the envelope and looked down at your name written on the front. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I didn’t open it.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

“He also left one for El,” she added with a light chuckle. “I don’t think he ever did talk to her and Mike after all.”

That made you laugh. “Of course he didn’t.”

Yasmin gave you one last squeeze before pulling away. “Joyce just got here with the truck. There are still a few boxes left. The kids are helping out, if you want to join.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

She stepped out, leaving you alone again. You stared at the envelope, then carefully opened it and unfolded the letter.

As you read Hopper’s words, your vision blurred with tears. Your chest ached. He wasn’t here anymore.

You slipped the letter back into the envelope and tucked it gently into your backpack. You’d keep it forever.

Wiping your face, you barely registered another knock. Turning, you saw Nancy standing in the doorway, her eyes already glassy.

“Hey,” she said softly, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around you.

“Hi,” your voice cracked. “Thanks for coming.”

“Are you kidding?” Nancy pulled back slightly, giving you a teary smile. “Of course I came to see my best friend before she leaves.”

You looked down. “I’m going to miss you, Nance. You’re a really good friend.”

Nancy’s tears spilled over. “You’ve always been the best, Y/N. Always. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“At least we’ll visit each other,” you said, nudging her gently.

“Yeah.” Nancy sniffled. “I can’t believe both my best friend and my boyfriend are moving away. I already feel so alone.”

You placed a hand on her arm. “Hey, you’re not going to be alone. You’ve got Mike, you have other friends at school, and you’ll make more. Before you know it, break will come around and we’ll be back together.”

“I hope it comes fast.”

“I’m sure it will. And hey, you and Jonathan might be in college together next year.”

“Only one year left,” she said with a hopeful smile.

Suddenly, your eyes landed on your car keys, sitting on top of one of the boxes. You walked over, picked them up, and returned to Nancy.

Without a word, you took her hand and placed the keys into it. She frowned, opening her mouth to protest, but you shook your head.

“I don’t need it,” you said. “I’m driving my mom’s car, Jonathan’s taking his, and my mom’s driving the U-Haul. We’re pairing up for the drive because it’s safer that way. Besides, college is close to our new place. If I do ever need to get to campus some days, I’ll just take the bus.”

Nancy shook her head in disbelief. “No, I can’t take your car.”

“I could sell it, sure,” you said with a small laugh. “But what if I come back to Hawkins and want to drive it again? You’re the only person I trust with it. And I don’t mind if you drive around in it. I want you to have it, for now.”

Tears welled in Nancy’s eyes as she let out a shaky laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you for trusting me. Seriously.”

You hugged her back just as tightly. “Take good care of her.”

“I will,” she whispered. “Promise.”

You talked a little more before Nancy left to help with the rest of the boxes. You walked over to your window, arms crossed over your chest, and looked out.

The tree beside your window on the second floor came into view. The one Steve used to climb to sneak in.

You weren’t together anymore, but the two of you still talked. Between hanging out with the kids and Dustin’s insistence, Steve was always around. You could never avoid each other. Not that either of you ever wanted to.

You stayed friends, though the feelings never fully went away. You hadn’t seen him much lately. Your internship had kept you busy, and working with your mom was a good distraction.

Still, the kids said he’d been spending more time with Robin, and that stung. You didn’t know if they were together or just close, but the idea of Steve moving on…it hurt. And maybe that hurt confirmed the breakup had been the right decision. You didn’t want to hold him back. Just like he didn’t want to hold you back.

You’d told him you were leaving today. You were sure the kids told him too. You didn’t expect him to come. You weren’t his anymore. But a part of you still hoped he would.

A knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You turned, expecting one of the kids.

Instead, Steve leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Your eyes widened. “Steve…”

“Wow,” he teased, walking toward you. “This might be the first time you didn’t notice me standing behind you.”

You swallowed, startled. “I–I didn’t think you’d come.”

He raised an eyebrow, stopping just in front of you. “Why wouldn’t I? The love of my life is moving thousands of miles away, and you think I wouldn’t come just because we broke up?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the comment. “I guess…”

He stepped closer, gently taking your hand in his. “Well,” he murmured. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, taking in his face. Those familiar eyes, that gentle smile. “Steve…” you whispered. “This still hurts.”

“I know,” he said softly. “It hurts me too.”

Silence settled between you. You looked down at your joined hands before speaking again.

“You know,” you began, your voice tentative. “Nancy and Jonathan are still together…even though he’s moving. They’re making it work. Long distance, I mean. We could try.”

Steve’s expression didn’t change right away. He just studied your face with those warm, bittersweet eyes that made your heart ache. And then, slowly, he shook his head.

“God, I love you more than anything. But if we tried to stay together right now…I think we’d just end up hurting each other more.”

You felt your heart crack at the sound of his voice. “But we could try.”

“We could,” he admitted. “But it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. You’re starting this whole new chapter. You’re chasing your dreams. And I’m still figuring my own stuff out here. If we’re constantly counting down days, struggling to keep up with time zones and phone calls…I don’t want that kind of love to turn bitter. I don’t want us to become a burden to each other.”

You blinked back tears, nodding slowly.

“I want to be there for you,” Steve continued, squeezing your hand. “Even if it’s not as your boyfriend right now. I’d rather be in your life as your friend than not in it at all. And who knows…maybe one day, you move back. Or maybe I move closer. We’ll see where life takes us.”

You gave a soft, shaky laugh. “So you’re saying there’s still a chance for us?”

Steve smiled, this time with that familiar, dorky sparkle in his eyes. “There will always be a chance for us.”

You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes as his hands moved to gently rest on your waist.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” you whispered.

“I’m gonna miss you more,” he murmured.

When you pulled back, you smiled up at him with tear-filled eyes.

He cupped your cheek. “Hey, you’re going to do amazing things out there. You’re going to become the best damn lawyer this world has ever seen, I know it. You worked so hard for this, so don’t let anything hold you back, okay? Always be the one to lead.”

You nodded, feeling more tears roll down your face.

He pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “You go be incredible. I’ll be cheering for you every step of the way.”

You laughed, your heart full of love but also pain. “Friends?”

He grinned through the sadness. “Always.”

Then he pulled you into a hug, the kind that said everything words couldn’t.

And for now, that was enough.

You finished loading every box into the moving truck. Emotions ran high, with laughter, tears, and bittersweet goodbyes filling the air. No one wanted to let go. You held each of your friends tightly, trying to hold onto every second.

You fought hard not to cry. You weren’t going to break down in front of everyone. You wanted to be strong.

When you hugged Steve one last time, his hands lingered gently at your waist. You held on for a moment longer before pulling away. His eyes met yours, soft and glassy, tears slipping down his cheeks.

You wanted so badly to reach up and wipe them away, but the sob building in your throat threatened to escape. Instead, you gave him one final, lingering look before turning and walking toward your mom’s car, offering one last wave to everyone.

Jonathan and Will climbed into his car. Yasmin and Joyce got into the moving truck. You and Eleven took your seats in your mom’s car.

The truck pulled out first, Jonathan’s car followed, and then you in the back. You waved at your friends one last time as Hawkins faded in the rearview mirror.

The sadness hit you like a wave, but you stayed quiet for El’s sake. From the corner of your eye, you could see her silently crying, her gaze fixed out the window.

You tightened your grip on the wheel as the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign came into view. A soft sigh escaped your lips as your eyes locked onto Jonathan’s car ahead.

Your mind drifted to the memories, every friend you made, every joy, every heartbreak, every moment that shaped you.

But now, it was time for something new. A new chapter. New people, new places, new stories.

A new beginning.

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: Missing you, your boyfriend hated being apart from you. So what happens when he can finally get his hands on you once more?

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: Gen Narumi & Soshiro Hoshina

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k.

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Gen Narumi & Soshiro Hoshina x Fem!Reader (seperate). (SMUT). 𝖈𝖜: oral (female receiving), minor impact play, dirty talk, praise, degradation, taking photos, oral (male receiving), marking, mentions of breeding.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Two fics in one week? From me? Unheard of. Listen if this isn't proof of how much Kaiju No. 8 has consumed me I don't know what is honestly. I'm still messing around with writing for them and getting a sense of their personalities so please be kind to me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Seeing the way you were laid beneath him blurred his mind in a cloud of lust and need. He justified his upcoming actions under false pretenses of you needing a "punishment” from earlier, when in all reality it was his own selfish need to taste you, unable to remember the last time he spent an extended period of time between your soft thighs. So rather than fulfilling your request of filling you with his cock he begins the long and tortuous process of trailing kisses down your frame, grinning against your skin as he feels your body arch into his touch, finally ending his slow descent by tugging the waistband of your panties back with his teeth, shivering in anticipation at the sound of the elastic snapping against your skin. Having enough of his own teasing he leans back groaning upon seeing the drenched material of your panties. “Holy shit babygirl, look at you, you're fucking soaked. And it's all for me, I can't wait to taste you, doll.”

He impatiently gripped the fabric of your drenched panties, tugging it off of your frame in one swift motion. Quick to pocket the article of clothing for later use, before laying flat on his front, settling himself between your legs, hooking a thumb in a fold pulling the skin to the side to expose you fully to his prying eyes. “Jesus, doll, god you're so fucking beautiful, I can't fucking stand it. Gotta commit this shit to memory.” His voice has a gravel, need consuming the octave in which his words are spoken.

