𝜗𝜚 you start to experience all the frustrating things that come with dating an undeniably sexy, cocky pro hero when the two of you finally get a proper date night
• keigo takami x f!reader
cw ~ established relationship, bitchy(?)!jealous!tipsy!reader, smut;; car sex, angry sex, fingering, some dry humping, mating press, creampie, pet names (baby, sweets, gorgeous / pretty girl, ‘attention whore’ directed to keigo) wait have i finally learned how to tag
wc 3.5k
You were seriously debating if you should take your glass and break it on this lady's head, or just throw the wine in her face before shoving her away from your boyfriend.
How many times does someone need to be checked on at a damn club?
“Ha, yeah, I mean… we’ve got the best selection here, so they say. Just offering.” she flashes that same tryhard flirty smirk to Keigo for the seventh time this night.
Keigo looked at you, then his drink. “Mmmm… nah… Really—If I get drunk, she’ll be on my ass.”
The waitress looked you in the eye, maybe the second time she’s bothered to this whole time, before giving a tight smile.
“Of course. I’ll be around!” She winked before turning and walking off.
“‘I’ll be around!’” You mocked her. “Yeah, I fucking bet.”
Keigo turned his head to you quickly, a confused look. “Hm? You alright?” his leg nudged yours.
You almost hit him with your glass. “Am I alright?”
He looks to the side awkwardly. “…Are you?”
You had to breathe in deeply before speaking. “You don’t think she’s being a little… extra?”
“In what way?” he tilted his head before sipping his soda.
You gave him a look, before exaggerating your posture and starting your impression of her. “Oh, Mister Hawks! Are you okay?! Oh! I’m back again! Oh! Let me suck your dick Hawks!”
Keigo choked on his drink. “Oh—I don’t think she said that…” he chuckled. “Jealous, sweets? Come on, she works here. Trying to get money out of me. You know how it is…”
You frowned. Keigo wasn’t stupid. The way he was known for how flirty he was, there is no way he doesn’t realize when women are flirting with him now. It wasn’t even about him caring or not, it’s just… uncomfortable to watch another woman flirt with your man.
“You seriously don’t think she’s doing too much?” You squinted at him.
“I mean, do you?” he looked over in the direction she left, before turning back to you. “I really didn’t notice anything. But… I mean…” he paused, hesitated—like he knew he was going to say something stupid. “I can’t control what someone else does. You know I’m yours, baby. Don’t worry about it.” It felt passive aggressive, the way he squeezed your shoulder and kissed your cheek.
You breathed. You didn’t wanna mess up the night, it’s been nice so far… not counting the insistent lady. You chugged the last of your wine, before literally shaking it off. You nodded to Keigo, and tried to forget about it.
Yeah, that didn’t last long.
You two eventually moved because Keigo wanted to dance with you. The dance floor was across the hall though, this fancy ass club, and as the two of you had just walked into the area, you bumped into her. Again.
She was drinking on the job or something because she was giggling her ass off with a friend and gasped so dramatically when she saw Keigo again.
You were already too irritated to actually listen to their conversation. You could just see her obvious attempts to seduce him, and his smile being a little too wide for your liking.
Then, you saw as his wing twitched slightly when he looked at you, and then watched in absolute horror as this lady reached for his wing and put her whole hand between his feathers, caressing him.
Keigo flinched quickly, but just laughed it off. “Oh, wow—Ha, don’t touch!”
“Ohhh, they’re so pretty—”
Fuck no. You placed your glass on whatever random table you could find, and walked away so quickly it was simply three clicks of your heels and you had disappeared.
Keigo was stunned, handing his empty cup to the lady before following behind you.
You had no other choice but to leave the vicinity. You’d have put your hands on somebody, either him or the lady—actually, preferably both—and you were still coherent enough to know you’d regret it simply because there were too many people around.
You could feel a headache coming on as you opened the back door, walking out into the large parking lot. Your breath picked up as you heard heavy footsteps behind you.
“Baby, what the fuck—what’s the matter with you?” He yelled out, picking up the pace and ending up right behind you.
“You’re really gonna act dumb with me right now?” You don’t bother to look back—so, he rushes in front of you, walking backwards.
He ran his hand through his hair, looking confused. “I’m not acting dumb?—What is the issue?!”
“What’s the issue? The issue, is the way you can’t help yourself whenever you get attention.” you spat out.
“What are you—Fuck, is this about the waitress again??”
“Yes, it’s about her!” you were getting louder by how frustrating he was. He looked to the sidewalk, noticing a few people walking past and taking long glances at the two of you. He kissed his teeth.
“I don’t know what you want me to say here. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah. You didn’t—That’s the whole point!” you tried pushing past him to get in front again, but he grabbed your arm—not firmly enough as you yanked it from him immediately and walked faster. He grunted out your name, still following you.
“What did you want me to do? Curse her out?!” he was getting louder too.
“Don’t… let her act the way she was?! Don’t act like it’s a joke when someone touches you like that?!” you looked back at him. “She touched your wing and you just wanna laugh about it?”
“Did you want me to push her away?”
“That would’ve been better than whatever the fuck you did.” You stopped, facing him with your arms crossed.
“I can’t help being a decent person. I wasn’t going to curse her out.”
You squinted at him, not even believing these words were coming out of his mouth. You breathed heavily as you stared at him, his brows furrowed and his hands fidgeting at his sides.
“I never said you needed to curse her out.”
“With how you’re acting, that’s what it seems like!”
“With how you were acting, like a fucking attention whore, it seems like you would have taken your shirt off and let her count your abs or some bullshit!!” you hissed.
Now he had to take a second. You watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, and the way his mouth subtly opened and closed like he didn’t know what to say.
Your head was starting to pound from the yelling. You spoke quieter this time. “Fuck it. You wanna treat me like I’m crazy, fine.” you shrugged, and started to walk away again. “Look, I’ll just wait in the car and let you go back in there so she can kiss your ass.”
It was silent for a moment, your heels the only noise between the two of you until you heard his footsteps following you again.
“I—… fuck, I can’t even think.” he spoke lowly, different from just a moment ago. He picked up his pace until he was right behind you again. “So, what? You wanna go home?”
You stopped in front of his car, looking back at him. “Oh, you’re not gonna stay for some more praise from another woman?”
His silence sort of startled you. He had a blank expression as he looked you dead in the eyes. “…Get in the car.” he murmured as he walked to the drivers side.
You rolled your eyes, huffing as you opened the door, took your heels off and hopped in.
The car's silence was deafening. You looked over at him every now and then, just watching how his entire body would rise and fall with his deep breaths. You never liked seeing him angry, and the fact that it’s with you—and entirely your fault—just slightly makes you feel… queasy, almost. Not enough to forget what pissed you off in the first place, though.
You spoke again, responding to your own thoughts.
“Actually, I wanna know why you’re there huffing and puffing like I did something to you.”
He was still silent.
“You’re just pissed I called you out. Fuckin show off. Desperate for any sort of compliment from any bitch out there.”
He stopped at the second red light, and finally turned to look at you. Or more so—look you over. From down to your feet, to dead in the eyes with that same blank look.
“What?” you grumbled. He looked you up and down two more times before the light changed and he drove again.
The silent treatment? Really? Before you could give it to him?
“Unbelievable.” you murmured. If he wanted silent, you could be silent. Whatever.
But then you realized he was going the wrong way. You didn’t even realize where he took the wrong turn and ended up wherever the hell you were now, but you knew this was not getting closer to home.
“Keigo? Where the hell are you going?” you huffed, again to no response. But then he drove into some multi-level parking garage that connected to a mall. He pulled into the bottom level, where it was sort of empty and the lights were hardly working. After finding a spot and bringing the car to a stop, it was silent.
“Keigo.” you spoke once more, pulling your bare feet up into the leather seat.
He looked at you as he reached for his seatbelt, undoing it swiftly. Then, turning his body toward you. Your breath hitched, the anger in your chest turning to a warmth as his energy shifted.
He got so close to you, his hand eventually reaching and sliding behind your neck, pulling you closer to him. Your faces were eventually so close you could feel each others breaths.
“You think I’m an attention whore?” he murmured, his eyes dropping to your mouth, before snapping up to watch your expression. “Fine. I am.”
Eugh. Your brows furrowed, having no idea where he was really going with this.
“Only for you, though,” he kept looking at your lips like he genuinely couldn’t help it. “I only want your attention. I only need your attention.”
Your breaths got heavier. You wanted to argue, tell him his lines wouldn’t work this time—but those would be lies, and your ability to speak faded with how close his lips were to yours.
“You mad at me, baby?” he cooed.
“Yes.” you grumbled. You swore your hand was reaching to push him away, but watched as it gripped his shirt on his shoulder.
“Awh. It’s okay, sweets,” his voice dropped into that quiet, comforting register that made your chest ache. His hands pulled you in just a little closer. “I’ll make you feel better.”
You didn’t have the chance to respond in any way before his lips were on yours, more desperate than you ever expected. A passionate kiss, with a hum that told you he wanted this so badly. His lips parted from yours for a second, just to slide his tongue in your mouth.
You let out a frustrated whimper against him, which made him tilt your head to kiss you deeper.
When he finally pulled back, he left messy kisses at the corner of your mouth.
“I’m gonna fuck it out of you.” he breathed, following his words with a sloppy kiss to your lips. His promise sent that heat in your chest right down to your pussy. He groaned again before actually pulling away. “Come on. Get in the back.”
You scrambled, following behind him and climbing into his lap as he so kindly had his legs spread wide in the backseat just for you to straddle.
As you sat down, you gasped after immediately feeling the hard bulge that had been growing since you left the club. He moaned, grabbing your hips and grinding your ass against him.
“Shit, Kei—H-Have you been…”
He whined against you before speaking. “Baby, fuck… you looked too good out there, yelling at me like that. Looking all pissed.” he rolled his hips against you. You let out a needy whimper, fingers digging into his jacket as he ground his thick length up against your pussy again. His wings were stretched out in the cramped space of the car, twitching every time he felt your heat.
Your cunt started to ache for him instantly. Every time he pressed your ass against his cock, it sent a wave of slick between your thighs.
“Th—That whole time?—you really are an attention whore,” your voice was hoarse as you spoke.
“For you, my gorgeous girl, aah—fuck,” he moaned. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, groping you hard as he pushed your body into his. “Need you, sweets.” he said, as your only warning before slipping your dress over your ass, one of his hands palming your heat to feel the wet spot he already knew was there.
His hand found it’s way under your panties, and his dick twitched by how soaked you were for him. He easily slipped a finger inside you, then another. “Fuck, look at you.” he praised, letting his wrist rub against your swollen clit. “You’re a mess for me, princess. You like cursing me out?”
“Nghh, Keigo—I don’t want your fingers,” you breathed against him.
“Oh, tell me what you want, baby.” he curled his fingers inside you.
“Aaah—Fuck you—” you huffed.
“To fuck me?” he chuckled.
“Fuck you.”
He grinned as he sped up his fingers, before pulling out and looking at you as he licked his fingers clean, his eyes rolling back from how good you taste.
You breathed heavily as you reached for his pants, undoing them urgently. His boxers already revealed he had his own wet mess, but it was a better sight when you freed his length. It bounced up, glistening with precum, revealing how needy he’s been for you this whole time.
If you didn’t need him inside you so badly, you’d lick him clean.
He didn’t let you admire for long, though, as he gripped your hips and the base of his cock, positioning himself and—once again, without warning—pushing his thick length into your pussy. A long wet noise filling the car as you sank down onto him.
“Shit, baby you’re so warm…” he whined, gripping you hard as he tried to keep his hips from fucking into you. He kept a slow pace, letting you feel his every inch as the veins across his cock pulsed with every squeeze from your pussy.
The sloppy, rhythmic squelch of his thick shaft sliding in and out of your dripping cunt, mixed with the heavy slaps of your thighs hitting against his with every stroke, filled the car. The windows were completely fogged up, thank god no one was around…
One of his hands drifted up your body, lifting your dress farther to reveal your tits. He quickly took you in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue around your sweet, hard nipple. He whined against you, feeling the way your insides twitched in pleasure.
“Baby, ah—Please, faster,” you begged, tugging against his jacket, trying to gain some sort of control to force his dick inside you deeper, faster.
His mouth popped from your nipple, looking up at you as he bit his lip. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy…” he rasped, throwing his head back as he didn’t change his pace at all.
You whined out his name again, and caught his annoying knowing smirk, almost growling.
“You’re so—” you’re cut off by your own whimpers, and he was loving this.
“I’m so… what? Talk to me,” his tone was condescending as he started to slam you onto him so slowly, every time you tried to speak you’re cut off by his length filling you up completely.
“Ugh—so fucking annoying.” you managed to finish your sentence. “I guess—ngh—I… I guess you can’t fuck me right because… ah—you’re too…t-too busy thinking of that waitress, hm?” you finally got the teasing words out, catching his face drop quickly.
“Fuck that waitress,” he grumbles, gripping you tighter as he thrusts into you harder.
“Oh—fuck her? Or fuck me?” you almost laughed, throwing his line right back at him—but he was quick.
Your cunt missed his warmth instantly as he suddenly pulled out. He laid you down against the car seat, putting himself at an angle as he fucks back into you—deeper, faster, just as you wanted. His thrusts are continuous, and his thumb meets your swollen clit, having you moan almost embarrassingly.
With a low, territorial growl—he shifted his weight, flattening his torso against yours before grabbing your knees and shoving them up past your chest until you were folded under his weight.
He moaned shamelessly loud as he fucked you balls deep, the mating press stretching your puffy cunt wide open for him.
“I’m fucking you,” he grunted, leaning down to get closer to your face. “I’m fucking this pretty pussy. I’m fucking my gorgeous girl.” he slowed down again as he spoke, making you whine pathetically.
“I told you, baby. Your attention whore.” he grinned. “I only want this. I only need you.”
“Kei…” you whimpered.
“Oh, baby, you sound so cute. I’ve got you.” he spoke so sweetly in comparison to the way he picked up the speed. He was hammering into you with an unhinged force.
His thumb never left your sensitive clit, rubbing against your slick bud with every deep, bottoming-out thrust. You just barely had the strength to keep holding onto him.
“K-Kei—ah!—I’m gonna cum!” you cried, watching as his eyes rolled back and his hips stuttered before he kept his pace for you, letting you ride out your orgasm.
Your pussy twitched and clenched around him, making his whole body weak as he shivered and felt his own release come. His heavy wings stretched out as much as they could as he delivered one final deep stroke, slamming his hips entirely flat against yours.
“Take it, baby, let me make y’feel good…” he groaned, his tip shooting hot ropes of cum straight into your womb. Both of you whined as your insides clamped around him, and he stayed buried inside you as you both caught your breath.
He whimpered softly, letting your legs lay a little more comfortably, still spread—keeping his softening cock warm. He leaned down, kissing you messily, before dragging his mouth across your cheek and burying his face in your neck.
“‘M sorry, sweets,” he murmured.
“S—Sorry? For what…?”
“…Pissing you off.” He lifted his head to look at you.
You let out a lazy chuckle. “Keigo… come on.”
“No, baby, really. I was bein’… an ass. If something upset you that much, I should have… done something.”
“But.. I was complaining over stupid shit. I mean, I—I’m still… bothered… thinking of how she was acting, but—you were right. You can’t control what another person does.”
He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re upset about anything, I have to make you feel better.”
You breathed, accepting that he’d also accepted you’re in the right—though as soon as he pulled over you knew you were wrong. “Well… I do feel better.”
“Mhmmm?” he smiled at you before slowly slipping his length out of you, with a deep sigh from him, and an involuntary whine from you.
“Mm. Not anymore.” you huffed, with a weak giggle.
He grinned, before grabbing you by the waist and having you sit up. He pulled down your dress, fixed your hair (barely), then hauled your exhausted body on top of his chest. “Well… I told you I’d make you feel better, sweets.” he murmured into your hair. “Next time, though… you could just pull me to the car. Didn’t like people seeing us argue.”
“Uhmm… you’re the one who was hard the whole time—” You softly hit his chest.
“Ah, I believe you're the one who came to the back when I asked…” he raised a brow at you.
You squinted at him, thinking hard for a comeback—before muttering, “Shut up.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”
“I love you.” you hummed in his neck.
Your breathing slowed as you started to relax off in his arms, all that adrenaline finally leaving your system. The car windows were just now starting to clear up from the fog of your breath, letting the outside world creep back in.
You blinked, tracking the dark shadows outside.
“Wait.” you murmured against him.
“Hm?”
“Keigo…”—you lifted your head, squinting through the glass—“Get us out of this creepy ass garage, what the hell?”
He looked out the window too, before bursting out laughing. “Fuck, I forgot we were even—”
“You drove us here!”
“I had a lot on my mind!”
You groaned, rolling off of him with a heavy sigh as he climbed into the front seat. The car engine roared to life, the headlights cutting through the pitch black, sketchy lot.
“You’re staying back there?” he asked, looking into the rearview mirror as he put on his seatbelt.
“My legs are wrecked.”
“Right…right. Yeah, relax yourself sweets. You’ll be home before you know it.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. yall why was i lowkey getting angry as i was writing…LIKE??? no y’all might get annoyed with reader but i’m sitting here thinking… KEIGO… DO SOMETHING !!!?!? lmfao mind you i wrote it. also umm let’s just clarify they def went home he def runs a bath for you and cleans you up and everything i’m just too lazy to write that. anyway, all interactions are so very much appreciated! thank you for reading!!!!
When Ryomen 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 found a temple girl still on her knees after he had burned it to the ground, he thought you'd be perfect to take as his.
𝓒𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 · 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 · ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎!𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 ⋮⋮ mentions of weapons (knife) ⋮⋮ reader at one point tries to take his life ⋮⋮ mention of blood ⋮⋮ 𝒗𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏 reader ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ his two cks mentioned ⋮⋮ cervix kissing ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ cum-flated ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ he eats you out under a pear tree ⋮⋮ bathtub 𝒔𝒆𝒙 ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ mentions of pregnancy ꒱
The Heian era stretched long and bloody under skies that never quite cleared of smoke. Villages burned not for conquest alone, but because Ryomen Sukuna found the sight of flames prettier than the thatched roofs they devoured.
He moved like calamity given legs, four arms thick with corded muscle, tattoos crawling black across scarlet skin, eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood and just as hungry. They called him the King of Curses long before any true cursed spirit bore the name; humans feared him the way prey fears the open mouth of a tiger, and with good reason.
He slaughtered priests mid-chant, crushed shrine maidens beneath his geta, left offering bowls overturned and spilling rice across blood-slicked tatami. Faith irritated him. Devotion irritated him more. It was the only thing that ever made him pause long enough to really look at someone.
You were different in the way a single unbroken flower is different in a field turned to ash.
The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.
Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.
Sukuna found you like that.
The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.
He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.
“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”
You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.
He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.
“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”
He went still.
For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.
Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.
“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”
He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.
His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.
You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.
You were his now.
He did not speak the words. He did not need to.
Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.
“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”
You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.
“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”
You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.
The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.
When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.
He crooked two fingers.
You hesitated.
He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.
You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.
He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.
“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”
His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.
Then he released you.
“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”
There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.
You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.
Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”
The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.
And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.
The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.
Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.
Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.
You pressed harder against the stone.
He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.
“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.
You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”
A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.
“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”
“I’m not yours to keep.”
The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.
He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.
“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”
You jerked your head away. “I said no.”
His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.
He waited.
The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.
Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.
He pushed the rice inside.
You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.
Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.
“Good,” he murmured.
He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.
You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.
He didn’t let you.
The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.
He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.
“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”
He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.
“I know.”
He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.
Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.
And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.
Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.
....
You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.
You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.
And yet.
His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.
You waited for the right night.
It came without fanfare.
The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.
You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.
He didn’t.
You moved.
Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.
Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.
You returned to the mat.
Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.
You leaned forward.
One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.
You pressed.
Not deep. Not yet.
Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.
Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.
He didn’t stir.
Not yet.
But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.
His four arms remained lax.
His eyes stayed closed.
The blade trembled in your grip.
And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.
He felt you.
Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly.
Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.
He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.
You froze.
The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.
“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”
Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.
“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.
“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.
Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”
The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.
You couldn’t.
The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.
His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.
He shook you once—light, almost playful.
“Do it,” he said.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.
“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”
Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.
In one fluid roll he flipped you.
The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t disarm you.
He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.
Neither of you moved.
The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.
Blood dripped.
And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.
His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.
You were bare underneath.
He was bare too.
The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.
It was too much.
Too aware.
Too close.
He never looked away.
Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.
He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.
“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Sweetly.
His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.
He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.
The blade slipped.
Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.
Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.
Not away.
Closer.
You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.
His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.
You shuddered.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.
His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.
A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”
The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.
He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.
One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.
A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.
He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”
Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.
He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.
“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”
Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.
And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.
You broke first.
The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.
His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”
He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.
He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.
The fat tip breached you.
Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.
He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.
“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”
Another slow push.
Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.
He didn’t rush.
He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.
You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.
He swallowed it.
Pressed deeper.
Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”
Another slow, relentless push.
Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.
And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.
Too big.
The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.
Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.
Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.
The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.
“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”
You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.
His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.
But not yet.
He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.
He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.
He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.
Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.
Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.
He groaned low into your mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”
Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.
You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.
And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.
Fuck, it was so sloppy.
The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.
He watched it happen.
Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.
He was mesmerised.
One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.
“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”
You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.
He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”
He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.
You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.
He didn’t speed up.
He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.
And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.
Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.
The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.
He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.
His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.
“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.
Then it hit.
Hard.
Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.
He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.
“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”
You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.
He didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t pull out.
Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.
Ready.
Patient.
Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.
He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.
He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”
Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.
He was close.
You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.
Then it hit him.
A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.
Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.
Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.
He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”
You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.
He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”
And still he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.
The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.
Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.
A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.
You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.
He hadn’t moved much.
One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.
He watched you.
Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.
His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”
You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.
He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.
He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.
Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.
One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.
“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”
Your breath hitched.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.
Then he finally began to ease out.
Inch by torturous inch.
Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.
You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.
He stayed above you, watching silently.
One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.
“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”
His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.
He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then he gathered you.
Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.
He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.
He lowered you into it carefully.
The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.
Gentle.
Methodical.
He washed you like something precious. Something his.
When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).
He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.
Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.
“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.
The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.
The flood had passed.
But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.
Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.
Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb.
The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity.
Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.
You awoke first.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat.
One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.
You could not sleep any longer.
The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple.
Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.
Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding.
Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.
He stirred.
Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.
“Does that feel better?”
You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.
He didn't pull away.
Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.
You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.
You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.
As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale.
The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.
Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.
Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.
Were you in pain because of him?
Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?
His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.
And yet.
He remembered how you had pulled him closer.
When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.
That had to mean something.
If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.
His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.
He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.
Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.
He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.
Pain?
Hate?
Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?
For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.
And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.
Daylight brought no mercy.
When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.
You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.
Sukuna did not crowd you.
He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.
You felt the absence of him immediately.
At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?
You felt too weak for wanting him.
When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.
He saw every motion.
He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.
The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.
You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.
Sukuna waited.
Patient.
Silent.
Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.
The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.
When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.
You hated how aware your body had become.
Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.
Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.
Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.
One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.
“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”
He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.
“I will take you.”
He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.
You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.
At first it was perfect.
You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.
Then you sat.
The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.
You froze.
Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.
Sukuna noticed immediately.
He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.
His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.
“Look at that.”
He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.
“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”
You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.
The lake sparkled innocently behind you.
The sun continued to shine.
But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.
You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.
“It is not… I did not mean…”
The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.
“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”
Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.
“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”
You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.
Tell him.
Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.
The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.
Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.
A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”
You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.
Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.
“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”
He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.
Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.
“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”
You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.
“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.
Then you saw the tree.
He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.
You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.
“You do trust me, right?”
The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.
Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.
“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”
Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.
Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.
Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”
You obeyed.
Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.
“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”
He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.
The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.
“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”
He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.
“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”
He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.
Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.
“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”
He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.
And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.
He was greedy for it.
Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.
His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.
Deeper.
Deeper.
His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
The pleasure was overwhelming.
Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.
It all felt too surreal.
Too good.
You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.
Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.
“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”
He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.
The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.
Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.
The lake whispered in the background.
Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.
He was getting hard from your scent alone.
The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.
He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.
His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.
“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”
He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.
Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.
He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.
“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”
Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.
He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.
He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.
Your legs shook violently.
Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.
It built fast. Too fast.
A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.
“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”
He did not stop.
If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.
“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”
You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.
“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”
He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.
“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”
The words pushed you over the edge.
The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.
You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
Now you were ready.
Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.
He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.
You felt weightless.
The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.
You closed your eyes.
The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.
Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.
“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”
You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.
Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.
You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.
The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.
Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.
The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.
Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.
He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.
You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.
Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.
He did not wake you.
He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.
Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.
Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.
You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.
For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.
The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.
Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.
He noticed the moment your eyes opened.
Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.
You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.
Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.
“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.
You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.
The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.
And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.
Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.
His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.
Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.
You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.
He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.
Your breath caught.
He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.
Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.
You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.
Sukuna turned his head slowly.
Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”
You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.
Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.
“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”
Steam rose from the bath behind him.
Lantern light flickered across his skin...
You stepped inside.
Shy, but eager.
Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.
The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.
You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.
He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.
“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”
You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”
The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.
Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.
“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.
He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.
You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.
His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.
“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”
The steam rose thick around you both.
The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.
And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.
“Please…”
The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”
Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.
Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.
He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.
“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”
He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”
He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.
His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”
He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.
And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.
You felt him immediately.
The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.
Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.
“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”
Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.
He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.
You were trembling.
The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.
“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”
Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”
He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”
You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.
“Yes… please… both…”
Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.
“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”
He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.
The water steamed around you both.
Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.
He worked the second cock in slowly.
The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.
“Oh fuck—”
The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.
“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”
Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.
Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.
“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”
You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.
“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”
His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.
Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.
Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”
Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.
Your cunt kept stretching.
It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.
More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.
The way your tummy bulged was obscene.
You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.
Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.
Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”
He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.
He was fully seated.
Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.
Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.
“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”
Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.
The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.
He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.
“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”
Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.
Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.
“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”
Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.
The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.
Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.
“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”
He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.
“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”
When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.
That was all the permission he needed.
Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.
A broken moan tore from your throat.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.
The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”
Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.
You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.
Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.
His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.
“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”
The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.
Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.
And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.
Huge.
That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.
Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.
He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.
One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.
His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.
You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.
Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.
“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”
His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.
You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.
Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”
Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.
You were creaming on his cocks.
Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.
Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”
The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.
You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.
When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.
Sukuna did not stop moving.
He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.
His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.
He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.
“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”
His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.
His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.
The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.
Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.
Then the first one came.
Hard.
Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.
Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.
It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.
You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.
Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.
“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”
His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.
You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.
Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.
You had never felt so full.
So claimed.
So completely his.
Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.
Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.
He was sure it would take.
So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.
A low, guttural groan left his throat.
His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.
“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”
Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.
Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.
He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.
“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”
The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.
After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.
The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.
When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.
A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.
You did not let him go.
The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.
Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.
“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.
He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.
“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”
He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.
Sukuna did not mind.
He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.
“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”
The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.
Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.
And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.
When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.
You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.
One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.
“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”
He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.
Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.
When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.
He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”
You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.
“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”
When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.
Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.
“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.
And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.
He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.
It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.
He looked at you.
Really looked.
This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.
Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.
One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.
His gaze drifted lower.
His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.
He had never cared for heirs.
Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.
But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.
You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.
It was not such a bad sight.
In fact, it felt… right.
The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.
He would only want that with you.
Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.
Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.
Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.
Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.
He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”
The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.
He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.
You.
His.
Perhaps even carrying his child.
The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.
You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.
Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.
You were pregnant.
The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.
The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.
Sukuna was already moving.
He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.
The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.
You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.
Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.
He had never imagined he would want this.
Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.
He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.
“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”
Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.
Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.
He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.
The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.
In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.
He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.
It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.
Then the sickness came.
Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.
Then your body began to change.
Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.
The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.
You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.
He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.
His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.
“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.
“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”
Your breath had stilled completely.
Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.
“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”
It sounded surreal even to your own ears.
Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.
You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.
Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.
“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”
Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.
He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.
“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”
Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.
The pears had only been the beginning.
Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.
Synopsis: Hawks had left you long ago, three years now, you never stopped searching for him and he never stopped running away. But what happens when you’re forced to work with him for a mission?
Cw: angst, happy ending, Hawks still has a quirk, unresolved feelings, jealousy, commission being asses again, human trafficking (I kept it light), sexual tension, making out, fingering, piv, pet names, wing involvement, multiple rounds, aftercare.
@broccoli654 @f1zzl3sh0rkz this one’s for you! 🫶🏼
You woke up to your alarm ringing loudly, the same as every morning, 6 AM sharp, two hours before you had to go to work and start patrol.
You were a pro hero, had been one for five years now and you had finally gone solo, your own agency was still being built, but for the most part it was functional.
Your hero name is Tidal, or as the press calls you ‘Tidal waves: liquid hero’, your quirk is called Death Waves, named by your father who thought he was making a funny joke: you can use any type of liquid to your advantage and manouver it as you please.
Blood is not an exception, which made you known in your first year when you had to strip a villain of most of his blood to end the fight, still keeping him alive and well, but the press took the advantage and made a ton of speculation, almost getting you to quit immediately.
You had recently received a message from All Might himself, now retired and living as Toshinori Yagi, he invited you out to tea, something that wasn’t unusual since you had been one of his students. You accepted without a second thought, sending him a smiley face, not noticing the message he sent you right after.
You shut down your alarm, putting it back on your bedside table before getting up, sleep going away from you quickly out of habit. You had breakfast, showered and got ready, putting on your hero costume and your support items at last, heading straight for patrol.
The city was quiet, as it usually was thankfully, you helped a couple ladies cross the streets and some kid find his mom, nothing too serious, just normal hero work, until you got a call. All Mights number, you answered, still staying on high alert in case some villain decided to try his luck
-“Tidal here”
-“Young Tidal, do you remember we have to met for tea later, right?”
-“I do, why? Are you busy?”
It was not unusual for him to be called at all hours, even now that he was vice-principal at UA he was constantly busy, running around from a place to the other like a maniac
-“I am not, but do you understand what we need to discuss about?”
-“You didn’t say anything about a topic…?”
You questioned your memory then, thinking of all the notifications you got in the past month to try and trace back his, but nothing came up.
-“I did, you received my message and read it as well, I thought you had understood”
-“Sorry, I must’ve seen it but forgot to read it, what was it about though?”
-“You do remember the tip we had for the Ouroboros clan, right?”
The name made your blood freeze and boil at the same time, the clan was one famous for how old it was, having been around for a century know, they specialized in drug trafficking, but there had been ongoing rumors that children had started being involved.
Child trafficking in villain clans wasn’t unknown, but the Ouroboros wasn’t a normal clan, it was the spine of every other one in Japan, the worst one.
-“Yes, I do, what about it?”
-“It has been confirmed”
You stopped, heart pounding in the middle on the street, All Mights voice seemed calm, too much so, but you knew he had a reason to be like that.
-“By who?”
-“I should not be disclosing this type of information over the phone young Tidal, I’ll give you all the details today”
-“I know, I’ll be there”
You hanged up the phone, probably cutting the man’s goodbye in half, you resumed your walking, although you were faster and tenser than before, but there were only kids from elementary school around, no one noticed.
⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
Patrol ended fast and painlessly, so you headed back to your almost-built agency to change, setting your support gear down while still staying in your hero suit, accidents could happen at any time and fighting with civilians clothes was much riskier.
The meeting with All Might was going to be in a half hour, and you took the chance to fill out some paperwork you needed to do.
When it was time you set everything back, the tea place was just five minutes away from your agency. You got there quickly, asking a waiter for the room All Might had booked, he was already there, tea in both cups and a stack of papers sat on the side.
“Young Tidal”
“All Might”
“Are those the papers?”
“Yes, they are. But please, have a seat”
He motioned to the seat in front of him, sliding the cup for you closer, you did as he said, noticing how his shoulders were tenser than usual, his eyes darker and his smiling completely absent.
“What are the updates?”
“It’s better that you read them”
He slid you the papers silently, making your alarm bells ring, All Might never avoided explaining of cases, so it was weird that he suddenly didn’t want to.
“Can’t you tell me?”
“I can, but you need to view it all before accepting”
You quit trying to convince him, turning to see the first page, as you thought, the Ouroboros had been active in drug trafficking recently, but someone managed to get pictures of them carrying different boxes, too small to be for drugs, too big to be for explosives.
People
You scanned through the pages quickly, reading over each and every line and analyzing every pixel of the photos, praying silently you wouldn’t see what you feared most.
There was a page that had names on it, you spotted yours and knew it was just the list of the heroes called to intervene, you set it aside, not giving it much thought.
The clan had connections outside of Japan, the other countries had offered their support, but clearly stated that the primary captures should come from Japan, since the root of the clan lived there.
You flipped through some photos, until your eyes struck one in particular, blurry, but clear enough that you could make out the scene. A rope was bound to someone behind a crate, keeping him hidden like they knew there were going to be cameras around.
A child, a child too small to be there on accident
You froze on the spot, holding the picture so tight in your hands it started to crinkle around the edges, your blood was pumping fast in your veins, your heartbeat going wild as if you had been running for hours. You looked up at All Might, your own face draining of color quickly.
“That is why I wanted you to see it”
“Toshinori”
You called him by his first name, your self restraint going slowly out of the window the more you looked, the more you understood.
“Why are children there?”
“They are being trafficked, Young Tidal, sent around with those ships, we believe that the place you just saw is their principal outpost. We are organizing a mission to get there and capture as many as we can.”
“The priority is the rescue, we can’t leave the kids there alone”
“It is, but we need to make sure the head of the clan get taken in, or those kids will only keep getting taken”
He explained the mission in detail, going over schemes he had drawn personally, there were going to be at least fifty people there, all buyers and sellers, powerful quirks for some, easy-to-tame for most.
You had been called since the area was near the sea, Gang Orca was going to be there too, both your quirks were great for water, yours for flooding areas and Gang Orca’s to destabilize the enemy without killing, unless necessary.
Suneater was called along with Fatgum, Lemillion as well, but he said he’d show up only if the others had problems handling the situation, other minor heroes had been called too, All Might explained.
“Are you going to be with us, Young Tidal?”
“I will”
You took out a shaky breath, taking a sip of tea to ground yourself, he handed you back the paper you set aside before along with a pen, waiting for you to sign. You where reading the contract briefly, even though it was always the same, just with different heroes every time, until your name caught one.
Keigo Takami
Your hand stilled, ghosting over the paper without touching it, you looked up at All Might, searching for an answer. You knew now why he was tense, he knew about your past relationship with Keigo, the media had made a big fuss about it and you eventually told some people while making sure nothing got out.
Keigo had wanted to keep the relationship a secret since the first day, ‘Hero work is dangerous’, would be his primary excuse, but when you’d question why he wouldn’t tell even Endeavor, the man who he talked to everyday like a broken record, he suddenly was silent.
You agreed to his requests; not telling anyone, never meeting in public, never taking pictures together, no dates, no asking him about work, no searching for him. Besides all the restrictions he had, you still loved him more than anything, waiting everyday for the moment you’d get a text from him.
You used to go to his place everytime, he’d let you in and wouldn’t let you say a word before he kissed you hello, then he’d lay down on the bed next to you, pulling you closer with his wings to cuddle, letting you talk about everything that crossed your mind.
Dates outside you couldn’t do, but sometimes he’d surprise you with a plushie, with something you liked, and would cook you whatever dinner you wanted, putting on music while singing and dancing shirtless to make you laugh.
He had treated you better than anyone else, he wouldn’t answer when you pried about his job, but everything you wanted he’d buy for you, he’d love you like no one, help you with training even, making you feel like you were the only existing woman for him in the world.
Then it all ended.
He texted you one day, telling you to see him at his place like usual, you got your things, and half an hour later you were there, you knocked on the door, once, twice, three times, but no answer came.
You waited outside for more than an hour, checking the news to see if he had made a rescue or got caught up in a villain attack, no news came up for a while, until a friend texted you, writing in bold letters
-”HAWKS HAS A GIRLFRIEND”
She sent a video, clearly catching Keigo, your boyfriend of two years, heavily making out with a girl you had never seen before, a civilian, outside of a fancy restaurant, wing wrapped around her shoulders and his usual relaxed smile on his face, the exact one he had with you.
Your phone fell to the ground, ignoring your friends texts as your heartbeat picked up, the air fleeing your lungs quickly, your friend didn’t know of your relationship, but she had just saved you without knowing.
The months that followed were hell, photos of him and the girl everywhere around town, seen kissing, going out to dinner, taking pictures together and having walks on the beach as if they were one part of the other.
It was everything you never had with him, everything that was forbidden to you because ‘Hero work is dangerous’ was suddenly not a problem for her, suddenly talking about relationships to the media wouldn’t ‘Make you target to villains’.
Your heart was wrenched open, all your convictions flying out of the window along with your self respect, you tried calling, going to his agency, asking his sidekicks for help, but you got none.
So you decided to confront him
You had gone to his place, taking the usual bus you always took to get to him, the drive felt three times longer that day, but you hoped it was all a lie, you hoped it was just a marketing tactic, you hoped for everything to not let him go.
You arrived and knocked on the door until your hand hurt from slamming on the wood so hard, you waited five minutes before the door opened, the girl from the pictures, half naked as she was throwing a shirt on, one of his, the one you got him.
She had greeted you kindly, asking who you were as if everything was alright, maybe it was for her, but your world was the one crumbling.
All Might put a hand over yours, holding it in that way he did with children that were scared, he met your eyes for a moment and you noticed you were shaking, your whole body trembling as if cold had struck.
“You don’t have to come, Young Tidal, I know it would be hard for you to be there”
You slowly pulled your hand away, playing with your hair as you nodded, holding some tears back, it had been three years, but the pain still hit too hard to ignore.
“No no, I’ll be there”
“Are you sure?”
“The kids need us, no matter how much I hate Hawks”
Hawks
The name felt strange on your tongue, not like it did back then. You would’ve never called him by his hero name when you were together, but now, you couldn’t even picture his face without remembering how he betrayed you, how he used you and ran off.
⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
The mission was a success, the clan heads were all captured, and the kids taken into custody, you found a rope tying the parents to the heads, they were being sold actively by them for money, some had been kidnapped from kindergartens, all kids younger than ten.
You and Gang Orca took care of the rescue, you took the kids up with waves of water, bringing them up and away from villains while Gang Orca fought with them. You helped him after the wave came back to you empty, signaling it had left the kids to the police, flooding the area so he could move better.
You ignored Keigo the whole time, not giving him a glance even when he knocked out five villains that were coming towards you to attack, not when he tried saying hi at the police precinct in which you were now.
You were talking to Fatgum in a corner, he was in his almost-skinny form from the fight, some muscles showing.
“Damn I’m hungry”
“Yeah, me too”
“Not used to being this skinny, how long is the paperwork gonna take?”
You laughed briefly, the weight of the mission slowly shifting from you as more time passed, the rescue had been a success, while not all the villains had been took in, the kids were all saved, and that part was enough at least for today.
They’re safe, they’re okay
“I dunno, but I’m hungry too, and tired”
“Being tired is not good for hero work Tidal”
He joked, giving you a grin, the guy was nice both as a hero and as a person, he was the first to break the ice at meetings and cared for basically everyone, pulling an air of good vibes around him.