He removes his phone from his pocket sliding up to access the camera to snap a photo of your exposed heat, making a mental note to use that the next time he was missing you on a mission, or maybe even send it to a certain vice-captain as a reminder of what he would never be able to get his hands on. Finally, needing to taste you before he drives himself insane, he dives down licking a fat stripe up your center.

Narumi lets his tongue circle your clit, alternating between flattening his tongue and applying just the right amount of pressure to caress the hardened nub, feeling himself getting drunk on the taste of you. “Ge-“ Any words you would try and formulate die on your tongue, getting cut off by his actions, hand flying to his hair to grip at it for leverage. A loud whimper left your lips, a near scream of his name close to follow. “Gen, please, I need you! Please, I love your mouth, but I really want you, I need you so badly.. feel so empty, haven't felt full since last time..”

Your words come out desperate, senseless pleas for him to do something, anything, to qualm the empty feeling of your cunt as it clenched around nothing. Knowing just what to say to push him over the edge and have him give you just what you were craving. Gripping the back of his hair, tugging him away from your cunt enough so you could look at him between your thighs. Eyes clouded with lust as you look into his own, their vermillion barely recognizable, his pupils blown so wide with lust. Your words are purred into the air, knowing that by the end of your sentence, you would have him hook, line, and sinker.

“I really need you to fill me up, Gen. Put a baby inside of me, I need you please, Gen.” You maintained eye contact looking at him between your plump thighs, hearing the groan that bubbled up from his throat in response to your words. For as good as he looked there, the tears that lined your lashline only enforced the need behind your words, the very same need that caused the mess between your legs in the first place. Narumi feels himself being pulled out of his haze only when your words sink in. He debates filling you with his fingers, desperate to get more of a taste of your sweet cunt, but Narumi was nothing if not willing to appease your needs. He could not deny his own needs any longer, the fabric of his pants and the plush of the mattress beneath him doing nothing to qualm his need like burying himself inside you would. Though what really sent him into a frenzy, was one phrase in particular, you always knew just what to say to drive him insane.

“Yeah, doll? Need me to fill that slutty cunt baby? Want me to fold you in half and breed you, princess? Do you want me to really make you a mommy, huh baby? Well, how could I possibly say no?” He smirks, parting from his position between your legs, leaning back on the heels of his feet before ripping down the zipper of his pants. With expert fingers, he was quick to free his aching cock from the confined of his pants, parting your legs further as he gazes at your exposed figure beneath him. Unable to help himself, he lands a harsh slap against your cunt. His grin was feral, your slick glistening against his chin. His hand soon finds a home against your throat, the other gripping the base of his cock lining it up with your entrance. “Tell me, doll, before I ruin you. Who's perfect pussy is this, hm?”

Hoshina never fared well when you both were apart. That proof was evident in the way he was on you the moment you returned to base. The mission your platoon had been dispatched on just so happened to be in his brother’s sector, fueling his need to claim you once more. His lips were all over your skin, sharp canines marking your neck, the darkened skin being his solace the insatiable need to have physical evidence that you belonged to him consuming him. He was always like this when you had to be in the presence of his brother. Their rivalry surviving even after all of these years. Knowing that you decided he deserved a little assurance. This was the only true spot of insecurity, and you intended to let him know just how much he’d never have to worry when it came to you. Stepping forward, gently guided him backward until the backs of his knees came into contact with the edge of the bed, pushing his shoulders until he sat on the mattress.

Now that the both of you were separated from the intense kiss, both of your lips swollen from the intensity of the embrace, he was free to look up at you curiously. His hands flew to your waist, pulling you flush against him. One hand pushing up the fabric of your sleep shirt, exposing your bare top half to his hungry gaze. He was quick to reattach his lips to your skin, using the height difference from you standing between his legs to his advantage. His other hand gripping the soft plush of you ass, using his hold on you as leverage to pull you closer. His tongue lolling out of his mouth, he was quick to take a hardened bud between his lips. His tongue rolling against it, coming to a point to flick at the sensitive area before letting his teeth capture it. Pulling his head back to tug until releasing, pupils blows wide seeing the bounce of the plush flesh he was rewarded with. He was quick to give the other the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful, baby, and all fucking mine.”

You run your fingers through his hair, letting out a soft moan at the attention he was giving to your body. “Yes Shiro, I’m all yours baby.” Your voice is breathy from the pleasure you were receiving, head falling back as you relish in the feeling of his expert mouth. “Missed you so much baby.” You coo, hands coming to his shoulder to push him away a bit. He was confused for a moment, if you missed him why were you pushing him away? Before he could protest or chase your skin with his mouth, you capture his lips in a deep kiss, hand trailing down his body before finding purchase on his hardened cock through the fabric of his pants. Giving it a squeeze, Hoshina can’t help but buck his hips into your hand, his body reacting subconsciously. You pull from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips for just a moment before snapping. Looking into his hooded eyes, you let a grin slip its way onto your features.

Usually, Hoshina was always in control, working your body over and over again until the only word you could think to speak was his name. But not this time. This time you would be taking care of him. Dropping to your knees between his legs on the floor, your hands on his knees pushing his thighs apart. “let me show you just how much I missed you Shiro.” You coo, hands working dutifully on his pants, pulling his hard cock from its confines. His tip was already drooling with precum, the sight of it alone enough for your mouth to water. Ducking your head down you allow your tongue to collect his salty essence. “Fuck.” His hand flies to your hair, digits tangling in your locks. His word only fuels your actions. Steadying his cock with a hand at his base, your tongue circles his cockhead. Maintaining eye contact as you make out with his tip. “Fuck baby, please missed you too much, don’t tease.”

The plea in his voice was all it took for you to take his cock into your mouth. The groan that rumbles in his throat nearly muffles the sounds of your bobbing. Moving your head up and down on his length. Flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock, making sure to pay special attention to the vein that ran along his member. His fingers gripped the hair atop your head using it to guide your head up and down on his length, tears collecting at your lashline as the head of his cock kissed the back of your throat. “Fuck, kitten, so fucking good for me. That’s my girl taking my cock so fucking well, gonna make me cum baby, fuck.” He exclaims, throwing his head back in pleasure.

His hips bucking uncontrollably, effectively fucking your face. His hips begin to stutter, his vison going white as the coil in his stomach snaps. “Cumming, fuck kitten, fuck!” With only a few more bobs of your head, he fills your mouth with his seed, shuddering as he feels your throat contract as you swallow. His chest rises and falls as he catches his breath, coming down from his high. He spares a glance at you, seeing the way you let your tongue slide from your mouth, showing him your now empty mouth. His eyes darken, and before you could blink he swiftly grabs you, the world shifting as he swaps your positions. Your back hits the mattress, his larger form caging you in, lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss. His hips roll against your own, his cock already growing hard again. His next words are spoken between panted breaths against your lips. “That was quite the show, kitten. Now its my turn to show you just how much I missed my pretty little cunt, yeah?”

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics. Banners & writing by me. Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn.

[mangooes]

In the middle of flowers, all i could see is you

(Name) had barely finished tidying up her desk at work when the low, deep growl of a motorcycle engine rumbled outside. She frowned, peering out the office window—only for her eyes to widen in shock.

A sleek, black sportsbike was parked right in front of the building.

And seated on it, clad in his usual dark leather jacket, was Sylus.

He casually pulled off his helmet, his gloves tugged on his hands, tapping his fingers against the handlebar, before shooting her a knowing smirk through the glass window.

She immediately grabbed her things and rushed out, already shaking her head.

“Oh no, no, no, no—you did not just come here on a motorcycle!” She crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting on that death trap.”

Sylus laughed, utterly amused. “Oh, come on, sweetie. I figured you’d enjoy a ride home with your dear husband.”

“I enjoy walking home just fine.”

“Walking?” Sylus raised a brow. “You mean the part where you ignore my offers to pick you up, thinking I don’t know how many eyes are on you at night?”

She faltered for a second. “That’s not the point—”

“Get on.” His voice was a low purr, but she refused.

“I’ll take the train—”

“Kitten.” He sighed, as if dealing with a stubborn child. And then, before she could react, the black and red mist of his Evol curled around her waist, gently but firmly lifting her off the ground.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “SYLUS, NO—!”

But it was too late.

With ease, his evol ettled her behind him on the bike gently, as he places a helmet over her head like it was nothing, clicking on the straps carefully.

“Perfect fit.” He smirked, tapping the visor of her helmet.

She gawked at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?!”

“Of course I did,” he chuckled, revving the engine. “Now, hold on tight, sweetie.”

And then, he took off.

She screamed.

“SYLUS, YOU MANIAC!!!” she shrieked, gripping onto him for dear life as the bike sped down the highway. She buried her face against his back, feeling his laughter vibrate against her cheek. “SLOW DOWN!!!”

“This is barely fast, kitten,” he teased, but he eased the throttle a little. “Relax. Enjoy the ride will you?"

At first, she didn’t believe him—her heart was pounding too hard. But after a while, she started to notice things.

The cool night air whipping past her. The neon lights of the N109 Zone reflecting off the wet streets. The way the city glowed like a sea of stars beneath them as they rode down the freeway.

She loosened her grip just a little, tilting her head up in wonder.

“…It’s beautiful,” she murmured softly.

Sylus hummed. “Told you.”

She smiled. And without thinking, she tightened her arms around him—not from fear this time, but out of pure comfort.

Sylus noticed.

His lips curled upwards, satisfied, but he said nothing. Instead, he changed course, heading toward the edge of the city far from home.

Minutes later, they arrived at a flower field, where soft red petals swayed under the night sky.

She blinked as he cut the engine. “Why are we stopping here?”

“You’ll see.”

Sylus climbed off first before effortlessly lifting her off the bike, placing her down on the soft grass.

He chuckled, tilting his head at her. “By the way—your scream earlier? Absolutely adorable, though i preffer the scream you make whenever we do things in bed.”

Sabrina groaned, covering her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He smirked, leaning in.

She was about to argue back— she turned around.

Her breath hitched.

From their spot on the flower field, she could see the entire cityscape of N109 below them, glittering like a galaxy of neon stars. The Taurus flowers glowed faintly in the moonlight, surrounding them like a dream.

A genuine, childlike wonder lit up in her eyes.

“Look, Sylus!” She grabbed his wrist, pointing. “It’s so pretty!”

Sylus didn’t even glance at the view.

He was too busy watching her. Maybe she was his view.

Her smile. Her excitement. The pure, unfiltered joy on her face.

Something warm curled in his chest. He softened, but before he could say anything, she tackled him, unexpectedly.

“Sweetie, what are you—?!”

They rolled down the hill, crashing through the flowers, red petals flying everywhere.

By the time they stopped, She was laughing, her hair a wild mess of petals.

Sylus groaned. “Revenge, huh?”

“Damn right.” She grinned, brushing petals off his jacket. “I should do this more often.”

Sylus chuckled. His hand reached up, gently pulling her closer until his face was buried in the crook of her neck.

“…Mmh.” He inhaled her scent, a mix of vanilla and something undeniably her.

She stiffened, her breath catching. “S-Sysy?”

He exhaled, his lips brushing against her skin. “You smell nice.”

She pulled back, flustered. “You are such a menace.”

Feeling mischievous, she plucked a flower from the ground and tucked it behind his ear.

Then, just to push his buttons, she stuck another one on his chest.

“There,” she grinned. “Now you’re even more handsome.”

Sylus raised a brow, amused. “Are you saying I wasn’t handsome before?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughed—deep, rich, and utterly smitten.

Then, before she could escape as she prepares to stand up, Sylus suddenly grabbed her wrist, flipping her back down onto the flowers.

She barely had time to gasp before his lips were on hers.

Soft. Slow. Devouring.

Under the starlit sky, surrounded by swaying flowers, he kissed her like she was his whole world.

And maybe—just maybe—she was.

I love how sylus always loves to spoil his beloved, i want to go on a joyride too please take me too sylus! TwT

[luvsupa]

BUT YOU’RE A …VAMPIRE?!

terrible summary: fucking the towns hottest college student—a bonus. . . he’s a vampire!

tags: vampire!choso x fem!reader, choso and reader are in college, reader babysits yuji, heavily inspired by tvd 🙂‍↕️, lowkey long before smut scene sorryyy, smut (p in v), face sitting, mating press, blōod play, sqūirting, feral choso, sub!choso (a little), hes insanely fast and strong, errmm idk what else, mdni

w.c: 2.3k

a/n: 1. TY GUYS FOR 1.5K ???? THIS IS INSANEEE, 2. I hope u guys enjoy bc this is my first kinktober so I hope I satisfy y’all 🧟‍♀️

kinktober masterlist

“this movie’s not even scary,” yuji mutters from under the blankets, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. he begged you to play halloween, the most gruesome movie you’ve ever seen. maybe it wasn’t the best idea for a teenage boy—he’d probably have nightmares—but you just wanted him to stop whining. you giggle as he shrieks when michael myers catches a screaming woman, his eyes glued to the screen despite his words.

suddenly, the movie pauses, and you glance up from your phone, wondering why. “can you do my halloween makeup now? megumi’s coming soon, and we’re going trick-or-treating,” yuji asks, hopeful. you sigh internally, not because of him, but because this isn’t how you planned to spend your halloween. midterms are next week, and you haven’t even started studying!

you nod, grabbing your makeup bag already packed with halloween supplies. yuji sits in the dining room—where the lighting is better—facing the television. he’s jumpy as the movie resumes, flinching at every scare, ruining the makeup more than once. you’re just applying fake blood to his mouth to piece together the vampire look when the front door slams open, the sound deafening. you both scream, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the source.

choso.

you nearly drop the makeup brush, fake blood splattering the polished floor. choso’s laughter echoes through the room, and you stare at him in shock, your heart racing from the scare—and the sight of him. you haven’t seen him in nearly a year since he moved abroad for school. you thought your crush on him had faded, but now, seeing him again…he’s even more attractive. more buff. and is he dressed as a vampire? how fitting for the brothers.

choso brings in, a beautiful girl trailing behind him, her expression uneasy. you notice something odd—they’re matching.

“that wasn’t funny, choso,” yuji grumbles, pushing him away when choso messes up his slicked-back hair. but your attention is elsewhere, drawn to choso’s costume. the fangs look too real, and dried blood stains the corners of his lips. your stomach twists with unease.

“hey, choso, your costume is… really cool,” you manage to say, your voice catching as his gaze locks onto yours. his eyes—there’s a tint of red. it feels like he’s staring straight through you, searching for something deeper. and then, you notice the girl again, her pale complexion, her exhausted, haunted look.

and her neck.

multiple bite marks—no, fang marks—line her skin, and you swear you see blood trickling from one of them. who in the hell did their makeup?

“costume? oh no, we’re not—”

“teenage versions of dracula and draculara,” choso cuts in coldly, his gaze never leaving yours. your heart pounds, the tension in the room thickening. you know what dracula looks like and it’s not what he’s wearing.

the movie continues playing in the background as it fades into nothing. choso’s lips twitch as he stares at your neck, his eyes darkening when they land on the pulsing vein just beneath the surface. you feel a lump form in your throat, and yuji shifts awkwardly between you both, oblivious to the growing danger.

without another word, choso snaps out of it, pulling the girl upstairs in a hurry. loud, frantic footsteps echo as the door slams shut behind them. you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

after finishing yuji’s costume, the movie mercifully ends. you take a few photos of yuji with his plastic vampire fangs before megumi and nobara arrive in matching outfits. they thank you, and with a final warning to stay close to the block, you send them off. at last, you’re alone—ready to relax.

but when you return to the dining room, your peace is shattered. the mess from the makeup is worse than you remembered, and you groan. you huff as you start cleaning up, scrubbing the floor and tossing used brushes into the nearby sink. and then, you feel it.

someone’s watching you.

you freeze, a chill running down your spine. slowly, you turn around, your heart racing, and nearly scream again. choso is leaning against the staircase, his dark eyes fixed on you, an unsettling smile tugging at his lips.

“gosh, choso, you scared me,” you exclaim, clutching the counter for support.

“no need to be scared,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous as he walks closer following you into the kitchen. “i was just… admiring the view.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, but there’s a sinister edge to his words that makes you uneasy. still, you mutter a soft “pervert,” hoping to shake off the tension. but choso hears you clearly, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

you walk to the dirty dishes as you start cleaning up the previous mess, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread as he offers to help, standing too close for comfort. his presence is suffocating, his body radiating cold as he dries each dish you hand him. “so… you got a boyfriend?” he asks bluntly, and your breath catches.

“no… i’ve been busy with school,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. his lips curl into a smirk, and you hear him whisper, “good girl.”

your knees weaken, and you squeeze your thighs together, feeling a surge of warmth between your legs. he knows. he can smell it. your mind spins as you struggle to focus on washing the dishes. when your hand accidentally brushes his, the icy coldness jolts you, your breath hitching.

you glance at him through the window in front of the sink. dread pooling in your stomach. no way…

the fangs. the eyes. the ice cold touch.

he’s a—

“c’monnn, you’re letting the water run too long,” choso interrupts, snapping you back to reality. you quickly apologize, shaking off the thought as you rinse off the next dirty dish. holding a tiny kitchen knife, you stare at your reflection in the window. choso stands impatiently, waiting for you to hurry up. biting your lip, you rinse the knife, but just before you hand it to him, you ‘accidentally’ slice the tip of your finger.

you watch the way his eyes darken, his pupils dilating as veins bulge beneath his skin. his lips part, his fangs elongating as he watches your blood dribble down with the almost animalistic hunger.

panic grips you and instinct kicks in, and you sprint for the front door, tears stinging your eyes, terrified of ending up like the victims in the horror movies. you twist the doorknob, but choso is suddenly in front of you, covering your mouth with his hand as he dragging you back inside, the door slams behind you with a deafening thud.

“shh, baby…I know, ’m not gonna hurt you,” choso whispers, his voice rough as he coaxes you to the couch. you tremble, tears blurring your vision.

“cho… you’re a—a vampire?” you manage to choke out, the words feeling unreal in your mouth. choso nods, his eyes fixed on the blood still oozing from your finger. something inside you shifts, your fear dissolving as something darker takes over.

fuck it.

“you want it, cho’?” you murmur, lifting your finger to his lips, smearing your blood across them. his eyes roll back, his fangs glistening as he lets out a desperate moan, his hunger consuming him.

you lean closer, your voice a seductive whisper, “then take it.”

and oh did you truly mess up. badly.

choso had never tasted anything as sweet and addicting as you—the sweetest he’s ever known since his transformation into a vampire. that’s why he has you sitting on his face, your pussy suffocating him as his icy hands pull you deeper against his mouth. your thighs tremble on either side of his head, fingers gripping the armrest for support. your eyes roll back as his slick tongue plunges deep into your pulsing walls, his nose brushing against your swollen clit.