“Probably, but we’re still human”
The conversation went on lightly, you and Fat exchanging jokes and lamenting how much time it was taking for the paperwork to be done. Until Fat asked the others to come closer, popping a question
“Soo, since we’re all tired and hungry, should we go and grab dinner together? There’s a nice place close by, makes kind of everything”
Suneater agreed with a small nod, Gang Orca and two of his sidekicks did too, other people agreed and you did too, giving a small nod and a yes.
Then you heard him speak
“That’s a nice idea, I could go for some skewers right now”
Hawks-Keigo walked closer, that same air of lightness he always carried with him engulfing him, he put his arm over Tamaki’s shoulder, making the poor boy retreat in himself.
“Hey Suneater, why so shy? I ain’t gonna bite”
The boy mumbled something about wanting to go home, trying to brush off Hawks’s arm with a hand. You didn’t want to look at him, that cocky grin of his he seemed to have everywhere around the public, the one that was always softer when he looked at you.
“Hey Tidal, you good?”
Fatgum put a hand on your shoulder, looking at you with a worried expression, you realized then that you were squeezing your hands in a punch so hard they were white, small crescent shapes on your palms from your nails.
You stilled for a second, forcing yourself to unclench your fists and take a breath, giving Fat a smile to reassure him.
“Yes, yes I’m okay. Just a bit nervous from the mission”
You knew he didn’t fully believe it, but he decided to not question you, patting your back twice before letting you be. You looked at Hawks with the side of your eye, finding him staring at you, smile faltering just slightly at the edges.
Everyone, including you, headed to the place Fat suggested, a small restaurant, not too packed, with enough space for everybody to ffit comfortably.
You slid into a booth next to Lemillion, who had decided to show up after Suneater called him, drawing way too many people outside the restaurant as they spotted him, still in his hero suit, the crazy hairdo he always did on full display: the guy was nice to talk to, you knew him from school, so you weren’t complete strangers.
The air was still light, the chatter of your coworkers filling the air, Fat teasing Suneater as usual, making the poor boy cringe in his seat.
Then he sat down
Hawks slid into the booth in front of you, his wings getting a bit in the way, you were already moving on instinct, taking stuff out of the way so he wouldn’t hit it, before you stopped yourself, your hand halfway to a glass.
You fell back in your seat, your mind going blank for a moment, thinking back to how you used to move stuff away for him when he walked through the house, looking out for him.
He didn’t deserve your attention anymore, not after what he did
You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned, catching Mirio’s gaze on you, he still had his smile in perfect place, looking like he was ready to crack one of his jokes.
“Easy Tidal, Hawks knows how to handle himself. The bird’s skilled”
You cracked a laugh, ignoring the way heat was creeping up your neck from embarrassment, Mirio chuckled in response, not catching the way your shoulders tensed again, your posture straightening a little under the gaze of the winged hero, sitting right in front of you.
Everyone took their place and Fat immediately called a waiter over, asking for a round of drinks before anything else. The poor girl looked confused and excited at the same time, a full table of pro heroes in front of her, she asked for a picture with Mirio, basically squealing when he said yes.
You smiled, a warmth flooding your chest, it was nice seeing civilians appreciate your work, even if they just wanted to gush about how pretty a pro was, the attention wasn’t a complete hassle.
The girl scrambled over to the kitchen, pointing your table out at her coworkers with the biggest smile on her face. Your drinks arrived shortly after, and Mirio took the chance to propose a toast.
“To a good mission, and to a good evening!”
“You weren’t even there!”
Fat teased, making the number one hero stop for a moment before he slumped back in his seat, faking sadness.
“That is so insensitive of you Fat! I was ready for action had you needed me!”
The whole table busted into laughs, Fat was a funny guy, but the combo between him and Mirio was probably deadly for anyone who came around expecting not to laugh
Maybe you could enjoy the evening in the end
⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
It was now almost two in the morning, and you and your colleagues were standing outside the restaurant, some tipsy, some half-drunk like you, Fat didn’t hold back on the drink orders, and when he challenged you to a drinking match, you couldn’t say no.
Too much alcohol in your body and too many jokes had led you to be half slumped on Mirio, both of you laughing your asses off, his cheeks slightly red from the alcohol.
“But why would he do that?”
“I dunno, but he just ran away in front of those kids”
“Poor babies”
He was laughing about Tamaki, who ran away from a group of schoolchildren who wanted to meet him, even after four years as a pro, the poor boy was still shy as hell.
His hand slid around your waist as you laughed, balancing you and your wobbly legs, your face flushed, the alcohol heightening your sensations, his hand pressing slightly onto your stomach before he lifted you up in the air, making you squeal.
“Mirio!”
He threw you over his shoulder, your hands flying over the expanse of his back, taut muscles flexing as he kept you down.
“That’s my name!”
“Put me down!”
You giggled, slumped over his shoulder, you pushed yourself slightly up, hair falling over your face as you did, you moved it out of your vision, noticing the way your colleagues were looking at you, some smiling, some giggling from Mirio’s charades.
All except one
Keigo was looking at you, really looking at you. His gaze had sharpened, hands tense at his sides as he scanned over you, up to the point where your butt was facing Mirio’s face, who was still cracking jokes around.
You straightened a little, wiggling around in the number ones hold until you were basically sat on his arm, somehow he still held you up, not even sweating a little.
“‘Sup princess, like the view better here?”
He gave you a flashy grin, his eyes squeezing shut just a little.
And it landed
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was holding you, maybe it was the nickname, maybe it was the way you could feel Keigo’s gaze boring in your back, but the comment landed somewhere deep in your core, making heat creep up your neck slowly.
“You’re a dumbass”
“Oh c’mon! You’re loving it!”
He laughed again, squeezing your hip gently as he did, pulling a giggle out of you as well.
Your chest felt warm, your heartbeat resonating in your ears, you leaned down, forehead against Mirio’s, slapping his back again, just with enough force to make a sound and not actually hurt him.
“Put me down”
You giggled in between words, your attempt to convince him failing before it even took form
“Maybe I will”
“Why the maybe?”
“I need something from you first”
Your eyes lit up, thinking of something dumb he could’ve asked, until he set you back down on your feet, hands going to keep you close by your hips.
“Mirio?”
“I may need a kiss for that”
He leaned in slowly as he spoke, his lips just inches from yours, his usually bright eyes getting another hue now, something dark, almost hungry.
“May I get it, princess?”
You smiled again, leaning in, closing your eyes already to kiss him.
But his lips felt wrong
You stilled for a moment before opening your eyes, you found his open as well, a brow quirked in question. You pulled back, finding a feather right on his lips, a red feather, thick and sharp at the tip, like a blade.
You knew who it was, everyone around knew who it was. Mirio looked confused, almost sad his kiss was interrupted, your head was about to snap back to find Keigo and kill him, but the bird decided to land in front of you, a step behind Mirio.
“Okay guys, I think you’re taking it a bit far now, don’t ya think?”
A muscle in your jaw ticked, your veins already boiling with rage, you would’ve pulled all the blood from his body, but you knew that murder was illegal.
Mirio was somehow calm, he turned to Keigo, who had placed a hand on his shoulder in the meantime, smiling with the same laid back look of always.
“I don’t see the problem Hawks”
He muttered simply, his hands not leaving your hips yet, his grip tightening for a fraction of second before it turned soft again, as if he realized he could hurt you.
“I’m just sayin’ that you both got too much alcohol in your veins, and maybe it’s not the best choice to exchange saliva”
“You wouldn’t know if it’d be something you really wanted, know what I mean?”
He gave that shit-eating grin that seemed to be always on his face, making it seem like he just cared for you two, so that you didn’t wake up to regret it.
Fucking liar
You were about to chew him out right there, but Mirio spoke faster than you did.
“Well, I see your point, but I don’t think I would be regretting this anytime soon”
He chuckled, turning back to you.
“Been thinking about this for quite some time now actually”
You saw the way his ears turned red, making your chest warm. He leaned back in, almost kissing you again.
Then he spoke
“Then I’m sorry, Lemillion”
Two feather went to push Mirio back, others going to lift you up in the air, your reaction wasn’t quick enough, and before you knew it, Keigo was up in the air next to you, arm draped behind your waist, bringing you close to his body.
“But I don’t like it when people try kissing my girlfriend”
You saw Mirio’s smile crumble before he looked at you, watching as Keigo took you in his arms bridal style, flying up and away without another word, completely ignoring your confused colleagues.
Your mind snapped back in place as you went up, your hands going to try and push off his chest, but his grip stayed in place, holding you tight against his chest.
“Hawks!”
You yelled, squirming around, getting him to look down at you, a sad expression plastered over his face, making you think it was almost real, making you think he actually cared about what you wanted to say.
“Why the hero name, Babybird?”
Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, memories flooding back into your mind, wave after wave, just like a tide. Only thing, this tide slammed against your heart.
Babybird
It was his nickname for you, the only thing he called you for so long your brain had started answering to it like a second name, he had called you that the first night you stayed at his place for dinner.
You two had been lying on the couch, your body engulfed in his arms and wings as he peppered kisses over your face, babbling about whatever crossed his mind, holding you in a bubble that blocked out every pain and problem you could have. Up till it burst.
“You know my real one”
”Ah yes, you prefer cheater now, makes sense”
You bit back, your voice laced with poison, you struggled again to get out of his grip, not caring if you could fall had he let you go, you preferred being splattered more than staying with him a second more.
He looked down at you, a smirk coming on his lips, but you noticed, and you hated yourself for noticing the way it didn’t reach his eyes, for seeing the way it was forced to hold back something else, something that looked like it was killing him.
“What the fuck was that for?”
You half-yelled, the wind rushing past your ears as he flew you to god knows where, cold breeze cutting your cheeks harshly, the only warm spots on your body the ones he held.
“What was what?”
He quirked a brow, as if he couldn’t fathom what you were talking about, like he hadn’t just made a show of grabbing you and getting you away.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact you threatened the fucking number one hero, said I was your girlfriend, and just decided to swoop me up in the air to god knows fucking where?!”
You yelled back, searching for his eyes, wanting to burn them with your gaze, those golden eyes you once got lost in, those golden eyes you once called beautiful meeting yours.
“You are my girlfriend”
You stilled for a moment, your mind processing what nonsense he had just spit out. You were his girlfriend, the words strange in your brain, making you wonder if his had officially exploded or if he had removed it surgically.
“No I am fucking not”
“You are”
“What the hell are you saying?”
“I’m saying we never broke up, we just drifted apart”
Your mouth opened in a gasp, almost forming a laugh, you felt shocked, shocked at his foolishness, shocked at how brave he was to come and tell you this face to face.
Suddenly, he landed on a roof, the roof of a house you didn’t recognize, setting you down on the concrete, his warm palms leaving your body, leaving you in the cold air.
You didn’t notice the shift much, you veins flooding with anger, sadness, and something else you couldn’t quite name, something that burned in the back of your chest.
Love? No, I’m over him
Your hand moved before you could think, palm spread and rigid as you slapped him with all the strength you had, making his head turn and his frame shift a step back. The red on his face bloomed quick, but he turned again, taking two steps closer to you, his body inches from yours.
Get away, get away
Unfortunately, you didn’t posses telekinesis, so he didn’t magically move away from you and disappear forever, like part of you hoped. He looked back at you, his eyes locking onto yours, one of his hands going up, as if to touch the red mark you left.
“Babybird”
He whispered, making something in your chest tighten, bringing back all the pain, all the love, all the resentment and memories you had buried deep inside of you, trying to drown them.
But problems are good swimmers
You started talking, more yelling actually, about everything that crossed your mind, how he was and asshole, how much you hated him, how betrayed you had felt when he disappeared, how you had loved him so much just for him to go after a random girl, how depressed you had been.
Everything came tumbling out, your eyes locked to the ground as your vision blurred, fat tears spilling from your eyes and landing on the concrete in wet sound, the grey darkening slightly from the salt water.
You didn’t meet his gaze, your mind focused only on forming sentence after sentence of everything you felt, down to the last cell in your shaking body.
He didn’t answer, or you didn’t hear him, and after you stopped talking, your throat sore from all the yelling, you heard him hold his breath, not looking at his face yet, too scared you’d see the monster who had left you.
“They didn’t tell you”
The sound came out broken, wet, wrong. You watched him take a step back, almost falling as he did, his legs shaky. Confusion washed over you, wondering why in the world was he the one sad now.
As if this isn’t all his doing
“Tell me what? About how you disappeared from everywhere and cheated on me?”
Your own voice was hoarse, a bitter laugh coming from your lips as you raised your head, looking him in the face again, meeting his eyes to find… tears?
“Babybird”
He practically whimpered, both of his hands going up as if he wanted to cup your face, falling to his sides again when you shot him a glare, you didn’t know what the hell to feel, but confusion was there for sure.
“Don’t call me that”
His face crumbled, something that resembled realization hitting his eyes at full force, the tears flowing down his face only increasing.
“What are you crying for? Realize you’re an asshole?”
“No-yes, no”
You raised a brow, now curious on what he had to say, what kind of bullshit he’d make up.
Oh, how you wished he made it up
“The commission, they said they’d warn you”
He choked out, taking a step towards you, his eyes suddenly pleading now, as if he was begging you to listen.
“They told me you’d be safer, that they’d handle it all”
You watched him struggle more to speak, his breathing quickening, the start of a panic attack. You moved before you could think, going to cup his face, moving a stray strand of air out of his vision.
“Don’t”
You whispered, not really knowing what to say, but you felt your heart swell for some reason, pain lacing your guts as if you were the one panicking, as if oxigen wasn’t reaching your lungs.
“You tell me what the hell you’re talking about, then you can die for all I care”
There was an edge to your words, sharp and measured, something old was resurfacing, something you thought had died long ago, but problems could swim.
You watched as he took shaky breaths, his wings fluttering with little control, he straightened his back, taking some time to regain his breath. You let go of his face
“The commission got to know about us”
He started, finally meeting your eyes, you stood still, watching as the edges were softer, vulnerable. They looked the same as when you two where together, that puppy stare he always gave you that would make your knees weak and your mind run.
Why were you focusing on that?
“They said that it could cause problems, that I could bring you more harm than good”
“I don’t know how they found out, but villains were everywhere, I had too many doubts, I was scared I’d come home one day”
“And find the house empty”
His voice cracked, new tears flowing down his face as he kept talking. You stood there, frozen, feelings mixed, anger, rage, grief, confusion, disgust and relief.
You somehow felt relieved, but you couldn’t put your finger on the why.
“They said I had to set up a cover, drag the attention on someone else”
“They had an agent ready, Mia, she was supposed to pretend we were together to deflect attention and draw spies into our net. She was skilled, precise, and she assured everything would’ve been okay”
You knew the bomb was coming, you felt it under your skin, the commission had ruined him, stripped his soul of anything that brought light to his eyes, turned him into a killing machine without his knowledge.
The rest of what he said was a blur, your mind fogging with images of the past, his arms around you, your dates, his house, the little quirks he had, those times where he’d sit behind you on the couch to braid your hair, the baths you took together with roaming hands and slow massages, the nights he held you and made love to you so softly you would cry for happiness and emotion.
It was all true
Nothing had been a lie
He loved you
He explained everything, how the commission put him in a lockdown period so he wouldn’t come searching for you, how they confiscated his phone, how he almost cut off his own wings when they said he could never see you again if not in public, how they made him sign contract after contract that slowly stripped him of his umanity, how he couldn’t work for months because he couldn’t function without you.
The timing wasn’t caught, but somewhere along his talk, you started crying again, tears streaming silently down your face, your body frozen as if you had been hit with an hardening quirk.
He’s not lying
A small voice repeated in your ear, your voice, just younger, dating three years back, back to the day before he left for seemingly forever.
You hated yourself right now, you hated how your body moved to hug him, hated the way his fingers slowly moved up until they rested on your head, almost not believing you were real and in his arms, you hated how he tilted your face up to wipe your tears, but most of all
You hated that you kissed him
His breath stilled for a moment before he leaned in, the tears from both of your eyes falling to the floor in a stream that was coming to a halt slowly.
His fingerprints tightened around your jaw, pulling you in more, breaths mingling as you sent every bad memory to fuck off, deciding to just relish in whatever was happening.
His lips were soft, slight stubble tickling you like it once did, the sensation so familiar it brought a smile to your lips, still firmly sealed onto his.
Your hands went to cup his face as he pulled away, eyes glossed over and lips slightly parted, he looked at you like a man starved, like he had been dreaming of holding you like this for the past three years.
“Babybird”
“Keigo”
His name rolled off your tongue faster than you expected, your legs moving until you were almost pressed against him. His wings fluttered, moving around as if to circle you before he pulled them back, restraining himself.
“Please tell me you’re not lying”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“You disappeared”
“They had to chain me down to hold me there, I tried to run to you the first day”
You sent any other question you could’ve had out of the window, leaning in again, crashing your lips to his, your hands going to tangle in his air to pull him to you, your skin burning after finally meeting his again.
His arms wrapped around your waist, mouth hungry against yours as the kisses started becoming less gentle and more demanding, his wings moved to wrap around you, shielding you from the cold air that blew up on the rooftop.
His tongue tapped at your teeth, asking for entrance, you didn’t make him wait another second, turning the now not-so-chaste kisses into full on making out, his head titling to not bump your noses.
You ignored the need for air until your lungs were basically screaming, pulling off of his lips to catch your breath, your chest heaving and falling with every stroke of air.
Both of you stayed silent, just staring into each other’s eyes, bodies close, his wings keeping you in the same safe bubble you had grown so accustomed to once.
“You’re beautiful”
He broke the silence first, the words rolling off his tongue with something that felt like admiration, like a love buried so deep down it was rusty.
Rusty, but there.
“Thank you”
His hand settled on the small of your back, rubbing circles there, relearning the edges of your body slowly.
“I wanna talk more”
“I want to talk too”
“My place or yours?”
“Your place, I never got to see it”
You gave him another soft kiss, finally hugging him and letting him fly up in the air again, not putting up a fight this time.
⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
That’s how you ended up like this, hands held on top of your head as you lay on your belly, you ass slightly raised in the air to make it easier for Keigo to pound into you from behind.
“Look at me, look at me”
He groaned in your ear, slowing his pace just a notch so you could turn your head, your cheek squished against the pillow as you searched for his eyes, your mind hazy with pleasure.
“So pretty, so fucking pretty”
He resumed the brutal pace he had set before, making a shiver run down your spine and your mouth spilling other moans, the room full of the wet sounds your pussy was making as he stuffed it full.
His free hand was pressed behind your shoulder blades, holding you down and using the position as leverage, keeping you caged in like a prey he hunted down.
Talking on the couch hadn’t been the best idea, from touches, to kisses, to cuddles, to you sat on his lap as he fingered you, making you come all over his pants before he carried you upstairs to his bedroom where you were now.
He was whispering in your ear, ignoring your little whines or the way you tried to pry your hands away from his hold. Your back hurt from being arched that way, his weight on you not helping.
“Babybird, babybird”
“Keigo! ‘S too much”
“No baby no, why would you say that?”
He pulled out until only his tip was in, slamming back in full force, making you take him all in one go, your gummy walls now soft around him as they stretched to give him room.
“You came only once, what kind of lover would I be if I didn’t give you more?”
He licked the shell of your ear, chuckling as you whimpered from embarrassment, your face going red for the thousand time that night. You gripped the sheets, wanting so bad to just turn around and see his face properly, the distance from his eyes feeling unbearable.
“Kei”
“Yeah babybird? What is it?”
“Turn me around”
He slowed down again, still driving in with long, delicious strokes that caught the gummy spot that made you see stars perfectly, making you mewl in response.
“Wanna look at you”
You felt him come to a halt inside of you, stilling for a moment before he gently slipped out, turning you to lay on your back, grabbing your thighs and placing them on his shoulders, your feet dangling in the air, almost hitting his wings.
“I should be the one saying that”
He gave you a warm smile, adjusting the pillows under your head so you were nice and comfortable, nestled in his embrace. He lined himself up again, checking your eyes for discomfort as he eased back in, your folds accepting him without resistance.
“Pretty pussy feels so good, sucking me in like a glove”
The red on your face darkened, watching the way his eyes were glued to where you two met, something primal washing over his face as he slowly pulled out and back in again, admiring how you took him so well.
“Always been so good for me”
He mumbled, and you didn’t really know whether he was talking about you or your pussy, but he didn’t give you time to ask, deciding to ease back into the previous brutal pace, making your body jump upward with every thrust.
Your mind fogged again, moans and whimpers falling from your lips, mixing with his own grunts and moans, his hands found your hips, steadying you as you bounced up the bed.
“How you feeling babybird?”
“Kinda close”
You babbled out, breath cut off by him as he kissed you, swallowing your moans and whatever retort you had for the way he folded you in half, somehow hitting deeper than before, your vision swimming with stars.
You heard a rustle right before you felt something press to your clit, rubbing tight circled around it, making you scream from the rush of electricity flooding your body.
You looked down and saw two smaller feathers of his circle your clit, rigid but not sharp, precisely calculating where to press to make you melt.
“Keigo!”
“Just some help for you birdie, I’m close as well”
His face was inches from yours, your breaths mingling, your sounds resonating in each others ears, his eyes never left yours, contemplating, admiring, worshipping and loving every atom of what he saw.
“I love you, babybird”
He groaned between words, feeling your pussy grip him like a vice as your peak was nearing.
“I never stopped”
He admitted, his forehead falling against yours as a curse escaped his mouth, knuckles white from his grip on your legs, you were sure you would’ve found marks, but it was a problem for tomorrow.
“You really did?”
“I really did”
It only took about another minute of thrusting before his eyes turned pleading, jaw clenched like his muscles.
“I’m coming babybird, coming”
The words were broken, two last pushes before he erupted, a low moan straining from his throat and landing in your ear. His feathers on you circled faster, pulling you along with him.
Your body shook as your orgasm hit, wave after wave of pleasure taking you, your pussy clamped down on him, a broked sound escaping your lips.
He held you through every wave, waiting for you to come down before gently easing out of you and placing your legs on the bed, kissing over the expanse of your skin from your belly to your lips.
“How was that for a first reunion?”
“Your charms save you, Hawks”
“Never call me that again”
He faked a pout, pulling you in his arms a second later, his wings wrapping around both your bodies, creating a warm blanket for you.
“Wanna sleep?”
“I don’t know birdie, maybe we should, considering it’s five in the morning”
You chuckled at his remark, settling in his arms to close your eyes.
Warnings: childhood friends to ??? to lovers, grief and mourning, emotional confrontation, family conflict, passive suicidal ideation, discussions of death and resurrection, vigilantism, references to torture and severe injury, explicit sexual content, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, soft dom!Jason, size kink, praise kink, wrist restraint, body worship, aftercare, angst with a happy ending
[Part 1]
Twenty-two days after you learned Jason Todd was alive, he knocked on your window.
The Joker remained unconscious. Doctors called his condition critical but stable while specialists argued on television about swelling, brain damage, and whether he would ever open his eyes again.
Gotham held its breath. Then it exhaled.
Crime declined during the first week, clown-themed gangs disappeared from the streets, and three of the Joker’s former associates surrendered after rumors spread that the unknown vigilante responsible intended to hunt everyone connected to him.
The public gave you a name.
Requiem.
You hated it.
Your manager spent an entire car ride complaining about Gotham’s tendency to romanticize masked violence, unaware that the woman nodding beside him was the vigilante dominating every news channel.
The Things We Buried anniversary edition was announced without your approval, so you fired the two members of your team who’d signed off on it and bought the unreleased recordings back from the label before they could be mastered.
You stopped performing “Second Hand.”
The empty seat remained reserved.
You spent most of those twenty-two days inside your penthouse with the curtains closed. There were no patrols, interrogations, or sleepless drives to abandoned warehouses. You disassembled your weapons and left the armor locked inside the hidden room behind your studio.
Without the hunt, your nights became unbearably long.
You tried to write, but every melody became Jason: laughing on the fire escape, reading beneath a flashlight, speaking through Red Hood’s helmet while he accused you of fighting angry.
You deleted every recording.
Bruce called twice. You blocked the number. Dick appeared downstairs with takeout on the eighth day, and you told security to send him away. Alfred mailed a letter in his careful handwriting. It remained unopened inside the top drawer of your desk.
Jason stayed away. You hated him for listening. You would’ve hated him for ignoring you too.
The knock came again.
Two quick knocks, a pause, then two more.
Your hand froze above the piano keys.
The penthouse occupied the upper floors of the building. There was no balcony outside the studio and no neighboring roof within easy jumping distance. The security system hadn’t registered a breach, which meant whoever stood outside had either bypassed technology that cost more than your first apartment building or climbed forty stories in the rain.
You crossed the room and pulled back the curtain. Jason stood on the narrow ledge outside the glass.
He wore jeans, boots, and a brown jacket darkened by rain. The white streak in his hair had plastered itself against his forehead. He lifted one hand when he saw you, as though you might’ve mistaken him for someone else.
You considered closing the curtain. Instead, you unlocked the window.
Jason climbed inside with less grace than Red Hood had ever displayed. One boot caught against the frame, and his shoulder struck the wall hard enough to rattle a framed platinum record.
“You got slow,” you said.
He stared at you. The words landed between you, carried from a fire escape in Crime Alley and a life neither of you could reach anymore.
“You got mean,” he said.
“You noticed.”
Jason closed the window behind him. Rainwater dripped from his jacket onto the hardwood. He looked around the studio without moving farther into it, his hands held where you could see them.
“How did you get past the security system?”
“Wayne Security installed it.”
Understanding arrived immediately. “Bruce owns the company.”
“He also insists on maintenance overrides.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line.”
The answer came too easily. Jason seemed as startled by it as you were. He looked toward the nearest chair. “Can I sit?”
“You’re asking permission now?”
“I’m trying something new.”
You nodded. Jason sat at the edge of the chair, leaving enough distance between you to make the studio feel larger. His attention moved over the guitars mounted on the wall, the keyboard near the window, and the handwritten pages scattered across the floor.
His eyes found the black acoustic beside the couch. Something softened in his face. “You kept it.”
“You scratched it trying to play behind your head.”
“I was developing stage presence.”
“You dropped it.”
“Experimental stage presence.”
“You couldn’t play the song normally.”
“I could play six chords.”
“Badly.”
Jason smiled. It disappeared almost immediately.
“I brought something.” He reached into his jacket slowly and removed a cassette tape.
The plastic had yellowed with age. Clear tape held one corner together, and two words crossed the label in Jason’s uneven handwriting. ROOF MUSIC.
“You kept that?”
“Bruce kept everything from my room at the manor.”
“You went back?”
“After I came home.”
Home. You didn’t know whether he meant Gotham, the manor, or life.
Jason placed the cassette on the table between you. “I found a player online. Obscenely expensive. Vintage technology is a scam.”
“You stole that tape when you were eight.”
“And bought the player like a responsible adult.”
“You stole a car stereo last year.”
“That was evidence.”
“You installed it on your motorcycle.”
“It was good evidence.”
The laugh escaped before you could stop it. Jason looked at you as though the sound had reached inside his chest and closed around something fragile.
You covered your mouth. “I’m still angry.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
You lowered your hand.
Jason winced. “Sorry.”
The silence that followed felt different from the others.
You sat on the couch and picked up the cassette. Inside were songs recorded from the radio, several introductions cut off because Jason never pressed the button in time, and an unfinished melody you’d played through a cheap microphone while he tapped a rhythm against the kitchen table.
“What do you want?” you asked.
“To apologize.”
“You’ve done that.”
“To do it better.”
You waited. Jason leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “I should’ve told you as soon as I could understand who I was. Maybe even before that. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was protecting me. I didn’t want you to see what happened to me. I didn’t want you to hear what I’d done and realize there wasn’t enough of your Jason left to love.”
“You were never mine.”
“No.”
His expression tightened.
“You were you,” you said. “That was enough.”
Jason looked down at his hands.
“I watched one of your concerts from the roof of a hotel across the street,” he said. “You played a song I’d never heard before. Everyone around you knew the words, and I thought about climbing down. I got as far as the fire escape.”
“Which concert?”
“Metropolis. Second tour.”
You remembered the rain delaying the show. You’d performed beneath a temporary canopy while lightning moved beyond the stadium. During the final song, you’d thought you’d seen a red light on the roof of a nearby hotel.
“I thought I imagined you.”
Jason’s gaze lifted.
“There was someone on the roof.”
“I left before you finished.”
“Why?”
“You started singing ‘Second Hand.’”
Your fingers closed around the cassette.
“I couldn’t listen to it and stay hidden.”
“You listened to the album.”
“In pieces.”
“All of it?”
“Eventually.”
“What was your favorite?”
Jason blinked. The question surprised both of you.
“‘Vacant Room.’”
“That wasn’t a single.”
“I listened to the record.”
“You bought it?”
“Stole it. I bought the next one.”
“You were embarrassed.”
“I was experiencing deep emotional discomfort.”
“That’s embarrassment.”
“Agree to disagree.”
A little warmth remained near his eyes when his smile faded.
“Why that song?” you asked.
“You wrote about the fire escape.”
The second verse described rust beneath your hands and the way the building shook whenever trucks passed too close. Fans believed the imagery represented an unstable relationship. You’d written it about waiting beside your window after Jason stopped coming home.
“You knew.”
“I knew every place on that record.”
The tears arrived without warning. You turned your face away. Jason remained in the chair, his hands open and every muscle held still. He didn’t move toward you or ask permission to comfort you. He waited.
“I hated you,” you said.
“I know.”
“I hate that you heard it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wanted you to hear it more than anything.”
Jason’s breath caught.
“I wanted it to matter that I loved you. I wanted someone to know you existed before Bruce. Before Robin. Before the Joker.”
“It mattered.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No.”
“You should’ve been.”
“Yes.”
You wiped your face with the heel of your hand. “When did you love me?”
“Probably when you saved my book and lied about bending the cover.”
“I didn’t bend it.”
“You forgot to turn the pages beneath the fan.”
“I was eight.”
“I forgave you.”
“You should’ve said something.”
Jason gave you a tired smile. “You hit me when I came back from Bristol.”
“You disappeared for a month.”
“I thought that meant you weren’t interested.”
“I cried on you.”
“I was twelve. Emotional nuance wasn’t my strength.”
“It still isn’t.”
“That’s fair.”
You turned the cassette over. “Why didn’t you tell me before Ethiopia?”
Jason’s smile vanished. “I tried.”
You waited.
“I came to the apartment the night before. Your mom said you were at a school performance.”
You remembered returning home to find your copy of The Count of Monte Cristo on your pillow. Jason had borrowed it months earlier and repeatedly refused to give it back.
Inside the front cover, he’d written, Try not to get famous while I’m gone.
“You returned the book.”
“I didn’t think I’d be gone long.”
“You never did.”
Jason looked toward the dark window. “I was going to tell you everything when I got back. Bruce. Robin. How I felt. All of it.”
“But you didn’t come back.”
“No.”
Traffic moved far below. A helicopter passed between the buildings, its light traveling over windows before disappearing toward the harbor.
“Did you know what I was going to do to the Joker?” you asked.
“Not until Amusement Mile.”
“You knew I wanted him dead.”
“Lots of people want him dead.”
“I spent years looking for him.”
“I thought you started recently.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t move like someone who’d been doing it for years.”
You stared at him. Jason lifted his hands. “You’re good. You were also angry.”
“You kept calling me reckless.”
“You charged a place full of armed men.”
“You followed me.”
“I was trying to catch you.”
“You failed.”
“I caught you downstairs.”
“You got captured too.”
“Technicality.”
Your mouth almost betrayed you again. Jason’s expression turned serious. “How long?”
“Eight years. I found the Batcomputer files two years after the funeral and started training after that.”
“You broke into the cave?”
“I attended a fundraiser at the manor and slipped away during dinner.”
Jason stared. “You broke into the Batcave in heels?”
“I took them off.”
A startled laugh escaped him.
“I wanted to understand what happened,” you said. “Then I wanted to find the people who helped him. By the time I realized I’d crossed the line between investigating and hunting, I didn’t care.”
“You could’ve died.”
“So could you.”
“I did.”
You looked at him. Jason’s mouth twisted. “Sorry.”
“I thought about dying.”
The words silenced him. You hadn’t intended to say them. They existed between you now, and taking them back would’ve been another lie.
“After the funeral,” you continued. “Then again during the first tour. Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was. They said I’d escaped Crime Alley. They said the album gave my pain meaning.”
Jason moved to the edge of the chair.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t try. I just stopped caring whether something happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
The response surprised him.
“The hunt kept me alive,” you said. “That doesn’t make it good. It doesn’t make all of this your fault.”
“Some of it is.”
“Some.”
He accepted that.
“What happens now?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“With the suit?”
You looked toward the hidden door behind the soundproofing panels. “I haven’t worn it since.”
“And the Joker?”
“No one knows whether he’ll wake up. Bruce blames me.” You met Jason’s eyes. “Do you?”
He looked toward the window. “I don’t know. Part of me wishes I’d done it. Part of me hates that he took enough from both of us to make you capable of it.”
“I was always capable.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have to make me innocent to love me.”
Jason’s attention returned to you. The air changed.
“I know,” he said.
This time, the words didn’t hurt.
You placed the cassette on the table. “Come here.” Jason stood carefully. He stopped in front of you, waiting again.
You caught the front of his jacket and pulled him down.
The kiss didn’t feel like returning to something you’d lost.
There hadn’t been a kiss before, only unfinished moments and feelings neither of you had understood how to name.
Jason’s mouth was warm. He hesitated for one second before years of restraint broke between you. One hand settled beside your hip without touching. The other hovered near your shoulder as though he feared choosing wrong.
You caught his wrist and placed his palm against your cheek. Jason made a broken sound against your mouth.
His thumb moved over your skin. The kiss deepened slowly, careful until you leaned closer and caught his lower lip between your teeth. He inhaled sharply. His free hand closed around the edge of the couch. You pulled back enough to breathe.
Jason followed before stopping himself. His eyes opened, dark and unfocused.
“I’m still angry,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep running out of better answers.”
“You could start with the truth.”
“I’m terrified.”
The admission settled warmly against your mouth.
“Of me?”
“Of this.”
You loosened your grip on his jacket. “You can leave.” Pain crossed his face.
You pulled him closer again. “I’m not asking you to.”
Jason closed his eyes. His forehead rested against yours. “I don’t expect this to fix anything,” he said.
“Good.”
“I’ll probably make it worse.”
“You usually do.”
Your fingers tightened around his jacket. “Stay tonight.” Jason’s breath left him slowly. “Okay.”
You kissed him again. You drew him onto the couch beside you. Jason sat close enough for your shoulders to touch, his hand resting open between you. You threaded your fingers through his.
His grip tightened slowly. “Eleventh row?”
“Three seats from the center aisle.”
“I was right about the sound.”
“You guessed.”
“Educated guess.”
You laughed, and tenderness softened his face. “Whenever I play Gotham again, the seat’s still reserved.”
His thumb moved across your knuckles. “Are you asking me to come?”
“I’m telling you where I’ll be.”
Jason nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“You said that before.”
Jason squeezed your hand. “I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
Later, the two of you listened to the cassette on a player he’d carried inside his jacket beneath the tape. It sounded terrible. The radio songs faded in and out beneath static, Jason’s younger voice interrupted several tracks with complaints, and the unfinished melody ended when someone dropped a spoon.
You fell asleep with your head against his shoulder.
When you woke, pale morning light had reached the studio windows. A blanket covered you, and the space beside you on the couch was empty.
Before the panic could settle, you heard a pan scrape against the stove in the kitchen.
Jason was still there.
He stood at the counter wearing yesterday’s clothes, his jacket draped over the back of a chair and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. A pan sat over low heat while he moved between the stove and counter with the ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
You stopped beside the island. “You cook?”
Jason glanced over his shoulder. “You sound surprised.”
“You stole most of your meals when we were kids.”
“Yeah, and then Alfred found out I thought seasoning meant stealing salt packets.”
You opened the refrigerator and stared inside. “There are eggs.”
“There are two eggs, mustard, three energy drinks, and half a lemon.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been living like a broke college student.”
“You own six safe houses and sleep in all of them badly.”
“Seven.”
“That makes it worse.”
Jason slid an omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of you. Despite the limited ingredients, it smelled better than anything you’d eaten in weeks.
You looked down at it. “Where did you find cheese?”
“Freezer.”
“I didn’t know I had cheese.”
“That’s because you don’t know what’s in your own kitchen.”
He returned to the stove and started another omelet. You watched him move around the room as rain struck the windows and morning traffic crawled through Gotham below.
Jason checked the time twice.
“You have somewhere to be?” you asked.
“Patrol meeting.”
“With Bruce?”
“Dick.”
“You can say his name like I’m supposed to care.”
“I don’t know what you’re supposed to care about.”
“Neither do I.”
Jason pushed the remaining eggs around his plate. “I can cancel.”
“Go.”
His head lifted.
“I have work.”
“When can I come back?”
The question caught you off guard. You looked toward the studio. “Tomorrow evening.”
“What time?”
“Six.”
“I’ll be here.”
You wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to announce it like a promise. You wanted him to say it again.
“Six,” you repeated.
Jason left through the elevator instead of the window. At 5:58 the following evening, the security system announced a visitor downstairs. He was carrying three bags of groceries.
“You said you were coming back, not restocking my kitchen.”
“Your refrigerator offended me.”
Jason returned four days later with a toolbox. You found him standing in front of the hidden door behind the studio panels, waiting for you to open it.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“You already know what’s inside.”
“That doesn’t mean I get to walk in.”
You pressed your palm against the scanner. The panel slid aside.
Your armor stood on the central platform where you’d left it. Blood remained in the seams near the ribs. One gauntlet had been opened and abandoned halfway through repair. The helmet sat on the workbench with a crack running near the edge of the visor. Jason entered slowly.
He didn’t touch anything until you handed him the damaged gauntlet.
“You built all of this?” he asked.
“Most of it. I bought the base armor and replaced everything useful.”
“This seal’s wrong.”
“It kept the gas out.”
“Barely.”
“It worked.”
“It also let half the pressure transfer into your wrist.”
“You planning to criticize my work all night?”
“I brought tools.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Jason set the gauntlet on the bench. “Yeah. I’m planning to criticize your work all night.”
You leaned against the table while he removed the damaged seal. His hands became confident as soon as he had something mechanical to focus on. He explained the pressure distribution without looking at you, then stopped when he reached the groove across the forearm.
“This was a knife?”
“Last year.”
“How deep?”
“Deep enough.”
Jason’s jaw tightened. “You never got it checked.”
“I knew how to fix it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You don’t get to do this.”
His hands went still. “Do what?”
“Show up and act like I’m reckless because I got hurt doing the same thing you do every night.”
“I’m allowed to care.”
“You’re allowed to care. You don’t get to turn it into control.”
Jason looked down at the gauntlet. “I don’t want you dead.”
“That isn’t the same as wanting me helpless.”
“I know.”
The answer came quietly. You studied him.
“Bruce would want the suit destroyed,” you said.
“Bruce wants everything he can’t control destroyed or recruited.”
“Which were you?”
“Both.”
“And me?”