“ch-cho’. . slow d-down..” you wail, trying to pull away from his inhuman tongue—but he growls. the wet, messy sounds of slurping and groans fill your ears as you’re losing yourself on his tongue. you can’t help it—you start grinding even deeper into his face, chasing that high as he hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. your nails dig into the armrest, knuckles white, as you glance down with glazed eyes—his brows are furrowed, veins pulsing under his skin, soft brown hair that was once tied up now sprawled wildly across the couch.

he’s slurping you up like you’re his last meal, completely lost in the taste of you. it’s like you’ve got him under some kind of spell, and he can’t stop. he pulls you deeper into his face until you’re sure you’ll break. your thighs shake uncontrollably, your stomach tightening as you feel your orgasm slam into you, broken cries spilling from your lips, soaking his tongue in your release.

“mmf— ‘m gonna—”

“not yet,” choso commands, lifting you off his face and tossing you flat on your back with a rough ‘oof’ escaping your lips. your mind is too foggy to register anything as he grabs your ankles, placing them on either side of his shoulders. your cunt spasms uncontrollably, slick dripping down as you whimper, watching him grip the base of his thick cock. his chubby tip parts your swollen folds, sliding up and down your dripping slit, teasing your twitching hole, not giving you what you desperately need. your gaze locks with his, and your heart skips a beat—his eyes fixed on the pulsing vein in your neck, his mouth trembling as his fangs grow longer.

“hahh— I need a t-taste,” he moans, the whites of his eyes turning black as he repeats the same words, over and over, to himself. before you can even respond, he slams into you, balls-deep, a broken sob tearing from your throat he’s stretching you so wide it hurts so good as his thick crown head bullies your sweet spot. your whole body jiggles with each brutal thrust, clenching down hard as his cock stretches you abnormally wide. he’s lost in the feeling, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you swear he’s leaving bruises, all while he keeps mumbling to himself, lost in a frenzy.

he’s completely feral, growling with every thrust, eyes locked on your neck like he’s about to tear into you, his cock stretching you wide as your body shakes from the sheer force of his inhumane thrusts.

“y-yes… cho’, have a t-taste,” you stutter, tilting your head to the side, exposing the throbbing vein he’s been eyeing with hunger. his eyes gleam with feral desire as he leans down, his thick cock still relentlessly jackhammering deep inside you. 

he groans into your neck, inhaling your scent, and your shaking hands pull him closer, legs wrapping tight around his waist, locking him in as your eyes roll back. the sharp sting of his fangs sinking deep into your neck pulls a guttural moan from you, his mouth latched onto your skin as he drinks, each slurp sending electric shocks through your body. his thrusts become erratic, vicious, slamming into your poor cervix as he drinks greedily from you.

“s-such a good vampire,” you pant, praising him as he pulls away from your neck, rising up to look at you—and fuck, he’s completely lost in it. his blacked-out eyes, mouth hanging open, dripping with blood, his chin smeared in a mess of fluids. his monstrous look beyond attractive you don’t even think—you grab him by the face and yank him down to your lips, moaning as the metallic tang of your blood touches your tongue. your lips move against his hungrily, tasting the mix of your blood and his spit as he pounds into your sloppy, swollen cunt that grips him so tight it’s driving him crazy. his thrusts become more brutal, more desperate, his cock throbbing as you cling to him, completely helpless under his inhuman strength.

he pulls away from the kiss with a growl, leaving you breathless, licking your lips as the taste of blood lingers. with no warning, choso grabs your thighs and folds you in half—ankles pressed right up against your ears. he fucks you deeper, so deep you swear he’s going to break you, every thrust harder, more punishing than the last as you whimper and sob beneath him.

“fuckkk— pussy’s suckin’ the s-soul outta me,” he groans, forcing your thighs deeper into your chest, bending you in half like you’re nothing. all you can do is take it, your body completely at his mercy, trembling under his brutal, inhuman pace. his cock pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body, your mind turning into a haze of desperate moans and babbled pleas.

and then, it hits—your orgasm slams into you, hard and fast, like a wave crashing over you. eyes rolling back as your walls clamp down around him, milking his cock, spasming so hard you’re seeing stars. your legs shake uncontrollably as you feel the hot rush of your release soaking both of you, dripping down your thighs, adding to the messy slick between your bodies. you’re screaming, but it’s incoherent—just broken sobs and moans, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure ripping through you.

choso feels it too, your pussy squeezing him so tight he can barely move, and with a deep growl, he spills inside you, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim. you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you so full that it starts to leak out, your stomach bulging slightly from how much he’s pumped into you. your whole body trembles, completely spent, as your cunt flutters around him, milking every last drop.

“heyy pretty, c’mon—wake up,” choso coos, giving your swollen, throbbing cunt a hard slap. the impact makes you jolt, and the wet, sticky sound echoes through the living room as your mixed juices splatter everywhere, slick covering your lower stomach and seeping into the couch. broken moans slip past your lips, your eyes fluttering open just in time to see him towering over you, his cock still hard and dripping with cum, more spilling from his tip.

“we’re nowhere near done.” 

[stagtorccio]

SWEETEST DECLINE

shauna shipman x gn!reader

request: x warnings: hurt with absolutely ZERO comfort, canon typical violence, major character death (reader) (sorry), references to canon typical cannibalism, jackieshauna and lottieshauna mentions if you squint because i'm insane word count: 3138 author's note: no note. angst <3 sorry requester if you wanted this to be happy. also, just for context, this is set between 3.09 and 3.10 i suppose? post akilah killing all the animals. for convenience (muahahaha) [AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

These are not the woods Shauna knows. 

The trees are taller, thinner, like ribs. Pale bark gleams in moonlight, slick with frost. Everything is bone-white and wet, quiet the way a chapel is quiet during a funeral, quiet the way a forest is quiet in the few bated breaths after a gunshot.

She walks barefoot. She doesn’t feel the cold.

Ahead, something moves. Soft, darting. A flicker of white fur disappearing between the trees. A rabbit, maybe. Or a hare. Small enough to vanish, fast enough to escape.

It stops once, just at the edge of a clearing. Turns to look at her. Its eyes are familiar. Like she knows them, but can’t pin the person or place.

Shauna doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. The hare twitches its ears. Then bolts.

She follows.

Branches snap beneath her feet as she breaks into a sprint. The forest doesn’t resist her, but it doesn’t let her pass quietly either. It sees her. It bears witness.

Then the trees open. She stumbles, disoriented, coughing as she falls to her knees. 

There’s a table in the clearing. Long. Too long. Draped in linen so thin it moves in the wind like skin. One place is set– knife, fork, goblet, and a single plate.

Jackie Taylor sits at the head.

She’s wearing her soccer uniform, soaked through and stained a bloody red at the cuff of the neck. There’s frost on her lashes. Her mouth is a clean, thin line.

Shauna stops at the edge of the cloth. Questioning. Terrified. 

Jackie doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

“You’re late,” she says.

Shauna looks down. The hare is at her feet now. Dead. Its fur is crusted with snow, but the body is still warm and pliant.

“You could’ve kept it alive,” Jackie says, calmly. “You just got tired of listening to it breathe.”

Shauna kneels. Cradles the hare in her hands.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmurs. “I didn’t…”

Jackie shrugs. “Meaning it doesn’t change anything, Shipman.”

The table groans. The knife trembles against the plate.

Shauna opens her mouth to speak–

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

She wakes gasping.

There’s silence, swollen and unnatural, like the hush before a scream. The kind of quiet that settles over a body before rigor mortis.

She blinks blearily, breath fogging the air, and reaches across the furs to tell you about the dream– about the hare, the snow. Not about Jackie. Never about Jackie.

But her hand finds only fabric.

Not cooling. Not warm. Just absence. The kind of absence that already feels permanent.

She tells herself you’ve just stepped outside– to piss, to clear your head, to prove a point. You always had a flair for the dramatic.

She sits up slowly. The air bites differently. The glow of the fire outside the hut’s gone out. The wind is louder now, gnawing at the thin frame of her hut like it’s hungry. And when she pushes past the furs, blinking into the early morning dark, there are no footprints. The world is white.

Snow is falling, swept by frigid gusts that howl through the tree line. Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment, all she can hear is the high, wheezing rush of her own pulse.

Then:

“Well, someone’s a heavy sleeper.”

The voice cuts clean through the blizzard. Soft. Familiar.

Shauna jerks her head to the right. And there, standing under the pine, hair rimmed in frost, arms crossed over her ruined chest– Jackie.

Smiling this time. Although, not kindly. 

“You always did have a talent for running people off.”

Shauna takes a step back. Snow crunches beneath her boots, loud. She doesn’t speak. She never talks to hallucinations. That would be crazy. 

“But then again, you never really had to say anything, did you? You just looked at them the way you used to look at me,” Jackie scoffs out next, examining her nails as though bored. “Hungry.”

Shauna squeezes her eyes shut. 

Not real. Not real. Is she still dreaming?

When she opens them again, Jackie is still there. Still watching. She tilts her head, as if to ask:

Does it matter?