Jason looked around the room. “You don’t need him to tell you who you are.”
The anger inside you shifted.
He returned to the gauntlet. “I’m replacing the seal.”
“I liked that seal.”
“It was bad.”
“It had character.”
“It had a manufacturing defect.”
“Character.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You came back.”
Jason’s mouth softened.
He finished the repair after midnight. You ordered food, and he ate noodles beside the workbench while explaining why your grappling launcher was going to tear your shoulder out of its socket.
You let him replace that too.
By the third week after Jason climbed through your window, his visits had begun to fall into a rhythm. He read on the studio couch while you worked at the piano. He brought dinner when sessions ran late and stopped asking whether you’d eaten because the answer irritated both of you. He repaired the hinge on your bedroom window, then denied breaking it during his first visit.
You gave him access to the elevator. He still used the window sometimes.
Every time he left, he told you when he’d return.
Every time, he did.
Some evenings were difficult. You’d look across the room and remember the funeral. Jason would reach for you, stop himself, and wait until you closed the distance. Other nights, you argued about the Joker, Bruce, the suit, or whether Jason had any right to judge the amount of caffeine you consumed when he regularly treated sleep like a personal insult. He never disappeared after an argument.
That mattered more than either of you said.
The first photograph appeared online after he took you to a diner near Crime Alley. The place had changed names three times since you were children, but the booths remained the same cracked red vinyl. Jason ordered enough food for a family of five. You stole fries from his plate while insisting you weren’t hungry.
Someone recognized you near the register. Jason’s posture changed immediately. His hand left the table, and his face turned toward the window.
You knew that movement. He was preparing to leave before being seen beside you.
You reached across the table and caught his hand.
Jason looked down at your fingers around his.
The woman near the register lifted her phone. The photograph reached social media before dessert.
Your manager called twelve times. Your publicist sent a message containing only, WHO IS THAT? Jason stared at the photograph on your phone. His face was partly turned away, but the white streak in his hair and the line of his jaw were visible. Your hand rested over his on the table.
“I look weird,” he said.
“You always look weird.”
“You look happy.”
You glanced at him. He locked the phone and placed it facedown. “I like that one.”
You did too.
“Alfred wants to feed you,” Jason said one day.
You looked up from the notebook on your lap. “That sounds like a threat.”
“With Alfred, it usually is.”
“Who else will be there?”
Jason hesitated.
“Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t heard the list.”
“Bruce is on it.”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ve heard enough.”
Jason sat on the opposite end of the couch. He’d been careful about giving you space since coming back, though the penthouse had started collecting evidence of him. A jacket over the chair. A book beside the couch. A mug in the sink that you refused to put away because he kept reaching for it.
“You don’t have to go,” he said.
“Why do they want me there?”
“To apologize.”
“Dick tried that with takeout.”
“He knows.”
“Tim doesn’t know me.”
“He still thinks he owes you one.”
“And Bruce?”
Jason rubbed one hand over his face. “Bruce thinks a dinner table makes people less likely to throw punches.”
“He’s met me.”
“He’s also met me. His optimism is confusing.”
You closed the notebook. “I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Nobody tells me they were protecting me.”
Jason nodded immediately. “Done.”
“And if Bruce starts giving me a lecture, I’m leaving.”
“I’ll drive.”
“You don’t own a car.”
“I’ll steal one.”
“You’re making excellent progress.”
“I’m growing.”
You studied him. “You’re staying beside me.”
“Whole time.”
“Even if I’m cruel.”
“You won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then I’ll stay while you’re cruel.”
That answer decided it.
Wayne Manor looked exactly as it had during the funeral. The same stone steps. The same windows glowing against the dark. The same brass fixture above the entrance that reflected everyone who approached it.
Jason parked the motorcycle near the garage and removed his helmet.
“You could’ve brought a car,” you said.
“You said I didn’t own one.”
“You have access to twenty.”
“They’re Bruce’s.”
“You live to steal from him.”
“I contain multitudes.”
You rolled your eyes, though your hand found his before you reached the door. Alfred opened it before Jason could knock.
He looked older than he had at the funeral. His hair had gone almost entirely white, and the lines around his mouth deepened when he saw you.
“Miss,” he said.
“Alfred.”
His gaze dropped briefly to your hand inside Jason’s. “I am very glad you came.”
You couldn’t think of anything safe to say, so you nodded. Dinner had been arranged in the smaller dining room rather than the formal one. Bruce sat at the head of the table. Dick occupied the chair to his right, with Tim across from him. Every one of them stood when you entered.
“That’s unsettling,” you said.
Dick sat immediately. “Fair.”
Jason pulled out the chair beside his. You took it.
No one touched the food. Alfred remained standing near the sideboard until you looked at him.
“I believe it would be best if I began,” he said.
Bruce opened his mouth.
Alfred lifted one hand.
Bruce closed it.
“I honored Master Jason’s request because he had already been denied control over much of his life,” Alfred said. “I told myself that respecting his decision was the kindest course available to me. In doing so, I left you to grieve a death that was no longer true.”
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“I knew you continued to leave flowers at the grave,” he continued. “I knew you had built a career from grief you believed was permanent. I knew enough to understand the harm of our silence, and I remained silent regardless.”
Alfred met your eyes. “I am deeply sorry. I do not expect forgiveness, nor will I ask you to lessen your anger for my comfort.”
The formality of the words should’ve created distance. Instead, it made them easier to believe.
“You sent me a letter,” you said.
“Yes.”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“What did it say?”
“Much the same as I have said now, although with poorer economy.”
Jason looked offended. “Alfred, your letter was six pages.”
“I had ten years to account for.”
You looked down at your plate.
“Did you listen to the album?” you asked.
Alfred’s expression changed.
“Once,” he said. “I could not bring myself to do so again.”
The answer settled somewhere deep. You nodded.
Alfred inclined his head and returned to the sideboard.
Dick exhaled slowly. “I told myself it wasn’t my secret.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah.” He glanced toward Jason before looking back at you. “I knew Jason was alive. I knew you mattered to him, but I didn’t understand how much until later. Once I did, staying out of it felt neutral. It wasn’t.”
“You came to my building with food.”
“I panicked.”
“You thought noodles would fix ten years of lying?”
“They were really good noodles.”
Jason kicked him beneath the table.
Dick winced. “I’m sorry. About the food. About staying quiet. About watching you mourn him when I knew he could’ve walked through your door.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I could’ve.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
His apology remained open between you. He didn’t try to fill the silence. Tim cleared his throat.
You turned toward him.
He looked younger than everyone else at the table, though exhaustion had settled beneath his eyes in a way you recognized.
“I don’t know you well enough to ask you to forgive me,” he said.
“That’s a promising start.”
“I knew Jason was alive. I knew who the album was about after investigating a bit. I also knew you were still leaving flowers at the grave.” Tim folded his hands on the table. “I should’ve questioned whether staying out of it was actually neutral.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“That made it easier to treat the situation like an abstract problem. You weren’t abstract. You were a person being hurt.”
You hadn’t expected the apology from him to land. It did.
“Thank you,” you said.
Tim nodded once.
Bruce remained silent.
Jason’s knee pressed against yours beneath the table.
You looked toward the head of the table. “Your turn.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
“I learned Jason was alive after he returned to Gotham,” he said. “He made it clear he didn’t want you contacted.”
“You called me when he died.”
Bruce stopped.
“You came to my apartment. You stood beside me at the funeral. You watched me grieve at a grave you knew had stopped meaning what I thought it meant.”
“I was trying to respect Jason’s—”
“She said nobody gets to tell her we were protecting her,” Jason interrupted.
Bruce looked at him.
Jason didn’t move. “She asked for an apology, not a closing argument.”
The room went quiet.
Bruce’s attention returned to you. For a moment, you saw the same stillness he wore whenever the truth became difficult.
Then his shoulders lowered.
“I believed respecting Jason’s decision absolved me of making one,” he said. “It didn’t. I watched you grieve and chose silence because it was easier to defend than intervention.”
His voice remained controlled, but the control no longer felt like a shield.
“I’m sorry.”
You looked at him across the table where you’d once sat during a fundraiser, pretending to care about foundation grants while waiting for an opportunity to find the cave.
“Did you know I broke into the Batcomputer?”
Bruce glanced at Jason. Jason looked delighted.
“I suspected someone had accessed the files,” Bruce said.
“You never found out who?”
“I had narrowed the list.”
“To me?”
“To seventeen people.”
Jason leaned closer. “You beat Batman.”
“I was twenty and wearing heels.”
Tim’s eyebrows rose. “You broke into the cave in heels?”
“I took them off.”
Dick laughed into his napkin.
Bruce closed his eyes briefly.
The tension at the table loosened. It didn’t disappear, and forgiveness didn’t arrive with dessert. You remained angry. Bruce remained difficult. Dick talked too much when nervous, and Tim kept watching you like he expected an exam.
You stayed.
Alfred brought out a cake you remembered from childhood. Jason stole icing from the edge before it reached the table. Alfred struck his hand with the serving spoon.
For one moment, Jason looked twelve again.
This time, you were there to see it.
The new album began with a chord you hated.
You played it three times, changed the voicing, and hated it differently.
Jason sat on the studio floor with his back against the couch, reading a book he’d found among your shelves. He’d learned that talking while you worked was dangerous. He’d also learned that leaving the room irritated you more.
You played the chord again.
“That one,” he said.
You turned. “You’re supposed to be quiet.”
“You’ve played eleven versions.”
“And?”
“That one made you stop frowning.”
“I’m still frowning.”
“Less.”
You played it again.
The melody that followed had been waiting inside the cassette for seventeen years. Two quick notes, a pause, then two more. The rhythm Jason had tapped against your window when he wanted to be let inside.
He lowered the book.
You kept playing.
The song arrived over the next hour in pieces. A verse about a fire escape. A chorus about someone returning with rain in his hair. A bridge that refused to resolve until Jason reached over and pressed one key with his index finger.
You stared at him.
“What?”
“That’s wrong.”
“It sounded unfinished.”
“It is unfinished.”
“So was the key.”
You played the passage again.
His note worked.
“I hate you,” you said.
“Put me in the liner notes.”
Over the next two weeks, one song became seven. The band heard the demos on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
Your drummer stopped halfway through the second chorus. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
She turned in her chair. “You’re in love.”
“I’ve written four albums about love.”
“No. You’ve written four albums about grief wearing love’s coat. This is different.”
The bassist leaned toward the speakers. “Is this about diner guy?”
“Diner guy?”
“The giant with the white in his hair.”
“He has a name.”
“Are we allowed to know it?”
“No.”
The drummer pointed at you. “That answer means yes.”
Your manager arrived before the second playback ended. He listened from the doorway, his expression moving through confusion, alarm, and something approaching religious revelation.
“Is the whole album like this?” he asked.
“There is no album.”
“You have seven demos.”
“I have seven unfinished songs.”
“You have seven songs about wanting to climb a very large man.”
The drummer covered her mouth. The bassist failed to hide a laugh.
“That’s an oversimplification.”
“One lyric is about his hand spanning your waist.”
“It’s imagery.”
“It’s horny imagery.”
“Go away.”
Your manager glanced at the diner photograph still open on the bassist’s phone. Jason’s face was partly turned from the camera, but his white streak and broad shoulders were unmistakable. “This is the guy?”
You reached for the nearest pencil.
He backed toward the door. “The label is going to lose its mind.”
“There’s no album.”
“There’s absolutely an album.”
“There isn’t a release date.”
“There will be.”
“Leave.”
He pointed toward the speakers. “Whatever diner guy is doing, he should keep doing it.”
You threw the pencil. He escaped before it hit him.
The band remained silent for several seconds.
Then the drummer leaned toward you. “So, diner guy?”
“Out.”
They left laughing.
Jason arrived after eight carrying takeout and a book he’d borrowed from your shelves two visits ago. He stopped when he saw you sitting at the mixing board.
“Bad session?”
“My manager has lost all sense of self-preservation.”
“So, normal session.”
He placed the food on the table and settled onto the couch. “What did he do?”
“Listened to the demos.”
Jason looked toward the speakers. “You let them hear the new ones?”
“They’re my band.”
“You haven’t let me hear them.”
“You’ve heard pieces.”
“From the hallway. While you threatened to throw a metronome at me.”
“You were interrupting.”
“I brought dinner.”
“That doesn’t make you quiet.”
Jason opened his book, though his attention remained on you. “I can wait.”
You turned back toward the controls.
The first album had reached him in pieces while he hid. This one could reach him before anyone else outside the room learned the finished versions.
“Jay.”
He lowered the book.
“C’mere.”
He crossed the studio and stopped beside your chair. You pressed play.
Jason listened without moving. The song began with the rhythm he’d once tapped against your window and unfolded into the fire escape, the rain, and the man who had returned too large for every memory you carried of him.
When the final note faded, his eyes shone. “This one’s about me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“It doesn’t sound sad.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
His gaze moved toward the speakers. “Can I hear it again?”
“You’ve heard it once.”
“I want to hear it while you’re next to me.”
You looked up at him, then restarted the track.
Jason rested one hand against the back of your chair. Halfway through the second verse, his thumb brushed your shoulder.
You let him listen again.
The first time Jason carried you toward the bedroom, he nearly put you down three times.
You’d been working past midnight. He’d tried to convince you to stop by standing between you and the mixing board. You’d responded by climbing into his lap.
The kiss started slowly and lost patience fast. Jason’s hands moved over your waist, warm and broad enough that his fingers nearly met across your back. You rocked against him, feeling the hard line of him through his jeans.
He groaned into your mouth. Then he pulled away.
You followed, catching his lower lip before he could retreat far. “Problem?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m trying to think.”
“That’s never helped before.”
Jason laughed softly, but tension remained in his shoulders.
You kissed along his jaw. His hands tightened once, then loosened until they barely rested against you.
That was when you noticed.
He’d been doing it for weeks. Careful touches. Controlled strength. Space left between your bodies whenever he held you. Even now, with you straddling his lap and pulling at his shirt, he acted as though the full weight of his hands might bruise you.
You sat back.
Jason’s eyes opened. “What?”
“You fought me in a laundromat.”
He blinked. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”
“You threw me onto the floor.”
“You tried to knee me in the balls.”
“I slapped you four times after I found out who you were.”
“I remember.”
“You were willing to fight me before the reveal, but now you’re afraid to touch me?”
“I’m touching you.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m trying to be careful.”
“You’re being a pussy.”
Jason stared.
For one second, you thought you’d pushed too far.
Then he laughed. It began as a startled sound and grew until his forehead dropped against your shoulder. His arms finally closed around you with enough strength to pull you flush against his chest.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said.
“You’re huge. You’re allowed to touch me like you know that.”
Jason’s laughter faded. His face remained against your neck. “I could hurt you.”
“So could I.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“I reset my own thumb after dislocating it to slip a steel cuff.”
“I hated that.”
“You fought me while I was carrying a baton.”
“You were wearing armor.”
“I slapped you four times.”
“You keep mentioning that like you’re proud.”
“I had excellent form.”
His mouth twitched against your skin.
You caught his face between your hands. “Jason.”
He looked at you.
“I’ll tell you if something hurts. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop. Treating me like I’m fragile isn’t the same as respecting me.”
His gaze moved over your face.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You.”
“You have me.”
“Then stop acting like you’re borrowing space.”
Something broke open in his expression.
Jason stood with you in his arms.
You locked your legs around his waist as he carried you toward the bedroom. His size became impossible to ignore once he stopped holding himself away. One arm supported your entire weight without effort. His chest pressed against yours, broad enough to block the hallway from view.
He set you on the edge of the bed and knelt between your knees.
“Still want me?” he asked.
“You’re asking dangerous questions.”
“I need to hear it.”
You caught the front of his shirt. “I want you.”
Jason kissed you.
This time, there was weight behind it. His hand closed around the back of your neck while the other spread over your thigh, his thumb pressing into the inside of it until your legs opened wider.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep them open for me.”
Heat moved through you.
“There you are,” you whispered.
Jason pulled back. “What?”
“The man who threw me across a laundromat.”
“You swept my ankle.”
“You deserved it.”
“I probably did.”
He kissed you again before drawing your shirt over your head. His mouth moved over your throat, slower than the urgency in his breathing. He paused above each bruise and faded scar, touching them with his fingertips before following with his lips.
You pushed his jacket from his shoulders. The shirt beneath it stretched across his chest, the fabric tight around his arms.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You got bigger.”
Jason’s mouth tightened. “Yeah.”
The answer carried more than embarrassment.
You ran your hands beneath his shirt. Scars crossed his stomach and ribs, some narrow and pale, others thick beneath your fingertips. His body held years you hadn’t witnessed.
Jason watched your face while you touched him.
You lifted the shirt. He helped you remove it, though his movements became restrained again once his chest was bare.
You pressed your palm over the scar near his ribs. “This one?”
“Knife.”
“And this?”
“Bullet.”
Your fingers moved higher. “This?”
“Crowbar.”
Jason looked away. You caught his jaw and turned him back toward you.
“I’m here,” you said.
His eyes closed.
You kissed the scar.
Jason inhaled sharply. His hand slid into your hair, careful for another second before closing firmly enough to keep you near.
“You don’t have to be who you were,” you told him. “You only have to stop disappearing.”
His forehead pressed against yours. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
The words carried something different now.
Jason kissed you until you fell backward onto the mattress. He followed, bracing one arm beside your head so most of his weight remained above you.
You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled.
He resisted. “Jason.”
“I’m heavy.”
“That’s the fucking point.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ve thought about it extensively.”
His eyebrows lifted. “The songs were specific.”
“Those were about me?”
You tightened your legs. “Come down here.”
Jason lowered himself carefully. His chest covered yours. His thigh settled between your legs, broad enough to force them apart. The weight pressed you into the mattress until every breath brought more of him against you.
You moaned before you could stop yourself.
Jason went still.
You looked up at him. “Don’t you dare move.”
A slow smile appeared.
“Like that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Use your words.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’ve been told I’m a soft touch.”
“By who?”
“Mostly people I’ve threatened.”
You pushed your hips against his thigh.
Jason’s smile vanished. “Fuck,” he breathed.
His hand closed around your waist. This time, he let himself use the strength in it, holding you still while he moved his thigh against you again.
“Tell me what you need,” he said.
“You.”
“You have me.”
“More.”
Jason kissed you hard. His hand slid beneath the waistband of your pants. He touched you through your underwear first, his fingers moving slowly while his mouth stayed against yours.
You caught his wrist.
He stopped immediately. “Too much?”
“Take them off.”
His eyes darkened.
Jason moved down the bed. He removed your boots first, then your pants, dragging the fabric slowly over your legs. His hands followed, broad palms moving over your calves and thighs.
“You’re staring,” you said.
“You’re beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice stole your next joke. He bent and kissed the inside of your knee.
“You’ve seen me naked before,” you said.
“No, I haven’t.”
“You saw my face while I was bleeding from three places.”
“That wasn’t naked.”
“I felt exposed.”
“You hit me afterward.”
“You deserved it.”
“I know.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Jason grinned and kissed higher. His mouth reached the inside of your thigh. He pressed your legs apart with his shoulders, his hands spanning your hips as though they were something delicate and precious.
You touched the white streak in his hair. Jason looked up.
“Keep going.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His mouth found you through the thin fabric. Your head fell back.
Jason took his time. He pushed your underwear aside and licked you slowly, his hands holding your hips still when you tried to move closer. The first sounds that escaped you seemed to affect him more than his mouth affected you. His breathing changed. His grip tightened.
“Jay.”
He hummed against you. Your thighs closed around his head. He pressed them wider again with a low laugh.
“You wanted me to use my strength,” he said.
“You’re smug.”
“You like me smug.”
“I tolerate you.”
His tongue pressed against you again.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
Jason worked you toward the edge without rushing. He learned every response as though he intended to remember it forever. When your hips lifted, he held them down. When your thighs trembled, he kissed them. When you tried to turn your face into the pillow, he stopped.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“Good girl.”
The praise moved through you hard enough to steal your breath.
Jason noticed. His eyes darkened. “You like that?”
“Keep talking.”
“You’re doing so well for me.”
Your grip in his hair tightened.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”
Your orgasm caught you before you could answer. Jason held you through it, his mouth gentler while your body shook beneath his hands.
He kissed his way back up your stomach.
You pulled him down by the shoulders.
Jason laughed against your mouth when you tasted yourself on him. His body settled between your legs again, and the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.
“Clothes,” you said.
“I’m working on it.”
“You’re moving slowly.”
“You’re distracting.”
You reached for his belt. Jason caught both your wrists in one hand.
The size difference became immediate. Your wrists fit together inside his grip with room to spare.
Heat moved through you again.
Jason stared at his hand around you. His expression changed.
“Don’t,” you said.
His attention returned to your face.
“Don’t get scared now.”
“I’m holding both your wrists.”
“I noticed.”
“I could—”
“You could let go if I asked.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t asked.”
Jason searched your expression.
You pulled once against his grip, testing it.
He held you easily.
“Fuck,” you whispered.
His mouth curved. “You like that too.”
“You’re learning.”
“Tell me if you want out.”
“I will.”
Jason tightened his hand slightly and used the other to remove his belt.
Watching him undress while he held you in place should’ve been frustrating. Instead, every movement sharpened the awareness of how little effort it took him to keep you beneath him.
He released your wrists to remove the rest of his clothes.
You reached for him as soon as he returned.
Jason’s breath caught when your hand closed around his cock. He was thick, heavy, and large enough that your fingers didn’t meet.
You looked down. “That’s going to fit?”
Jason groaned. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to have some self-control.”
You stroked him slowly. “You’ve been very controlled.”
“Too controlled, apparently.”
“Definitely.”
Jason caught your wrist and lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing your palm.
“We’ll go slow.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
He settled between your legs again, then stopped. His expression had changed, the desire still there beneath something more careful.
“Are you on anything?”
“I have an IUD. Touring with periods became a nightmare, so my doctor recommended it.”
Jason nodded, but he didn’t move closer. “And you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t been with anyone.”
You traced your thumb across his lower lip. “Neither have I.”
His eyes searched yours.
“I was in love with a dead boy for ten years,” you said. “Dating never went particularly well.”
Jason’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m aware.” You drew him closer. “I trust you.”
The words affected him more than anything else you’d said. His breath caught, and his forehead lowered to yours.
“You shouldn’t make that sound so easy.”
“It isn’t easy.”
His hand spread over your hip. “You still trust me?”
“I trust you with this.” You held his gaze. “As long as you don’t disappear on me afterward.”
“I won’t disappear.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know.” Jason kissed you softly. “I’ll keep proving it.”
You wrapped your legs around him. “Then prove it.”
He guided himself against you, skin warm against skin. The first pressure made your breath catch, and Jason stopped immediately.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if you need anything.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m being responsible.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m trying to put my dick inside the woman I’ve loved since I was eight without losing my mind. Give me a second.”
You cupped his face. Jason closed his eyes.
“You have me,” you said.
His expression broke open. He kissed you and pressed forward again.
“Okay?”
“More.”
Jason pushed into you slowly. The stretch burned at first. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, and Jason whispered praise against your mouth with every inch.
“That’s it. Take your time.”
“You’re the one moving.”
“You’re taking me so well.”
Your legs tightened around him.
Jason’s forehead dropped beside yours when he finally seated himself fully. His body trembled with the effort of staying still.
You breathed through the pressure.
He felt impossibly big inside you, his weight surrounding you and his chest pressing yours into the mattress.
“Jason.”
“I’m here.”
“Move.”
He withdrew slowly and pushed back in.
Your eyes closed.
“Look at me,” he said.
You opened them.
Jason watched every reaction as he found a careful rhythm. His hand slid beneath your thigh and lifted it higher, opening you further. The new angle drove him deeper.
You moaned.
“That’s good?”
“Yes.”
“Use your words.”
“You’re so fucking big.”
Jason’s control slipped. His hips drove forward harder. The headboard struck the wall.
You laughed breathlessly.
“Sorry.”
“Do it again.”
He stared at you.
“What a pussy,” you whispered.
Jason’s eyes narrowed.
The next thrust moved the bed.
You cried out.
“There,” you gasped.
“Yeah?”
“There.”
Jason caught both your wrists above your head with one hand. His other arm slid beneath your back, pulling your chest tightly against his.
He kissed you between every thrust.
The pace stayed slow enough to feel everything, but the strength behind it deepened. Jason held you exactly where he wanted you, his body covering yours while praise fell against your skin.
“Good girl.”
Your nails pressed into his palm.
“So beautiful.”
His mouth moved over your throat.
“Taking all of me.”
The words sent heat through you. Jason felt you tighten and groaned.
“You close?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Your hand.”
He released one wrist long enough to slide his fingers between your bodies. The heel of his palm pressed against you while he kept moving.
Your body tightened beneath him.
Jason’s rhythm faltered.
“Come for me,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
The orgasm broke through you.
Jason held you down through every pulse, his thrusts turning uneven as your body clenched around him. He buried his face against your neck and came with a sound that seemed dragged from somewhere deep.
For a while, neither of you moved. Jason’s full weight rested over you.
Your lungs had to work around him.
You loved it.
He recovered first and tried to lift himself. You locked your legs around his waist.
“Stay.”
“I’m heavy.”
“That’s the point.”
“You need to breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
Jason laughed quietly and lowered himself again, shifting enough to keep from crushing you while leaving most of his body over yours.
You ran your fingers through his hair.
He kissed your shoulder.
“Was I too much?” he asked.
“You apologized three times while fucking me.”
“I hit the headboard.”
“I told you to do it again.”
“You call me a pussy when you want something.”
“It worked.”
Jason lifted his head. “You’re dangerous.”
“You knew that before you had sex with me.”
“I knew it when you broke into the Batcave in heels.”
“I took them off.”
“Coward.”
You slapped his shoulder.
Jason caught your hand and kissed your palm.
He cleaned you up a few minutes later, brought water without being asked, and returned to bed carrying enough pillows to build a barricade.
You pulled him down before he could arrange them.
“I thought you wanted support.”
“I want you.”
Jason settled beside you.
You rolled onto his chest and hooked one leg over his hips. His arm closed around your back, warm and heavy.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
You traced the scar near his collarbone. “What about it?”
“I’ll be here.”
You looked up.
Jason held your gaze. “And the day after that.”
“You can’t promise every day.”
“I can promise I’ll tell you when I have to leave.”
“That’s different.”
“I’m learning.”
You rested your cheek over his heart. It beat steadily beneath your ear.
When you woke the next morning, he was still there.
The label heard six of the seven demos in October.
Your manager described the listening session as a controlled explosion. They chose one of the faster songs as the first single, mostly because you refused to explain the lyrics and everyone in the room agreed that mystery would sell better than honesty.
The song contained no names, but fans connected it to the diner photograph within six minutes of release. Someone enlarged the reflection in a restaurant window and decided Jason was six foot five. Someone else found an old Wayne Foundation photograph of him at thirteen and started a conspiracy theory that the mysterious man beside you was Bruce Wayne’s dead ward.
Your publicist called that theory ridiculous.
Tim sent you a screenshot with the message, They’re getting warmer.
You replied, Blocked.
Jason saved every reaction video people posted about the new single.
The Gotham concert sold out in four minutes.
The label wanted cameras backstage to document your return. You refused. They wanted “Second Hand” restored to the set list. You told them it wasn’t necessary.
Instead, you added the seventh demo, the unfinished song built from the cassette melody. You’d kept it out of the label session, and it still didn’t have a title.
Jason stood backstage before the encore wearing a dark jacket and the expression he got whenever too many people knew where he was.
“You could watch from the wings,” he said.
“Eleventh row.”
“Three seats from the center aisle.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you.”
You adjusted the strap of the black acoustic. “Then go sit down.”
Jason kissed you once, quick enough that your stage manager pretended to look away.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
“You’d better.”
He left through the side corridor.
The arena darkened ten minutes later. You walked onto the stage alone.
Thousands of lights rose around you until the darkness looked filled with stars.
You sat on the stool at center stage and adjusted the microphone.
“This one’s new,” you said.
The crowd erupted.
Your gaze moved toward the eleventh row.
The seat wasn’t empty.
Jason sat three seats from the center aisle, appearing too large for the folding chair. A white streak cut through his dark hair. The people beside him had no idea Red Hood was sitting among them.
He looked up at you.
You rested your fingers against the strings.
Jason smiled.
You played the opening chord. The notes that followed carried the rhythm he’d used against your window when you were children.
Two quick knocks, a pause, then two more.
Let me in.
He remained in his seat until the final note.
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and to lukewarmcomics on Instagram for the Jason/Red Hood fanart ❤️💛
Warnings: childhood friends to ??? to lovers, grief and mourning, depression, obsessive behavior, death of a minor, references to child torture, vigilantism, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, blood and injury, identity reveal, emotional confrontation, passive suicidal ideation, angst with a hopeful ending
Summary:
Gotham thinks your first album was about surviving heartbreak.
Only you know it was a eulogy for Jason Todd—and the beginning of the hunt that will end with the Joker at your feet and Red Hood standing between you and the grave.
Author’s Note:
written for this request
set in a loose version of canon where Jason has returned to Gotham as Red Hood but hasn’t reentered the reader’s life
this one also got away from me and ended up being too long for one post
[Part 2]
The crowd always screamed loudest before the final song.
You stood in the darkness beneath the stage while forty thousand people screamed your name. The sound moved through the stage beneath your boots and rattled the metal framework overhead, rising until it became less like applause and more like weather. Beyond the curtain, the arena glowed with thousands of lifted phones and the silver-white lights distributed to everyone at the doors.
They looked like stars from backstage.
You had once written a song about the Gotham sky never having enough of them.
Your guitar technician handed you the black acoustic without speaking. She knew better than to wish you luck before this song. Everyone on the tour did. Your manager called it superstition, but the crew had learned that you didn’t speak to anyone once the electric set ended and the stage went dark.
You curled your fingers around the worn neck of the guitar.
The instrument was older than your career. Older than the contracts, awards, sold-out tours, and the penthouse overlooking Robinson Park that magazines kept describing as proof you’d escaped Crime Alley. Its finish had been repaired twice, the bridge replaced once, and the body still carried a shallow scratch near the lower bout from the night Jason Todd had dropped it while trying to play standing on your fire escape.
You’d screamed at him for nearly five minutes, and he’d laughed until he couldn’t breathe.
“Thirty seconds,” the stage manager warned.
You closed your eyes.
The first album had been called a “triumph of raw adolescent emotion.” Reviewers praised its restraint, its fury, and the maturity with which you examined the abrupt end of a formative relationship. The public decided you’d survived an abusive boyfriend. Then they decided he’d died in a car accident. One columnist insisted the album was about your father despite your repeated explanations that you’d never met him.
You stopped correcting people after the first month.
The songs belonged to everyone now. That was what you said in interviews.
The lie came easily after enough repetition.
A narrow column of light appeared at the edge of the curtain. You walked toward it as the noise in the arena reached a painful, familiar peak.
The audience quieted when you emerged alone. You sat on the stool waiting at center stage and adjusted the microphone. Sweat cooled beneath the collar of your shirt while you looked out at a sea of expectant faces.
“This is the last one,” you said.
The crowd protested.
You smiled because they expected you to.
The opening chord of “Second Hand” rang through the arena.
Every light became red.
You’d written the song eighteen hours after Bruce Wayne called your apartment and told you Jason was dead. You’d been fifteen years old, sitting on the floor beside an overflowing laundry basket, unable to understand why Gotham’s most famous man was calling you after midnight.
You hadn’t understood anything after that.
Not the funeral. Not the closed casket. Not Bruce’s hand settling on your shoulder while reporters waited beyond the cemetery gates, eager to document the death of a Wayne ward. Not the heavy silence that filled the manor when you demanded to know how Jason had died.
There had been an accident, Bruce said. Jason had been overseas. There had been an explosion.
You’d known he was lying.
Jason had taught you how to recognize a lie before either of you had learned long division.
The arena sang the first verse back to you.
You kept your eyes open through the entire song.
You’d spent years learning how.
Jason Todd had been eight years old when he climbed through your bedroom window and accused you of stealing his library book.
You’d stared at the skinny boy standing between your curtains with his hair falling into his eyes and informed him that normal people knocked.
“Normal people don’t take stuff that isn’t theirs,” he’d said.
“You left it on the fire escape. It was going to rain.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It did.”
He’d glanced toward the window. Rainwater streamed down the glass, dripping from the cuffs of his jacket onto your floor.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
The book had been an old paperback collection of Greek myths with a cracked spine and several missing pages. You’d found it outside that morning beneath the rusting folding chair Jason sometimes used to reach the roof. It was still on your desk, drying beneath the weak breeze of a secondhand fan.
Jason crossed the room and picked it up carefully. “You bent the cover.”
“It was already bent.”
“Not like this.”
“You’re welcome for saving it.”
He’d glared at you. You’d glared back.
Three days later, he returned the book to the library and climbed back through your window carrying a cassette tape he’d stolen from a car with an unlocked door.
That was the beginning.
Jason knew which stores threw out sandwiches before they went bad and which apartment buildings had roofs that could be reached without crossing locked hallways. You knew which corner stores would let kids read magazines without buying anything and how to repair headphones with electrical tape. Together, you learned that the old woman on the second floor slept through almost anything, the landlord kept spare keys inside a fake rock behind the building, and the fire escape outside your bedroom could support both of you as long as Jason stopped jumping on it to prove otherwise.
He brought books. You brought music.
Jason read aloud when the electricity was shut off, his voice shifting between characters while you lay on the floor and watched headlights move across the ceiling. You taught him three guitar chords on an instrument your mother had bought from a pawnshop after working four consecutive double shifts.
He hated practicing. Jason flexed his aching fingers. “You said this was easy.”
“I said the first chord was easy. You’re pressing too hard.”
“You said I wasn’t pressing hard enough.”
“Before.”
“This is a scam.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
Jason kicked your ankle. You kicked him back.
A week later, he could play six chords and had learned the opening of a song you liked by watching your hands.
Jason disappeared for nearly a month when he was twelve.
You searched hospitals first. Then police stations, shelters, abandoned buildings, and every rooftop he’d ever shown you. Adults either ignored your questions or told you boys like Jason ran away all the time. You knew he hadn’t. Jason always told you when he planned to disappear.
When he finally returned, he was wearing clean clothes that fit properly and carrying a backpack full of new books.
He refused to explain where he’d been.
You hit him hard enough to split his lip. Then you wrapped your arms around him and cried into his new jacket until he held you back.
Bruce Wayne appeared at your door the following afternoon.
Jason had been adopted, though the papers called him a ward. He would live in Bristol now. He’d attend a private school. Bruce promised he could still visit, speaking gently as though you were a frightened animal that might bolt if he moved too quickly.
You hated him immediately.
Jason came back every weekend for the first two months. Then every other weekend. Then whenever he could escape the manor without Alfred noticing.
He told you Bristol was too quiet. He complained that his room was bigger than your apartment and that Bruce bought him new books instead of letting him choose old ones from the library sale.
He never explained the bruises.
You tried to make him.
Jason deflected every question with a joke, a stolen candy bar, or a story about Alfred chasing him through the manor after he tracked mud across a rug worth more than your building. He grew stronger. Quieter. He began listening to police scanners and vanishing whenever sirens passed too close to your block.
You knew he was hiding something.
You didn’t know he was Robin until after he died.
The final chord faded.
For one breath, the arena remained silent. Then the audience rose.
You stood beneath the red lights and looked toward the seat reserved at every performance, eleven rows from the stage and three seats from the center aisle. It remained empty as it had for every show since your first headlining tour.
The venue staff always assumed it was held for security.
Your manager thought it belonged to your mother, who refused to attend concerts after developing tinnitus during the first album cycle.
You had never told anyone the truth. Jason had once insisted that the eleventh row was the best place to watch a concert. Close enough to see the musicians and far enough back for the sound to settle properly.
He’d been thirteen and had never attended one.
You’d called him an idiot.
“You’ll see,” he’d said. “When you’re famous, you can give me a ticket and prove me right.”
The audience continued cheering while you left the stage.
By the time you reached your dressing room, you were already removing the tape from your fingers.
Your assistant waited beside the wardrobe rack, holding a tablet and the careful expression everyone around you wore after the encore. “The label wants to know whether you’ve reconsidered the deluxe edition.”
“No.”
“They’re proposing three unreleased tracks.”
“No.”
“A live recording of ‘Second Hand’ from Gotham could replace them.”
“No.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “There’s also an interview tomorrow morning. The journalist sent revised questions.”
“Anything new?”
“Mostly questions about the tour. One about the anniversary.”
Of course there was.
The tenth anniversary for The Things We Buried was next month. Your label had spent nearly a year preparing commemorative vinyl, documentary footage, limited-edition merchandise, and an anniversary concert you’d refused so many times that the executives had started approaching your touring band instead.
They called it a celebration. You didn’t know how to celebrate the worst year of your life.
“Delete the anniversary question,” you said.
“She’ll ask anyway.”
“Then she’ll waste her time.”
Your assistant placed the tablet on the dressing table. “The car will be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Make it forty.”
Her gaze dipped toward the black duffel bag partly concealed beneath the couch.
You waited.
Your employees had learned not to ask why you sometimes left venues through service entrances or why security footage occasionally failed during the final hour of a show. They didn’t question the bruises hidden beneath stage makeup or the strained shoulder that had forced you to cancel a rehearsal in Blüdhaven.
Fame trained people to accept eccentricity. Money encouraged them to protect it.
“I’ll tell the driver,” she said.
Once the door closed, you locked it.
The suit waited beneath a layer of ordinary clothes. Black body armor, reinforced boots, a compact utility belt, and a helmet designed to distort your voice and conceal everything except the narrow space around your eyes. The armor had been repaired six times in the past year. One gauntlet still carried a deep groove left by a knife that would have severed the tendons in your wrist.
You changed quickly. The mirror reflected a stranger by the time you finished.
That was the purpose.
The Narrows smelled like rain, gasoline, and the river. You crossed the rooftops without using the grappling line until the distance between buildings became too wide. The launcher pulled you across the street as a freight truck passed below, its headlights briefly illuminating your shadow against a brick wall.
Your target was three blocks east. Milo Venn had worked for the Joker during three separate escapes from Arkham. He’d purchased chemicals, recruited temporary muscle, and arranged safe houses under names belonging to people buried in Gotham cemeteries. The police had questioned him twice and released him both times. Red Hood had broken three of his fingers last winter, but Venn still hadn’t revealed where the Joker went after his most recent escape.
You had been following him for six weeks. He left his apartment at 1:13 every Thursday morning and walked to a laundromat that had been closed since the city condemned the building. He remained inside for twenty minutes before returning home with an empty duffel bag.
Tonight, you intended to discover what he left behind.
You landed on the roof across from the laundromat and checked the street. The security camera above the entrance had been disabled. You stared at the dark lens. Venn didn’t possess the skill required to notice it, much less destroy it without triggering the backup feed. Someone else had arrived first.
Your hand closed around the collapsible baton at your hip. The roof access door stood open.
You descended without sound.
Voices carried from the first floor. Venn spoke too quickly, his words tumbling over each other as he pleaded with someone who didn’t interrupt.
You stopped above the final landing.