Shauna turns away. Gasps for breath, clutches her chest, closes her eyes, counts to ten. Anything. Everything. But every inkling of comfort is ripped from her hands when Jackie snaps her fingers, deafening as a thunderclap.

“Shipman!”

Shauna whips her head, tears already welling in her eyes. Jackie tosses her a sly smile. 

“What are you waiting for? You know it’s only gonna get colder.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

The night before, the air in the hut had been just as cold.

You stood by the door, arms crossed so tightly your shoulders shook– not from the cold, but from restraint. You weren’t trying to stay warm. You were trying not to break something.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you’d said, low and shaking. “Not like I’m disposable.”

Shauna didn’t look up from where she sat on the edge of the cot, picking at her cuticle until it bled. She didn’t wince. Didn’t blink.

“Nobody even looked at you before me,” she said. Flat. Cruel. “You’re not exactly top of anyone’s list.”

The words hit like a slap.

You stared at her. She wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whispered– like anything louder would set the hut collapsing in on itself. “That’s what we’re doing now?”

Shauna exhaled, like she was bored. Or exhausted. “I’m just telling you how it is.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward now, voice rising despite everything. “You’re telling me what to feel. Again. Because God forbid someone fucking care about you and not get torn apart for it.”

She flinched, just barely. But then she smiled– sharp, joyless.

“Maybe I don’t want to be cared about.”

“Then why the fuck did you let me, Shauna?”

She had shrugged. Slowly. Entirely deliberate, meant to irk you. Her eyes were dark and hard and scared, but she didn’t say don’t go, she didn’t say stay.

“I didn’t ask you to,” she said instead, adding a mumbled: “Don’t know why you’re being such a bitch about it now.”

You stared at her. Long enough to give her a fighting chance. One last second to take it all back. To reach for you. To say something.

But she didn’t.

“You–” you began, then took a deep breath. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“That’s what this is?” she asked, voice flat. “Love?”

You blinked at her, disbelief cracking across your face like a fault line. “What else would it be?”

Shauna didn’t answer. Not with words, anyways. Instead, with that stupid fucking look she always got– the one where her brows cinched, mouth pulled into a childish pout. The one where she knew she was wrong, but it’d kill her to say it.

She just turned away. Laid down. Pulled the furs over her shoulders and faced the wall. And in the silence that followed, long and aching and final, she heard you lie down next to her.

She didn’t know she’d fall asleep. 

She didn’t know you’d leave. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

Now, snow’s blowing sideways and Jackie is gone.

Shauna stumbles forward into the white, throat tight, eyes burning. Her hands shake as she pulls her coat tighter, as if fabric could make up for what she failed to hold onto.

She doesn’t know where she’s going. Only that she has to find you before the horrible, all-encompassing silence does.

She doesn’t call your name. The wind would eat it. Besides, she doesn’t deserve to say it. Not now. Not like this.

So she keeps walking. One foot in front of the other, numbness curling around her calves like cold water. Snowflakes sting her lashes, melt against her cheeks, but she doesn’t blink them away. It feels like repenting.

The trees open up suddenly, a clearing she doesn’t remember from any hunt. The air drops a degree, maybe two. Everything feels wrong here.

She knows it in that moment, because that’s when she sees you.

Curled on your side in the snow, knees pulled halfway to your chest, arms slack. Your face half-hidden beneath your sleeve. Your lips a shade of blue that doesn’t belong on the living.

For a moment– a single, stupid, savage second– she thinks you’re sleeping.

She even starts to say your name. Soft, broken, choked in her throat. Then she sees your fingers. Bent stiff. Frostbitten. Like you reached back. Like you thought she was coming. A last dying dream, cruel comfort of the hypothermic body and mind. 

Shauna falls to her knees beside you. The sound that leaves her throat isn’t a cry. It’s not even a word. Just a torn, guttural rasp of something, sutures ripped from a wound. 

Her hands move without thinking. She brushes snow from your face, your hair, your lashes. Tries to warm your cheek with her palm. Tries to shake you gently by the shoulder.

“Hey– hey,” she whispers, so quiet. “Come on. Come on, don’t be stupid, don’t–”

You don’t move. She presses her forehead to yours. Her breath fogs between you. 

“No. No, no, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fucking do this. Please– wake up, wake up–”

She tries CPR. Clumsy. Utterly desperate. Counting under her breath, whispering your name between compressions, pressing her warm lips to your cold until hers are cold and yours are warm, an illusory attempt at resurrecting the dead.

Your body doesn’t give. It’s already gone stiff. The wind rushes over you both like the gust of a closing door.

Shauna collapses forward, chest heaving. Her fists press into your coat like she could squeeze warmth right back into you by force. She shakes with the effort of not screaming. Not sobbing. Not snapping in two like thin wood under weight.

You left. She made you.

“You didn’t stop me either.”

Jackie’s voice again. Closer this time. Like she’s whispering from behind a tree. Shauna doesn’t look up. She just lays her head against your chest, and stays there, face buried in your jacket like a child, shoulders shaking.

The silence, this time, doesn’t leave. It only settles softly with the down of falling snow, slowly erasing her tracks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

It’s the tracks that lead the rest of them there, faint and fading. 

Natalie sees them first. Frantic footprints in the fresh snow, veering off from the tree line in a crooked, chaotic path. She curses under her breath and waves the others forward, boots crunching, lungs burning.

“No one said they left together,” Mari hisses, breath fogging in the air.

“Shauna’s not in her hut,” Van mutters, looking behind them like she expects something to rise from the woods. “And you know what it’s like out here. If they—”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Natalie snaps. “Keep walking.”

The cold’s worse today. The kind that chews at skin and settles into bones.

Then they find the clearing. And everything stops.

Shauna is on her knees in the snow, hunched forward, wrapped around your body like she could shield you from the cold even now. Her hair is stuck to her face, her fingers bare and red, her shoulders shaking with the kind of sobs that don’t make sound anymore.

For a long, unbearable moment, no one moves.

Then Misty breaks the silence.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

Natalie’s voice is hollow. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your name leaves someone’s lips. Maybe Tai’s. Maybe Akilah’s. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

Shauna doesn’t look up. She doesn’t even seem to hear them. Her hands are still gripping your coat, her face buried in the crook of your neck like she’s trying to hide, split the soft seams of costal cartilage that create the delicate cage of your ribs, crawl inside of you so she can hold your heart in her closed fist and will it to beat again.

The others hover at the edge of the scene, unsure whether to step closer or back away.

It’s Lottie who moves first.

She steps through the ring of stunned girls, through the crunch of snow and still silence, and kneels beside Shauna.

Her hand doesn’t reach out. She just lowers herself to the ground, close but not touching. A quiet presence. A shadow aside a shadow.

“I’m sorry,” Lottie says softly.

It’s not clear who she’s talking to. The wind howls again, bitter and low. 

No one says your name after that. They don’t have to. It lingers in the clearing anyway, in every sharp breath, in every hand that curls into a fist, in the frost now clinging to the edge of Shauna’s sleeves.

Your body doesn’t move so much as a twitch. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

They don’t speak much on the walk back.

You’re heavier than they expected. Or maybe it’s just the weight of it. Of the moment, of what it means.

Shauna doesn’t help carry you. She won’t let go of your jacket, so Natalie and Travis do the lifting. She walks beside you, one hand clutched tight around a fistful of fabric at your shoulder.

The snow falls quieter now.

By the time they reach camp, dawn has begun to bleed into the sky. Not bright, not hopeful, just a soft amber hemorrhaging behind the trees.

Someone stokes the fire back to life. It catches too fast, too bright. The warmth hits Shauna like a blow.

It doesn’t feel like comfort. It feels like insult.

They lay you on the table. The same table they eat from. The same table where Javi once sat, slack-jawed and still. Where Ben once lay. Where meat is carved.

Now it’s your turn. Stripped bare like an offering. Skin gone pale and waxen, curling at the edges with frostbite. Your limbs stiff, arranged carefully— too carefully— like someone wanted to make you look peaceful.

Shauna stands frozen just beside it. Her hands hang useless at her sides, red from the cold and trembling.

Taissa approaches her quietly. “We need to talk,” she murmurs.

Shauna doesn’t answer.

"Shauna." Tai's voice stays steady, even, like she’s telling Shauna a weather report instead of gutting her. “All of the animals are gone. We won’t last another week if the snow doesn’t let up."

Shauna shakes her head once. A slow, disbelieving arc.

“No,” she says. “No. Don’t even—”

“I’m not asking,” Taissa says, gentle, yet firm. “I’m telling you what comes next. You know that.”

Shauna’s voice cracks open like something old and rotted. “They're not— they're not meat, Tai, you can't—”

Taissa doesn’t look away. “They're all we have.”

That’s what breaks her. Shauna stumbles forward, presses both palms to the table as if she could keep your soul tethered there by force. Her breath hitches, catches, collapses into a sob.

“They left because of me.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “They died out there because I— because I said— I was so stupid—”

“They're still here,” says a voice behind her.

Soft. Still. A gentle croon that only makes every hair on Shauna’s arms stand up straight.

She turns.

Lottie stands just beyond the firelight, hands folded in front of her, the flames casting her face in flickering gold and shadow. She looks less like a girl and more like an icon. Some saint on the side of a candle.

“They’re here,” Lottie repeats, voice low, reverent. “In what they gave to keep us alive.”

Shauna’s eyes go wide— rimmed with salt, unblinking.

“Shut the fuck up,” she says, sharp and shaking.

Lottie blinks once. Slowly. “You know it’s true.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shauna snarls, louder this time, stepping toward her.

Lottie tilts her head slightly, almost tender. “I know it hurts—”

Shauna lunges.

The sound she makes isn’t words— it’s grief given shape, rage that finally tore through the skin. She grabs at Lottie’s coat, fists twisting in the fabric like she could pull her to the ground, tear her open, make her feel it.

But arms wrap around her from behind— Natalie, maybe, or Van, or Taissa, or all three— dragging her back as her knees buckle.

“Let me go,” Shauna snarls. “Let me go!”

Lottie doesn’t move from the ground. Doesn’t raise her voice. Doesn't even wipe away the blood dribbling from her nose onto her upper lip, crooked again where Shauna cracked her across the face in fury.

She just props herself up, bathed in the firelight, looking at Shauna like she’s already forgiven her.

“It's okay," she whispers. "I know."

Shauna screams. Chokes on it halfway through, wrestles with the hands holding her back— but they don't give. Lottie watches her as she stands.

“The wilderness doesn’t take without giving, Shauna,” she says. “If we honor them— if we do this right— they stay with us. They keep us warm. They feed us.”

Shauna’s knees give violently. The hands release all at once and she sinks to the ground beside the table, sobbing into her palms like she’s trying to muffle it from you.

The others disperse like smoke, muttering, disappearing into corners, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Lottie kneels beside her. "It's what they would want," she says, softly.

Shauna wails like a wounded animal. Lottie touches her shoulder, just once, and leaves her there, trembling.

Then it’s just her. And you.

Your body is still caked in frost, rimmed with ice where your hair has curled against your skin. There’s a slant of firelight and morning sun across your nose, the edge of your chin, the place where your hand has gone still on your chest.

The glow makes you look softer. Like you're only sleeping. Like she's laying beside you in the hut, watching your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you dream.

Shauna turns when she can't stomach to look any longer.

Because they're right.

Because she loves you.

Because someone has to.

It’s almost mechanical, the way she gathers the pot, her knife, the old cloth they use to clean the blood. She’ll use it to cover your face now– just so she doesn’t have to see. No one helps this time. No one offers to.

They know better. They know this is hers.

She scrubs her hands first. Boils water. Like anything can be made clean enough.

But when she turns back, when she finally looks toward the table, hand outstretched with the cloth dangling– she stops.

Your body is there, small and still and yours. Not food. Not sacrifice. Just you.

She closes her eyes. Bites her lip until it bleeds. Licks it clean. Then she whispers, barely audible:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

She doesn’t say your name. Can’t.

Instead, she gently lays the cloth over your face, kisses the outline of the slope of your lips through the fabric, and tenderly starts with your throat.

[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧

𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

: ̗̀➛Back to source

Summery: Getting stuck on a mission with Jeffery Woods was a nightmare… Blood, chaos, and that twisted grin. You’re no saint either, but Jeff? He’s something else. When a routine job turns into a chase and fire sparks old ghosts, you see him in a different light.

Getting stuck on a mission with Jeffery Woods was a damn nightmare. You hated everything about him, the way his grin cut like a rusty blade, the way his eyes gleamed with that insane joy whenever blood spilled. You weren’t exactly a saint either, being a proxy had its own brand of cruelty carved into your bones.

But Jeff? He was a whole other level of twisted. Brutal, merciless, sloppy, yet efficient. You’d bet he got off on the chaos. You just wished you didn’t have to work with him.

The targets this time was pathetic, four stupid teenage boys, nosing around places they had no right to. Digging up secrets that were better left buried. They had to be wiped clean, no witnesses left to scream. You took out three quick, their screams and pleas just noise to drown in. But the last one was something else.

He ran like hell, clumsy and desperate, like he actually thought he could survive. You and Jeff were predators stalking him, teeth bared and ready to rip apart whatever scraps he had left. The kid was fast, but not fast enough.

He ducked into that old rigging barn, the place smelling like rot and mildew. Jeff smirked, knife twirling between his fingers like it was a fucking toy. “This kid’s got zero brains,” he muttered, voice dripping with contempt. “Hiding in a haystack? What’s he thinking? He’s in some cheap slasher flick?”

You cracked a bitter smile. “Maybe he thinks we’re just some lame cliches.”

Jeff laughed, cold and harsh, the sound bouncing off the cracked wood walls when you stepped inside, the stale smell of mouse droppings mixing with the sweet, dry scent of hay. You could almost taste the decay.

The kid was there, crouched and shaking. He looked more scared than anything, pathetic, really. Then, suddenly, he raised something in his hand.

A lighter.

His fingers trembled violently as he flicked it, a small flame licking the air. You saw Jeff stiffen like he’d been hit. His eyes went cold and distant.

The kid, driven by sheer desperation, sparked a flame beneath his feet, setting the dry hay ablaze in a last ditch effort to keep you both at bay.

The fire caught quick, little sparks blossoming in the dry straw.

You gritted your teeth, raising your gun just in time to shoot the kid between the eyes before he could scream.

Blood splattered the wooden wall behind him, hot and sticky. The fire flared, and you stomped it out fast, beating it down before it could spread to the rest of the barn’s flammable contents.

You glanced over at the man in the filthy hoodie. His face was pale, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on the dying embers.

“Hey.” you tilt your head, voice holding a hint of caution. You’d never seen him act up like that before. “You… okay, man…? You can’t just freeze up like that when we have shit to do.”

Jeff’s head whipped toward you, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something darker… Pain, maybe. “Fuck off, whore.” he spat, voice low but furious, trembling just beneath the surface.

You didn’t back down. “What the fuck you greasy piece of shit? I was asking if you were okay!”

Jeff shoved you hard, anger bursting from his chest like a volcano. “I said fuck off! Don’t tell me how to do this shit, alright?”

You stepped back, biting out a dry laugh. “Jesus, you’re a mess. Cry me a fucking river, Woods. Maybe next time I’ll just let the fire burn. See if it teaches you how to keep your head screwed on.”

He turned away, shoulders shaking with silent rage or grief, you couldn’t tell which. “He wouldn’t let me die,” Jeff muttered under his breath.

You scoffed bitterly. “Well, guess being a proxy has its perks.”

You shook your head, stepping toward the door. “Get your shit together, or next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Without another word, you left him there, standing alone amid the smoke and shadows, drowning in whatever haunted him beneath that filthy white hoodie.

Someone requested this AGES ago and I only remembered if now, I accidentally deleted the ask… my bad my bad… anyways they said they wanted to comfort Jeff in this but I wanted ANGST. lol this lowkey cringe.

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 18: I Love This Curse On Our House

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: y/n takes care of jenna

warnings: 18+! enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption, insane man, stabbing, animal abuse and cruelty, attempted murder, neglecting personal health,

AN: i hope someone gets the title reference bc i love that song

word count: 3.2k

The soft creak of the couch beneath her was the first thing she registered.

Then the dull ache blooming in her ribs, the sharp fire in her thigh and shoulder, and the gentle pressure of blankets tucked snugly around her frame. A scent - faint antiseptic, clean linens, something almost familiar like sugar and rain.

Jenna stirred slowly.

Her eyes cracked open into a haze of muted sunlight spilling across the living room ceiling. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. And then everything crashed down all at once.

Cam. The knife. The hallway. The door. The blood. The goddamn key.

She gasped - the sound ripped through her raw throat as her body jerked, panic surging as her limbs thrashed against the pain. “Where is he?” she croaked, voice hoarse and ragged. “Where is he- I need to hide, I need to-”

“Jenna- Jenna-” came the voice that grounded her. Warm. Shaking. Soft and urgent and trembling with fear. Arms wrapped around her immediately, strong but careful. “It’s okay. He’s not here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Y/N.

Jenna collapsed into her. Her body convulsed with sobs before she even realised she was crying. The trauma poured out in one long, jagged breath as she clung to Y/N’s chest, the fabric of her shirt dampening with tears. She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop feeling his hands, the glint of the blade, the sound of her own screaming echoing through her skull.

“He’s gone,” Y/N murmured. “I promise. He took the car… some of our supplies. But he’s gone.”

Jenna swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “How’s Angelo?”

Y/N loosened her hold only slightly to brush her hand through Jenna’s hair. “He’s okay. The limp’s mostly gone. That cut above his eye is healing nice. The side wound too, as long as he stops licking at it.”

Jenna shut her eyes. Relief pulsed through her like a heartbeat - sharp, sudden. “Good,” she rasped.

The silence that followed felt heavy. Not the comforting kind that usually existed between them - but taut, uncertain.

Jenna glanced up.

Y/N was hunched awkwardly beside the couch, her face pale and drawn. Hollowed. Her eyes, once bright with warmth and wit, looked sunken - deep bruises beneath them. She looked gaunt, like she hadn’t eaten properly in days. Her shirt clung to her frame more loosely than it used to. Her jaw looked sharper. Her hands shook when she tucked the blanket closer to Jenna’s side.

Jenna didn’t say anything. But she saw it all. And she saw the house too - unnaturally spotless. Like someone had tried to scrub the memories right off the walls.

But the blood still lived in her mind.

She could still feel Angelo’s blood-matted fur under her hands. She could still taste iron at the back of her tongue.

Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and Jenna leaned back against the pillows, listening to the quiet clinking of pans and the low hum of a stove heating. Rain pattered faintly against the windows - soft and distant.

A little while later, Y/N returned - carefully balancing two plates in her hands. One considerably more full than the other.

Jenna blinked. “Why’s mine a feast and yours is a crumb?”

Y/N glanced at her plate, then back at Jenna’s, then down at the floor. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.

“He stole food,” she said softly. “Cam. He took some of our best stuff when he left. We have to ration more now.”

She paused, her throat working hard. “And it’s my fault. I helped him. I brought him here. I let him stay. I didn’t see the signs and now… you and Angelo got hurt. So I’m rationing for both of us.”

Her voice cracked halfway through. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jenna sat up straighter - a wince flashing across her face from the movement. She stared at Y/N, stunned into silence.

“You’re being stupid,” she said finally.

Y/N flinched.

“No, not in a mean way,” Jenna added, softer this time. “I get it. I do. Honestly? Yeah, part of me still blames you a little. I’m still working through it. But you trusted an old friend in a new world. That’s not evil, that’s human. And… I’d probably have done the same.”

Y/N didn’t look up.

“But I still trust you,” Jenna whispered. “You’ve never not had my back, even when things were at their worst. Cam- he was hope. Maybe some dumb part of both of us hoped he’d be a reminder of normal. But he wasn’t.”

The couch dipped as she reached out, nudging Y/N’s thigh gently.

“You’re the caretaker now, aren’t you?” she teased. “Then act like it. I need you strong. Not passing out after skipping meals and playing janitor all night.”

There was a long pause.

And then, finally, slowly - Y/N looked up. Their eyes met.

And Y/N reached for her plate again.

Took a bite.

The silence was no longer sharp - just tired. Healing.

Jenna leaned back against the cushions again, sipping water from a glass Y/N had brought earlier.

And for the first time since waking, she didn’t feel completely alone in her body.

-

It was still raining - a gentle whispering kind of rain that blurred the garden view into watercolour smears beyond the windowpanes. Jenna sat propped up against two pillows now, the dining chair Y/N had dragged over sitting nearby with a pile of medical supplies on it.

Y/N was crouched in front of her again, focused and quiet, brows furrowed just slightly. There was a ritual to this now - one Jenna had come to recognise as both painful and oddly tender.

Y/N’s fingers were careful as she peeled back the gauze from her thigh wound first. Jenna winced at the initial tug, more from anticipation than pain.

“It looks better,” Y/N murmured. “The swelling’s gone down. No sign of infection.”

“That’s because you went full Florence Nightingale on me,” Jenna quipped, glancing down at the pristine wrap job already halfway undone. “Minus the bonnet.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her lips twitching, but didn’t reply. She was too busy disinfecting the area again - apologising softly even though Jenna barely flinched this time.

One by one, she worked through the other wounds. The shoulder. The ribs. The stitched slash near her cheek. The bruises, faded now but still tender, along her back and jaw.

Y/N said nothing more as she applied the anti-inflammatory cream, her hands precise. Jenna watched her closely the whole time - the determined pinch of her expression, the way she whispered “sorry” every time she adjusted the bandage.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” Jenna said softly, breaking the quiet. “I don’t just mean the bandages. I mean… all of it.”

Y/N glanced up at her briefly, eyes tired but warm. “Practice,” she replied. “And a lot of fear.”

Once Jenna was rewrapped and dressed in a soft T-shirt Y/N had laid out earlier, Y/N moved on to Angelo. The dog was curled at Jenna’s feet, his tail thumping sleepily against the blanket.

“Alright, warrior,” Y/N said gently, brushing her fingers along the cut near his brow. “Time for round two.”

Angelo tolerated it with quiet dignity - only flinching a little when the disinfectant hit the spot on his side. Jenna reached out to scratch his ears as Y/N worked, and he leaned into her hand with a small, satisfied grumble.

When it was done, Y/N rummaged through the basket near the kitchen and returned with a large chewing stick, tossing it toward Angelo like an offering.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “You saved us.”

Angelo wasted no time in settling down with his prize between his paws.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “And where’s my treat?”

That made Y/N pause - then, for the first time that day, she laughed. Really laughed. Soft and hoarse, but real. It cracked through the thick, mournful air like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I’ve got something,” she said, standing up with a stretch.

Jenna watched her move to the kitchen. She could tell the stiffness in her walk wasn’t just from exhaustion - but from hunger, from mental collapse barely held at bay.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, balancing a wide mug in one hand and a plate in the other. Steam curled gently off the top of the drink.

Jenna sat up straighter as Y/N approached, blowing softly at the hot surface. “Vegan chocolate milk,” Y/N said, “with that weird hazelnut syrup we found. And biscuits. Proper ones.”

She set the plate down on the nightstand, then passed over the mug with two hands. Jenna accepted it carefully, the warmth blooming instantly against her palms. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second as she soaked it in - the comfort, the care, the weight of the moment.

She took a sip.

It was absurdly sweet. Ridiculously indulgent. And exactly what she needed.

Jenna opened her eyes again. “So…”

Y/N blinked at her.

“How did I survive?”

The question hung in the air like a trap. Jenna didn’t ask it with any sort of pressure, but Y/N’s shoulders still tensed. Her breath caught.

“I…” Y/N looked down at her hands. “I heard the car take off. From the forest. I ran back. Saw the blood on the glass-”

Her voice faltered.

“I knew. I knew something had happened. I heard Angelo upstairs and just - I ran.”

Her eyes were distant now, like she wasn’t in the room anymore.

“I found you in the bathroom. With Angelo. He was guarding you. You were…” she swallowed hard. “You were pale. Cold. I brought you to the bedroom. I did everything. Stitching. Glue. There was a kit in the supplies. It helped.”

“What kit?” Jenna asked quietly.

Y/N looked at her like she didn’t want to say.

“… Blood transfusion.”

There was a pause.

“You gave me blood?” Jenna’s tone cracked upward, not quite angry - just surprised. Shaken.

Y/N didn’t flinch. “You lost too much. And you weren’t waking up. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jenna blinked, then looked down at the blanket over her lap.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did,” Y/N said immediately, firmly. “I really did. I don’t know if I could do this without you, Jenna. I don’t want to do this without you.”

The words landed like a rock to the chest. Jenna’s fingers clenched tighter around the mug. Her eyes burned - not from pain this time, but from something else. Something softer.

“I don’t want to do this without you either,” she whispered.

They reached for each other at the same time.

Hands found hands.

Warmth met warmth.

And for a moment, the rain outside didn’t matter. The trauma didn’t matter. The world, for all its brokenness, held this one fragile truth:

They still had each other.

-

Four days passed. Four silent, slow-burning days.

Each began the same way - Y/N cracking her eyes open to the pale light bleeding through the villa’s gauzy curtains, stiff from sleeping in the chair beside the couch where Jenna lay healing. And each night ended the same way too - Y/N hovering quietly, adjusting blankets that Jenna had already adjusted herself, brushing a kiss to her temple before silently collapsing onto the nearby ottoman in exhaustion.

Their rhythms had changed. Not in a dramatic way. Not in anything someone else might notice. But in small, subtle, unavoidable shifts. Jenna didn’t like the way the shadows in the hallway stretched at night. Y/N didn’t like leaving any door closed. Jenna flinched when she heard keys jangle. Y/N double-checked every window lock - then triple-checked.

Y/N had taken on everything. Every chore. Every ounce of maintenance. The work of ten men packed into her thinning frame. She planted and weeded, filtered and boiled, cooked and swept. She rarely sat. Her fingers were always in motion, hands wrapped around a rag or a wrench or a wooden spoon. Jenna knew it wasn’t just about keeping the house running. - it was a lifeline. A penance.

Jenna didn’t push her. Not directly. But it was obvious. And by the fourth day, she’d had enough.

“You’ve checked the pantry five times today,” she said from her place on the couch, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N froze halfway through pulling open the bottom cabinet. She held a jar of lentils in her hand, eyes flicking between it and the shelves like she didn’t remember why she grabbed it.

“I was just-” Y/N started.

“Looking for hope in the shape of canned beans?” Jenna offered, arching a brow.

Y/N gave a weak smile. “Something like that.”

Jenna sat up straighter, wincing slightly but adjusting the pillow behind her back. “Talk to me.”

Y/N hesitated. Then sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the cabinet.

“I think we’ve got a week left,” she said at last. “Maybe less. Not counting the garden, which is… not even close to producing anything helpful.”

Jenna didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

“I have to go out,” Y/N added. Her voice cracked. “But I can’t leave you again.”

A silence followed, thick and heavy. Jenna looked down at her hands. She hated this part - the part where logic and emotion collided like bricks. She didn’t want to be left alone either. But they both knew Y/N was right.

“I’ll figure something out,” Y/N added quickly, as if trying to fix it before Jenna could even react. “I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t.”

She stood. Her legs wobbled slightly but caught themselves. Then, without another word, she disappeared up the stairs.

Jenna tilted her head in confusion, listening to the muffled clatter of footsteps and something being dragged from overhead. Ten minutes later, the garage door creaked open and the sound of hammering echoed through the villa.

By dinner, Y/N re-emerged - sweaty, dirt-streaked, and breathing a little hard. Her arms carried a plate of food in one hand and a tray of mismatched cutlery in the other.