“I told you everything I know,” Venn said.
A deeper voice answered through an electronic modulator. “That’s funny. I remember you telling me you didn’t know anything.”
“I didn’t then.”
“But you do now?”
“I heard something.”
“You hear lots of things, Milo. Most of them are the sound of your own teeth rattling.”
Red Hood.
You’d encountered him four times over the past year. The first had ended with six unconscious smugglers and a gun pressed against the underside of your helmet. During the second, he’d taken the drive you spent two months tracking and left you zip-tied to a drainpipe. You’d repaid him during the third by disabling his motorcycle and stealing the drive back.
The fourth encounter had involved explosives, a collapsing parking structure, and an argument conducted while both of you hung from the same grappling line.
You didn’t consider him an ally.
He was simply the only person in Gotham who appeared as determined to find the Joker as you were.
You moved down the remaining stairs.
Venn sat tied to a plastic chair in the center of the abandoned laundromat. Blood covered the lower half of his face, though his nose appeared to be the only significant injury. Red Hood stood behind him with one gloved hand resting on his shoulder and a pistol held casually in the other.
His helmet turned toward you. “Concert finish early?”
Your grip tightened on the baton.
He couldn’t know.
Red Hood had made similar comments before. He called you princess when your equipment looked expensive, ballerina when you avoided gunfire, and rock star whenever your entrance attracted too much attention. He’d never indicated that the words meant anything.
You kept your voice level beneath the modulator. “You disabled my camera.”
“You were late.”
“This is my lead.”
“It’s Gotham. We share.”
“That wasn’t your position when you stole my last one.”
“You stole it back.”
“After I disabled the tracker that nearly led Black Mask to your safe house.”
Red Hood tilted his head. “You’ve been keeping score.”
“I’ve been considering whether shooting you would improve my evenings.”
Venn made a strangled noise between you.
Red Hood’s helmet turned toward him. “Sorry. Domestic dispute.”
“We aren’t—” You stopped.
The white lenses of his helmet narrowed through some internal mechanism. You hated when he did that.
“What did he tell you?” you asked.
“Nothing useful.”
“I haven’t had a chance,” Venn protested. “He keeps hitting me.”
“I’ve hit you twice.”
“You broke my nose.”
“You came with it already broken.”
You stepped closer. “What did you hear?”
Venn looked between you and Red Hood. His fear increased when he settled on you.
That reaction had taken time to cultivate.
Red Hood was larger, heavily armed, and notorious for leaving bodies throughout Crime Alley. Criminals feared him because they understood what he was willing to do.
They feared you because they didn’t.
“There’s a shipment tomorrow night at Amusement Mile,” Venn said. “Medical equipment, chemicals, something from Sionis. I only arranged the truck.”
“Where?”
“An old arcade near the pier. It has a clown on the sign.”
“That narrows it down,” you said. Half the businesses on Amusement Mile had clowns on their signs.
Red Hood released Venn and stepped away. “Driver?”
“Guy named Pollard.”
“First name?”
“Eddie. Freddie. Something like that.”
Red Hood raised the pistol.
“Frederick,” Venn blurted. “Frederick Pollard. He works out of Tricorner.”
You entered the name into the computer built into your gauntlet. Three results appeared. One had a commercial license and a prior conviction for transporting controlled substances.
You saved the address.
Red Hood’s helmet remained angled toward your wrist. “Thanks for the lead,” he said.
You looked up. “Don’t.”
He fired at your feet. The laundromat filled with white smoke.
You moved before the first round struck the floor, throwing yourself behind a row of rusting washing machines. Something heavy hit the wall where your helmet had been. Red Hood’s boots crossed the tile.
You swept his ankle when he rounded the machines.
He jumped over the baton and caught your wrist. You twisted, driving your shoulder into his chest as he tried to force your arm behind your back. His armor absorbed the impact. He hooked one foot behind your knee.
You both went down.
The pistol slid beneath a washing machine.
“You could’ve asked to work together,” he said as you drove an elbow toward the vulnerable space beneath his helmet.
He caught it against his forearm.
“You could’ve stopped stealing my evidence.”
“You make it too easy.”
You slammed the heel of your boot into his thigh. His grip loosened. You rolled away, rose to one knee, and extended the baton toward his throat.
Red Hood remained on his back.
One hand had closed around your ankle. He pulled.
You struck the floor hard enough to force the air from your lungs. Red Hood rolled over you, pinning your wrist beside your head. His helmet stopped inches from yours.
“You fight angry,” he said.
“You talk too much.”
“You always go for the throat when you’re cornered.”
“Most people stop talking afterward.”
“Most people don’t wear armor.”
You drove your knee upward. He shifted before you connected, but the movement gave you enough room to wrench your wrist free.
Red Hood caught the front of your armor before you could roll away.
The laundromat door opened. Both of you froze.
Venn ran.
You looked toward the empty chair and then back at Red Hood.
He released you.
“You tied him up,” you said.
“You distracted me.”
“You started the fight.”
Red Hood stood and retrieved his pistol. “Frederick Pollard. Tricorner. We leave in ten.”
“We?”
“Unless you’d rather wrestle some more.”
You rose slowly. “I’d rather throw you into the river.”
“That can be our second date.”
You hated him.
You hated the unexpected warmth that sometimes entered his electronically distorted voice even more.
Frederick Pollard lived above a convenience store that sold expired food and bootleg DVDs.
Red Hood picked the lock before you could remove your tools.
“You’re showing off,” you said.
“You were taking too long.”
“I hadn’t started.”
“Exactly.”
Pollard wasn’t home.
The apartment had been cleared in a hurry. Cabinets stood open, the refrigerator had been unplugged, and a clean rectangle in the dust marked where a computer had recently sat. A partial shoeprint near the window belonged to someone larger than Pollard.
A floorboard creaked behind you. You turned with the baton raised.
Red Hood had moved toward the window. He stood entirely still, looking at the small wooden table pushed beneath it.
“What?” you asked.
His helmet shifted toward you. “Nothing.”
You followed his earlier line of sight.
Four shallow marks had been carved into the table’s edge. Uneven. Careless. Probably left by someone tapping a knife while waiting.
Your thumb tapped against the edge of the table without conscious thought. Twice, a pause, then twice again.
The rhythm belonged to a song you’d never recorded. Jason used to tap it against your bedroom window when he wanted you to let him inside without waking your mother. Two quick knocks, a pause, then two more. You’d turned it into a melody years later, though the song had never progressed beyond a chorus.
Red Hood watched your hand. You withdrew it.
“Pollard didn’t leave willingly,” you said.
His attention remained on the table. “What makes you think that?”
“No one clears out this thoroughly and leaves the windows open during a storm. He was trying to erase evidence and got interrupted.”
“Or he’s stupid.”
“He transports chemicals for the Joker. That’s already established.”
“Fair.”
Red Hood moved toward the bedroom again. You noticed that he’d stopped making jokes.
“Do you recognize the marks?” you asked.
“No.”
“You stared at them.”
“I stare at lots of things.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
His helmet turned sharply.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The modulator concealed his breathing, but you could hear your own inside your helmet.
Then Red Hood faced the bedroom. “Check the fire escape.”
You almost pressed him. Instead, you climbed through the window.
Pollard’s body lay on the roof of the convenience store below. He had been dead for several hours. A wide smile had been carved into each cheek. A playing card rested on his chest.
Red Hood landed beside you and looked down.
The card displayed a cartoon rabbit wearing a crown. On the back, someone had written an address in green ink.
“This is a trap,” you said.
“Obviously.”
“You aren’t going.”
He crouched beside Pollard’s body. “That sounded almost concerned.”
“I don’t want you ruining another lead.”
“Better.”
The address belonged to a warehouse near the northern edge of Amusement Mile.
You photographed the card.
Red Hood reached for it.
Your fingers closed around his wrist. “Evidence.”
“Invitation.”
“He knew we were looking.”
“He knew someone was.”
The red helmet reflected the weak light above the convenience store sign. Rain gathered along the armored curve of his jaw before falling onto Pollard’s shirt.
You released him. Red Hood picked up the card.
“He wants an audience,” he said.
“The Joker always wants an audience.”
“Then we don’t give him the one he expects.”
You looked toward the bright, distant lights of Amusement Mile.
The waterfront had been rebuilt twice since the Joker transformed it into a killing ground. Gotham kept repainting the attractions, replacing shattered windows, and insisting the district could still become a family destination. Every few years, another developer announced plans for luxury hotels and restaurants along the pier.
The clown signs remained.
“Tomorrow night,” you said. “We watch the shipment first.”
“You giving me orders now?”
“I’m telling you the plan.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to a partnership.”
“You called our last fight a date.”
Red Hood shrugged. “You were on top of me. It felt appropriate.”
You stepped over Pollard’s body and moved toward the next roof.
Red Hood followed.
The journalist asked about the anniversary twelve minutes into the interview.
Your assistant shifted beside the camera. The publicist sent by the label stared down at her phone as though she could pretend not to hear.
You kept smiling.
The interview took place in a hotel suite overlooking Gotham Harbor. Rainwater streaked the windows behind you, turning the city into blurred columns of gray and black.
The journalist leaned forward in her chair. She was younger than you expected, perhaps only a few years older than you’d been when the album was released.
“The Things We Buried changed the trajectory of your life,” she said. “When you look back at the person you were when you wrote it, what do you wish you could tell her?”
That she should’ve asked more questions. That she should’ve broken into Wayne Manor and demanded to see Jason’s body. That Bruce Wayne lied with his entire body, not only his voice. His shoulders became too still. His mouth tightened before he spoke. He looked directly into your eyes when he wanted you to believe him and away when he couldn’t bear the consequences.
Jason had taught you that. You hadn’t remembered until years later.
“I’d tell her to sleep more,” you said.
The journalist laughed politely. “Was the writing process as intense as people imagine?”
“I was fifteen. Everything was intense.”
“Your listeners have spent years speculating about who inspired the album. You’ve always maintained that it isn’t important.”
“It isn’t important to anyone except me.”
“Did he ever hear it?”
The room became smaller. You saw the closed casket again: Bruce standing beside it, Alfred crying silently into a white handkerchief.
The journalist waited.
“No,” you said. “He died before I finished writing it.”
The publicist inhaled sharply. You had never confirmed that much before.
The journalist lowered her notes. Her expression changed from professional interest to something softer, which was worse. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Do you think the album helped you grieve?”
You looked beyond the camera toward the harbor.
The album had paid your mother’s debts. It had moved you both out of Crime Alley. It bought the guitar you used to teach yourself music theory and the studio where you recorded your second album. It provided the money required to hire private investigators, bribe court employees, purchase sealed police records, and spend three years training under instructors who believed you were an actress preparing for an action film.
It had given you access to people who underestimated musicians and overestimated celebrities. It had funded every weapon hidden inside your penthouse.
“No,” you said. “I think people say art heals because they’re uncomfortable admitting that sometimes it only gives pain somewhere else to live.”
No one spoke.
The publicist finally looked up from her phone.
You smiled again. “Are we ready for the next question?”
Red Hood waited on the roof of the old Monarch Theater. You landed beside him at 11:47.
“You’re late,” he said.
“You survived.”
“Barely. I was starting to think you’d decided to handle this alone.”
“I considered it.”
His helmet turned toward you and stayed there a moment too long.
You checked the seals on your gauntlets. “What?”
“Nothing.”
A beat passed.
“You’ve been doing that thing since Pollard’s apartment.”
“What thing?”
“Pausing before every answer.”
Red Hood looked away toward Amusement Mile before you could read anything else from him. “The truck entered the district seventeen minutes ago. Driver stayed inside.”
“Escort?”
“Two sedans. Eight men.”
“Joker?”
“No visual.”
Below, the amusement district had closed for the night. Lights remained on throughout the central boardwalk, illuminating the empty rides and rain-dark pavement. The warehouse from the card stood near the water, its boarded windows painted with smiling faces.
A truck waited beside the loading entrance.
“Too obvious,” you said.
“Definitely.”
“What did the thermal scan show?”
“Three people inside the cab, ten in the warehouse, four on the roof.”
You looked toward the warehouse. “I only see two.”
“Other two are under thermal blankets.”
You adjusted your helmet’s optics. The hidden figures appeared as faint disruptions against the roof. “They’re expecting us from the west,” you said.
“We approach from the water.”
“You’re planning to swim in all that?”
“The helmet’s waterproof.”
“I was thinking more about the fifty pounds of armor.”
Red Hood looked at you. “So you have been thinking about me wet.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“So you keep saying.”
You rappelled down the side of the theater before he could continue.
The route to the water took you through two alleys and beneath a section of the boardwalk. Red Hood moved with surprising quiet for someone carrying enough weapons to supply a small militia. His helmet should’ve made him conspicuous, but he understood Gotham’s shadows better than most people understood daylight.
You hated acknowledging that he was good. You also hated how familiar his movements sometimes felt.
Jason had moved like that near the end. He’d grown too quick for you to catch when you chased him across rooftops. He anticipated where you intended to step and reached fire escapes before you’d decided to climb them. Whenever you accused him of cheating, he claimed you were getting slow.
You’d believed the changes came from private-school athletics.
The truth waited in the files you stole from the Batcomputer two years after his funeral.
Robin.
The word had appeared beside Jason’s name on a report Bruce Wayne believed he’d erased. Mission logs documented injuries, arrests, patrol routes, and arguments between Batman and his thirteen-year-old partner.
The final entry contained an address in Ethiopia. The photographs were corrupted. The autopsy report wasn’t.
You had vomited across the keyboard.
Red Hood touched your arm. You spun and struck him across the helmet. The baton produced a sharp metallic crack.
He staggered backward and raised one hand toward the new scrape above his right lens. “What the hell?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“You stopped moving.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“I did. Twice.”
You lowered the baton.
Red Hood watched you.
The water moved sluggishly beneath the boardwalk, carrying wrappers and oil through the narrow supports. Somewhere above, a carnival recording repeated the same cheerful melody every thirty seconds.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Right.”
You started toward the warehouse. He caught your forearm. You turned more slowly this time.
“I need to know what happens if he’s in there,” Red Hood said.
“He dies.” The words should’ve felt heavier. They didn’t. You’d carried them for ten years.
Red Hood released you. “Batman won’t let you.”
“Batman isn’t here.”
“What if I stop you?”
“You won’t. You’re looking for the Joker too. You carry more than rubber bullets. Half the criminals in Gotham think you’ve already killed him once.”
His helmet gave nothing away.
You stepped closer. “You can pretend this is about information or territory, but you want him dead. The only difference between us is that I’ve stopped lying about it.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you hate him.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll let you do this.”
“Why?”
Red Hood looked toward the warehouse. When he answered, the modulator couldn’t conceal the weariness in his voice. “Because you think killing him is the end.”
“It’s enough.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
“I know more than you think.”
The tinny carnival melody playing through the boardwalk speakers started over again.
You stared at the red helmet, searching for something you couldn’t identify. A memory pressed against the edges of your mind and disappeared before you could grasp it.
“Who did he kill?” you asked.
Red Hood went still.
“You said you hated him,” you continued. “Who was it?”
The answer took too long. “Me,” he said eventually.
You waited for him to explain. He turned away.
You assumed he meant the person he’d been before becoming Red Hood. Gotham’s vigilantes loved metaphors almost as much as they loved refusing to answer straightforward questions.
“He killed someone I loved,” you said. “That’s close enough.”
Red Hood’s shoulders tightened. You didn’t notice.
The first gunshot struck the wood beside your head.
The ambush came from beneath the boardwalk. Three men rose from the water in diving equipment, firing suppressed weapons through the supports. You dropped behind a concrete footing while Red Hood returned fire.
The warehouse roof erupted with movement. You launched the grappling line upward and swung beyond the shooters beneath the pier. Bullets followed, one striking the armor over your ribs hard enough to turn the world white. You hit the warehouse wall, nearly lost your grip, and forced air back into your lungs before climbing.
A man leaned over the roof’s edge. You caught the barrel of his rifle before he could fire, pulled him forward, and drove your helmet into his face. Cartilage broke beneath the impact. He fell over the edge with a scream that ended when Red Hood caught the back of his vest from below.
“Nonfatal,” he called.
You climbed past him. “He would’ve survived the fall.”
“Maybe.”
“Probably.”
“That confidence is concerning.”
Two gunmen waited near the center of the roof. You threw the baton before they turned. It struck the first beneath the jaw. Red Hood vaulted over the edge and tackled the second.
The concealed shooters emerged from beneath their thermal coverings. You avoided the first knife and caught the attacker’s wrist, turning until the joint gave with an audible crack. The second drove his shoulder into your injured ribs.
You both crashed through a skylight. Glass fell around you.
You struck a stack of wooden crates and rolled onto the concrete floor. Pain spread through your side, hot and immediate. The attacker landed several feet away and recovered first.
His boot connected with your stomach. Your armor absorbed part of the impact. The rest drove you backward against the crates.
He raised the knife.
A gunshot echoed through the warehouse. The attacker collapsed. Red Hood stood on the catwalk overhead, pistol extended.
“Nonfatal,” he said.
Blood spread beneath the attacker’s thigh.
You pushed yourself upright. “You shot him.”
“Legs aren’t vital.”
“The femoral artery is.”
“I missed it.”
“Probably?”
“See? You’re learning.”
The warehouse lights switched on. Rows of overhead bulbs flickered to life, illuminating dozens of mannequins dressed in old carnival costumes. Painted faces watched from every corner. Some wore police uniforms. Others had been dressed as Batman, Robin, and members of the Justice League.
The Joker stood on a platform at the far end of the warehouse. Except he didn’t. The figure’s movements repeated too precisely. Its mouth opened and closed in time with a recording played through hidden speakers.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome!”
Red Hood jumped from the catwalk and landed beside you. The doors slammed shut. Gas poured from vents along the ceiling.
“Seal your helmet,” Red Hood said.
You reached for the respirator built into your helmet. A sweet chemical odor filled the warehouse.
The mannequins began exploding.
Red Hood threw you behind the crates before the first blast reached your position. Flames rolled across the ceiling. Plastic bodies shattered, sending fragments through the air. Red Hood shielded your head with both arms while the crates shook beneath the impacts.
The recording laughed. “You’re doing wonderfully!” the fake Joker announced. “But every good duet needs a little harmony.”
The floor beneath you opened.
You and Red Hood fell into darkness.
—
You woke with your helmet missing. Your wrists were bound above your head, arms stretched toward a metal support behind you. Concrete pressed against your back. Blood filled your mouth where your teeth had cut the inside of your cheek.
Red Hood lay several feet away. His helmet was gone too. A black domino mask covered his eyes. White hair cut through the dark strands above his forehead.
You stared.
He was younger than you expected. Around your age, perhaps. A scar crossed one side of his face, disappearing beneath his jaw. Blood ran from a wound near his temple.
For one impossible second, the angle of his mouth reminded you of Jason. You looked away before the thought could take hold.
The room appeared to be beneath the warehouse. Pipes covered the ceiling. A single television had been mounted on the wall opposite you. The screen turned on.
Joker’s face filled it. “There they are!”
Red Hood groaned.
The Joker leaned toward the camera. “I was beginning to think the fall hadn’t been enough. You two are surprisingly difficult to knock unconscious.”
You tested the restraints. Steel cuffs. Short chain. No room to create leverage. Your utility belt was missing.
Red Hood opened his eyes. He looked at you first. Then he realized his helmet was gone. His expression changed so quickly that you might have imagined it.
“Well,” the Joker said from the television. “Now that everyone’s awake, let’s discuss why you’ve both been looking for little old me.”
Red Hood sat up slowly. His wrists were secured behind him to a pipe.
“Come down here, and we can discuss it,” he said.
Without the helmet, his voice was rougher. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.
The Joker sighed. “You always want to skip to the end.”
“Habit.”
“And your friend hasn’t said a word.”
The image on the screen changed, displaying a photograph of you leaving the hotel after that morning’s interview.
Your blood went cold. Red Hood swore.
The Joker smiled. “Surprise.”
You looked toward Red Hood. His attention remained fixed on the screen, jaw tight enough to expose the muscle beneath his cheek.
“How?”
“Facial recognition is a marvelous thing,” the Joker said. “Especially when someone’s face is already decorating half of Gotham.”
Your voice sounded strange without the helmet’s distortion.
Red Hood turned toward you. He knew. You saw it immediately. Not surprise. Not confusion. Recognition.
The realization struck harder than the fall.
“You knew,” you said.
He looked away.
The Joker watched with interest. “Oh, this is better than I hoped.”
“How long?”
Red Hood said nothing.
“How long have you known who I am?”
“Since Pollard’s apartment.”
You stared at him, trying to understand what had given you away.
The Joker began laughing. “You should see your faces.”
“Shut up,” Red Hood said.
“But we haven’t reached my favorite part.” The image disappeared, replaced by an old photograph.
Jason stood beside you on a Crime Alley rooftop. He was fourteen. You were holding the camera at arm’s length while he leaned into the frame, grinning with one front tooth chipped from a fight he refused to explain.
You knew the photograph. Your copy had remained inside your guitar case for ten years.
You had never known Jason carried one too.
“Where did you get that?” you asked.
The Joker’s face appeared in the corner of the screen. “From his jacket. Ethiopia. I keep souvenirs.” His smile widened. “He carried you all the way across the world with him. Apparently, our mysterious little hunter knew one of my Robins long before either of them put on a mask.”
Red Hood’s shoulders strained against the cuffs.
“You don’t get to talk about him,” you said.
“Oh, but everyone talks about him. Gotham’s favorite dead boy. Batman’s greatest failure. Your entire career.”
The screen changed again. Concert footage. Interviews. Photographs from your first tour. Headlines speculating about the subject of your debut album.
“I listened,” the Joker continued. “Very sad. A little repetitive. You really should’ve included a cheerful number.”
Red Hood pulled against the pipe hard enough to make it groan.
The Joker’s smile widened. “Did you listen too, Jay?”
Silence swallowed the room. You stopped breathing. Red Hood closed his eyes while the Joker laughed until the sound distorted through the speakers.
“No,” you whispered.
Red Hood looked at you. The mask covered his eyes, but you knew the face beneath it.
Not because he looked the same. He didn’t. Jason had been fifteen when he died, all sharp bones and restless energy. This man was broader, scarred, and built by years you hadn’t witnessed.
You knew him because he was looking at you like he had when he climbed through your bedroom window after disappearing for a month.
Guilty. Terrified. Already bracing for the blow.
“Jay?” you said.
His throat moved. “I’m sorry.”
The room tilted. You remembered the closed casket, the funeral, and ten years of birthdays marked by flowers left at a grave containing whatever Bruce had recovered from the explosion.
You remembered writing until your fingertips bled because sleep meant seeing Jason call for help you hadn’t been there to give. You remembered nights on hotel bathroom floors, unable to breathe while thousands of people outside chanted for an encore. You remembered every criminal you’d hurt, every law you’d broken, every piece of yourself you’d carved away to become someone capable of killing the Joker.
Jason was alive. He had stood beside you on rooftops. He had held a gun to your helmet. He had listened to you speak about the person you loved as though he were dead.
“You knew,” you said again.
“Not at first.”
“How long have you been alive?”
The Joker hummed through the speakers.
Jason’s attention flicked toward the camera. You didn’t care.
“How long?”
“Years.”
The answer hollowed you out.
“Years,” you repeated.
“I couldn’t—”
“You couldn’t what?”
“This isn’t the place.”
“You let me mourn you for ten years.”
“I didn’t know how to come back.”
“You figured out how to come back to Gotham.”
“I wasn’t me.”
“You’re standing right there.”
Jason flinched.
The Joker made an exaggerated sound of sympathy. “Reunions are so difficult.”
You turned toward the camera.
“You wanted an audience,” you said.
The Joker leaned closer.
“You have one.”
Your right thumb had been working against the edge of the cuff since you woke. The joint dislocated on the next pull. Pain flashed up your arm. Your hand slipped free.
Jason moved immediately.
You caught the chain hanging from the support and wrapped it around your fist before striking the camera mounted above the television. The feed shattered into static.
The doors locked.
Somewhere beyond the room, an alarm began. You braced your thumb against the pipe and forced it back into place. Pain burst behind your eyes, but the joint held when you flexed it.
You crossed the distance to Jason and tore the pin from your hair. It had survived beneath the helmet because it appeared decorative, an oversight you’d encouraged by wearing identical ones during several public appearances.
Jason watched you force the pin into his cuffs. “You’re hurt.”
“Don’t.”
“You dislocated your thumb.”
“You don’t get to be concerned right now.”
The lock opened.
Jason rose and caught your wrist before you could turn away.
You slapped him across the face, and his head snapped to the side.
The sound echoed through the room.
He didn’t defend himself.
You hit him again.
Jason released your wrist. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
You struck him again. “You were alive.”
“I know.”
“I wrote an entire album for you.”
His face broke. “I know.”
“You heard it?”
“All of it.”
The admission hurt more than the lie. You shoved him backward. Jason struck the pipe and remained there, hands loose at his sides.
“You heard me tell the entire world I loved you, and you stayed dead.”
“I thought you were better without me.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
The alarm continued.
Jason lifted one hand toward you, then stopped before making contact. “We need to get out.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s close.”
“He’ll have another exit.”
“Then find it.”
Jason looked at your injured hand. “Let me look at your thumb.”
You turned away. “Touch me, and I’ll break yours.”
For once, he didn’t argue.
You found your equipment in the next room.
Jason’s helmet rested beside yours on a metal table. Your utility belts had been emptied, but the Joker’s men hadn’t discovered the blade hidden inside the reinforced lining of your left boot.
Jason watched you cut through the restraints securing the equipment case.
“You built that helmet yourself?” he asked.
You looked at him.
“Right. No talking.”
“You’ve had years to speak.”
His mouth tightened.
You recovered your baton and two throwing knives. The firearms were missing. Jason found one of his pistols beneath the table, unloaded.
“You used to hate guns,” he said quietly.
“I used to hate heights too.”
He absorbed that.
You reactivated the emergency beacon in your gauntlet and sent a silent distress signal before voices approached from the corridor.
Jason reached for his helmet. You took yours first and activated the modulator.
The stranger returned in the reflection of the dark visor. Jason stared at you for a moment before putting his helmet on.
Red Hood faced the door. It was easier to hate him when you couldn’t see his face.
The first man through the entrance lost three teeth. You drove the baton across his mouth, turned beneath the second attacker’s knife, and broke his elbow against your shoulder. Red Hood caught the third by the front of his vest and threw him through the open doorway.
The two of you moved through the corridor without speaking.
You had never known how Jason fought. Not like this.
But you knew how he moved.
He still led with his left shoulder before changing direction. He ducked lower than necessary whenever someone came at him from behind, a habit formed by years of fighting people larger than he was. Even beneath the armor, there were flashes of the boy who had raced you across rooftops and always known which ledge you would choose before your foot left the ground.
Some part of him remembered you too.
Not the vigilante you had become, but the older habits buried beneath the training—the direction you turned when cornered, the side you trusted first, the fraction of a second you hesitated before a difficult jump. He covered those openings as soon as they appeared, adjusting to everything else as the two of you fought your way down the corridor.
It ended at a steel door marked with a painted smile. Jason reached for the handle.
You caught his arm.
A thin wire ran from the hinge into the wall.
“Trap,” you said.
He followed it toward the ceiling. “Explosives?”
“Probably.”
“You always this optimistic?”
“You’re the one who came back from the dead.”
Jason became still. You released him.
Neither of you acknowledged the words.
A ventilation shaft ran above the corridor. You removed the grate while Jason listened for movement beyond the door.
“You first,” he said.
“I don’t trust you behind me.”
“You think I’ll run?”
“I think you’ve had practice.”
He bowed his head. You climbed into the shaft before guilt could soften the anger.
The route emerged inside an abandoned arcade attached to the far side of the warehouse. Machines lined the walls, their screens glowing despite the dust covering every surface. Recorded laughter played through the speakers. The center of the room had been cleared except for a single chair beneath a spotlight.
The Joker sat in it.
He wore a purple suit without a stain on it. His green hair had been combed away from his face. One leg rested across the other, and both hands lay on the silver handle of a cane.
“Finally,” he said.
Jason dropped from the ventilation shaft behind you.
The Joker’s smile widened. “There’s my boy.”
Jason raised the empty pistol.
“You know that isn’t loaded,” the Joker said.
“You know I don’t need it.”
“Always so dramatic.”
You moved into the room. Jason caught your shoulder.
“Wait.”
You shook him off.
The Joker watched the exchange with open delight. “Trouble in paradise?”
“You were easier to tolerate on a screen,” you said.
“Darling, I’m easier to tolerate from a safe distance. Ask anyone.”
The arcade doors closed behind you.
Jason stepped to your side. “Where are the hostages?”
The Joker tapped his cane against the floor. “What hostages?”
“You don’t set this up without leverage.”
“I have all the leverage I need.”
His gaze moved to you.
Jason shifted between you. The action was instinctive. It was also ten years too late.
You stepped around him.
“Did you know?” you asked.
The Joker’s eyebrows rose. “About your little nighttime hobby?”
“About me.”
“When I killed him?”
Jason’s hands curled into fists.
The Joker tilted his head as though searching through an old memory. “He might’ve mentioned a girl. Difficult to remember. He was so talkative by the end.”
Jason lunged.
You caught the back of his armor with both hands.
He could’ve broken your grip, but he stopped anyway.
The Joker laughed. “Still sensitive.”
“Don’t give him what he wants,” you said.
Jason turned his helmet toward you.
You released him and faced the man you’d spent a decade imagining.
The Joker appeared smaller in person. He was still dangerous. You saw it in the position of his hands, the tension beneath the polished fabric of his suit, and the wires running from beneath his chair toward the arcade machines.
But he was only a man.
Your grief had transformed him into something larger. Every nightmare added another inch, another weapon, another impossible escape. He’d become a force that controlled your life without knowing your name.
Now he sat beneath a cheap spotlight and waited for you to perform.
“You killed a fifteen-year-old boy,” you said.
“I’ve killed lots of children.”
Jason’s breathing sharpened through the helmet.
“You beat him.”
The Joker smiled.
“You tortured him because you wanted Batman to suffer.”
“I wanted a punchline.”
“He was the punchline?”
“No. The punchline was that Batman kept going.”
The Joker leaned forward.
“Robin died, and Batman found another. Gotham mourned, and the city moved on. Bruce built another monument to himself. You became famous. Everyone profited from poor Jason’s death except Jason.”
Jason fired. The empty pistol clicked.
The Joker laughed. You didn’t.
“You’re wrong,” you said.
“Usually, but not today.”
“Gotham didn’t move on.”
“It always does.”
“Then why did you leave Arkham?”
The Joker’s smile weakened.
“You escaped three months ago,” you continued. “You arranged supply lines through six shell companies, recruited men who’d never worked for you before, and abandoned every hideout connected to your old network. You weren’t preparing another attack.”
Jason looked at you.
“You were hiding,” you said.
The Joker stopped smiling.
“Batman hasn’t been hunting you. Not like before. You escaped, and he sent patrols. He checked your usual locations. Then he went back to saving Gotham because you weren’t the center of his life anymore.”
The cane tightened beneath the Joker’s hands.
“You needed someone to care,” you said. “So you left bodies for us. You planted evidence. You built all of this because two strangers hunting you felt better than being forgotten.”
“I’m unforgettable.”
“You’re repetitive.”
Jason made a startled sound.
The Joker rose. The wires attached to the chair pulled taut.
You threw the first knife, and it severed the wire running toward the nearest arcade machine.
Jason hurled the empty pistol into the spotlight. The bulb shattered, plunging half the room into darkness.
The Joker swung the cane as a blade emerged from its tip.
You avoided the first strike and caught the shaft beneath your arm. The Joker twisted, releasing a burst of green gas from the handle.
Your helmet sealed automatically.
Jason tackled him from the side. They struck a row of arcade machines. Screens broke. The Joker drove one elbow into the wound near Jason’s temple, then turned the hidden blade toward the vulnerable space beneath his helmet.
You hit his wrist with the baton. Bone cracked.
The Joker screamed.
Jason rolled away as the blade fell.
You kicked the Joker’s knee, and he collapsed.
The wires beneath his chair began sparking.
Jason tore an access panel from the nearest machine and ripped out a bundle of cables. The recorded laughter died.
The Joker reached inside his jacket.
You struck his forearm.
A revolver slid across the floor, and Jason kicked it away.
For a moment, the three of you remained still.
The Joker knelt beneath the broken spotlight. His right wrist bent at an unnatural angle. Blood ran from his mouth where he’d bitten through his tongue.
Jason stood on one side of him. You stood on the other.
The Joker looked between you. Then he began laughing again.
“Go on,” he said.
Jason didn’t move.
The Joker’s eyes settled on you. “You’ve waited so long.”
Your grip tightened around the baton.
Jason’s helmet turned. “Don’t,” he said.
The Joker’s laughter grew louder.
“You said you wanted him dead,” Jason continued.
“I do.”
“You don’t have to do it.”
“You were going to.”
“That was different.”
“Because he killed you?”
“Because I didn’t think there was anything else left for me.”
The words struck the room with more force than a shout.
Jason stepped closer. “You built a life.”
“I built a distraction.”
“You made something.”
“I made songs about a corpse.”
The Joker clapped slowly with his uninjured hand. “Beautiful.”
You struck him across the face. His laughter ended.
“You don’t get to speak.”
He spat blood onto the floor. “You don’t have the stomach.”
You hit him again.
Jason caught your arm before the third strike.
You turned on him.
“Let go.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ve been trying to kill him since you came back. You don’t want him alive either.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Jason’s grip loosened but didn’t disappear. “Because you’re looking at him like I used to.”
The Joker watched you both.
Jason lowered his voice. “I thought killing him would finally stop the nightmares. That if he stopped breathing, the part of me he left in that warehouse would finally stop screaming.”
Your baton trembled between you.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he said.
“You don’t know.”
“No. I don’t. But neither do you.”
The Joker shifted toward the revolver.
You saw the movement before Jason did. Your baton struck the back of his skull.
He collapsed.
Jason released you.
The Joker tried to rise. You hit him again. Then again.
The fourth strike cracked the floor beneath his cheek.
Jason caught your wrist before you could strike again. “That’s enough.”
“He’s conscious.”
“Barely.”
“He needs to know.”
“Know what?”
You looked down at the man who had taken Jason from you. “That he lost.”
The Joker’s eyes opened. His smile had vanished.
You lowered the baton and knelt beside him. “He’s alive,” you said.
The Joker’s gaze moved toward Jason.
“You failed.”
Jason stood motionless.
“You tried to turn him into proof that nothing mattered,” you continued. “You tried to make his death the only thing anyone remembered.”
The Joker’s breathing became wet and shallow.
“You couldn’t keep him.”
You turned toward the Joker again.
Jason moved. “What are you doing?”
“Finishing it.”
You brought the baton down once more, carefully avoiding his temple but not the damage already spreading beneath his skull. His eyes lost focus. His body went slack.
Jason dropped beside you and searched for a pulse.
“He’s alive,” he said.
“I know.”
“He needs an ambulance.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve killed him.”
“I know.”
Jason looked at you.
You sat back on your heels. “I spent ten years thinking death was the worst thing I could do to him,” you said. “It isn’t.”
Sirens approached outside.
The emergency signal had reached the police. Paramedics would arrive first. Batman would follow as soon as the call included the Joker’s name.
Jason stared down at him. “What did you do?”
“I made sure he might not wake up.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I don’t.”
The admission settled between you.
You looked at the Joker’s ruined face and felt nothing. No relief. No triumph. Not even regret.
The emptiness was almost peaceful.
“He’s alive,” you said. “That’s more mercy than he gave you.”
Batman arrived before the paramedics entered the arcade. Glass rained across the arcade as he shattered the skylight and descended beside the Joker’s body. The white lenses of his cowl moved from the blood on the floor to the baton near your feet.
Batman checked the Joker’s pulse. “You struck him repeatedly in the head.”
“He fell.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Sirens gathered beyond the building. Red and blue lights flashed through the boarded windows.
Batman looked toward Jason. “Move.”
“No.”
“Jason.”
Hearing the name in Batman’s voice made the room tilt again.
Jason didn’t move.
“She deliberately caused catastrophic brain trauma,” Batman said.
“He’s alive.”
“That doesn’t absolve her.”
You stepped around Jason. “I’m standing here.”
Batman faced you. You looked at him and saw Bruce instead of Batman.
The lie had always been there. In the fixed line of his shoulders. In the deliberate stillness that appeared whenever the truth threatened to escape.
“You knew,” you said.
Bruce didn’t answer.
Jason reached for you. You moved beyond his hand.
“You knew he was alive.”
“I learned after he returned to Gotham.”
“How long ago?”
Bruce’s silence answered.
“Did you ever plan to tell me?”
“It wasn’t my decision.”
You looked at Jason.
He removed his helmet. Blood had dried along his temple. The domino mask couldn’t conceal the shame in his expression.
“I told him not to,” Jason said.
The last fragile part of you broke.
You crossed the distance between you and struck him.
Jason’s head turned with the impact.
Batman caught your wrist before you could hit him again.
You twisted away. “Don’t touch me.”
Bruce released you immediately.
Jason faced you again. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“You could’ve started with ‘I’m alive.’”
“I didn’t know how.”
“You knew where I lived.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me.”
Jason looked down. The silence hurt.
“How many concerts?”
He swallowed. “Seven.”
Your eyes burned. “You were there?”
“Outside.”
The empty seat waited in your memory. Eleventh row, three seats from the center aisle. “You knew about the ticket.”
“The same seat was blocked out on every map.” Jason closed his eyes. “I didn’t think I deserved to sit there.”
“It wasn’t about what you deserved.”
“I know that now.”
“You heard the album. You watched the interviews. You saw what happened to me, and you decided I was better without the truth.”
“I thought telling you would drag you into this.”
You gestured toward the blood covering your armor. “Look at me.”
Jason did.
“This happened because you were dead.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to keep saying that like knowing makes it better.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You let me build my entire life around a lie.”
Jason’s face tightened. “I was scared.”
The words were quiet enough that the approaching sirens almost covered them.
You stared at him.
Jason had never admitted fear when you were children. Not when landlords threatened to throw his belongings into the street. Not when he climbed roofs during thunderstorms or fought boys twice his size. Fear became anger before it reached his mouth.
“I came back wrong,” he said. “I woke up, and everything hurt. Bruce replaced me. Gotham moved on. You were on the radio.”
Your breath caught.
“The first time I heard your voice after I came back, you were singing ‘Second Hand.’ I knew who it was before the host said your name.”
Jason wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
“I couldn’t understand how you’d gotten older when I hadn’t been there to see it. You had records and tours and people screaming your name. I was sleeping in safe houses and planning how to make Bruce kill the Joker.”
“You could’ve called.”
“I picked up the phone.”
“But you didn’t call.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the album was about someone you loved.”
You laughed once. The sound hurt. “It was about you.”
“It was about who I was.”
“You were fifteen.”
“Exactly.”
Jason looked toward the Joker’s body.
“I wasn’t that kid anymore. I thought you’d look at me and realize he was still dead.”
The anger remained, but it no longer stood alone.
Behind it waited the boy who’d climbed through your window with rain dripping from his sleeves. The teenager who brought you books from Bristol and pretended the bruises beneath his collar meant nothing. The ghost you’d loved so thoroughly that the world rewarded you for making grief sound beautiful.
“You didn’t give me the chance,” you said.
“I know.”
You hated the words.
This time, you heard what he meant.
Batman moved toward the arcade entrance as the first paramedics arrived outside.
“They can’t find you here,” he said.
You looked at him.
Bruce held your gaze. He was still angry. You could see it in the rigidity of his jaw and the care with which he controlled his voice.
He also moved between you and the windows so the police couldn’t see your armor.
“The roof,” he said. “Now.”
“You’re helping me escape.”
“I’m preserving your identity until we determine what happens next.”
“The cameras?” you asked.
“Offline,” Bruce said. “The recordings have been erased. Everyone who saw your face is either unconscious or in custody.”
“You expect me to trust that?”
“No. I expect you to verify it once you’re somewhere the police cannot arrest you.”
“You mean until you decide how to punish me.”
Bruce glanced at the Joker. “He may never wake up.”
“Then Gotham can sleep.”
Jason inhaled beside you.
Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but something heavy entered his eyes.
“You think I don’t understand why you did this,” he said.
“I think understanding has never stopped you from judging anyone.”
“No.”
The answer surprised you.
Bruce stepped closer. “It hasn’t.”
A paramedic pounded on the outer door.
Batman fired the grappling line toward the broken skylight. “You have thirty seconds.”
You replaced your helmet.
Jason reached for his.
You stopped him.
He looked at you.
“You aren’t coming with me.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Please.”
“You’ve had years.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
His mouth closed.
You climbed onto the nearest arcade machine and caught the grappling line Bruce left hanging.
Jason remained beside the Joker.
For the first time since the reveal, he looked less like a vigilante and more like the boy from the closed casket.
You nearly went back.
Instead, you activated the line.
The skylight opened to Gotham’s black sky.
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and to lukewarmcomics on Instagram for the Jason/Red Hood fanart ❤️💛
summary: after sylus returns gravely injured from a mission alongside mc, you leave after nursing him through his injuries, convinced you no longer belonged in his world. but when the leader of onychinus comes to take you back, will the two hearts buried beneath the silence finally find the courage to speak?
tags: sylus x non-mc reader, angst with a happy ending, comfort, injury, insecurities, jealousy, protective sylus, misunderstandings, non-canonical events to the game timeline and story
trigger/content warning: mentions of blood, injuries, emotional distress, fear of abandonment, relationship conflict, questioning of self-worth (pls skip this if this kind of theme triggers you)
word count: 5.4k
a/n: tbh i find sylus a bit difficult to write because he’s the type of person who is kinda unreadable lol. like sometimes you look at him and ask yourself what’s going on in his mind. anyways my classes are gonna start, so i’ll be busy for some time. but i’ll still write and post! love y’alls.
Raindrops dripped from the edge of your umbrella as the elevator climbed toward the highest floor of the Onychinus headquarters. Silence accompanied you, apart from the occasional patter of the raindrops falling onto the marble beneath your shoes.
The elevator chimed softly before the doors slid open. You lowered your umbrella and stepped inside the comforting, familiar space, with a paper bag of freshly baked pastries swinging lightly from your hand. You had passed your favorite bakery on the way over, and knowing that Sylus had the habit of forgetting meals whenever he got too busy, you made a small detour.
Over the past year and a half, you and Sylus had gotten accustomed to each other's habits, and you bringing random foods from your favorite places was nothing unusual for him.
You slipped off your shoes by the entrance and made your way inside.
“Welcome home, Miss!” Luke’s face brightened as he emerged from the kitchen.
“Hi, Luke.” You placed your bag on the coffee table before slipping out of your damp coat. “I brought some pastries.”
“Whoa! Thanks, miss.” Luke leaned over the paper bag and took one croissant. “You’re my favorite person, Miss,” he added.
“You always say that whenever I bring something delicious.” You retorted, plopping yourself down on the huge, comfortable sofa in Sylus’ living room.
“But it’s true!”
“He just wants more food, Miss,” Kieran remarked without looking up from the tablet in his hands.
Luke looked at him, feeling offended. “I appreciate kindness.”
“You appreciate free food.”
A chuckle escaped your lips as you started unpacking some of the pastries onto a plate. “Have some too, Kieran.”
“Thanks, miss.” He said, placing down his tablet for a few moments.
“By the way, where’s Sylus?” You leaned your head against the backrest of the sofa.
“Boss? Oh. He left over an hour ago,” Luke said.
“He said something urgent came up,” Kieran added. “He was in too much of a hurry.”
You tilted your head slightly. “At this hour?”
Neither of them answered immediately, and Luke rubbed his back. Upon seeing their reactions, you just nodded your head.
“I see.”
Silence overtook the atmosphere for a while.
It was not unusual for Sylus to disappear unexpectedly, especially in his line of business. You were aware that the enemies who wanted him dead did not wait for convenient hours to cause a problem.
On the other hand, you would not deny the feeling of anxiety that crept in every time he disappeared without a word. There would be a few times when he would inform you that he had some ‘urgent business’ to attend to and that he would be back. When you asked him specifics, he would give the most basic information and leave.
To you, Sylus rarely spoke about the deeper matters of the Onychinus unless it directly concerned you, and you understood that there were parts of his world you were simply not meant to step into. And for that, you would not deny that you sometimes felt bitter.
You reached for your phone on the coffee table and tapped his name from your recent calls, at least hoping he would answer.
The line rang once, twice, and thrice, but there was no answer. And even though you were patient enough to wait for a minute, you were met with nothing but a failed dial tone. You stared at the screen for a few seconds before lowering it to your lap.
“Boss man must be occupied,” Luke said, trying to reassure you. “Pretty sure he’ll call in a hurry when he sees your missed calls.”
“Probably.” Your voice remained calm, but your fingers traced the screen of your phone anxiously.
Almost forty minutes had passed. While the twins were doing their business, you kept checking your phone every few minutes, hoping to receive a message from your lover.
You glanced at the clock. It was almost nine-thirty in the evening. Then, you glanced back at your phone. Surely, one more call would not hurt.
You pressed the call button again, the familiar ringing accompanying the silent atmosphere. And much to your disappointment, there was no response from the other line.
“He could have at least had you two to accompany him,” You sighed heavily, a crease forming between your brows as you placed your phone on your side.
Luke instinctively answered without thinking. “Oh! But Miss MC is accompanying him.”
The words settled in the room with a surprising weight.
“Boss man said that he needed her for the mission,” Kieran looked up, as if thinking of something.
Luke nodded in agreement. “It seemed like he didn't really have a choice, though.”
“I see.” You murmured.
Sylus needing her was reasonable. You knew about MC’s skills and abilities. And although both of you were hunters, she was ahead of you in terms of years of experience. However, you also knew that Sylus would not involve anyone unless they had a purpose.
And even though you tried to silence your mind, thoughts came flooding in.
Was the mission that dangerous?
When are they coming back?
Are they safe and sound?
Was he hurt?
You swiftly shook your head to push the thoughts aside. All you could do was exhale heavily and close your eyes.
He'd be fine— is what you told yourself. He is Sylus. He always came back.
The words became a habit over the past year and a half, a reassurance that no matter the circumstances, Sylus would come back despite walking into danger.
Luke eventually wandered into the kitchen to make coffee, humming softly to himself as if to ease the heaviness in the air. Kieran returned to the tablet resting on his lap, though every now and then, he often glanced at you, worried about your uneasy expression. Sometimes, he would glance at the elevator too.
None of them had to say it aloud, but they were waiting too.
The pastries remained untouched on the coffee table. The buttery aroma that had filled the room earlier had long since faded into the air.
You unlocked your phone how many times? You could no longer count. And yet, your messages were still empty.
“Luke, Kieran.” You sat straight. “Is it possible for you to take Sylus’ tracks? We can at least—”
Before you could continue, a soft ding shot through your body.
You, Luke, and Kieran looked at the elevator in anticipation. Luke stood on his feet. “Boss?”
You saw the familiar figure of your lover, and for a brief second, relief washed over you.
Then it disappeared.
Sylus’ body sagged as MC supported his weight. Luke immediately ran towards him, taking one of his arms over his shoulder. Kieran moved just as fast, supporting his other side.
A deep red stained Sylus’ shirt, though the flow seemed to have seeped more slowly. Some of the deeper cuts along his neck and collarbone were visibly mending themselves closed in uneven lines.
“What happened?” Your eyes locked on MC, whose clothes were stained with dirt and whose arms were marked with dried blood.
“Although we have accomplished the mission,” she paused. “... it was too difficult.” She tore the ripped fabric on her shirt and used it to stop her wound from bleeding. “He has overexerted his energy this time.”
You stepped forward immediately to assist Sylus, taking his weight off of Luke and Kieran. “Luke, get the medical kit from the cabinet. Kieran, can you go clean the bed? Just in case we move him there later.”
“On it, Miss!” Luke and Kieran moved in hurried steps, immediately disappearing from your sight.
As soon as the two vanished from your sight, your gaze snapped back to Sylus.
His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. He lifted his head, and as soon as his gaze met yours, a small smirk formed across his lips. “Sweetie,” he rasped hoarsely.
The endearment should have calmed your heart. But instead, it added to a surge of an unfamiliar feeling inside your chest.
You looked away and started to guide Sylus towards the sofa. “MC, go sit on the sofa. Let’s get your wounds treated.”
“Oh no. This is just a graze. I will go to Akso Hospital right after this,” she replied. “I am sorry for everything that happened.” She wrapped her wound with the clothing and sighed.
“It’s alright,” you quickly replied, taking off Sylus’ clothes carefully.
Luke immediately handed you the medical kit, and you quickly took a gauze from it. Seeing you scrambling, MC’s gaze lowered with guilt.
“I’ll be going,” she said.
“Miss MC, are you sure you’ll be alright?” Luke asked.
MC offered him a reassuring smile. “Yes. I'll be fine.”
Kieran came back in long strides, looking towards MC. “I'll escort you downstairs, Miss.”
Before leaving, MC looked at you once more. “I am sorry again. Please take care of him.”
“I will.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind her.
Silence settled over the penthouse once again.
After a while, Luke stood up and left, then returned with clean towels and a basin of warm water. Kieran, who had just come out of the elevator after escorting MC, exchanged anxious looks with his twin, feeling the tension in the air.
Without a word, you continued cleaning Sylus’ wounds. You were at least thankful enough that he had a bit of energy left that helped slowly close his wounds.
Meanwhile, the latter stared at your face.
“Sweetie,” he called, voice barely above a whisper.
You did not respond.
Luke and Kieran exchanged looks with one another again and distanced themselves from the two of you, pretending to be doing their own business.
You wrapped the bandage around his abdomen carefully, encircling the layers above one another until it covered his healing wound.
“How cold. I am all wounded, and all I get from my sweetie is a silent treatment,” He sarcastically said, watching you roll the unused gauze.
Luke and Kieran, who were listening at a proximal distance, felt nervous upon hearing nothing but your silence.
It was very uncommon of you to stay silent during these matters.
Whenever Sylus came home wounded, you would have usually scolded him. You would have told him to stop smirking, and would have told him to stop pretending that he was not in pain.
You stood up from your seat and grabbed the medical kit, preparing to return it to the cabinet.
However, with his remaining strength, Sylus reached for your hand. As soon as you looked at him, you saw an unusual expression on his eyes— uncertainty.
“Leaving already?” Sylus’ voice was rough from exhaustion, with a hint of amusement. “Since when does a doctor abandon her patient halfway through the treatment?”
You lowered your gaze to where his hand rested around your wrist.
“The treatment is finished,” you said flatly.
“Hm? I'd argue otherwise.” He pulled your body a bit closer. “Is it too selfish for a patient to request that the doctor observe him a little longer?”
Your heart rang in your ear, but you were not flustered. Your heart beat fast, but not because you felt giddy.
Were you a joke to him?
Is this entire situation amusing to him?
An unusual sensation weighed on your heart— something heavy, something explosive, as if it was going to burst any moment.
You swiftly loosened your wrist from his hold.
You swallowed. “If you have that remaining energy to talk,” You attempted to steady your trembling voice. “Why don't you use that to let your Evol fully close your wounds and walk yourself to bed?”
You picked up the medical kit, and in your other hand were the stained clothing and towels. You dropped the fabrics in the water basin and walked away without looking back.
A frightening silence followed.
Sylus knew you were upset. There was no mistaking it. Not because you raised your voice a little. Not because you answered back sarcastically. If anything, it was the complete opposite.
You were too quiet.
For a year and a half, Sylus had come to know every version of you. The crybaby who shed tears with every gift, even with the smallest ones, the flustered one who often gets shy with his assertiveness, the gentle one who caressed his wounds softly, the stubborn one who insisted on staying awake until he came home even when it was late—
And the worried one, who always scolded him first before tending to his wounds.
But tonight, he did not see that version of you.
You did not lecture him. There was no scolding, no complaints about his recklessness. He only heard silence.
The silence gave way for an unfamiliar feeling to form in his chest. And for the first time in his life, he could not read you.
Sylus’ eyes lingered on the hallway where your figure disappeared. He could simply stand up and go after you, corner you in the kitchen, explain himself, and pull you close until what bothered you had subsided.
But as much of a jerk he was, he respected your personal space. He knew you would be angrier if you were provoked further.
He knew you well enough to understand one thing. When you were ready to talk, you would. And if you were not, no amount of teasing, coaxing, or shameless flirting would change your mind, especially tonight.
Sylus decided to let you cool off. Then perhaps tomorrow would be a better time. Perhaps by then, he could explain why MC had to accompany him and the circumstances that forced him to overexert his energy.
Although no conclusion could ease the crease in his brow and his restless thoughts, the fatigue in his body began to take its toll. He was tired enough not to bother standing on his feet and head to the bedroom.
Sylus told himself he would rest only a few minutes, just long enough for his strength to recover. Afterwards, he planned to come find you in the bedroom, lie beside you in comfort, and pull you in his arms.
Soon, the remaining ache and the exhaustion lulled him to sleep.
A soft, comforting warmth jolted his body awake, feeling a fabric press against his collarbone. His brows drew together as his consciousness slowly returned.
The blanket draped over him was tucked neatly around his bare body, shielding him from the cool air that had settled over the penthouse overnight. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, the blanket falling off his body. Instinctively, his gaze swept across the living room.
“Sweetie.” The words slipped from his mouth unconsciously. His eyes wandered, looking for you.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. Luke greeted him, and Kieran followed behind. “Afternoon, Boss—”
“Where is she?” He cut off with a sharp tone, making the twins flinch.
The twins looked at each other for a brief second before Luke spoke. “Miss left early this morning.”
“She said she was heading to work,” Kieran added.
Without another word, he reached for his phone resting on the coffee table and immediately searched for your contact. Alas, it rang, but the line abruptly ended. Frowning, he pressed the call button again.
‘The number you are trying to call is busy right now. Please try your call again later.’
He clicked his tongue, and his jaw clenched.
He knew he fucked up.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
Your mind was in a daze the entire time. The rustling and noises of the street merely echoed in the background. Even during your work hours, you could barely focus on the Wanderers you fought, and even after that, your colleagues approached you to ask if you were okay.
And just like usual, you pretended. You pretended to smile like everything was fine. You pretended to breathe alright, even though your chest kept tightening whenever you thought of Sylus.
By the time you reached and opened the door of your apartment, the usual silence greeted you.
But you immediately sensed a presence amidst the silence.
"You certainly know how to make someone work for an audience, sweetie." You saw Sylus sitting on your couch with his legs crossed, tossing a coin on his fingers.
Your breath hitched as you stared at him, frozen in place. After a second, you immediately turned around, reaching for the doorknob. Suddenly, a dark crimson spread across the lock, sealing it before disappearing. Your hand stiffened, realizing that there was no way out.
“Not so fast, sweetie.” You heard the shifting sound of your couch, and slow footsteps approaching you from behind. “We’ve only seen each other for a second, and you’re already trying to leave? Talk about making your man feel unwelcome.” The footsteps stopped as you felt his figure towering over you.
You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, remaining unmoved from your position.
“I think I’ve earned at least five minutes of your time, sweetie.”
The room fell silent.
Sylus watched your back, waiting for you to turn around and scream at him and punch him. But seconds had passed, and none of it came.
And then he noticed it. Your shoulders trembled.
Sylus’ calm expression immediately turned into a frown. Without wasting another moment, he reached for your shoulder lightly. When you did not refuse his touch, he gently turned you toward him.
The moment your face came into his view, his breath immediately hitched, and his eyes widened.
You were crying.
As soon as he saw your eyes, the pieces finally fell into place. You were not just crying because you were angry and frustrated. You were hurt.
You swallowed hard, but the effort to stop your tears only made more spill over. You parted your lips slightly, attempting to speak— but nothing came out.
Sylus gently slipped his arm beneath your knees, and his other arm supported your back, lifting you close to his arms.
You wanted to fight it. You wanted to push him away. But you simply could not. You were tired.
The couch dipped softly beneath you as he sat you down carefully, as if he was holding something fragile. Then, Sylus lowered himself to one knee, gazing at your eyes softly.
“Sweetie, it’s all my fault.” His voice softened, and the usual smugness in it disappeared. His hand reached for your cheeks, then to your eyes, brushing away the tears that kept spilling.
You let out a bitter laugh. Your trembling hands slowly rose to wrap around his wrist. Then, you gently lowered his hand away from your face.
“... Am I that incompetent, Sy?” You said in between trying to catch your breath.
“What?” Sylus flinched from the question, his brows knitting together. “No, sweetie—”
“Am I really that incapable?” You cut him off. “So incapable that the only place you think I belong…” You paused, biting your lip. “... is somewhere far from your side?”
“No, sweetie.” He reached to grasp your hand. “You’re mistaken.”
“Then why?” You raised your head, eyes locking with his. “Why is that what you’ve shown me?”
Sylus' expression hardened. “Sweetie—”
“I have watched you leave through that door over and over again.” Your voice broke, your tone shifting into something much more vulnerable. “You would tell me that it’s just one of your dangerous missions.”
You laughed bitterly. “I told myself it was enough. I told myself that loving you meant accepting that there are some parts of your world I could not step into.” Then your gaze lowered again. “But why does it feel like I was never meant to be a part of it at all?”
Sylus opened his mouth, attempting to say something, but you interrupted him. “You trust Luke. You trust Kieran. You trust her.” Your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill again from your eyes. “But never me.”
You gently pulled your hand away from him. “Why, Sy? Why do you only see me when things are easy? Why do you only think of me when things are comfortable?” You wiped your tears, but they kept spilling.
“That is untrue, sweetie.”
Your breathing became uneven, and this time, your voice shook. “You trust her with your entire self, but you only let me see the parts of you that you think are safe.”
As your head lowered, both of your hands covered your face, trying to cover the tears that kept falling. “Do you not trust me at all?”
Sylus caressed your cheek, trying to make you look at his eyes once again. “No. I trust you—”
“Trust me in what?” You pushed his hand away, your voice rising. “Ah, right. You trust me.” Your hand ran through your hair. “You trust me in patching your wounds, you trust me in waiting for you.” You paused. “But you don’t trust me enough to stand beside you. Perhaps I am too weak.”
“Do not go putting words in my mouth, sweetie. I do not view you as someone weak.” Sylus rasped.
“Then what am I supposed to think?!” You stood up in frustration. “I am not some animal that needs to be hidden away, Sy.” You said as he slowly stood up, still staring at you. “I'm not something that belongs in a cage while you go out there and fight alone."
Your hands clawed on the sides of your head as your voice stuttered in between sobs. “I never asked to replace her, Sy. I am not asking for her to stop accompanying you.” You hunched. “All I want to do is stand alongside you too.”
You heard Sylus click his tongue. “Enough. You are hurting yourself.” Sylus walked towards you and pulled your hands away from your head.
You weakly clutched his hand, giving his palm a desperate kiss. “Sy… Is it because she understands your world and I don’t?”
He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “No, sweetie. You understand me more than anyone else.”
You leaned against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around your waist as you felt the exhaustion slowly weighing on your body. “Then why, Sy?” You faintly asked. “It feels unfair. All I see are your smiles, your teasing, that flowery bullshit.” Your breathing slowed, gradually easing. “But someone else sees the rest.”
You raised your head and met his eyes. “Do you think that my love is superficial? Do you think that I’ll stop loving you if I saw the ugly parts?”
After a few seconds of silence, you gently pushed him away. “It’s unbelievable. Your lover is right beside you, but your emergency contact is someone else.”
“I know she's better than me in every single way. She's stronger, she's capable, she's smart.” You said, looking him in the eyes firmly. “That’s why I am giving you an out.”
Silence settled between the two of you. Sylus stared at you, and you could have sworn you saw his jaw clenched despite his unreadable expression.
“...That’s not how this works, sweetie.” The words escaped from his mouth as a low exhale, and he shook his head. “I’d rather have you furious at me.” His voice dropped lower as he slowly walked towards you, making you step backwards. “Yell at me. Curse me. Shoot me. Rip my heart out with your own hands.”
“But you don’t get to leave.”
Before you could speak, Sylus swiftly slid one arm beneath your thigh, and his other arm supported your waist.
A gasp escaped your lips as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. “Sy—!”
“You’ve thoroughly cornered me, sweetie.” His voice remained calm as he walked towards the kitchen. “Now, at least allow the defendant to speak.”
Within seconds, the two of you reached the kitchen island. He sat you down gently atop the smooth countertop, and with a flick of his finger, swirls of crimson and black materialized around the pitcher and lifted into the air. Then, Sylus smoothly caught the pitcher and poured water into an empty glass.
“Drink.” He said firmly, placing the glass in your hands.
“I’m not—”
“You’re dehydrated.” He gently brushed his knuckles against the dried tears on your eyes. “Or do you want me to make you drink?”
You gulped and immediately took a small sip. After seeing you swallow, the tension in his shoulders eased. Then, he gently took the glass from your hand and set it aside.
“To think that my woman would feel this small,” he sighed. “I am a most wretched man.”
Sylus lifted his hand and caressed your cheek. “I suppose I failed to remind you how impossibly high my standards are.”
“It’s infuriating.” He brushed one stray tear that lingered on your cheek before letting his hand rest on your chin. “The most extraordinary woman I've ever met is sitting in front of me, convinced she's weak, convinced she's not enough.”
A small, bitter smile formed across his lips. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
You nodded.
“You were the most stubborn woman I have ever met.” Sylus chuckled. “I warned you to stay away. Not because I doubted you, but because I knew what my world demanded of those who stood close to me.”
He let out a sigh. “And yet, you followed me, told me that it was not my decision to make, just like the stubborn woman you are.”
“Why does that sound like an insult?” You frowned.
“Oh no, sweetie. I am complimenting you.” He cupped your cheeks and made your eyes lock in his. “You were also stubborn enough to save a child who was almost killed by a Wanderer, only to get yourself hurt in the process.”
“I was just doing my job—”
“And strong enough to drag yourself to my base while you're wounded?” He said with amusement. “Sweetie, even I would pass out.”
“You're lying. It would take at least twenty bullets before you'd pass out, Sy.” You slapped his hand away, as if you were upset.
“I’d argue otherwise. If you shoot one bullet through me, I'd happily wager myself between life and death.”
“What are you saying?” You pinched his nose. “Don’t say things like that so easily!”
He let out a soft laugh. “... There she is.”
You huffed and looked away from him.
“I know that I am the cause of your suffering, sweetie. If I've been foolish enough to let that absurd thought take root in your head…” He planted a soft kiss on your temple, making you look back at him. “Then I'll be the one to erase it.”
You blinked. “What do you mean…?”
“I have never viewed you as someone weak, sweetie.” His voice remained calm, but firm. “I've seen what you're capable of.”
“I've seen you stand your ground when anyone else would've run. I've seen you fight.” He paused. “I've seen you make impossible decisions without letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Under perilous circumstances, you're even more rational than MC.”
He slowly brushed his hand against your wrist, crawling up to your fingers, and he intertwined his digits with yours.
“Then… Why don't you allow me to stand beside you?” You asked with a confused, pained look.
“I do not want you to get hurt. You’re confusing the two.” He planted a wet kiss on the hand that intertwined with his.
“I have walked into rooms with death eyeing me,” he said. “I’ve had guns pointed at my head. I've had flying bullets attempting to cease my life.”
He then pressed his forehead against yours. “None of it is enough to shake me.”
He lowered his gaze to your lips. “But you're the one variable that slips out of my control.”
You heard his uneasy breathing, making you trace your fingers against his arm.
Never in your life have you seen the leader of Onychinus lose his control. Sylus always made sure that everything was precise, planned, and calculated. And yet, the man who was feared by everyone was weak like this in front of you?
“This life was never meant to be clean.” He let out a faint smile and pulled away. “Blood, enemies, the certainty that someone would always be waiting to put a bullet through my heart— I'd sooner let that blood stain my own hands than yours.”
You caressed his cheek and made him look at you. “Sy, I do not need my life to be clean. If my hands are to be stained with blood, then so be it. I do not want the safe. I want to be with you.”
“Sweetie, if MC was hurt,” he paused. “I would temporarily retreat and tell her to get treated somewhere.”
He buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“But if it had been you,” His jaw tightened. “The mission would've ended the moment you bled. The N109 Zone would've burned for all I cared.”
Your eyes softened.
Ah, the leader of Onychinus, who is usually calm and calculated, would burn the world all for you?
And here you thought that he did not trust you, that you were incapable.
“Sy…”
“My enemies are dying to get their hands on you, sweetie.” He softly kissed your neck, making you gasp softly. “You have no idea what I am willing to stake when your life is on the line.”
You replied only with a soft hum and gently rubbed his hair.
“Yesterday, a group from the outskirts of the N109 zone brought information on you.”
“What?”
“They knew where you lived, your routine, and they knew you were with me.” His eyes darkened. “They were after the one they knew I wouldn't gamble,” he pulled away. “You.”
Silence fell between the two of you. He crossed his arms.
“I merely asked for MC’s assistance to wrap it up before they managed to reach you.” He shook his head. “If I had been a few minutes late…”
“Sy, I was unharmed. That is what matters.” You gently reassured him.
“They detonated the entire structure. It seems I have overexerted myself trying to contain the collapse.”
He met your eyes. And after a few seconds of analyzing you, he lifted you off the countertop.
“Sy, you've been carrying me everywhere. I'm starting to think you'd be my personal wheelchair,” you said.
“Oh?” A smirk formed across his lips. “Sitting on me? You've just described a rather... appealing arrangement.”
You punched his chest, but he didn't budge. “You crazy…”
The two of you reached your bedroom, and he gently laid you on the bed.
“You're exhausted.” He tucked the covers over your body.
“Sylus, I…” You grasped his arm. “Will you at least— at least let me tag along next time? You told me that many of your enemies wanted to hurt me, and they hurt you. I wanted to punish them for that too.”
He looked at you hesitantly before sighing. “As amends for my rather spectacular lapse in judgement,” he paused. “Very well. Congratulations, sweetie. You've successfully negotiated new terms.”
Your eyes lit up. “Does this mean I can get to join you from now on?”
“Yes. And I will brief you before we do some business.” He tucked your hair behind your ear.
“... Don't you think I will distract you there?” You worriedly asked.
“From how breathtaking you are? Surely.”
You rolled your eyes. “Why did I even ask?”
He chuckled. “Now rest.” He said, pressing a light kiss on your forehead. “You’ve worn yourself out from crying.”
“And whose fault is that?” You puffed your cheeks. “I was communicating.” You lowered your hold from his arm to his hand. His eyes briefly looked at your intertwined fingers before a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Without another word, Sylus slipped off his boots and climbed onto the bed beside you. The bed sank slightly beneath his weight as he comfortably settled on your side, opening his arm for an invitation.
Your heart fluttered, and you scooted closer to him until your head found its place against his chest. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
The exhaustion you had long been carrying had finally settled over your body, and your eyelids grew heavier.
You and Sylus had spent a year and a half believing that love could fill the spaces where words were absent. But perhaps your hearts were never meant to stay silent, for even the deepest love yearns to be heard.
i don’t know the @‘s of the artwork, all were found on pinterest
synopy; after five years of marriage without intimacy, you finally confront toji about why he refuses to sleep with you.
wc; 12.3k
a/n; so a tiktok actually made this idea for me, like it was the girl who was saying that she was tired of the same jjk tropes on tumblr & like girl yes! so, this is something i haven’t seen before, or like only have seen once (if i recall my memory right) & i genuinely feel like it needs to be done more because im tired of BIIIIIIG, LOOOOOOONG toji. i need some.. small, average toji. lol, so yes enjoy this bullshit bro. i hate this. first attempt at smut, we gotta love it.
warnings; marital insecurity, reader is obviously black (but anyone can think of themselves), prolonged sexual avoidance, virgin reader, oral sex, rough sex, spanking, controlled choking, hair pulling, consensual spitting, breeding talk, unprotected sex between spouses, emotional vulnerability, modern au, average toji, lowercase writing.
you had spent five years wondering why your husband did not want to have sex with you.
it was not something you admitted easily. you could barely admit it to yourself without feeling humiliated, much less explain it to another person. whenever friends asked about married life, you smiled softly and told them it was good. when older relatives made playful comments about children, you lowered your face and pretended to be embarrassed rather than answering.
technically, you were not lying.
being married to toji was good.
it was strange, occasionally infuriating, and nothing like the romantic marriages shown in the films you watched, but it was good.
toji loved differently than most people.
he did not write long messages or bring home flowers unless he had stolen them from the arrangement on someone else’s restaurant table. he did not compliment you constantly, and he treated anniversaries like inconvenient appointments he had somehow been forced to remember.
yet he kept a photograph of you inside his wallet, tucked behind several worn cards and an old betting slip. when you became sick, he sat beside the bed all night, muttering complaints while replacing the damp cloth on your forehead. he could recognize the sound of your footsteps from the opposite side of the apartment and always looked toward the door before you entered.
toji did not ask whether you wanted the final bite of his food. he simply placed it on your plate.
he warmed your side of the bed during winter. he carried you across puddles while pretending it was only because he did not want you complaining about your shoes. whenever the two of you crossed a street, his scarred hand settled against your lower back, firm and protective.
he loved you.
you had never doubted that.
you had known him for most of your life, long before he became the enormous, scarred man people wisely avoided irritating.
as children, toji had been quiet in a different way. he carried anger before he understood how to name it. he rarely spoke about his family, although bruises occasionally appeared beneath his sleeves and bitterness lived behind his eyes whenever someone mentioned the zenin name.
you had met him near the fence behind your elementary school.
another boy had thrown your backpack into the mud after you refused to let him copy your homework. you stood staring at it, too shy and frightened to confront him, when toji walked past.
he looked at the backpack.
then he looked at the boy.
“pick it up.”
the boy laughed.
toji struck him hard enough to knock him down.
he retrieved your bag himself afterward, scraping mud from the fabric with his fingernails while you stared at the blood gathering over his knuckles.
“you did not have to hit him.”
“he should’ve picked it up.”
“you could have asked again.”
“i did ask.”
“once.”
“should only take once.”
you had removed a small handkerchief from your pocket and wrapped it around his scraped hand.
toji watched you do it with an expression you did not understand at the time.
after that day, he began appearing beside you constantly.
he followed you home while claiming the route happened to be convenient. he sat behind you in class and kicked the leg of your chair whenever you became too quiet during group discussions. when you brought lunch from home, he ate half of it without asking, then complained whenever you packed something he disliked.
you grew together.
your dark skin deepened beneath the summer sun while his shoulders slowly broadened. your hair changed from beaded braids to twists, then curls, then whatever style made you feel most beautiful that month. toji’s dark hair remained stubbornly straight and untidy, falling near his eyes no matter how frequently he cut it.
the scar beside his mouth appeared when you were teenagers.
he refused to explain what happened.
you touched it for the first time while sitting beside him on the floor of your bedroom, your fingertips tracing the healed edge near his lip.
“does it hurt?”
“not anymore.”
“what happened?”
“nothing.”
“nothing cut your mouth open?”
his eyes narrowed.
“you always ask too many questions.”
“you never answer any.”
“then stop asking.”
you became quiet.
toji stared at you for several seconds before releasing a tired breath.
“family problem.”
you had not pushed further.
instead, you leaned forward and kissed the scar.
toji froze.
your lips remained there for barely a second, a soft touch given without thought, but when you drew away, his green eyes looked almost startled.
“why’d you do that?”
“i wanted to.”
“weird.”
“you are rude.”
“you’re the one kissing scars.”
“i will not do it again.”
he caught your wrist before you could move away.
“didn’t say that.”
toji kissed you for the first time that evening.
he did it awkwardly, with none of the confidence he later carried into nearly every part of his life. his mouth pressed against yours too firmly, and his nose bumped your cheek because he had not angled his head properly.
you loved it anyway.
dating him felt like stepping into weather no forecast could predict.
he disappeared for days without explanation, then returned to sit outside your house as though nothing had happened. he insulted nearly every boy who spoke to you, even though he refused to call himself your boyfriend for the first several months.
when he finally did, the announcement occurred during an argument.
“i don’t understand why you care whether he gave me his number,” you said.
“’cause he knows you got somebody.”
“do i?”
toji stared at you.
“what?”
“you have never asked me to be your girlfriend.”
“you know you’re my girl.”
“that is not the same.”
“how the hell is it different?”
“you never asked.”
his jaw shifted.
“fine. be my girlfriend.”
“that was not a question.”
“you’re making this difficult on purpose.”
“you should make it romantic.”
“you know who you’re talking to?”
you tried not to smile.
toji stepped closer, towering over you even then.
“will you be my girlfriend?”
“maybe.”
“you’re gonna make me ask twice?”
“that was not very romantic.”
he rolled his eyes, bent down, and kissed you until your knees weakened.
“there. romantic enough?”
you nodded breathlessly.
“good. delete his number.”
you married him years later in a quiet ceremony attended by people you trusted.
toji wore a dark suit that strained slightly around his shoulders. his hair had been combed, although several strands escaped before the ceremony began. the familiar scar curved near his mouth whenever he fought a smile.
you wore white against your deep brown skin, your hair arranged beautifully beneath a delicate veil. toji stared while you approached him with an intensity that made the room seem empty.
he barely listened to the officiant.
when it was time to kiss you, his hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you close enough to make several relatives laugh.
you thought that evening would be the night.
you had remained a virgin deliberately. not because you feared sex or considered desire shameful, but because toji was the only person you had ever trusted enough to experience it with.
you wanted him.
you had wanted him for years.
during the reception, each brush of his hand made your stomach flutter. when he kissed your shoulder during the drive home, you became so warm that you could barely look at him.
then you arrived at the hotel.
toji carried your bags inside, removed his suit jacket, and walked directly into the bathroom.
he remained there for nearly forty minutes.
you sat on the bed in your wedding lingerie, uncertain whether you were supposed to wait beneath the blankets or pose in the center of the mattress like women in romantic films. by the time the bathroom door opened, you had changed positions at least six times.
toji emerged wearing sweatpants.
his eyes travelled over you.
for one brief moment, his face changed. hunger appeared so clearly that your breath caught.
then he looked away.
“you should get some sleep.”
your smile faded.
“sleep?”
“long day.”
“i am not tired.”
“you will be tomorrow.”
you studied him.
“toji…”
he crossed the room, kissed your forehead, and climbed into the opposite side of the bed.
you remained sitting upright.
“are you not interested?”
his shoulders stiffened.
“didn’t say that.”
“then why are you going to sleep?”
“because it’s late.”
you swallowed the disappointment tightening your throat.
perhaps he was nervous. perhaps the reception had exhausted him. you told yourself there would be another opportunity in the morning.
there was not.
toji woke before you and ordered breakfast. after eating, he checked the time and announced that the two of you should leave before traffic became difficult.
the honeymoon was similar.
he touched you constantly, but never in the way you hoped. his hand rested on your thigh during dinners. he kissed your neck while you prepared for bed. once, after seeing you in a swimsuit, he dragged you into a secluded corridor and kissed you until both of you struggled to breathe.
then he stopped.
“we should go back.”
you stared at him, swollen lips parted.
“why?”
“people are waiting.”
“they can wait longer.”
something shifted in his face.
toji released you.
“not here.”
you thought he meant later.
he did not.
weeks became months.
each time you attempted to begin something, toji created distance.
if you climbed onto his lap while he sat on the couch, he allowed you to kiss him for a few moments before lifting you onto the cushion beside him. if your hand moved beneath his shirt, he caught it and placed it against his chest instead.
he always had an explanation.
he was tired.
he needed a shower.
he had eaten too much.
the walls were thin.
he had somewhere to be early the following morning.
after six months, you finally asked whether he found you attractive.
toji stared at you like the question offended him.
“what kind of stupid question is that?”
you flinched.
he immediately regretted his tone, although he did not apologize properly.
“i mean, obviously i do.”
“then why will you not touch me?”
“i touch you all the time.”
“you know what i mean.”
he looked away.
“not everything has to be about sex.”
“i did not say everything had to be about sex. we have never had it once.”
“so?”
your eyes burned.
toji’s expression tightened when he noticed.
“don’t cry.”
“i am not crying.”
“you’re about to.”
“then answer me.”
he stood.
“i’m not doing this right now.”
he left the apartment for three hours.
when he returned, he brought your favorite meal and a small velvet box containing a necklace you had admired weeks earlier.
you allowed him to fasten it around your neck.
you did not mention sex again for months.
the first year passed.
then the second.
your marriage remained affectionate in every other respect, which somehow made the absence more confusing.
toji slept with you pressed against his chest, one muscular arm locked around your waist. he kissed you every morning and every evening. he saw your body after showers, watched you dress, and sometimes stared long enough to make you believe something might finally happen.
it never did.
you began wondering whether he was sleeping with somebody else.
the suspicion made you feel sick.
toji disappeared occasionally for work he refused to explain in detail. he returned smelling like rain, metal, sweat, or an unfamiliar building. never perfume. never another person.
you checked his phone once while he showered.
the guilt nearly made you cry.
you found messages about payments, jobs, betting, and a grocery list he had typed because you asked him to remember cooking oil.
there were no women.
you confessed the same evening.
toji looked at you across the kitchen table.
“you went through my phone?”
“yes.”
“find anything interesting?”
“no.”
“then why’re you crying?”
“because i should not have done it.”
“probably not.”
you wiped your face.
“i thought you might be seeing someone.”
toji became very still.
“why?”
you stared at him in disbelief.
“why do you think?”
his eyes moved away.
“i’m not.”
“i know that now.”
“could’ve asked.”
“would you have answered?”
“yeah.”
“you do not answer anything else.”
he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest.
even seated, toji seemed enormous. years of physical work and relentless training had built his body into something almost unreasonable. his shoulders were wide, his waist narrow, and thick muscle moved beneath his shirt whenever he shifted.
it made the rejection more painful.
he looked like a man constructed entirely from physical power, yet he refused to use any of it on you.
“i’m not seeing anybody,” he repeated.
“okay.”
“never have.”
“okay.”
“you don’t believe me?”
“i believe you.”
“then stop looking like that.”