“Soup,” she said, placing the bowl into Jenna’s lap and plucking the napkin off the tray like she was unveiling a prize. “And something else.”

Jenna quirked a brow. “What else?”

Y/N grinned and gestured toward the back door with her thumb. “Come see after we eat.”

After a few spoonfuls and an amused exchange of glances, Jenna finally asked, “So… what have you been up to?”

Y/N’s grin widened - mischief creeping into the tired edges of her face like sunlight through blinds.

“You’ll see.”

-

You wiped your hands on a towel as the last of the dishes clinked quietly into place on the rack, the kitchen now spotless and still smelling faintly of sautéed garlic from dinner. The villa was too quiet. Too clean. Too peaceful in that artificial way that only came when everything underneath was trembling.

Jenna was curled on the sofa, legs wrapped in a blanket, Angelo stretched at her feet with one paw flopped over his nose. She’d been watching DVDs all day - cycling through films with a sort of dull detachment you recognised too well. Her eyes flicked between the screen and the windows sometimes, like she wasn’t sure if this moment, this peace, was real.

It was. But only for now.

You stood frozen in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge for a long moment, watching the soft light flicker across her face. She looked tired still. Better - stronger - but tired. And you could see it. In her posture. In the slight slouch of her shoulders. In the way her hands occasionally clenched and unclenched the edge of the blanket as if she were trying to ground herself. As if she were still afraid it might all vanish.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and turned away.

The pantry had become your sanctuary. Your obsession. Your prison.

You opened the door for the third time that day, flicking on the lamp overhead. You’d memorised every label. Every expiry date. But you counted again anyway.

Five tins of beans. Three of chickpeas. One of pineapple. Six protein bars, the dry kind. Four potatoes left, all bruised. A half bag of oats. An opened packet of powdered egg substitute. Some lentils. Barely enough rice for two days.

You stood there staring for a long while, your arms limp at your sides.

You couldn’t leave her again.

But staying meant watching everything slowly run out - and the guilt of that would eat you alive just the same.

You closed the pantry and leaned against the wall, closing your eyes briefly.

You needed a solution.

And in the silence, something clicked.

-

The attic was hot and stale, even in the early evening. You pulled the cord light on with a soft click, dust motes spiralling in the beam like snow in amber.

It was mostly boxes. Cobwebs. An old couch missing one leg. A broken guitar. A few plastic crates of someone else’s past.

But in the far corner - half-covered by a sheet and wedged between a stack of paint cans and a forgotten snowboard - you saw it.

A child’s trolley cart. Wide base. Rubber wheels. Sun-bleached blue and dusty as hell.

You dragged it free, flipping it over to test the frame. Sturdy. Not perfect - but good enough. Your mind immediately started assembling the possibilities. The couch cushions would make decent padding. You could reinforce the sides with some leftover wooden planks in the garage. It wouldn’t be fast, but it wouldn’t need to be.

It would keep her off her feet.

It would let you go out - together.

It would mean you wouldn’t have to leave her behind again.

The idea lit something in your chest that had been dim for days. A spark of purpose. Of control.

You worked for hours in the garage under the dim light of the solar bulb above the door. Your hands moved on instinct - measuring, cutting, hammering. You padded the seat, reinforced the corners, even tied down a folded umbrella over the back half to act as a sun cover.

You were so focused you didn’t even realise how late it had gotten.

When you stepped back into the villa, your shirt damp with sweat and your hands streaked with dust and grease, Jenna was still curled up on the couch - the end credits of Mrs. Doubtfire rolling in slow silence across the screen. She looked over at you with one raised brow, setting aside the mug of now-cold herbal tea you’d made her hours earlier.

You gave her a small, sheepish smile and carried two plates to the dining table - roasted carrots, wild rice, a half-portion of lentil loaf you’d put together using the last egg replacement.

She looked at you, amused. “So… what have you been up to?”

You paused just long enough to look up at her.

And smiled - for real this time.

“Come outside. I wanna show you something.”

--//--

AN: good luck anyone who has exams/finals ;)

AN: we haven’t seen any zombies in a while…

[rose24207]

hiiiii!! i loved you normal lando mechanic story, can i request a part 2 where lando gets a taste of her lavish life, maybe like an expensive fundraising event or similar?

More than enough Pt.2

Summery: Lando experiences a whirlwind of love and luxury as you shower him with extravagant gifts, fine dining, and unwavering affection, helping him realize his worth beyond material things.

Genre: Normal!Lando, CEO!reader, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: I love normal!Lando!! I think I might do a few more parts based of this! What do you think? English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

P1

Masterlist

Lando leaned against the hood of his beat-up project car, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. It was another long day at the garage, but he didn’t mind. The work gave him purpose, and besides, he had something even better waiting for him at home: you.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. Ever since he’d discovered the truth about your wealth, life had taken on a surreal quality. It was a lot to process—going from a modest life to being immersed in the world of luxury—but the thing that amazed him the most was how little your status had changed the way you treated him. You were still the same person who laughed with him over cheap wine, danced barefoot in his tiny kitchen, and held his hand during late-night drives.

But lately, you’d made it your mission to spoil him in ways he never thought possible.

The first surprise came on a cloudy Saturday morning. Lando had been tinkering in the garage when you appeared, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smile.

“Hey, handsome,” you called, your voice cutting through the hum of the street outside.

“Hey,” he replied, wiping his hands on his overalls. “What’s up?”

“Come with me,” you said, holding out your hand.

Lando raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. You led him out to the driveway, where a sleek, black luxury car sat gleaming in the soft light. His steps faltered as his eyes widened, disbelief washing over him.

“What… what is this?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s yours,” you said casually, as if you hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down.

“Mine?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d just told him he’d won the lottery.

“Yes, yours.” You laughed at his expression, stepping closer to hand him the keys. “You’ve been working so hard, and I know how much you’ve wanted something reliable—and fun. So, here you go.”

Lando’s hands trembled as he took the keys, his heart pounding in his chest. He walked around the car, running his fingers over the polished surface, his reflection staring back at him.

“Babe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “this is… I don’t even know what to say. This is insane.”

“Say you like it,” you teased, leaning against the car.

“Like it?” He turned to you, a grin spreading across his face. “I love it.”

“Good,” you said, your smile matching his. “Now, how about a test drive?”

Lando didn’t need to be asked twice. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he marveled at the smooth leather interior and the advanced dashboard. Everything about the car screamed luxury, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel like he belonged in it.

As he drove through the winding streets, the car purring beneath him, Lando couldn’t stop smiling. The way you looked at him, proud and happy, made his heart swell.

The car wasn’t the only surprise you had in store. A week later, you insisted on taking him shopping.

“Babe, you don’t need to buy me anything else,” he protested as you pulled him into a high-end boutique.

“Humor me,” you said, dragging him toward the watch display.

Lando glanced at the gleaming cases, his eyes widening as he took in the rows of intricately designed timepieces. Each one looked like it cost more than a month’s worth of his paychecks.

“Pick one,” you said, gesturing to the display.

“What?” He turned to you, his eyebrows shooting up. “No way. These are… I mean, look at the price tags!”

“Don’t worry about the price,” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “I want you to have something nice.”

Lando hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and the watches. Finally, he pointed to a classic design with a black leather strap and a gold bezel.

“That one,” he said, his voice almost timid.

You nodded, signaling the salesperson to take it out. When they handed it to Lando, he turned it over in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, slipping it onto his wrist.

“It suits you,” you said, your smile warm.

Lando pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

A few days later, you surprised him with reservations at a Michelin-starred restaurant. When you told him, Lando’s eyes went wide.

“Are you serious? Those places have, like, year-long waitlists!”

“I might have pulled a few strings,” you admitted with a wink.

That evening, as Lando stepped out of the car in his new suit, he looked around in awe. The restaurant was perched on a hill overlooking the city, its glass walls offering breathtaking views.

Inside, everything was immaculate—the soft glow of chandeliers, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of glasses. Lando felt slightly out of place at first, but you squeezed his hand, grounding him.

“Relax,” you said, your voice soothing. “This is your night.”

The meal was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Each course was a work of art, and Lando couldn’t stop raving about the flavors.

“This is insane,” he said between bites of the main course. “I didn’t even know food could taste like this.”

You laughed, your heart swelling at his joy. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Enjoying it? This might be the best night of my life.”

Over the next few weeks, you continued to treat him to little luxuries—a weekend getaway to a private villa, a pair of custom leather driving gloves for his new car, and even a surprise visit to a racetrack where he got to test-drive some of the fastest cars in the world.

But what made it all worthwhile was the look on Lando’s face. Every smile, every laugh, every moment of pure, unfiltered happiness reminded you why you were doing this.

One evening, as the two of you lay tangled together on the couch, Lando turned to you with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft, “when I first found out about… everything, I didn’t think I could handle it. I felt so out of my depth.”

“And now?” you asked, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Now I feel lucky,” he said, his eyes locking with yours. “Not because of the car or the watch or any of that. But because I have you. You make everything better.”

Tears pricked your eyes at his words, and you leaned in to kiss him. “You’re everything I could ever want, Lando. And I’ll never stop showing you how much I love you.”

As he pulled you closer, Lando realized something he hadn’t before: it wasn’t the material things that mattered. It was the love and care behind them, the way you made him feel like the most important person in the world.

And for the first time, he truly believed he deserved it.

Thank you for reading!

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