“i cannot control my face.”
“sure you can.”
“toji.”
“what?”
“why do you not want me?”
his jaw tightened.
“i do.”
“not like a wife.”
“you are my wife.”
“sometimes i feel like your roommate.”
“i don’t kiss roommates.”
“you know what i mean.”
“no, i don’t.”
“yes, you do. you just do not want to talk about it.”
he stood from the table.
you watched him walk away again.
there were moments you considered leaving.
not because you stopped loving him. that was the problem. loving toji had been woven so deeply into your life that removing him felt impossible.
you knew the exact sound he made whenever his knee hurt in cold weather. you knew he hated overly sweet coffee but continued drinking yours whenever you offered it. you knew he pretended not to like romantic dramas, although he remembered every character and complained when you watched episodes without him.
you knew that he slept more peacefully whenever you touched the back of his neck.
how could you leave someone who had become part of the way you understood home?
instead, you adjusted.
you purchased a small vibrator during the second year of your marriage, ordering it online because you were too embarrassed to enter a shop.
toji found the package.
you walked into the bedroom and discovered him sitting on the mattress with the unopened box in his hand.
“what’s this?”
you stopped near the doorway.
“something i ordered.”
“obviously.”
“give it to me.”
he turned the package, examining the label.
“why’re you acting weird?”
“i am not.”
“you’re standing over there like i found drugs.”
“toji, please give me the box.”
his eyes narrowed.
then realization crossed his face.
“oh.”
your cheeks burned hot enough to hurt.
toji looked down at the package again.
“that what i think it is?”
“give it to me.”
“you bought a toy?”
“i am not discussing this with you.”
you attempted to take the box.
he lifted it above your reach.
“you’re embarrassed?”
“yes, because my husband is holding it over my head.”
“i didn’t know you wanted one.”
the comment struck a nerve.
“what did you expect me to do?”
his smirk disappeared.
you snatched the box when his arm lowered.
“you do not want to have sex with me, toji. i am still a person. i still have needs.”
“never said you didn’t.”
“then stop looking surprised.”
you carried the package into the bathroom and locked the door.
he did not mention it again.
the toy helped physically, although it did little for the deeper ache.
you did not merely want release. you wanted toji.
you wanted his weight over you. you wanted to learn what sounds he made when his control slipped. you wanted to feel him inside you and wake the following morning with proof that your husband had desired you enough to forget whatever mysterious reason kept him distant.
sometimes you used the toy while he was not home.
other times, frustration made you reckless.
one evening, you took a long shower, changed into a silk nightdress, and sat on your side of the bed. toji was beside you, reading something on his phone.
you slipped your hand beneath the fabric.
his eyes moved toward you when your breathing changed.
you expected him to become angry or leave.
instead, he watched.
the intensity of his stare made your fingers tremble. you touched yourself slowly, barely able to maintain the movement while your husband’s sharp green eyes followed your hand beneath the silk.
“what’re you doing?” he asked, voice rougher than usual.
“what does it look like?”
“you always this mouthy when you’re touching yourself?”
you swallowed.
“you could help me.”
his expression changed.
“don’t.”
the single word destroyed the heat gathering inside you.
you removed your hand.
toji turned his attention back to the phone, although his grip around it had become so tight that his knuckles whitened.
you rolled away from him.
that night, you cried silently with your face toward the wall.
his arm eventually wrapped around you.
you almost pushed it away.
you did not.
by the fifth year, your patience had thinned into something fragile.
you loved him, but love did not prevent resentment. it did not stop you from wondering whether you were unattractive or undesirable. it did not erase the humiliation of being a married virgin who could not convince her own husband to touch her.
that morning began normally.
toji stood in the kitchen wearing a fitted black shirt and loose gray sweatpants, eating directly from a pan instead of putting food on a plate. his dark hair fell untidily toward his eyes. the scar near his mouth shifted whenever he chewed.
you entered wearing a bonnet and one of his old shirts. your brown legs remained bare beneath the hem.
his gaze moved over you.
“morning.”
“good morning.”
you opened the refrigerator.
“you want some?” he asked.
“no.”
“you sure?”
“yes.”
he watched you pour juice.
“you mad?”
“no.”
“you look mad.”
“this is simply my face.”
“nah. your face is usually less irritating.”
you looked at him.
toji’s mouth curved.
“there it is.”
“you are very annoying.”
“still married me.”
“unfortunately.”
“you’ve been spending too much time online. nobody says unfortunately before breakfast.”
you carried your glass toward the table.
toji caught the back of your shirt and pulled you between his knees.
you released a startled sound.
“what are you doing?”
“saying good morning.”
he placed the pan aside and wrapped both arms around your waist. his face pressed against your stomach while you stood between his spread thighs.
this was what confused you.
toji nuzzled against you with none of his usual sharpness, large hands rubbing slowly over your back. when you touched his hair, his shoulders relaxed.
he wanted affection.
he wanted closeness.
he simply did not want all of you.
“you smell good,” he murmured.
“i have not showered yet.”
“didn’t say you smelled clean.”
you pulled his hair.
he laughed against your stomach.
“violent.”
“you deserve it.”
“probably.”
his hands travelled lower, settling over the backs of your bare thighs.
the touch made your chest tighten.
you stepped away.
toji looked up.
“what?”
“nothing.”
“there’s that word again.”
you carried your glass to the table.
“i have errands to run today.”
“want me to drive?”
“no.”
“why not?”
“because you complain every time i take longer than five minutes inside a store.”
“you take an hour to buy two things.”
“i like to look around.”
“at what?”
“things.”
“specific.”
you ignored him.
toji ate another bite from the pan while continuing to watch you.
“you’re definitely mad.”
“i am not mad.”
“you pulled away from me.”
“i wanted to sit down.”
“you always sit on me.”
“not always.”
“most of the time.”
you placed your glass down too firmly.
juice splashed over your fingers.
toji’s amusement disappeared.
“what happened?”
“nothing happened.”
“then quit saying nothing and tell me.”
you stared at him.
the anger arrived quickly, sharpened by years of swallowing the same question.
“you really want me to tell you?”
“wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
“fine.”
you stood.
“i am tired of being married to a man who refuses to have sex with me.”
toji froze with the fork halfway to his mouth.
you expected yourself to become shy after saying it.
instead, relief pushed more words free.
“five years, toji. we have been married for five years, and you have avoided me every single time i have tried to be intimate with you.”
he slowly lowered the fork.
“it’s seven in the morning.”
“i do not care what time it is.”
“clearly.”
“do not make jokes.”
“i’m not.”
“you are smirking.”
“this is my face.”
you glared at him.
his smirk faded.
“right. sorry.”
“i have asked nicely. i have waited. i have tried to understand without forcing you to discuss something you clearly do not want to discuss, but i cannot continue pretending this does not hurt me.”
toji leaned back against the counter.
“what do you want me to say?”
“the truth.”
“about what?”
you nearly laughed.
“why you will not sleep with me.”
his jaw moved.
“we’ve talked about this.”
“no, i have talked about it. you leave.”
“i don’t leave every time.”
“sometimes you buy me food first.”
“you like food.”
“that is not an answer.”
“never said it was.”
you pressed both hands against the table.
“are you attracted to me?”
“yes.”
“do you want me?”
“yes.”
“are you sleeping with someone else?”
“no.”
“are you interested in men?”
toji blinked.
“what?”
“it would not make me angry. i simply need you to tell me.”
“i’m not interested in men.”
“are you unable to have sex?”
his brows lowered.
“unable?”
“physically.”
“everything works.”
“then what is it?”
silence settled across the kitchen.
toji looked toward the window.
you waited.
when he remained quiet, your anger began giving way to the familiar humiliation.
“you know what? never mind.”
you turned away.
“where’re you going?”
“to shower.”
“we’re talking.”
you stopped so abruptly that your bonnet nearly shifted.
“now you want to talk?”
toji rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.
“you’re the one who started this.”
“yes, and you are standing there saying nothing.”
“i’m thinking.”
“you have had five years to think.”
“you wanna keep yelling or let me answer?”
you folded your arms.
“answer.”
his eyes moved toward you, then away again.
“you really wanna have sex that badly?”
your mouth fell open.
“that badly?”
“not what i meant.”
“i am your wife.”
“i know.”
“i have waited for five years.”
“i know.”
“i have had to please myself because you will not touch me.”
his gaze sharpened.
“i touch you.”
“not sexually.”
“you think i don’t know about the toy?”
“you opened my package.”
“didn’t open it.”
“you embarrassed me.”
“you were already embarrassed.”
“because of you.”
toji pushed away from the counter.
“fine.”
you stared at him.
he crossed the kitchen.
“fine what?”
“you want sex? let’s have sex.”
your heartbeat stumbled.
“right now?”
“thought that was the point.”
“you cannot say it as though you are agreeing to clean the bathroom.”
“how am i supposed to say it?”
“with some enthusiasm.”
toji stopped in front of you.
his body blocked most of the light behind him. at this distance, you had to tip your chin upward to see his face.
“you want me to act excited?”
“i want you to be excited.”
his eyes travelled over your face.
“you think i’m not?”
“i do not know what to think.”
his hand closed around your waist.
“you really don’t know?”
“no.”
toji pulled you against him.
you felt the first unmistakable sign that everything did, in fact, work.
his erection pressed firmly against your stomach through his sweatpants.
your breath caught.
“that answer your question?” he asked.
heat moved into your face.
“part of it.”
“still wanna stand here arguing?”
you shook your head.
“good.”
toji bent, hooked one arm beneath your thighs, and lifted you.
you yelped, arms circling his shoulders as your glass nearly tipped from the table.
“toji!”
“what?”
“warn me.”
“you knew where we were going.”
“that does not mean you should throw me around.”
“haven’t thrown you yet.”
the word yet tightened your stomach.
he carried you through the apartment as though you weighed nothing. your bare thighs pressed around his waist, his broad hand holding you securely beneath your backside.
for a moment, excitement pushed the years of resentment aside.
this was finally happening.
toji entered the bedroom and placed you on the mattress. he remained standing between your knees, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.
you lowered your bonnet-covered head shyly.
“now you’re quiet?” he asked.
“i am nervous.”
“you weren’t nervous while yelling at me.”
“that was different.”
“you’ve known me most of your life.”
“i have never been naked with you like this.”
“i’ve seen you naked.”
“not intentionally.”
“still counts.”
“it does not.”
the corner of his mouth lifted.
you reached for the hem of his shirt.
toji caught your wrist.
your heart sank.
he noticed.
“relax. i’m taking mine off first.”
“oh.”
“you look like you’re about to cry.”
“i thought you were stopping me.”
his face softened slightly.
“not stopping.”
toji removed his shirt in one smooth movement.
you had seen his body countless times, but the context changed everything.
thick muscle covered his chest and stomach, defined without appearing decorative. his body looked built for strength rather than admiration, every broad line reinforced by old scars. his shoulders seemed even wider without fabric covering them.
you touched his stomach.
toji glanced down at your hand.
“you’re staring.”
“you stare at me.”
“yeah, but i’m subtle.”
you looked up at him.
“you have never been subtle about anything.”
“that’s not true.”
“name one thing.”
he considered it.
“can’t.”
you smiled despite your nervousness.
toji pushed you gently onto your back and climbed over you. one arm supported his weight beside your head. his hair fell forward, framing sharp green eyes that searched your face.
“still want this?”
“yes.”
“sure?”
“toji.”
“answer.”
“yes, i am sure.”
he kissed you.
it began slowly, almost cautiously. his lips moved over yours with a control that felt unnatural for him. one hand stroked your waist through the oversized shirt, fingers pausing whenever your body tensed.
you touched the scar beside his mouth.
toji caught your lower lip between his teeth.
you gasped.
“don’t overthink it,” he murmured.
“you are telling me not to overthink?”
“yeah.”
“you have been avoiding this for five years.”
his expression closed slightly.
you regretted saying it in that moment.
“sorry.”
“don’t apologize.”
he kissed you again before you could answer, firmer this time.
his tongue pushed between your lips. you released a soft moan, fingers sliding into his dark hair as his body settled more heavily over yours.
toji’s hand moved beneath your shirt.
the roughness of his palm against your bare stomach made you shiver. he stroked upward slowly, finally covering one breast.
you had not worn a bra to bed.
his thumb moved across your nipple.
your back arched.
“sensitive?” he asked.
“mhm.”
“words.”
you opened your eyes.
a familiar smirk touched his scarred mouth.
“yes.”
“there you go.”
he rolled the hardened peak between his fingers, watching your expression while your body responded to each deliberate movement. then he pushed your shirt upward, exposing your breasts.
toji became completely still.
your shyness returned immediately.
you crossed one arm over yourself.
“don’t.”
he removed your arm.
“i feel exposed.”
“you are exposed.”
“that is not helping.”
“you wanted me to see you.”
“i did, but…”
“but what?”
you looked away.
“nothing.”
toji caught your chin.
“you’ve been asking me for this for five years. don’t hide now.”
“you are staring at me.”
“wanted to do that for five years.”
your eyes returned to his.
the confession was so quiet you almost thought you had misunderstood.
toji lowered his head and kissed the upper curve of your breast. his mouth travelled slowly across your warm brown skin, lingering where your complexion deepened around your nipple.
then he took it into his mouth.
a startled cry escaped you.
his tongue circled the sensitive peak before he sucked firmly. the sensation travelled through your body, gathering between your thighs with surprising speed.
“toji…”
he answered with a low hum.
your fingers tightened in his hair.
toji’s mouth moved to your other breast while his hand continued working the first. he pinched gently, then harder when the sound you made became breathless and thin.
“you like that?”
“yes.”
“could’ve been doing this the whole time.”
you stared down at him.
toji’s face changed as soon as he realized what he had said.
he released you.
“don’t look at me like that.”
“you are the one who would not.”
“i know.”
“then why?”
he shifted backward onto his knees.
“we’re not talking about this now.”
“yes, we are.”
“you’re half naked.”
“and still waiting for an explanation.”
“you said you wanted sex.”
“i want you to stop hiding things from me.”
toji released a sharp breath.
“can we get through one thing at a time?”
“i cannot enjoy this while wondering whether you are forcing yourself.”
“i’m not forcing myself.”
“then tell me why.”
he stared at you.
you lowered your shirt over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable.
“please.”
something in your voice affected him.
toji sat on the edge of the bed with his back toward you. the muscles across his shoulders remained tense.
“it’s stupid.”
“let me decide that.”
“you’ll laugh.”
your brows rose.
toji fushiguro did not sound uncertain.
he sounded almost frightened.
you moved closer but did not touch him yet.
“i would never laugh at you.”
“you say that now.”
“toji, look at me.”
he did not.
you placed your hand against his back.
“you are my husband. whatever it is, we can discuss it.”
“easy for you to say.”
“why?”
“because you’re not the one with the problem.”
“what problem?”
he rubbed his palms against his thighs.
“i’m not…”
his jaw tightened.
“not what?”
“big.”
you blinked.
“you are enormous.”
“not like that.”
silence followed.
your eyes dropped toward his sweatpants.
realization arrived slowly.
“oh.”
toji’s shoulders stiffened.
you immediately wished you had chosen a different response.
“i did not mean it like that.”
“sure.”
“toji.”
“that’s why.”
he stood and walked several steps away from the bed.
“for five years?” you asked.
“wasn’t planning on waiting five years.”
“what were you planning?”
“don’t know.”
“you thought we would simply remain married forever without having sex?”
“sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
“because it is.”
his eyes narrowed.
“thought you weren’t gonna laugh.”
“i am not laughing. i am confused.”
“you wouldn’t get it.”
“then explain it to me.”
toji looked toward the floor.
“look at me.”
“quit ordering me around.”
“you order me around constantly.”
“that’s different.”
“how?”
“because i said so.”
under any other circumstances, you might have smiled.
instead, you stood from the bed and walked toward him.
toji watched you approach.
even without his shirt, without the usual smirk and careless posture, he looked intimidating. there was enough strength in his hands to break things you could not lift. he had always seemed entirely comfortable in his body.
you had never imagined him being ashamed of any part of it.
“show me,” you said.
his brows lowered.
“what?”
“show me.”
“you sure?”
“yes.”
toji remained motionless for several seconds.
then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.
the movement was slower than anything you had ever seen him do. he pushed them down with his underwear, allowing both garments to settle around his thighs.
your eyes lowered.
he was hard.
his cock stood away from his body, thick enough to fill his hand but noticeably average in length, perhaps slightly less. there was nothing comical or abnormal about him. he simply was not proportionate to the rest of his exceptionally large body.
you had imagined him differently.
you could not pretend otherwise.
toji saw the brief surprise cross your face.
his mouth twisted.
“yeah.”
your gaze snapped upward.
“toji—”
“there it is.”
“what?”
“that look.”
“i was only surprised.”
“exactly.”
he pulled his pants upward.
you caught his wrist.
“do not.”
“you wanted to see. you saw.”
“please stop.”
“why? underwhelming?”
the bitterness in his voice hurt more than the accusation.
“no.”
“don’t lie to make me feel better.”
“i am not lying.”
“you looked disappointed.”
“i looked surprised because i had an assumption based on the rest of your body. that does not mean i do not want you.”
“same difference.”
“it is not.”
toji tried to step away.
you moved in front of him.
“do you think i stayed with you for five years because i wanted a large penis?”
his eyes shifted.
“that’s easy to say when you’ve never had sex.”
“and whose fault is that?”
his expression tightened.
“right.”
you touched his arm.
“toji, i love you.”
“yeah.”
“look at me.”
he reluctantly met your eyes.
“i love your face. i love your scar. i love your ridiculous body and your horrible attitude. i love the way you pretend not to care about things that matter to you more than anything.”
“this supposed to make me feel better?”
“i love that too.”
“what?”
“how annoying you are.”
his mouth almost curved.
you stepped closer.
“i did not marry a body part. i married you.”
“you don’t know whether it’ll be enough.”
“neither do you.”
he stared at you.
“you have never been with me,” you continued. “you decided how i would feel before giving me a chance.”
“didn’t wanna see that look.”
“what look?”
“the one you just made.”
guilt pressed against your chest.
“i am sorry.”
toji looked away.
you cupped the side of his face, thumb resting near the scar at the corner of his mouth.
“but one second of surprise does not erase everything else i feel.”
he did not respond.
“you hurt me,” you whispered.
his eyes returned to yours.
“not because of your size. because you left me believing you did not want me for five years.”
“i wanted you.”
“you did not show me.”
“i didn’t know how.”
“you could have told me.”
“not good at that.”
“i know.”
his mouth tightened.
“you still want to?”
you lowered your eyes toward the shape beneath his sweatpants.
then you looked at his face again.
“yes.”
“you hesitated.”
“because i was thinking about how badly i want to put my mouth on you.”
toji went still.
the expression almost made you laugh, but you managed to control yourself.
“what?” he asked.
“you heard me.”
“say it again.”
your face warmed.
“i want to taste you.”
his eyes darkened.
“thought you were shy.”
“i am.”
“doesn’t sound like it.”
“i am trying to make my husband understand that i desire him.”
toji’s hand closed around the back of your neck.
“keep talking like that and i’ll understand real quick.”
the confidence was returning to his voice, although uncertainty remained behind it.
you wanted to erase the remaining doubt.
you lowered yourself to your knees.
toji watched in silence.
your fingers hooked into his waistband. this time, he allowed you to push his sweatpants and underwear down.
his cock rose toward you again.
from this position, you could examine him more carefully. he was thick, the head flushed and wet with a small bead of precum. a dark vein ran along the underside. his size no longer felt surprising.
it felt like him.
sorry to stop right here, but this is just a taste of what you’ll get. since this is 12k, i can’t write this on tumblr because of a writing limit so below is the full story since for some reason my ao3 has been messing up so bad ;)
notes accidental pregnancy, betrayal, angst, heavy grovelling (as it should 🤨), pregnancy and birth journey, mentions of blood, trauma, and violence, dad neteyam <33, cutest baby on pandora (neteyam’s fictional babies are ALWAYS cute), smut and suggestive themes, oral (f&m receiving),
(quick message: hello, guys! 🥹 i sweaaar, i really tried to get this ready by monday or tuesday, but i totally underestimated my irl demands and overestimated how much free time i actually had. i hated missing last week’s update and posting late this week, but that is just life right now since i just started my research paper. 🥲 i am absolutely not leaving! i still have so many ideas for meteyam, + also eyeing your requests. i am still so excited to write for everyone who wants to read, so stay tuned! i love you all and i’ve read your sweet messages 🥲 i seriously miss you guys, and i hope everyone is doing well. 🥹🙏)
synopsis as a nomad who travels around eywa’eveng to learn the ways of the other clans, being accepted into the clan of toruk makto was an honor. more especially, perhaps, when you developed something beyond friendship with neteyam. little did you know, everything you thought he was... was a lie.
word count 26.8k
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You bit your lip to stifle an excited smile, forcefully trying to calm down even though you are already on the verge of spilling the secret that made your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped forest ikran.
Yesterday, when you connected at the Tree of Souls, you had felt it. Soft and faint, but unmistakable. A heartbeat echoing inside your own body. There were no other symptoms yet, but you knew. You knew.
“Where are we going?” you asked, your eyes twinkling as Neteyam led you deeper into the woods. You were practically skipping, unable to contain the dizzying excitement bubbling up inside you.
He looked back at you over his shoulder. His golden eyes solemn, his expression obviously weighed down by something. “There is something I want to tell you,” he said, his voice thick, sounding as though he had to physically force the words past his throat.
But you were too excited to read through the subtlety of his expressions. You skipped a few quick steps to level your pace with his long strides. “Me, too!” you said, grinning up at him before a sudden wave of shy bashfulness made you pipe down. “I have something to tell you, too... Good news, I hope...” Your cheeks burned, and you looked away before you could see how he reacted.
“What is it?” he asked gently. He stopped walking, making you face him and pulling you into his space. The smell of strong spicy mint and smoky grass attacked your senses.
You bit your lip and smiled as you peered up at him through the fringe of your lashes. He groaned softly, his hand on your waist squeezing before he lowered his head down to capture your lips in a hard kiss. You hummed, pressing your palm against his chest. “Well, you were the first to say you had something to tell me. You should go first,” you mumbled against his mouth.
Neteyam stared at you. His eyes lingered on your face, caressing every single feature with an intensity that made your chest ache before he lowered his head to kiss you again. This time, it was deeper, more thorough and desperate, his hand cupping your jaw so tightly it dug onto your skin.
“We will leave, baby...” he mumbled into the kiss.
“Leave?” you echoed, pulling away just an inch to look at him with a small, bewildered smile.
He chased your lips, refusing to let the distance open between you, his hand caging your jaw. “Go anywhere... wherever you want. You’re the nomad,” he mumbled softly against your lips, a faint smile touching his mouth.
You chuckled softly, lifting your arms to wrap them around his broad shoulders. “That’s what you were going to tell me?” you asked, gazing up at him, complete trust shining in your eyes.
He stared down at you until the silence stretched a second too long. You were just about to ask him again when, in the blink of an eye, an iron grip clamped down around your elbows, pinning them to your sides.
Your eyes widened in complete shock, your smile freezing as you looked at Neteyam. He looked frightened and in distress for a moment, before his face turned into a mask of stone, cold and unreadable.
“We’ll take care of this,” a deep, gruff voice sounded behind you.
“Neteyam?” you called out, panic instantly spiking in your throat as you felt yourself being violently jerked backward, dragged away from him. You thrash, looking around wildly, recognizing the faces of Omatikaya warriors surrounding you, harsh and unforgiving. “Neteyam!” you screamed, reaching for him.
Neteyam moved to follow, his lips parted as though he had something to say. Two older warriors immediately stepped in front of him, putting a firm hand on his chest to hold him back.
“You’ve done enough already, Neteyam,” one of the warriors said smoothly, his eyes fixed on you. “We’ll take over from here.”
Neteyam stopped then. He just stood there. He watched.
“Where are you taking me?!” you cried out, thrashing against the hands binding you. You groaned loudly in pain as they yanked your hands behind your back, tying the rough cords so carelessly that you felt a blinding pain on your shoulder.
Before you could process the agony, one of the massive warriors hoisted you like a sack of dead meat, throwing you over his broad shoulder. He was completely unbothered by your frantic wriggling and kicking.
“Neteyam! Neteyam!” you screamed into the forest, your voice cracking.
The last thing you saw before the dense jungle leaves swallowed him up was Neteyam, standing tall and silent, watching you get dragged away without doing anything.
You were so terrified of what they were going to do to you that when they finally dumped you into an under-root holding cell beneath one of the giant trees, you were almost grateful for the mercy of being left alone.
You had been thrown in without a word of explanation. Everything had happened so fast, so brutally, that your brain couldn't process the nightmare. Just moments ago, you were with Neteyam. And now, you were sitting in the dirt of a prison, awaiting judgment for something you didn't even have knowledge on.
What is happening? Why am I here? What are they going to do to Neteyam?
You were terrified for him, too. You convinced yourself that they must have tricked him. Or forced him. Surely, he would come for you. You completely dismissed the horrifying memory of him standing by, watching you get taken away without lifting a finger. Your heart, desperate to protect itself, clung to the only truth it knew: Neteyam loves me. He would never let me get hurt. He won't let me spend the night here. Let alone days.
But your hope was pulverized into dust by the grueling days that followed.
He didn't come.
The darkness of the under-root cell was maddening. You didn't see a soul for two full days, and when hunters finally appeared, it was only to stand guard outside your wooden bars, silent with hostility.
“Where is Neteyam?” you begged, crawling toward the bars, your voice hoarse from crying. “Please, where is he?”
One of the hunters barked out a cruel, bitter laugh. “She’s asking for Neteyam,” he sneered to his companion, as if you had just uttered the funniest joke in the world.
“Why? What happened to him? Is he hurt?” panic surged through you, genuinely terrified that something bad happened to Neteyam.
“He’s good. Nothing bad happened to him. You happened, though,” the hunter replied, leaning close to the bars, his eyes burning with disgust. “You brought good and bad, for sure. But Neteyam’s going to focus only on the good. You're going to bring him closer to getting justice for Priya.”
You stared at them, your breath hitching in your chest. The name sounded foreign. Priya.
“You won’t ask who Priya was?” the hunter taunted, a crooked, cruel smile stretching across his face. “The woman Neteyam loved.”
“The woman you helped kill,” the other guard spat.
Your lips parted, you wanted to ask more but no sound came out. It felt as though you had been ripped from reality and dropped into a twisted parallel world where everything that’s going on was opposite to what you know.
You had been with the Omatikaya for over five moons now. As a nomad, you never stayed in one place for long, but Neteyam had changed everything. For the first time in your life, you didn't want to leave. You wanted to build a home. You wanted to be anchored.
What you had never found in all your travels, you found in him: love. To love, and to be loved in return. He had swept you off your feet so completely. Not only was he a gallant, brave warrior, he was also the kindest, most gentle soul in the world. You had every reason to fall in love with him, and no reason not to.
...And yet, you had never heard the name Priya. You had never known he had loved someone else so fiercely that her memory still bled.
To be fair, you and Neteyam had never explicitly spoken the word 'love.' You thought it was too early, but that you both know that you were building toward it step by fragile step. You thought you were walking hand-in-hand toward a future together.
“Do you not get it? Do you know what your brother did to our people? To our family and friends?” the warrior demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh rumble. “It was Eywa’s mercy to have you falling straight into Neteyam’s lap. I knew it had taken everything in him not to strangle you on sight.”
You blinked, staring at them, your mind completely blank. You couldn't process it. Your heart refused to accept it.
“I... I don’t know what you're talking about—”
One of the warriors slammed his heavy wooden bow against the cell bars, making you flinch violently. “We’re not stupid, you evil whore! Of course you’ll say that! No criminal ever admits to their wrongdoing. But we’ll see what happens in the coming days.”
“I don't know what you're talking about!” you sobbed, clutching your aching shoulder. “I didn’t kill anyone! And my brother, for all his flaws, is not a murderer! You are mistaken—”
“No, your brother is not only a murderer. He is a mass murderer! And you are his accomplice!”
“How dare you call me that without a sliver of proof?!” you screamed back, anger briefly flaring through your sheer terror. “I did nothing wrong to you or your people! I have only ever—”
In a fraction of a second, the guard drew an arrow and loosed it. The iron tip buried itself into the dirt inches from your bare foot.
You screamed, jumping back, your heart thrashing against your ribs. The warrior smirked, thoroughly satisfied with the fear and silence he had bought. You were terrified to see that there was no remorse in his eyes, only raw, unadulterated hatred.
For the first time since you were dragged here, a genuine, paralyzing fear settled into your bones.
You didn't know these people. You were in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers who wanted you dead. And the only reason you had let down your guards, the only reason you had stayed, was because you thought you were safe in the arms of the man you loved.
A wave of icy clarity washed over you, dousing the last embers of your foolish hope.
Neteyam was not coming to save you.
He had watched you get taken. He had stood by while they bound you like an animal. He had been in on it from the very beginning.
You realized with a blinding clarity that you didn't know Neteyam at all. Everything you thought you knew about him was a lie.
That night, you lay on your side on the cold, damp ground, facing the dirt wall. You traced aimless, trembling patterns in the moss, replaying every single touch, every soft word, every kiss Neteyam had ever given you, now realizing they were all just a performance leading to this moment.
You fell asleep eventually, shivering from the cold and weak from hunger.
When morning came, the male guards were gone, replaced by two huntresses. A small, wooden tray of food sat near the bars, and the arrow on the ground inside your cell had been removed.
“I don't understand why we had to be stationed here to guard that wicked whore,” you heard one of the huntresses mutter outside. “It’s miserable down here.”
You rolled your eyes. Tell me about it, you though as you stared at the tray. You hadn't eaten in over two days, but the moment the smell of the meat hit your nose, your stomach violently churned. Nausea hit you so hard you had to swallow down a rush of bile.
“Well, you know what happened with Vankaz,” the other huntress replied. “We can't even bring weapons near her cell. How are we supposed to hurt her if she acts up?”
You ignored their voices, forcing yourself to drag your weak body to the tray. You had to eat. You were terrified of what was happening inside your body, terrified of confirming what you already knew. You know that if you were to acknowledge the reality of it while being here, unsure of your future, you would go insane. You forced the cold food down your throat, gagging with every bite, and drained the water skin in seconds.
To make matters worst, the warrior’s warning about your confidence in your innocence fading with what they'll do to you in the succeeding days has commenced. For weeks, they interrogated you.
Different warriors came down into your cell. They asked you questions about maps, about schedules, about meetings with the sky people—things you knew absolutely nothing about. But they spoke with such conviction, presented you evidence with such absolute certainty, that there were moments you felt like you were losing your mind, wondering if you had committed atrocities in your sleep.
One afternoon, a high-ranking warrior brought a glowing electronic data pad, something you recognize to be human technology, and shoved it against the wooden bars, illuminating your pale, hollow face.
“A year ago, a group of skilled warriors hit our eastern perimeter,” he spat, pointing at the glowing screen. “Many innocent Omatikaya were butchered. Tuk, the youngest daughter of the Olo’eyktan, was left unable to speak a single word from the horror of what she saw. We intercepted these logs from the Bridgehead network, and ever since then, we have been tracking this path. Your path. We knew exactly when you would arrive in our lands. And you walked right in six moons ago.”
He swiped the screen, showing a detailed map of your exact travel routes over the past season. Every river you had crossed, every village you had rested at, every tree you had slept under. It was all logged. It predicted your arrival at the Omatikaya down to the very day.
“We knew what you were here for,” the warrior sneered. “You were here to finish what your brother failed to do, kill Toruk Makto. Getting Neteyam assigned to guard you was meant to stall you. But he had you fooled, didn't he? Even a murderous whore like yourself still had aspirations for love with a gallant warrior. But that will never happen. Neteyam’s heart died two years ago with my daughter when your brother slaughtered her. Everything Neteyam showed you was nothing but a lie to get you to confess.”
“I didn’t even know that Priya!” you screamed, your voice breaking. Tears streamed down your filthy cheeks. “I have never been to these lands before! How can you think—”
The warrior backhanded you, causing you to fall back to the ground. “You scouted these paths and provided your brother with the intelligence!” he roared back.
“I haven't talked to my brother in years!”
He stared at you. “You are an evil woman and seeing you so happy, thinking you had found love with the man my daughter loved her entire life sickened me. You stole her life and for that, you will pay with your life, too.”
You breathing hitched in your throat, your eyes wide as you stared back at the warrior. It was useless. They didn't want the truth, they wanted a culprit. They wanted someone to burn for their grief, and Neteyam had delivered you to them on a silver platter.
The mental torture was unbearable. One evening, when you refused to eat, a guard reached through the bars and violently slapped you across the face. The impact cracked your lip, spraying blood across your chin. But the physical pain was nothing. It couldn't touch the monstrous, yawning void inside your chest.
Neteyam had never come. Not once.
Your mind, trapped in that dark cell, obsessively pieced together the gruesome reality. When you first arrived six moons ago, you hadn't thought it strange that the heir to the Omatikaya leadership was assigned to guide you, to teach you their ways. After all, you are a sister of an Olo’eyktan. It was only fitting that a warrior of his social stature would be assigned to you.
Neteyam was charismatic right from the start. He made you want to put your guards down, trust him... and be real to him more than you had ever been before. You remembered how irritable he had been sometimes in the beginning. The way his jaw would clench when he looked at you. You had thought he was just annoyed at being assigned to play tour guide to a nomad.
But now, you know that it was because he loathed you. He could barely stand you then, you remembered. He would arrive at and leave the sessions on the dot. He looked at you and saw the monster who helped kill the woman he loved. You lied on the dirt, sobbing in the dark as you recollected every moment you spent with him.
Ever smile he gave you. Every time he held your hand. Every time he took you in his arms, held you against his chest, and made love to you in the little grotto you two found whe you were wandering in the forest.
It was all a lie. A calculated, cruel, sickening ploy to make you drop your guard. He had forced himself to touch you, to kiss you, to lie with you, all while secretly despising the very sight of you. He did it all for her. For Priya.
Your hand trembled violently as it slid down your thin frame, resting on your flat, hollow stomach.
You sobbed, a ragged, broken sound tearing from your throat. “Oh, Great Mother...” you whispered into the dark.
You felt sick with guilt for even thinking it, but in that dark cell, you wished with all your shattered heart that you were not with child. You see no future. It is only a matter of time until they kill you for the crimes they believe you committed. Only you would know of the life inside you and it would kill you twice, knowing that such a fragile life would never see the beauty of this world.
Days bled together until you lost count.
You developed a burning fever. Your body, weak from starvation and fear, began to give out. You lay in the dirt, shivering violently, your consciousness slipping in and out. Through the haze of your fever, you felt a cool, impossibly gentle touch on your forehead.
In your delirium, your brain conjured an image. You opened your heavy eyes and saw your mother hovering over you. She was just as you remembered, as if frozen in time. Her face twisted in deep, unbearable agony as her eyes tracked your body.
“Mother...?” you rasped out, your throat raw.
She let out a sharp, choked breath, reaching down and pulling your weak body up into her arms. You burst into hysterical sobs, clinging to her shoulders with desperate strength, burying your face into the crook of her neck just like you used to when you were a small child. She didn't smell like your mother. She smelled like spicy mind... and smokey grass. But you held on for dear life, drowning in the feeling of safety.
“You need to get away from here...” she whispered, pulling back just enough to frantically smooth your matted, messy braids, her hands trembling against your face.
“Mama... I missed you so much. I’m so scared...” you sobbed, trying to press back into her embrace, but she held you firmly by the shoulders.
Her pale yellow eyes, the exact shade you had inherited, were wide with terrifying realization. “Y/N...” she called, her voice shaking.
You looked around the cell in a daze. “There are guards outside... I can't escape... they'll kill me...” you whispered.
She stared at you, looking so defeated, heartbroken, and scared. “They won’t,” she said, her tone suddenly turning hard and unbreakable. She cupped your bruised face in her hands, tears flooding her eyes. “Y/N, I love you...”
You smiled weakly, nodding as fresh tears blinded you. “I love you, too, Mama... I missed you so much.”
She pulled you into one last, suffocating hug, kissing your temple so hard it felt like her lips would mark your skin. “I love you. I love you. I’m so sorry...” her voice broke completely.
After a moment, she stood up, gently pulling you up onto your feet. Your legs were like water, completely unable to support your weight. Before you could collapse, she hoisted you easily, carrying your limp body out of the cell and into the cool night air.
You looked around frantically, finding that there were no guards. Just a waiting direhorse tethered near the tree roots.
She threw a thick, hooded cloak over your shivering shoulders and easily lifted you onto the beast's back. She tied your waist firmly to the saddle so you wouldn't fall off.
You looked down at her in a feverish blur, convinced this was nothing more than a merciful hallucination before death took you.
“Go north and never stop riding,” she commanded, squeezing your cold hand tightly. “I will find you.”
You nodded numbly. Connecting your kuru to the direhorse, you commanded the beast to run. The animal took off into the dark, speeding away from the Omatikaya lands like an arrow shot from a bow.
As the wind whipped past your face, you turned your head to catch one last glimpse of your mother standing by the roots.
In the moonlight, the fever haze cleared for just a second. The figure standing in the shadows wasn't your mother, it wasn’t small or female. It was tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, holding a longbow tightly in its hand. Your breathing hitched, snapping your head back around, and burying your face in the direhorse's head.
You rode and rode, only stopping to rest when you know you were well away. You slept in a cave you found, letting your direhorse rest, drink, and eat. It was when you woke up the next day that you realized you were truly, finally free. You remembered the night before... The memory of your mother... And the familiar figure you had seen in the shadows.
You shook your head, dipping yourself in the cold river water and trying to wrench your attention off your unrealiable memory. You refused to acknowledge what you saw. You refused to give anyone the credit. Your mother saved you. It was your mother. It had to be.
You rode for two more agonizing days, surviving on the waterskins and dried fruit tied to the saddle.
And on the third morning, you finally came face to face with the familiar, towering stone terraces of your home clan for the first time in two years. The clan your brother, Antulo, had led since your father's death.
The village erupted in joy when you rode in. Friends and clan members swarmed you, welcoming you home after years of your travels.
Antulo descended from the main pavilion, a wide, easy grin on his face. “What brings the nomad back to the fold?” he called out, his tone light and humored.
You slid off the direhorse, your knees buckling slightly, and eyed him with guarded, cautious eyes.
Looking at your brother, the boy who had teased and protected you as a child, the son who had wept at your parents’ pyres, you tried to reconcile him with the monster the Omatikaya had described. A mass murderer. A traitor who allied with the sky people.
They had spoken with such hatred. Extremely sure of their accusations. But if they had been wrong about you, could they have been wrong about your brother, too? Could Antulo be an innocent man framed by someone else? Or had your brother truly brought death upon innocent Omatikaya, leaving a little girl mute with trauma?
“Truly, Y/N,” Antulo continued, his sharp eyes scanning your exhausted face and the bare, dirty direhorse. “I am happy to see you, but this is sudden even you can say so. You have no gear, no packs. Did something happen out there?”
You forced your expression to remain flat, shaking your head. “I simply grew tired of traveling,” you said quietly, looking past him toward the familiar huts in the high terraces. “I wished to be home for the mean time.”
He stared at you for a moment, sensing the deep, hollow wall you had built around yourself, but he nodded. “Your hut is just as you left it. I had it cleaned regularly. Go on up.”
“Thank you,” you rasped, taking a step up the stairs toward the high terraces.
“I’ll have a feast prepared for tonight to celebrate your return—”
“No,” you cut in quickly, not wanting to be surrounded by noise and laughter. “No feast, Antulo. I am exhausted. I just need to sleep.”
He paused, studying your pale face, before nodding slowly. “Alright. I’ll have your evening meal sent up to your hut. That good to you?”
You didn't answer him. You just turned and began the climb up the stairs to your secluded hut high on the terraces.
When you finally stepped inside the dark, cool space, the quiet had you sinking to your knees on the woven mats, burying your face in your hands, and finally letting the sob tear through your chest.
You were home. You were safe.
But as you curled into a ball, cradling your flat stomach in the dark, you knew the truth that would haunt you for the rest of your days:
The man you fell in love with had never existed. And the child growing inside you was fathered by a fraud.
Back in the Omatikaya, Neteyam walked toward the council longhouse, fully aware that he had betrayed his people. It still felt as if they hadn’t been suspecting him for moons now, watching him fall into what they believed was a trap, shaking their heads as they watched in real time as let himself be fooled by you.
He had denied all of it, eve to himself but he knew in his core, that they were right. He’d like to think that he entered this with his guards built high and out of indestructible stone. But getting to know you, deeper than he had ever intended, had melted those walls into dust. He didn’t know, and hadn’t tracked, where the pretense ended and where his true feelings began.
When the council, his fellow warriors, and the grieving families of those killed by your brother backed him into a corner and called out his closeness to you, his first instinct had been to deny it. He was not a weak-willed man who would be ensnared simply because the enemy threw a woman in his path. He was not a traitor who forgot the spilled blood of his people just because a woman looked up at him with starry, trusting eyes. He had been so fiercely defensive of his honor and resolve that he convinced himself he wouldn't bat an eye if they dragged you out for interrogation.
He had been lying to himself.
He had fallen into your trap. He was a traitor, because ultimately, now that he was forced to choose between his people and you, he will choose you. He had fallen so deeply in love with you that he could not allow you to be punished even for things you probably might have done.
“You have grown comfortable with this woman, Neteyam,” Yantuk, Priya’s father, pointed out in the warrior’s council a week before you were rounded up. “I understand that you are a virile young man, and she is indeed enticeful, but this matter involves the lives of our people. Of my daughter, your good friend. Their lives are not worth the warmth of that woman’s cunt, and I will not have you failing them simply because you have forgotten what she did—”
“I have not forgotten our dead brothers and sisters, Elder Yantuk,” Neteyam interrupted, leveling the man with a dark, steady gaze. “But it seems to me that you have forgotten your honor as a warrior.”
The older man huffed. “I simply wish to know if this is still a mission to you, warrior... Or if you have allowed yourself to be fooled by her?”
Neteyam stared at Yantuk, his expression softening ever so slightly as an image of you smiling flashed in his mind. He couldn't lie through his teeth and say he hadn't fallen, because merely remembering your laugh and your soft smile made his knees go weak. He had fallen, completely and utterly, though he didn't know if that made him a fool.
“It is still a mission,” he lied, sounding like a coward even to himself.
He is a coward. Used to be, he never had to think twice between duty and love. He thought, confidently, that he was his brother’s opposite. Where Lo’ak would have easily chosen love, Neteyam would go for duty. His duty to the people easily comes for him first and foremost. But standing there before the warriors, he didn’t know which duty his heart wanted to answer to.
His duty to the people... or his duty to you? He is a traitor to his people. He knew his heart had long since deserted the Omatikaya. His true loyalty belonged wherever you were.
His only regret was not acting on it sooner. If he was going to betray them for you anyway, why hadn't he broken you out the moment they took you from him? He consider this his primary flaw. He was not like his brother who acted on instinct, followed his heart, and answered to no one. Neteyam had spent his whole life trying to put everyone else’s interests before his own. He thought choosing loyalty to his clan was the honorable thing to do, even if it destroyed him or hurt you in the process.
And what had that cost him? You. He had lost you.
He closed his eyes, shuddering as he remembered how disoriented you were the night he pulled you from the cell. You hadn't even recognized him. Your broken mind had conjured your dead mother to take his place, desperate to feel safe. You had been completely shattered after weeks of relentless questioning. He choked on air, balling his hands into tight fists to stave off the panic attack clawing at his chest. A sickening tremor ran down his spine, making his kuru quiver.
When Neteyam walked into the council longhouse, the elders were already discussing your disappearance. The huntresses guarding you swore you had been there moments prior, speculating that you had used dark magic to escape. Neteyam knew better, he had studied their guarding rotations for days, waiting for the exact moment they left their post.
Before the council could speculate further, Neteyam spoke up, “It was me.” The elders and the seniors warriors all looked at him. Jake merely angled his head toward him, eyeing him with both brows raised. “Further interrogation is pointless. Y/N knows nothing about what we are accusing her of.” he said flatly
Instantly, the room erupted into angered shouts. Yantuk slammed a hand on the wooden table. “I knew it! She got to you!”
Neteyam stood firm. “None of you know her. The only evidence you have against her is that she is Antulo's sister and that she arrived on the day we all expected. But we knew her travel route! We knew her patterns, so of course we could predict her arrival. Beyond that, we have no proof—”
“And we have no proof she wasn't in on it!” Yantuk countered harshly. “Her brother is the murderer!”
“Should we not listen when she maintains her innocence?” Neteyam demanded, stepping forward. “It has been weeks, and her answer has never changed. If she were guilty, she would have broken under interrogation by now. Are you not afraid, even for a moment, that we are crucifying an innocent woman?”
Yantuk sneered, looking at him as though he couldn't believe everything he was spouting. “And are you only saying this because she opened her thighs for you? Neteyam, she is a whore. That tight warmth getting your head all messed up right can be found in any woman—”
“Enough!“ Jake said from the head of the table, but Neteyam had already launched himself toward the older warrior.
He slammed Yantuk against the wooden support pillar, his hands gripping the elder's shoulders so tightly the wood groaned. His lips peeled back over his fangs, a low, guttural hiss vibrating in his throat.
“Speak of her with that filthy mouth again,” Neteyam snarled through gritted teeth, “and I will beat you senseless in front of this council.”
Yantuk’s eyes widened in sudden, stark shock. He shoved against Neteyam’s chest, but the young warrior remained unyielding, built like a wall of solid stone. He quickly realized it wouldn’t be smart to challenge him. Yantuk spat, “You have lost your mind, boy.”
Neteyam released him with a rough shove.
Around him, three elders rosez deeply offended by his violent outburst and his blatant betrayal to the people. They look down at Neteyam not as an heir, but as a threat.
“This is an outrage!” One of them said with indignation. He pointed a gnarled finger directly at the young warrior.
Beside him, Eytukan's old advisor refused to even look at Neteyam, looking straight at the chief. “He must face the highest discipline of the clan,” the old man demands. “The law is clear. No one stands above the people. Not even the son of the Toruk Makto.”
Neytiri’s face fell at the elder’s judgment, looking at her son with both fear and worry. In contrast, Jake Sully turned to his eldest son calmly, waiting for Neteyam to object, to defend himself, to give any excuse.
Instead, Neteyam simply huffed a breath through his nose as if he couldn’t wait for things to be over. “I will accept any punishment.”
The retribution for a warrior disobeying orders was brutal, and never in his life had Neteyam imagined he would stand on the receiving end of it. Yet, he had never felt more alive. If anyone would ever want to beat him up for what he had allowed to happen to you, he would gladly take every strike. But no one in this clan would punish him for his betrayal of you. So he would welcome every pain and every punishment, knowing it is only a tiny fraction of what he truly deserved.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You sat near the entrance of your hut, relishing the dappled sunlight seeping through the canopy and illuminating the soft plant fibers resting in your lap as you wove a baby blanket.
Your bump was not that obvious to others yet, but the soft, distinct swell of your belly was undeniable to people who know you. You have told no one yet, not your brother, not your grandmother, the Tsahik. You tried desperately not to let the trauma of what happened moons ago ruin your life, but there were just days when the grief dragged you back into the shadows of your mind.
You had cried more over the past few moons than in your entire life. Sometimes they were tears of profound longing for the life you thought you were building. You hated yourself for remembering moments with Neteyam that you thought were real in a favorable light. You missed the man you thought he was. The kind, gentle, and gallant warrior you had envisioned spending your life with. You had loved him. And you had truly believed he loved you back.
Then came the bitter, furious tears. You raged at your own naivety, disgusted by how easily you had been played and how little he had cared for you. He had stood by while they broke you. And then you would turn that anger inward, how could you have expected anything else? As the old warrior had taunted, Neteyam’s heart died the day that woman Priya was killed. How dare you assume there was any room left in him for you? For all you knew, he had wished for your death all along.
You sighed, resting a soft hand over your middle and looking up toward the light breaking through the leaves.
“We will be alright...” you whispered to the tiny life within you.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how, in those terrifying early days, you had desperately wished you weren't pregnant. Now, you couldn't imagine life without this little ember of hope. I will fill you with so much love, you promised silently, stroking your belly. You will never feel like anything is missing.
“Is that why you came home?”
You jolted, spinning around at the deep voice. Takzur, one of your brother’s closest friends, was leaning against the wooden doorframe.
You scowled, instantly defensive. “Is what why?”
Takzur’s eyes traveled down to your lap, resting squarely on your rounded stomach. “You are with child?” he asked flatly.
You rolled your eyes, pulling your shawl over your lap. “You have no right to ask me that.”
“Does Antulo know?”
“Why are you here?” you demanded, cutting him off.
“Your brother sent me to fetch you for a council meeting.”
“I have no interest in council meetings.”
You turned back to your loom, listening to his footsteps retreating. Most of your days were spent isolated like this. If not for your childhood friends forcing their way into your hut, you likely would have withered away in your own sorrow. They had been the first ones you had reveealed your pregnancy to.
Granted, only Enya had the courage and the loose mouth to dare ask you about the swell in your belly.
“It is because I am pregnant,” you admitted casually, stifling a smile as you continued your weaving.
“What?! With whose baby? Are you serious?!” Enya had shrieked.
“And where? W-Who? Y/N!“ Penxi called, almost as if she’s gearing up to scold you.
Enya gasped, “Oh, you need to tell me the details!” she said in a sing-song voice. “How was it? Did it hurt? Was it actually ticklish? Does it really feel like you are going to explode—”
“Enya!” Scandalized, Penxi stopped her and turned to you.
“Why? These are legitimate questions! Y/N broke our childhood oath. I need to know some details at least!” Enya faced you. “Did you get pregnant the first time?”
Your lips parted. You didn’t know whether to say that pregnancy doesn’t always happen the first time... But that would be admitting that Neteyam had you a countless times before it led to this.
Heat rushed up to your face but you have to clear Enya’s misconceptions. “It... It doesn’t always happen... the first time,” you admitted.
Enya gasped. “Oooh,” she squealed. “So it happened more than once?”
“Enya!” Penxi protested again, palming her increasingly darkening face.
Enya brought her palms together. “Y/N, please!” she begged. “Just a few details!”
You sighed, “Yes, it did happen more than once...” you mumbled and a few snapshots flashed in your treasonous mind that you had to close your eyes for a moment.
“This man must have been something for the resident snob to lose her mind!” Enya teased.
Your face fell for a moment. You knew Enya meant well, she didn’t know what happened, but her words hit you like an arrow to the chest. He was something. He fooled you so well and you did lost your mind.
Penxi gently nudged Enya, her expression softening with genuine concern. “But... Where is he, Y/N? Who is he, and why didn't he come back with you? Is this... the reason you returned?”
You looked up at them with a firmer resolve, your chest tightening. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They exchanged a quick look, instantly understanding what had prompted you to say that.
“Of course,” Penxi said softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “We are only worried for you. But if you want to leave it in the past, we support you. You have us.”
Enya nodded vigorously. “I always thought I’d be the first to have a baby among us! I mean, I had plenty of crushes in the past and I had that rebellious streak with Krikhir, but now we are getting a mini Y/N! I’m going to spoil this baby so much!”
You let out a soft laugh then, pressing a hand to your stomach. “I never imagined this for myself either... but now, I can't imagine my life without this little pea.”
“Motherhood suits you,” Penxi smiled. “And remember. This baby will be raised by all of us. You will never be alone, and you will never need that man.”
Tears welled in your eyes, moving to pull them both in a warm embrace. You all stayed at the lake until sundown before walking back to the village. The sight of Antulo standing at the base of the stone terraces, deep in conversation with an elder warrior welcomed you. His eyes locked onto you as you approached.
You watched your brother. You knew what the Omatikaya had accused him of, but in all the moons since your return, he had shown no signs of the cold-blooded murderer they claimed he was. Still, you knew that to get answers from him, you had to offer something in return.
“You two go ahead,” you told Penxi and Enya, who were walking alongside you. “I need to speak with my brother.”
Enya took the fiber basket from your arms, giving you an encouraging smile before walking away with Penxi. As you walked toward Antulo, the elder warrior he was speaking with knew he’d have to excuse himself. Your brother’s eyes tracked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your stomach with a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and sharp concern.
“Was our clan food generally just that good, or is there something you aren't telling me?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light despite his tense jaw.
“I am pregnant,” you said flatly, not in the mood for jokes.
You saw his nostrils flared for a fraction.He closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a slow breath before looking at you directly. “Who is the bastard? Where is he? Why did he let you travel back to our lands alone in that condition? And what clan is he from?”
Under different circumstances, his rapid-fire questions might have made you laugh. Today, it only made your chest ache.
“I do not wish to discuss him,” you said firmly. “My child does not need a father.”
Antulo searched your face, reading the cold finality in your eyes. He nodded slowly. “It did not end well, then.”
“It did not,” you agreed, raising your chin. “So tell me now... Are you going to support me, or cast me out for bearing a child outside the mating bond?”
Antulo scoffed. “You are my sister, Y/N. I would never cast out any woman of our clan for this, let alone you. You never have to ask for my protection. It has been yours since the day you were born.” He took a step forward and pulled you into a firm, one-armed embrace
Buried against your brother’s shoulder, the weight of the past few moons finally broke through your defenses. A sob tore from your throat, and you wept openly into his chest. Hearing his unconditional fierce love made you realize how impossible the Omatikaya's claims are. Your brother could not have done it... he just couldn't.
“Stop crying,” Antulo grumbled gently, though his own voice sounded thick with emotion. “Or I will be forced to hunt that man down and break every bone in his body.”
You let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder. “I might just let you...”
As it turned out, Antulo didn't need to hunt him down.
Because a moon later, that man brought himself directly to your lands.
You were returning from the nearby lake, carrying a woven basket filled with washed baby blankets, when you saw him.
He was standing so comfortably near the edge of the lower village commons, looking so surreal that for a split second, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you again. But then his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours, and your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.
You froze, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.
The fear lingering in your veins quickly flared into white-hot anger when you saw the expression on his face: a look of profound, agonizing relief. You hated him for it. You hated that he had the nerve to look relieved, as if he had any right to care whether you were alive or dead. He was a good pretender, after all, of course he could fake relief.
You stood rooted to the spot, your mind reeling. You hated how much power his presence still held over you, hated how your pulse raced and your hands trembled despite all the moons you had spent trying to scrub his memory from your mind.
“Y/N...” Neteyam breathed, taking a hesitant step forward.
Instinctively, you took a step back, your posture stiffening into a defensive stance.
Neteyam halted instantly, his heart breaking at the fear on your face but it was when his eyes swept over you that his very own breath choked him. He caught the unmistakable swell of your stomach. He swallowed, feeling like time had stopped and momentarily paralyzed him.
He tore his eyes away, looking up to your face instead, only to see fear in it, your ears pinning back to the sides of your head and your eyes looking at him with, devoid of all the warmth, joy, and pure innocence that were always there when you looked at him.
He had broken you. He had handed you over to your tormentors. So what does he expect? He had spent countless sleepless nights agonizing over what would happen when he saw you again, consumed by a guilt so suffocating he could barely function. He knew there was no forgiveness for what he had done. He had betrayed your trust when he should have listened to his instincts and fought for you.
For the first time in his life, Neteyam wished he were like Lo’ak. He wished he had his brother’s reckless courage to defy everyone, to abandon duty, and to choose love without second-guessing himself. He wished, with all of him, that he had any courage in him at all... to choose love over duty. His duty shouldn't have been to the council's blind pursuit of vengeance. The moment he fell in love with you, his ultimate duty should have been to protect you.
The weight of his regret was made a thousand times worse by the truth they had recently uncovered. Further intelligence had led him to the actual truth. One that not only proves your innocence, but that of your brother’s as well. The truth was that the Omatikaya had been feeding on the crumbs of a third-party that was framing your brother for whatever reason. You and your brother had been nothing but innocent.
You, most especially. The pain, regret, and guilt that had engulfed him for moons had only intensified so much, sometimes he could barely breathe.
He had wished to see you again. He had wanted to apologize to you but nothing he thought of doing felt right or sufficient. He hurt you so much and he couldn't see you forgiving him at all, and he doesn't think he would like you to forgive him. He doesn't deserve it, but he desperately needed to see you, to ensure you were safe. He wanted to be near you.
And... he didn't know if he was even allowed to have such a favor and luxury.
They had been communicating with your brother since the last moons, informing him about what they know, and how he was being framed for things he didn't commit. They had a good lead that the culrprit was in your clan, and that they are going to help him find out who it was. You would have known all of these, if only you would talk to your brother about the council meetings he’s been having in the last moons.
Now, you have completely no idea about what was going on.
Neteyam’s small delegation of warriors arrived just hours ago, and you weren't home because you were out by the lake, and now you were confronted with the sight of him here.
The last thing you would have expected.
“Y/N!”
A loud, familiar voice shattered the tension hanging between you two. Takzur jogged up from the path behind Neteyam, carrying a bundle of hunting gear.
Relief flooded your chest at the sight of a familiar face. As Takzur reached you, you instinctively stepped closer to him, using his tall frame as a shield to block Neteyam from your sight.
“Where have you been, hm?” Takzur asked smoothly, taking the heavy basket of blankets from your hands.
Takzur glanced over at Neteyam, offering a respectful nod before turning back to you.
“A delegation of Omatikaya warriors arrived for trade and security talks a while ago. This is Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto.”
You kept your eyes fixed on Takzur, refusing to glance at Neteyam. “I feel dizzy,” you lied, placing a hand on Takzur’s forearm.
Takzur chuckled warmly, resting a hand briefly on top of your head in a comforting gesture. “Do you want me to carry you?”
“No. I can walk,” you muttered, already turning away.
Takzur offered Neteyam an apologetic, awkward grin. “Apologies, warrior. She’s not in the best mood today. Pregnant women, you know how it is,” he joked lightly, guiding you up the stone path toward the village.
Neteyam remained rooted to the spot, watching you walk away. His eyes lingered on the way Takzur held your arm, guiding you with an easy, practiced familiarity.
Five moons, Neteyam thought, his mind racing. You two had been separated for only five moons. But looking at the size of your belly, it looked small... As if new, like a bloom that had only recently begun to show. A heavy, crushing realization settled into his chest, shattering whatever remained of his heart.
He had never felt entirely defeated. He had told himself not to hope, told himself he would accept whatever hatred you threw at him, but seeing you walk away with another man was worst than drowning. He was here to help your brother, but deep down, a selfish part of him had hoped he could somehow earn a second chance. But now, he realized that if it were impossible then, it is even more impossible now.
Meanwhile, instead of returning to your hut, you headed straight for the longhouse, your dizziness act forgotten in a surge of defensive anger. You pushed past the woven entrance flaps, interrupting Antulo in the middle of a discussion with two clan elders.
“Antulo,” you demanded, your voice cold and sharp.
Recognizing your tone, the elders quickly excused themselves, leaving the two of you alone.
“What is it?” Antulo asked.
“Why are there outsiders in our lands?” you replied in a biting tone.
Antulo sighed, leaning back against a carved pillar. “If you actually attended council meetings, Y/N, you wouldn't look so surprised. The Omatikaya are here on an important matter. A third party has been using my name to cover their crimes, framing our clan for the murders off our borders. The son of Toruk Makto is here because they believe the actual traitor is hiding among our people.”
You let out a harsh, bitter laugh. An Omatikaya 'hunch', you thought bitterly. “Yeah, they could be trusted,” you said sarcastically. “You opened our borders to them. You don’t even know them..How do you know this isn't a ploy to infiltrate our lands?”
Antulo stared at you, genuinely taken aback by your hostility. “Y/N, I know you’ve been through a difficult time, but I have never seen you this paranoid. You used to be welcoming. I need your trust on this. My honor and our clan’s safety are at stake. If there is a traitor among us, I will not rest until they are brought to justice.”
You stared at your brother, a cold realization washing over you. He really was innocent. The Omatikaya had been wrong all along.
The trauma, the isolation, the agony you had endured in that dark cell, it had all been for nothing. Based on baseless suspicions, Neteyam had allowed them to break you. A fresh wave of rage and betrayal burned through your veins.
“Fine,” you spat, turning toward the exit. “Just keep them away from the upper terraces. I do not want them anywhere near my home.”
“I’ll make sure they stay in the lower quarters,” Antulo agreed easily.
You turned and marched out of the longhouse, only to nearly collide with Neteyam, who was standing just outside the longhouse.
Your eyes narrowed into furious slits. “What are you doing here? Eavesdropping? Looking for more false evidence to use against my brothe—”
“Y/N!” Antulo hurried out behind you, horrified by you confronting Neteyam. “Y/N, control yourself! I apologize for my sister, Neteyam te Suli. She is not usually like this.”
You aggressively shoved Antulo’s hand off your elbow, throwing one last glare at Neteyam before turning on your heel and heading up the stone steps toward the upper terraces. You hated that you had to look over your shoulder now, hated that his presence invaded your home. But then you reminded yourself: You belonged here. He was the outsider. He should look out so you two won’t run into each other. He should be careful of his moves.
In the days and weeks that followed, you did everything in your power to avoid him. But living in a terrace village made total avoidance nearly impossible.
One afternoon, while walking back from the weaving looms, Neteyam stepped into your path. He kept his distance, his posture stiff, but the profound sorrow in his golden eyes was impossible to hide and it only annoyed you.
“How are you faring?” he asked quietly when you actually stopped to face him.
You stared at him, a biting sneer curling your lips as you stepped closer to him. “What gives you the right to ask me that? You really have no shame, do you? After what you and your people did to me based on nothing but blind assumptions, you have the audacity to stand here and act concerned?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides, but he remained silent, taking every word.
“The only thing I am grateful for,” you said, leaning in, your voice dropping into a whisper, “is that my child is not fathered by a man so comfortable with cruelty. My child will never know a people as vile as yours.”
Neteyam’s head reared back a little as though you clawed him, his gaze shifting away as he forced himself to swallow the sharp pain in his throat.
“I will do you a favor and not tell my brother what you and your people did to me,” you continued. “In return, you will stay away from me. You will not speak to me. You will not look at me. If you see me walking down a path, you will turn around and take another. Do your job here quietly, and when you are finished, leave.”
You brushed past him, leaving him standing alone on the stone path.
Once you rounded the corner and out of his sight, your knees buckled slightly. You leaned against the cool wall, gasping for breath as a painful knot tightened in your chest. You hated that saying those cruel words hadn't brought you any satisfaction. You hated that a part of you still cared, still wondered if your harsh words had hurt him, or if he was simply too cold to care.
Despite your strict warning, Neteyam could not bring himself to stay away entirely.
Unable to speak to you, he began helping you from the shadows. You had no idea that he was the one refilling the heavy water barrels outside your hut every morning, or the person behind your infinitely softer bedding and the perfectly split, dry firewood stacked neatly by your door was him. He tracked your daily routines from afar. Whenever you left a heavy basket of woven goods to rest, he would quietly move it closer to your destination when you weren't looking.
He hunted relentlessly, seeking out iron-dense preys and rare river fish known to be nourishing for pregnant women. He befriended a cook to ensure the prime cuts were always included in your daily meals. And though Omatikaya warriors were forbidden from entering the upper terraces, Neteyam spent his nights perched high in the branches of the massive tree overlooking the village, his longbow in hand, watching over your hut while you slept.
To people who are not paying attention, which are most of them, these acts are not very obvious. But for Enya, whose wandering eyes have followed the outsiders for moons now, it warranted bringing up a very important matter.
“I’m telling you, Y/N, that Omatikaya warrior is completely taken with you!” Enya squealed, leaning in close. “I’ve been watching him and I have observed that he is extremely attentive of you. Remember dinner the other night? You found it hard to sit on the hard mat, and then by breakfast the next day… There was a soft cushion left at your usual spot.”
She looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to connect the dots but you merely looked at her. You knew she was talking about Neteyam... But you do not wish to acknowledge it, nor feed her imagination that you knew what she was talking about.
“I saw him put that on your seat when I was preparing at the kitchens!” she said. “And… I learned that he is friends with Krikhir. I used some charms to get Krikhir to tell me stuff and he told me this warrior has been supplying the kitchens with the largest games he's ever seen,” she told you with wide eyes, nodding.
“And so this warrior… is a good hunter?” Penxi trailed.
Enya sighed. “No… Krikhir told me the warrior was specifically asking him to cook the best parts of every meat he brings for Y/N. The best part for pregnant women, anyway…” she shrugs, stifling a huge smile as she looks at you.
Penxi frowned slightly, looking up from her thread. “Wait... isn't that a little creepy? What is his deal? Which warrior are we talking about?”
Enya giggled. “Oh, Great Mother! There he is…” she squealed through her slightly parted lips. “One thing I also noticed, Y/N,” she leaned forward. “Is that he is everywhere you are. Just yesterday, when you walked down the lake, I saw him follow you!”
You turned your head, already knowing who you would see. Neteyam was sitting on a high rock, adjusting the fletching on his arrows but with a practiced, and sneaky move, his head angled toward where you are and your eyes met. He quickly looked away and focused intently on his bow.
“He is reputable and handsome, certainly,” Penxi said slowly, her sharp eyes scanning Neteyam's tense posture from afar. “But don't you find this behavior concerning? He doesn't know you, Y/N, and you are clearly pregnant—”
“So what?” Enya argued playfully. “Some men find pregnant women attractive!”
“That isn't my point,” Penxi countered, her tone growing serious as she looked at you. “What if he has ulterior motives? What if he’s watching you for a reason?”
Her words struck a chord of interest in your chest. Your ears perked up. “You think so?” you asked softly, glancing back toward Neteyam and catching him looking your way again. He quickly looked away though. “Does he have that aura?”
You trust Penxi’s judgment, of course. She was always the most observant of your group. Hearing her express doubt about Neteyam’s intentions reinforced the cold wall you had built around your heart. You had been foolish enough to trust him once. You wouldn't make that mistake again.
“Not really. I mean, based only on his actions. But it could also be that he simply has a soft spot for expectant mothers,” she said. “Maybe he has a pregnant mate back home?”
A sudden, sharp sting of heat rushed to your face and ears. The mental image of Neteyam returning home to a loving, pregnant woman sent an unexpected wave of bitter irritation crashing through you. You hated how much the thought bothered you. You should not care, yet the idea of him offering another woman the love and gentleness he had fake-offered you made your blood boil.
That night, the bitter thoughts kept you tossing and turning
You groaned in frustration, struggling to push yourself up into a sitting position as your heavy belly weighed you down. You are eight moons along, with a remaining four moons to go and you’re feeling it more than ever now that your belly had ballooned twice as large as it used to be in the beginning. Seeking fresh air to clear your head, you stepped out onto the wooden platform outside your hut.
Your eyes instinctively darted toward the high branches of the tree, the spot Enya had mentioned she saw the warrior on.
Your breath hitched.
He was actually there. Neteyam was perched comfortably on a high branch overlooking your hut, a half-eaten piece of fruit in one hand and his bow resting on his lap. The moment he sensed movement in your hut, his head snapped in your direction, his golden eyes wide and instantly alert, scanning you to see if you were in distress.
He made no move to approach, remaining motionless in the canopy, waiting silently to see if you needed anything.
You stared up at him for a long, heavy moment, your heart hammering against your ribs. Then, with a furious huff, you turned around, stomped back into the safety of your hut, and let the heavy woven flap snap shut behind you.
You stood inside your hut, your hand resting over the firm curve of your belly as you stared down at the sliver of moonlight on the floor. Your mind was a storm, wild and relentless. Driven by a surge of frustration you couldn't control, you turned and stepped back out onto the platform.
This time, Neteyam didn't wait.
The moment he saw your shadow, he moved. He dropped down from the high canopy with unmatched grace. He walked forward until he reached the base of your terrace steps, stopping precisely as though an invisible barrier stood between you, one he set and dared not cross.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching your face in the dim light.
Your jaw clenched tight. “Yes,” you hissed, your voice laced with venom. “I need you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. I told you to stay away from me. I told you that if you saw me, you were to turn around and take a different path. I told you never to speak to me, and never to look at me.”
His breathing hitched. “I cannot do that, Y/N,” he said. His tone was firm, but laced with plea, as though protesting your words without daring to push against your boundary. “You can ask for anything else, and I will give it to you without question. But do not ask me to blind myself to you. Looking at you... it is the only thing I have left.”
You stared at him. The quiet vulnerability did not soften you at all. It only ignited your fury.
“What makes you think you have the right to have anything from me?” you snapped, taking a sharp step toward the edge of the platform. “If you were not here on my brother's business, I would have had you driven from our lands the moment you arrived! I know what you are, I know how dangerous you are!”
You leaned over the railing, your eyes blazing into his. “So do as I said. Stop following me around like a foolish pet, stop hovering in the trees, and finish whatever work you came here to do!”
Neteyam’s gaze dropped to the ground, his posture settling into that of a disciplined warrior accepting a harsh reprimand. You saw the tight bulge of a muscle in his jaw as he gritted his teeth against the pain of your words.
You tilted your head, sneering. “Or are you even doing your job at all? You have been here for moons, yet you have brought my brother no closer to the traitor. Are you truly this incompetent, or are you simply lying again?”
Neteyam swallowed hard, looking up just enough to meet your eyes. “I am working with your brother every day. The traitor has buried their tracks, but we are closing in. I am moving as quickly as I can.”
You wanted him gone. You wanted him far away from your clan, far away from you... Or so you kept telling yourself. Yet, as his words sank in, a traitorous pang struck your chest. You crushed the feeling instantly, hardening your face into a mask of cold indifference.
“Good,” you said sharply. “The sooner you finish, the sooner you can return to whoever is waiting for you back home.”
Neteyam’s eyes snapped up, catching the familiar tone lacing your voice. A sudden flash of realization hit him, and he spoke quickly, desperate to clear the air.
“There is no one waiting for me back home,” he said, his voice dropping into an earnest, urgent murmur. “I mean... aside from my family. My parents and my siblings.”
You scowled, wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I did not ask,” you cut in coldly. “And I do not care. So remember what I told you.”
Without waiting for his reply, you turned on your heel and retreated into your hut.
Outside, Neteyam stood alone in the dark. He let out a long, heavy breath, shifting his weight as he stared at the closed woven flap. The weight of your words settled over him like vines. He couldn't even look at you anymore without driving you further away.
So he obeyed your strict command. He stayed out of your sight, he found a higher branch on the tree directly above your hut, and he watched your activities from afar, putting more stealth in his actions. He knew your daily routine better than anyone. He knew that by mid-morning, your lower back began to ache terribly from the weight of your belly, forcing you to sit frequently while carrying out your weaving. He knew that the stone benches near the upper weaving terrace were cold, hard, and lacked support.
Before the sun even rose, while the village was still draped in dawn mist, Neteyam climbed the upper terraces to take a hand-carved wooden frame he had spent the previous nights crafting in secret. He padded it with thick, layered pelts of hexapede hide, the softest, warmest fur known to retain heat. He bound it securely to the stone bench where you always sat, angling the backrest precisely to support the curve of your spine.
When you arrived at the looms hours later, you stopped in your tracks, your eyes catching sight of the the bench tailored so meticulously for your comfort that even Penxi gasped in quiet approval.
“Well,” Enya murmured, running a hand over the plush, impossibly soft fur. “Whoever made this certainly knows how much your back has been hurting...”
You stared at the seat, your mouth setting into a tight line. You knew immediately who had done it. You wanted to refuse it out of spite, to sit on the cold stone instead, but a sudden kick brought a sharp ache down your spine. You whimpered, caressing your belly and sighing.
Alright, little one, you thought. I’m not going to ignore your father’s handiwork.
You sat down and the relief was instantaneous, supporting your belly and easing the pressure on your lower back so thoroughly that a quiet, involuntary sigh slipped past your lips.
Yards away, hidden deep within the foliage of a high watch-ridge, Neteyam leaned against a tree trunk, watching. A faint, sad semblance of a smile touched his lips when he saw you settle back into the cushions and caress your round belly. His face crumpled a little, his hand balling into fist. He had no one to blame but himself. This is exactly why he doesn’t deserve you. He can’t even heed what you asked him to... In the end, he is still selfish, as selfish as he was when he fell in love with you and took you to bed knowing what his people wanted him to do.
To take his mind away from his thoughts, he spends his late afternoons in the lower village with Krikhir and the village cooks, preparing specialized broths. He brought the meat and spent hours rendering down bone marrows. He steep-brewed rare mountain herbs that the Omatikaya healers used to ease late-stage pregnancy swelling, and hand-filtered the liquid until it was smooth and rich.
“Heat this up and give it to her with her evening meal,” Neteyam told Krikhir flatly, offering the cook a fine obsidian blade as payment for his silence.
Krikhir nodded, smirking as he watched the serious, towering warrior. “I am puzzled, my friend,“ he said. “Do you know Y/N before you came here? I mean, you’re so nice to her. Well, not that you shouldn’t be. She’s really kind. I used to get bullied in the past, but because she was kind to me, the kids saw me differently.”
Neteyam stared at him. “How was she like? When she was younger,” he asked quietly.
Krikhir busied himself with chopping the meat. “She’s a snob,“ he said. “But never in a bad way. She’s a snob mostly to obnoxious boys. I’m one of the exceptions, simply because I’m smaller for my age and was usually the...” he shrugs. “Victim of the bigger boys.”
Neteyam nodded, stifling a smile. You do have that in you... Defending the defenseless.
Krikhir shook his head. “I just don’t know what type of man got to know someone like Y/N and decided... she’s not worth being with. So, I’m glad you’re doing this for her,” he said.
Neteyam gritted his teeth, nodding silently. He wanted to tell Krikhir it was him, that he was facing the very man he was talking about. But he didn’t want to risk Krikhir getting mad at him and refusing to do his biddings.
“Thank you, Krikhir...” he said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are a good friend.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
As more moons passed, you found yourself more and more drawn to the sight and sound of children laughing and playing in the lower grounds. You sit under the afternoon sun, surrounded by a small circle of young mothers and wide-eyed children. The little ones giggled as you traced figures in the dirt, telling them ancient fables of the forest, but as the children eventually scattered to play, the conversation shifted.
The mothers began sharing quiet stories about late-night feedings, of struggles with a newborn, and of how their mates had carried them through the overwhelming early days of newborn life.
“I do not know what I would have done without Vatru in those first few weeks,” one of the women murmured, gently bouncing her infant. She looked at you with eyes full of genuine, aching sympathy. “It breaks my heart that you must navigate this alone, Y/N. New motherhood is a heavy path to walk without a mate to share the load.”
You offered a practiced, quiet smile and assured them you would manage. After all, you had your brother, your grandmother, and your fiercely loyal friends.
Yet, when you finally returned to the solitude of your hut that evening, the heavy silence pressed into your chest. The armor you wore all day fractured, and tears escaped, rolling down your cheeks.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
When you had given yourself to Neteyam, you had truly believed in the future you were building. You had loved him with every fiber of your being. And none of it was real. He was doing it for the woman he loved. He was enduring you for her. Just as the warrior said, it indeed must have taken great patience to not strangle you on sight.
Now, it suffocates you to think that this overwhelming care he is showing you now is simply an attempt to scrub the blood of guilt from his conscience. You stroked the heavy roundness of your belly, sobbing quietly into the dimness. You wished, with a desperate ache, that you had met him under ordinary circumstances. Without clans at war, without blood debts, and without his devastating betrayal. You hated that even given the choice to erase him entirely to spare yourself this agony, your heart still wished for him... just in a world where everything happened differently.
But perhaps even then, it would be a fool's dream. Because he still wouldn't love you enough for things to go the way you want it to.
The weight of all your thoughts woke you up before dawn and you were thankful for that. Over the moons he had been in your village, you had quietly mapped his routine. You knew he would come before sunrise to replenish your firewood today, and you decided it had to end. You did not want his penance. You did not want him working himself to exhaustion just to buy a quiet conscience.
Standing near the woven flap, you waited. Neteyam was a good warrior, he had mastered stealth, his movements were so ghostly you were not even sure if he was already there when you threw the flap open. You saw Neteyam froze, a towering stack of freshly split logs held effortlessly in his arms. The moment his eyes met yours, he instinctively looked away, honoring your command even while caught in the act.
Your jaw clenched, white-hot frustration flaring in your veins. “From now on, you will stop doing this,” you said, your tone dropping into a quiet coldness.
Neteyam’s head snapped back, his eyes pleading. “Y/N, please. I cannot. The wood is damp from the valley fog, and you need these for the—”
“Stop. Doing. It,” you cut in, emphasizing every word. “I do not want your pity. I do not want your hollow guilt. I do not want you easing your restless mind just because you chopped some wood and lifted a few water barrels. I suggest you keep every bit of that guilt, let it burn in you so you make better choices the next time you decide to hurt someone.“
Neteyam stood entirely still, watching you and feeling the beginning of a tremor starting in his gut. He wanted to throw up from fear. It feels like the universe is taking from him everything he could possibly do to make it up to you. He knew he would never be with you again, but it feels like he keeps getting kicked to the ground. So just this once, he wants to speak.
“I am not doing this out of pity, Y/N. I love you. I love you so much and if I could rip my heart out to show you how—”
“I do not believe you,” you cut him off, even though your heart staggered and soared at his words. You knew it is all the more you needed to reject this. “I will never believe you again, Neteyam.”
Before he could say another word, you let the flap fall shut, cutting him off completely.
The next two moons bled into one another in a haze of quiet isolation within your grandmother’s hut. Since you are alone in your hut, your grandmother didn’t think it safe for you to spend the crucial moons of your pregnancy alone. You are thankful to be in her company, though she doesn’t talk much and spends most of the day in the healing pavilion.
The Tsahik knew far too much for a woman of her years, yet she possessed a rare, merciful silence. Unlike the rest of the village, she never pried about the man who had left his mark on your soul and your swell, nor did she press you for the reason you chose to stay. You had never cared for the healing arts before, always preferring stories about travelling and the other clans, but sitting beside her and watching her aged hands work herbs while your mind drifted toward the man you ordered to stay away from you was better than sitting alone in your hut.
Based on your brother’s words in passing, you knew the hunt for the traitor was nearing its end. You rarely see Neteyam these days... And because you live with your grandmother now, firewood and water are things you no longer need. Though you had demanded for him to stop his labors, you found yourself hypocritically yearning for the specialized meals he commissions Krikhir for you.
You missed him. The truth burned like bile in your throat, but you could not scrub him from your mind.
You passed a thread of fiber through a loop, sighing as laying out the tiny loincloth properly on your lap. You were seated on a flat stone by the lake, killing time before you go to the healing pavilion for your back massage, when the silent was shattered by Tarzuk who came tearing through the reeds, his face a twisted mask of panic.
“Y/N! You must come. It is your brother and Neteyam!” Tarzuk gasped, his breath ragged. “They were ambushed near the northern border! They are gravely wounded!”
Panic seized your chest, completely drowning out the heavy, dull ache in your lower back. “The healers, call the elders at the pavilion!”
“I already did! But you need to see him now” Tarzuk grabbed your wrist, pulling you up. “Antulo might not make the night!”
Disoriented and terrified, you stumbled after him, your hands desperately cradling your heavy belly as the sharp terrain tore at your feet. “What happened, Tarzuk? Who attacked them?”
“A rogue Omatikaya squad came and asked to speak with Neteyam,” he said, guiding you deeper into the dense brush. “But they attacked us. They shot Neteyam and they shot your brother when he tried to fight back.”
You gasped, his fear affecting you so much that your mind began to create brutal images that made your knees weak. You felt your belly tightened, feeling a sharp pain start between your legs.
“Their leader wore an orange-dyed chest piece—”
“Yantuk...” the name slipped from your lips in a horrified whisper.
Tarzuk nodded frantically, pulling you into a secluded clearing near the ridge line. You expected to see your bloodied brother and Neteyam, but there were no wounded warriors bleeding on the moss.
The only ones standing in the shadow were the rogue Omatikaya warriors he spoke of. In the middle was Yantuk himself, flanked by six armed Omatikaya men. You froze, the blood running cold in your veins as Yantuk’s eyes landed squarely on the high curve of your stomach, filled of hatred.
“Is that Neteyam’s?” Yantuk growled, his fangs bared in a snarl. “You truly took everything from my daughter, you wretched little whore.”
“I didn’t take anything from your daughter!” you snapped back. “I am not the reason she’s dead—”
You gasped when an arrow struck near your foot. You stepped back, your knuckles turning white against your belly, but Tarzuk’s firm grip on your shoulder blocked your retreat.
“I suggest you take this mini reunion on the road back. We don’t have the luxury of time,” Tarzuk said behind you, his voice devoid of any previous panic. “
I delivered her as promised. Now fulfill your end of the bargain. Get Antulo and Neteyam off my back. Kill them, and leave the leadership of this clan to me.”
Your head swiveled to Tarzuk in absolute horror. “Tarzuk... why are you doing this?” your voice broke at the betrayal.
Tarzuk scoffed. “Because your brother is weak and lacks the vision to make our clan powerful,” he answered. “I would have taken you as my mate once Antulo was gone, but you had to go and get yourself knocked up like a common whore.”
“My brother will kill you for this,” you whispered, trembling.
Tarzuk offered a dark, lopsided grin. “I’ll beat him to—”
A heavy whistling sound sliced through the air, and a massive arrow struck Tarzuk clean through the side of the neck. He choked, blood spurting from his lips as he collapsed like a felled tree. You gasped, stepping back and ducking without thinking. You protected your bump with both your arms, your eyes widening when you saw Yantuk fell on the ground, a large arrow cleanly pierced on his chest.
From the surrounding canopy, your clan’s warriors descended, quickly overwhelming Yantuk’s remaining men. Before you could process the Omatikaya falling one by one, strong, familiar arms wrapped around you: Rushed, frantic, yet impossibly gentle.
“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Neteyam’s voice was a ragged murmur against your hair as his hands hovered over your body, frantically checking for wounds.
You shook your head, staring up at him in dazed shock, your own eyes sweeping his frame to ensure he wasn't bleeding out as Tarzuk had claimed. “I... I am unhurt.”
He let out a shaky, shuddering breath, his touch lingering on your arms for a split second before he yanked his hands back as if burned, stepping away as he remembered your orders. You lifted your eyes up to look at him, but Antulo rushed in, pulling you into a fierce embrace. Over your brother's shoulder, your eyes locked with Neteyam’s who were watching your intently.
The moment your gazes met though, he immediately looked away, his jaw clenching as he retreated into the background. The mission was over. The traitor was dead. He had no reason to stay anymore.
That night, as you sat on your wooden platform, leaning against the fur-padded backrest Neteyam had built, Antulo walked up the steps to your hut.
“The Omatikaya will leave at dawn,” Antulo said quietly, rubbing his tired face. “Tarzuk played us all. He worked with Yantuk to manufacture a war so he could seize power.”
You stared at nothing. You remembered his genuine hatred toward you and how it nearly made you believe you did everything they were telling you you did. He pinned his own daughter's death on you, even when he knows that his own doing caused her death. It takes a different level of evil to achieve that.
You tried to take a deep breath, but a sudden, terrifyingly sharp cramp seized your lower abdomen. You gasped, doubling over as your hand slammed onto your stomach.
Antulo’s eyes widened in panic. “What is it?”
“Contraction again, I think...” you gasped out, sweat instantly breaking on your forehead.
“Again?” Antulo echoed in horror.
You nodded, and without another word, Antulo scooped you into his arms so fast you weren’t even able to stop him. He raced toward the Tsahik’s pavilion in record time.
You might not think it too grave, but the stress of the ambush had shattered your body’s delicate balance. Labor hit you quickly and violently, that for hours, you hung onto the thick fiber ropes suspended from the ceiling, screaming through contractions that felt as though your pelvis was being ground into dust. The elder healers held your knees wide, shouting at you to push, warning that the child was massive and you need to push properly so there wouldn’t be complications.
You didn't care about the pain. You only cared about the fear clawing at your throat. You hadn’t thought about complications at all throughout your pregnancy and you feared that you had been too comfortable.
Memory flashed unbidden through your mind, of a quiet night moons ago, lying naked against Neteyam’s chest, tracing the beautiful bioluminescent patterns on his skin as your other hand caressed the base of his head.
He was a hybrid, he told you so when you pointed out how his kuru was at the base of his head and not on top like the average Na’vi. You had been laying together for many times already before you had the courage to ask about something so personal.
“It is beautiful anyway,” you mumbled, your hand caressing his kuru now as you moved your naked body closer to him. “I am only curious.”
He smiled, kissing your chin. “I got it from my father,” he told you then. “He is... different from a Na’vi. He is an avatar.”
“Avatar?” you echoed and he grinned at your accent, rising to drop a hard kiss on your lips.
“Like norm. You remember him?“ he asked, his hand caressing the curve on your waist.
You nodded. “He has five fingers... Like Kiri,” you mumbled.
“My brother Lo’ak does, too,“ he said. “It is in our genes now, I think.”
You nodded, your other hand tracing the bioluminescent freckles on his chest.
“Does that bother you?” he asked, his lips brushing your jaw and kissing your cheek like he couldn’t get enough.
“What does?” you asked, your heart hammering against your chest as you looked into his eyes.
“That i have such a gene. I am not fully Na’vi... And I will pass it down,” he said, his eyes earnest and worried.
You both know then what he was talking about even without explicitly saying it. He is genuinely worried you were bothered about his alien genetics, that you wouldn’t want it for your own children.
You breathlessly huffed, a small smile cutting through your lips as you shook your head. “No, it doesn’t. It doesn't, Neteyam,” you said, propping yourself on your elbow to hover over him. His hand clamped around your nape and pulled you down for a kiss.
“Push, Y/N! Push now!” your grandmother’s commanding voice snapped you back to the agony of the present.
With a final, chest-heaving scream, you gave everything you had. The pressure yielded, and your baby slipped into the world.
You collapsed back onto the mats, panting heavily as a triumphant smile blooming on your lips, until you realized the pavilion had fallen dead silent.
There was no cry.
Horror spiked through your veins. You sat up, ignoring the pain in your body. Your grandmother was near the washing basin, holding a massive, beautiful newborn, easily the size of a two-moon-old child.
“A boy,” she announced softly.
You tracked his body. He was breathing, his little chest heaving, but he was making no sound. Your eyes frantically mapped his tiny body, and there it was. At the base of his skull sat a low-set kuru and folded tightly against his chest were two tiny hands, each bearing five fingers.
The elder healers gasped when your grandmother lowered him for you. They backed away with expressions of absolute horror.
“Give him to me,” you asked, your voice breaking into a sob.
Your grandmother placed the quiet babe in your arms. Aside from the kuru and the fingers, he looked every bit a Na’vi. You lowered your head and touched your forehead to his, smiling as tears of exhaustion filled your eyes. The baby took a deep breath before letting out a sudden wail. You caressed his soft head, desperate to soothe him. Your grandmother took your kuru as she guided your son’s head to your breast. She brought your kuru to touch the boy’s, seeking to form the mother’s bond to regulate his frantic system..
The moment the tendrils touched though, the baby shuddered. His bioluminescent spots flickered erratically, almost choking as he began to cry again
Your grandmother instantly severed the connection, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.
“What is wrong? Why did that happen?” you asked, your voice breaking as you clutched your babe to your bare chest.
“He is not Na’vi!” one of the elder healers hissed, pointing a trembling finger. “His kuru and his fingers—”
“Silence, Zaknar!” your grandmother roared, her eyes flashing with deadly authority. “Out! All of you, leave us now!”
The healers immediately vacated the pavilion. Your grandmother knelt beside you, looking at the sniffling babe with a heavy, mournful expression.
“It is the first time I encountered something like this, truly, Y/N,” she said. “But you see... Your boy is different. He does not recognize your bond, I would wager, and it would be painful for him if we force it.” she explained softly.
You stared at her before your eyes lowered down to your son who is eagerly latching from your breast. His eyes were closed but there were tears on the side of them.
“I thought I was wrong because he was leaving,” she said, tilting her head. “But he is the father, isn’t he?”
You swallowed, nodding without taking your eyes off your boy.
“I thought so,” she mused in a humored tone. “I saw the way he looked at you... And I am not blind.”
You sniffled. “What do I do, grandmother?” you asked, lifting your eyes up to her.
She looked at your son. “Obviously, your son inherits from his father. If he does not recognize your bond, he might recognize his father’s.”
You looked down at your son again, caressing his cheek, and knowing that pride was a luxury you could no longer afford.
You managed to get your son to sleep after feeding him, placing him in a soft cot before wrapping yourself in a heavy shawl. You dragged your heavy and sore body out of the pavilion. Every step felt like walking on broken glass, your hips feeling completely unhinged.
“What do you need?”
The deep, velvety voice made you gasp and jump. Neteyam was already standing behind you, but you tracked the moving branches from the canopy of the tree above. His golden eyes were wide with frantic concern, his hands twitching at his sides, desperately wanting to reach out and support you.
“What are you doing here?” you breathed, your voice devoid of its usual biting tone.
Neteyam swallowed hard, afraid that you might not want him around here at all. “I... I just wanted to... guard the pavilion,” he said. “I’ll get... do whatever you need... if you’ll allow me.”
You looked at him through a blur of tears. “I need... you,” you choked out. “For my son.”
Neteyam froze, his pupils dilating until the gold of his eyes was almost swallowed by black. His breath hitched, a look of unadulterated wonder and agonizing joy breaking across his handsome face. “A son...” he whispered, taking a trembling step forward before catching himself. “What would you have me do? I’ll do everything.” he said breathlessly.
“My son... do not recognize my bond. I cannot feed... him,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat and trying so hard to not let your eyes fill with tears. “I cannot help him regulate his body. He will weaken.”
Neteyam’s expression instantly hardened into absolute resolve, his own fear completely swallowed by protective instinct. “He will be alright. He will not weaken.”
You stared at him and nodded, taking from his strength. He did not even question why you would come to him for this, even after you told him moons ago that he didn’t father your child.
He followed you into the dim pavilion, his fists clenched tight to stop himself from picking you up and carrying you when he saw the limp in your stride. You shouldn't have been standing. He shivered in fear when he realized that if he hadn't been here, you would have gone to his sleeping quarters in this state. He took a deep breath as soon as you two entered the pavilion, but his breathing still hitched at the sight of the tiny cot in the corner.
He craned his head, trying to get a better look of the baby inside it but he got distracted with you taking a deep breath as you tried to lower yourself on the mat. He moved, his hand reaching for you. “Let me help you...”
“Do not touch me,” you immediately said.
He quickly nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry,” he said, his nails digging into his palm.
You sank onto the mats with a soft gasp of pain, and an uncomfortable weight settled on his chest as he watched you helplessly. If watching you from afar and not being able to do anything for you was hard, this is much harder. He watched you reach for the small cot and lift the baby. Wonder broke at Neteyam’s face at the sight of the boy.
His son.
He wasn't entirely small, but he could imagine how small the boy would feel in his arms. His heart warmed and tears pooled in his eyes. His eyes tracked the boy’s five-fingered hands and the low-set. He knew it already, but there was no denying that this was his son. The baby stirred, and within a moment, he was gasping for air and howling a huge cry that seemed to stem from the very core of his small body.
You moved to bring the boy to your breast, giving your palm to Neteyam. Neteyam immediately brought his kuru forward and you gently guided it toward your baby’s small tendrils toward his. The moment their kuru connected, a soft, contented hum escaped the boy’s tiny lips and his bioluminescent spots flaring into a brilliant color. His five-fingered hand reached out, his small tail curling tightly around your wrist.
You held his tiny hand and gently extended it toward Neteyam, Neteyam let out a choked sob, lifting his large hand and allowing the babe to hold his index finger. It left him breathless, his entire frame trembling as he channeled every ounce of his warmth, protection, and fierce love through the bond into his son.
You watched the sacred sight, your heart breaking and mending all at once. The baby latched as eagerly as he had done earlier, and with his father’s neural bond stabilizing his system, he feeds completely at peace.
Silently, you looked up. Neteyam was staring at you, his golden eyes overflowing with a reverence so intense it made your chest ache.
“He is happy...” Neteyam whispered, a tentative, breathless smile gracing his lips.
You looked down, stroking your baby's soft head. “Thank you...”
“Do not thank me, Y/N,” Neteyam said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I cannot erase what I allowed to happen to you. I know I broke your trust, and I was a fool who acted out of blind duty when I should have chosen you. I will spend every breathing moment of my life making it up to you—”
“You believed I was guilty,” you cut him off softly, untangling his kuru from your son’s as the baby drifted into a deep sleep. “You allowed me to get hurt because you believed I helped murder the woman you loved.”
Neteyam’s brow furrowed in utter confusion. “What? Y/N, no, I did not do it for a woman, I did it for my people and Tuk, I wouldn’t have—”
“You did it to avenge her, they told me so,” you muttered, the old bitterness bleeding through your fatigue. “I respect that, but truly, I feel bad for you that she died, you wouldn’t have turned into such a cruel man—”
“There was no woman, Y/N,” he emphasized, stepping closer on his knees, his hands hovering near your face in desperate earnestness. “I never loved anyone before you. Priya was a friend, a huntress of our clan. Sure, I was saddened and angered by her cruel death, but even when I believed you did what I thought you did, I fell in love with you. I love you, Y/N, I love you so intensely it terrified me and you will never know how much I regretted not betraying my people for you right from the start.”
He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on your cheek before you could pull away.
“I was trapped between my duty and my devotion to you,” he choked out, his chest heaving. “And I made the worst mistake of my life by not running away with you the moment they started questioning me. But I swear on the Great Mother, my heart has belonged only to you from the moment I fell in love with you.”
You stared at him and he saw the exhaustion and the pain of labor reflected on your face. His breathing hitched, worried he might have strained you emotionally when you literally just gave birth.
“We will talk some again about, but now you need to rest...” he said.
You huffed, moving to put your son on his cot. “Oh, yes. That would be convenient for you,” you said. “But I wish to put an end to this now. I’ll have to let everyone know you fathered my child and I want the people to not think I have an ill grudge toward you.”
He didn’t say anything, watching you lower your body down on the mat, feeling a different kind of low. But as he stared at your lying form on the mat, the tiny cot beside you holding your child’s tiny frame, he knew it would take more than that to fully grind him to the ground.
The next day, you were woken up by a loud commotion you know is coming from the lower terraces. You were still at the healing pavilion, and when you woke up disoriented, your grandmother was the first person you saw, sitting across the room.
She tilted her head. “Antulo knows,” she said simply.
“Knows what?” you asked, still confused and blinking away sleep.
“Neteyam and your boy,” she answered.
Your eyes widened. You sat up, slowing down immediately as your sore body protested. “You told him?”
“He told him, I suppose,” she answered calmly.
You pushed yourself up, rushing outside the pavilion, and gasped when you saw Antulo physically roughing up Neteyam. “Antulo!” you called out, struggling to move and step down the wooden stairs.
“Don’t come down here!” his booming voice warned, his hands on Neteyam’s shoulders shoves Neteyam hard back to the ground.
The villagers were watching as if it were a spectator sport. “Don’t hurt him, Antulo!” you snapped, carefully descending the steps.
Enya and Penxi immediately rushed to your side, guiding you down.
“Don’t hurt him? He told me everything he did to you! Everything his people did to you! Tell me now why I shouldn't drive my knife to this man’s throat!”
Your face crumpled at the sight of Neteyam’s bloodied face and Antulo's pristine state. Neteyam wasn't even fighting back. “He is the father of my son, and my son needs him, Antulo—”
Enya and Penxi gasped in sync. Antulo shook his head in disbelief. “I already know that. He told me! But that is not enough reason! I can very well stand as a father figure for your child. He doesn’t need a man like him!”
“Stop this, Antulo,” you begged. “Don’t hurt him. My son needs him. My son doesn’t recognize my bond, only Neteyam’s.”
Antulo snarled and finally released his grip on Neteyam. Neteyam immediately sat up, as though he hadn’t just been beaten up. He stood up without a wince, though he did touch his shoulder and made it crack. You looked at him, pain seizing your heart before glaring at Antulo. You knew that you had once told your brother you’d allow him to break the bones of the man who hurt you, but you hadn't realized how agonizing it would be to actually watch it happen.
You didn't like seeing him get hurt at all. It pinched at your chest, and for a moment, you struggled to fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. Instead, you turned and walked silently back up to the healing pavilion.
“We’ll go visit you later, Y/N,” Enya said softly, and Penxi seconded with a serious nod.
Neteyam followed you up, and when you were finally inside, you turned to him. “Why did you tell him everything?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Now he hurt you!”
“I deserved that, Y/N. I deserved that and more,” he said quietly. “I would have allowed him to sink his knife into my chest, but our son needs me,” he added self-deprecatingly.
“Don’t do that again,” you said, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the painful spasm in your chest. “Don’t let yourself get hurt.”
His jaw clenched, your forehead creasing as he kept his eyes on the ground. “How can you say that when I allowed you to get hurt at the hands of my people?”
You balled your hands into fists. “Because it doesn’t work that way, Neteyam. I am mad at you for what you did, but I wouldn’t do the same thing to you even if I had the chance.”
You heard him choke on his own breath, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry...”
You took a sharp breath, about to say something more, when your grandmother craned her neck around the entryway. “The boy is waking up. You’ll need to feed him soon.”
You moved, and Neteyam moved too, both of you willing slaves to your tiny baby.
The first few weeks revolved around that strict routine, every moment choked with unsaid words. The two of you were like disciplined workers whose sole purpose in life was to satisfy your child, while maintaining a painful distance from each other. You allowed him to carry Mako at certain points, your heart breaking at the sight of him cradling the boy against his large frame, acting like his safest sanctuary.
And when he handed Mako back to you, his large fingers would carefully try to avoid brushing yours, but they would still touch sometimes, and both of you would feel an electric jolt from that brief contact.
One evening, as you sat rocking Mako in your arms, Neteyam stood by the doorway, his broad frame blocking the moonlight. His eyes lingered on your exhausted face.
“You should sleep,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble. “I will stay on the platform outside. If he wakes and needs the bond, call for me.”
“You do not need to sit in the dirt like a banished pet, Neteyam,” you replied, looking at the newly-woven mat near you. “This mat is yours.”
He nodded quickly. Of course, he wouldn't argue with that. He’d take any chance to watch you with Mako. To just be near you and observe you be a mother. Truthfully, you wanted to be closer to him, too. You could hardly believe that sometimes, when you watched him carry your son outside your hut to bathe him in the morning sunlight, you actually felt like you were missing out on an experience your son was privileged to enjoy.
Weeks earlier, when Mako was only days old, Penxi and Enya had visited to officially meet the babe, and Enya hadn’t missed the chance to put suggestive thoughts in your head.
“Seriously, Y/N, you might just be the best secret keeper in the village, because if I were you, I wouldn’t have been able to keep this a secret!” Enya had said, gently touching your son’s forehead. “I would have told everyone by day two!”
“In retrospect, we should have known,” Penxi pointed out. “Enya did observe that Neteyam seemed oddly devoted to you, almost like a slave.”
Enya giggled. “And not to mention that he looks at Y/N like he wants to devour her!”
“Enya!” Penxi gasped, her face flushing.
“What? I mean, he is baby Mako’s father, and Y/N did say it didn’t happen only once with him!” she giggled.
Penxi’s eyes widened. “Even so!”
Enya pouted and rolled her eyes before looking at you with a broad grin. “Even more so now, Y/N! You don’t see how he looks at you, but I do! I’ll report to you from time to time,” she smirked. “Do you feel the same, though? Do you feel... ticklish when you look at him? Do you feel like you want to devour him?”
“Enya, that is such an inappropriate question! Where are you even getting these ideas?!”
“From myself! It's what I feel when I look at Krikhir,” she grinned, playing with her braids.
You scoffed, chuckling at her, even though you were now bothered by a heat that was all too familiar. It didn't help that you did see what Enya was talking about. It wasn't like you were blind; you could see the way Neteyam looked at you. It was literally the primary reason you couldn't handle being touched by him.
Aside from Neteyam, Penxi and Enya were your primary caregivers. They were almost always by your side when Neteyam was out for training or hunting. Antulo was still annoyed with you for not telling him the actual story from the beginning. He had come up one time to meet your baby, having no issue with Mako—only with you.
“I didn’t even know Tarzuk wasn’t the only enemy I allowed into my lands! Is that why you were so mad when Neteyam arrived?” he had asked, scoffing sarcastically at himself. “I should have listened to you, huh? I shouldn't have let him in here!”
Penxi and Enya had both remained tight-lipped as your brother scolded you.
“Now that I remember, I was so stupid. I even told you to be friendly. You were friendly to him, and he did this to you,” he had said.
“It wasn’t that deep,” you lied, just so he wouldn't remain so furious.
“Not that deep?” he asked, pointing at your son. “Oh, maybe that's why he so happily got you pregnant.”
You groaned. “Will you just drop it? You can't undo things any more than I can, and I wouldn't undo it either if I could. I want my son here, and I need you to focus on the present. Neteyam is a part of your life now, he's the father of your nephew.”
It took several more lectures until he was finally on speaking terms with you again. With Neteyam, though, he remained distant, and you could see how hard Neteyam was trying to make amends with him as well.
“Is that good?” Neteyam asked as you leaned against the cushion of the nursing seat he had built for you.
It was made entirely of padded lining and felt like sitting on a cloud, molded specifically to support your body. You nodded with a soft sigh. “It feels like sitting on a cloud,” you adjusted Mako in your arms. “Thank you.”
He looked at you with the same intense expression he kept giving you every time you said thank you. “Don’t thank me, Y/N, please...” he mumbled. “Making things a little better for you is part of my job as Mako’s father. You wouldn’t even be in this discomfort if it weren’t for me anyway...“
You saw his lips twist with humor at what he said, and you stifled a smile, narrowing your eyes at him. “Right. This is completely your fault,” you mumbled, guiding your son’s head to latch at your breast.
Neteyam connected his kuru to the boy, watching both of you with deep satisfaction. Mako was an eager, messy eater. After a long feeding session where both of you obsessively watched how much he could consume, Mako fell into a milky stupor against your chest.
Neteyam reached out gently. “Let me pat his back. Your shoulders look tense.”
You nodded, shifting the heavy baby into his large, careful hands. You adjusted your top as you watched Neteyam hold Mako against his broad chest, his long fingers spanning the baby’s entire back. He began a gentle, rhythmic patting.
Suddenly, a sound completely unsuited for a tiny baby echoed through the quiet room: a loud, explosive, rumbling burp that sounded like an old warrior after a massive feast.
Immediately afterward, Mako let out a satisfied, tiny squeak.
You froze. Neteyam’s golden eyes went wide in absolute shock as he stared down at his tiny son.
A sudden, snorting laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. Neteyam’s head snapped toward you, a boyish, breathless chuckle bursting from his chest. Within seconds, both of you were laughing softly, the heavy, suffocating tension that had hung between you for weeks finally snapping into pieces.
“Great Mother,” Neteyam wheezed, nuzzling the babbling baby’s cheek. “He burps like an old man already.”
For the first time in a year, you looked at Neteyam and saw the man you had originally fallen in love with, his eyes shining with pure, unshielded warmth.
“And drinks like one, too,” you added with a giggle, catching the end of your son’s tail and tickling it.
The baby shivered in Neteyam’s arms, his tail curling tightly around his father’s wrist, making Neteyam chuckle softly. That was only the beginning, but it opened a whole new realm of possibility for a genuine connection between the two of you.
Since then, the air around you both grew much lighter, and talking to each other became effortless. You would have genuinely enjoyed the idea of a simple friendship with him if you weren't lying to yourself, and if you weren't dreaming of your supposed “friend” in completely inappropriate ways. It wasn't entirely your fault; your traitorous mind fed on the sight of him every day, turning your resolve against you.
One night, your mind dragged you back to vivid memories of moments shared with him in your hidden grotto in the forest.
Your hands cupped his jaw as you kissed, his hips pushing against yours at a pace that made you moan against his lips. His hand pillowed your head as you fell back onto the soft moss. Your hands slid down to his chest, which was pressed flat against your bare breasts, while his other hand pinned your thigh to the ground, quickening his rhythm.
You kissed passionately until he pulled back slightly to look down at the way your body was encompassing his length. “Fuck, baby...” he groaned, his pupils dilated with raw lust and desire.
He licked your lips, and you caught his tongue with yours, sucking on it before pulling him back into a deep kiss. His large hand behind your head angled your mouth so he could kiss you better.
It didn't just happen in dreams. Whenever Enya teased you relentlessly about missing intimacy with your former lover, your brain would instantly supply vivid snapshots of things you had done with Neteyam... Like him fucking you against a tree deep in the forest; him going down on you and eating you out by the riverbank; him taking you from behind; or something intensely thrilling, like when you gave him a blowjob up in the high branches at the risk of being spotted by people below.
It certainly didn't help that the unspoken tension between you and Neteyam was growing far more... intense and serious by the day. Thankfully, Mako was always there to break the spell.
At five moons old, you woke in the middle of the night to find Mako burning hot, his small frame trembling as he let out weak, miserable whimpers.
Panic seized your chest, and you immediately pulled him against your body. Neteyam woke from his mat beside Mako’s cot in an instant, rushing to your side and feeling Mako’s feverish skin, his own face contorting with concern.
“He’s too hot, Neteyam. Look at him. Be’s barely breathing properly. What if his body is failing him? What if my milk made him sick?” you panicked, your eyes watering.
“Hey, hey... shh, look at me, Y/N.” Neteyam’s voice was steady and grounding, though his own heart was pounding.
He no longer hesitated to sit close beside you, wrapping a massive, warm arm around your shoulders to pull you against his chest while his other hand gently connected his kuru to Mako’s. Even with Antulo’s initial protests, you had allowed Neteyam to sleep inside your hut for the convenience of having him present whenever Mako needed to bond. You hadn't listened to Antulo, whose main objection had been:
“Because that man is fast and sneaky! Who knows what he might do? You might surprise me with a niece by next moon!”
Neteyam gently pulled Mako’s lower lip down, revealing a tiny white bump on your son’s gum, making you gasp softly.
“He has a mild fever from a new tooth coming through. It was the same with my sister Tuk when she was a baby,” Neteyam murmured into your hair, his voice a soothing rhythm. He took a damp cloth, gently wiping Mako’s warm forehead. “Mako is going to be fine, hm? Meanwhile, you should probably prepare yourself... he’s got a tooth now,” he chuckled, and you huffed through your lingering anxiety, caressing your son’s chubby cheek.
“Oh, right... he bites even without teeth, so thank you for the warning,” you said.
Sinking into Neteyam’s solid warmth, your panic slowly ebbed away. You leaned back against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart while he cradled both you and the baby until Mako finished feeding and fell into a peaceful sleep. You carefully placed the babe back in his cot, trying not to shiver as Neteyam’s hand caressed your shoulder and back, soothing you.
You lay back down on your mat, and he settled onto his. He usually had early morning patrols, and he always made sure to slip out quietly without waking either of you. He had fully integrated himself into your clan’s warrior and hunter ranks, so much so that sometimes you wondered if he even intended to return home, given that the rest of the Omatikaya delegation had departed moons ago.
His days were largely filled with training the young warriors and hunters, as well as leading his own patrol squad. Your brother might not have liked him personally, but he undeniably recognized Neteyam’s immense value to his warriors.
Later that day, you had just put Mako down after a long, exhausting bout of teething, leaving a heavy quiet over the hut. You sat near the wooden wash basin, wringing out a wet cloth to wipe stray milk from your neck and collarbone. You were exhausted, and the sky had not even fully darkened yet.
A faint shadow fell across the entryway, and you saw Neteyam quietly placing his weapons onto the wall rack he had built for them. He looked as though he had just washed up at the river after returning from patrol, his bare chest damp and glistening faintly in the twilight. Instead of retreating directly to his mat, he knelt quietly behind you, taking the cool, damp cloth gently from your hands.
“Let me,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying a low, gravelly rasp that sent a sharp shiver straight down your spine.
You froze, your heart slamming against your ribs. His large, warm fingers brushed against the back of your neck as he swept your braided hair to one side. The contrast between the cool cloth and the searing heat radiating from his hands made your skin prickle. Slowly, delicately, Neteyam dragged the cloth down the curve of your neck, lingering over the pulse beating wildly at your throat.
His breath hit the bare skin of your shoulder, heavy and uneven. His golden eyes dropped to your mouth, dark with a raw, intoxicating hunger he had spent months suppressing. The air in the room became suffocatingly thick. His hand rested on your shoulder, his thumb stroking your skin just once, a slow, reverent caress that made your toes curl into the mat, before he forced himself to pull back, leaving you breathless and aching in the quiet night.
That brief touch dragged his mind back to the grotto as well. It had been the night after he first took you flying on his ikran, obsessed with the feeling of your back pressed flat against his chest that he knew he had to do something about it. In the grotto, you had been sitting on his lap, your back pressed against his front and your head resting on his shoulder, leaving your neck fully exposed for his mouth.
Your legs had been draped over his so he could control how wide he wanted you spread. You were already impaled on his cock, his fingers working your clit to stimulate you as he drove his hips up, fucking you relentlessly. His other hand was on your breast, squeezing and kneading your soft flesh.
“Neteyam.... oh!” you had moaned, arching your back into his chest.
His hand had dropped to your lower abdomen, pulling you back tightly against him when he remembered your tendency to dislodge yourself from him when you're overstimulated. Your hand grabbed at his large forearm, whining and trembling violently in his lap. He sucked on your skin, licking a sensitive spot on the side of your neck.
“Good?” he had asked, his hand caressing your belly as he pounded into you.
You had nodded frantically, “I’m going to...” you moaned, lifting your hips again.
He had allowed you to slip away, letting you go until you fell forward onto your hands and knees. He followed instantly, placing a heavy hand over your lower back and pushing back into you hard from behind.
“Neteyam...”
Your real voice snapped him out of his vivid dream, jolting him awake the following morning.
His wide eyes zeroed in on your flushed face, and his heart jumped, not out of panic that you might have heard him moaning your name in his sleep, but because you looked so breathtakingly beautiful. He was overwhelmed with gratitude to be greeted by such a sight in the morning, amplified by the fact that you were holding his son in your arms.
“Good morning?” you greeted softly, sounding as though it were a gentle question.
Neteyam swallowed hard, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “Yeah... good morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. The only thing he wished for in that moment was the freedom to lean over and kiss you.
His eyes dropped down to Mako. By seven moons old, he was an extraordinarily chubby baby, but he suffered from one glaring tragedy: his head was remarkably large, far too heavy for his little neck muscles to easily support.
Neteyam sat up on his mat. “Is tummy time over? I slept in,” he groaned, rubbing his face.
You chuckled softly. “No, I was just getting him ready, but then...” You shrugged, stubbornly refusing to admit that you had been completely distracted hearing him grunt and murmur your name in his breath.
He nodded, seemingly unashamed of whatever was causing your flushed cheeks. He grabbed the plush pelt, laying it flat in the middle of the floor, and you placed Mako on his belly for his daily exercises.
Mako grunted loudly, his four-toed feet kicking the air wildly as he tried to push his upper body up with his tiny, five-fingered hands. He managed to lift his large head an inch off the fur, his eyes wide with intense focus, before his head wobbled dangerously and slammed right back down onto the pelt with a soft thud.
Mako immediately let out a dramatic, outraged screech of frustration.
Neteyam burst into laughter, quickly reaching over to rub the baby's back. “Shh, my boy... You are fine...” Neteyam crooned, gently poking Mako's chubby cheek. “You just have a big brain, like your uncle.”
“Do not insult my son’s head,” you giggled, resting your chin in your hands as you watched them. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”
Mako looked back and forth between the two of you, his furious cries melting into an annoyed babble as Neteyam rolled him onto his back and blew raspberries on his tummy, making the baby squeal in delighted, breathless laughter.
By eight moons old, Mako was easily the most talkative child in the entire village, holding full, dramatic conversations in nonsensical gibberish while gesturing wildly with his little hands.
Neteyam had been quietly teaching him the word Mama during the rare times you went out without the babe. The Tsahik had advised that it would be wise to allow Mako time alone with Neteyam, so as not to let the boy grow entirely dependent on you.
One afternoon, Neteyam sat on the platform outside your hut, holding a carved wooden ikran toy just out of Mako’s reach.
“Say Ma-ma,” Neteyam coaxed patiently, pointing toward you as you sat near the healing pavilion a terrace away. “Come on, buddy. Ma-ma. She gives you the best hugs and kisses, and the great feasts. Say Ma-ma...”
Mako bounced on his knees, his eyes locked on the toy. He opened his little mouth, his tongue clicking against his gums. “Ma... Ma-ma! Mama!” he cheered loudly.
You swiveled your head toward your hut, your heart swelling with overwhelming affection. Tears pricked your eyes as you dropped the herbs you were counting and rushed over to smother your son’s face in kisses.
Neteyam smiled triumphantly, looking absurdly proud of himself as he watched you so happy. You looked at him and smiled warmly. The very next afternoon, while Neteyam was out on warrior duties, you spent almost the entire day whispering into your son’s ear.
So when Neteyam returned later that day, weary and covered in trail dust, he set his weapons aside and knelt by the cot. The moment Mako saw his father’s shadow, his pale yellow eyes lit up. He reached out his chubby hands, bouncing wildly.
“Pa-pa!” Mako shouted clearly, clapping his hands together. “Papa!”
Neteyam froze. His breath hitched, his golden eyes widening in sheer disbelief. He looked up at you, completely speechless, his lips parting in shock.
You offered him a playful, smug grin, leaning casually against the doorway. “What? You didn't think I would let you have all the glory, did you?”
A breathless, deeply emotional laugh broke from Neteyam’s throat. He reached into the cot and scooped Mako into his arms, burying his face in the baby’s neck, hugging him tight as the side of his eyes shone with unshed tears.
At ten moons old, while sitting together on the terrace edge watching Mako attempt to chase a beetle, you finally asked the question that had been lingering in your mind for moons.
“An Omatikaya scout arrived to give a message to my brother yesterday,” you said softly, watching the sky shift colors. He didn’t answer immediately, and you tilted your head with a gentle smile. “You thought I wouldn't know?” you asked softly. “They said your father misses his chief warrior. Your clan is peaceful now... You could return home.”
Neteyam didn't even glance toward the path leading out of the valley. He kept his eyes firmly on Mako, his large hand resting gently on the wooden deck, dangerously close to yours.
“My duty to the Omatikaya ended the day I realized my heart was here,” Neteyam said, his deep voice carrying an unshakeable finality. “My home is wherever you are, Y/N. If you tell me to leave, I will sleep at the edge of your borders, but I will never go back to a life without you.”
You looked at his side profile, feeling the profound, unwavering weight of his devotion dissolve the last bitter thorn in your chest completely.
As he grew, Mako turned into an absolute force of nature, especially now that he was no longer just crawling. He shuffled frantically on two chubby legs, his balance precarious, his little toes curling into the dirt. You and Neteyam often took him down to the lake to walk on the soft grass, delighting in his giggles every time the blades tickled his bare feet, causing him to lift his legs high like a syaksyuk.
“Careful, buddy,” Neteyam warned gently, walking a single pace behind him, his massive hands hovering mere inches from Mako's waist, ready to catch him if he tumbled.
Mako took three wide, wobbly steps, his arms and tail flailing in the air for balance. He gasped loudly, turning his head to make sure you were watching.
“Go on, my boy!” you cheered, kneeling at the end of the grassy path with open arms.
Mako let out a triumphant squeal, taking four fast, uncontrolled steps before losing his balance entirely and flopping into the soft grass. Before he could even think of crying, Neteyam dropped beside him, rolling him onto his back and tickling his stomach until Mako was breathless with laughter.
You sat down in the grass beside them, watching Neteyam lift Mako high into the air against the backdrop of the golden sunset. Mako babbled endlessly to the sky, his five little fingers grabbing at his father’s braids, and Neteyam looked up at him with a face overflowing with pure, unadulterated love.
When Neteyam lowered the baby, his golden eyes shifted to you. The lingering guilt, the painful groveling, and the strict boundaries of the past year had quietly matured into a deep, unshakable bond of mutual respect, unspoken understanding, and a love far stronger than the one you had lost.
Later that evening, after the trek back from the lake, the cool night air settled over the village. Mako had burned through the last of his endless energy, his small body going limp in your arms the moment you stepped into the hut. You tucked him into his cot, listening to the tiny, rhythmic sighs of his breathing, before walking over to the low wooden counter to prepare your evening tea.
Neteyam moved quietly across the room, carrying a heavy water jar. He turned just as you spun around to grab a dried herb bundle.
Neither of you gave way in time, and you bumped right into his broad chest.
The collision sent you off balance. Neteyam’s instincts flared instantly; he dropped the jar onto a rack and caught you around the waist with both arms. The sudden movement pulled you completely flush against him, your chest pressed flat against his bare, warm torso, your hands catching his broad shoulders for support.
You gasped, your face ending up mere inches from his jaw. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his large hands tightening around your waist as he held you securely. His golden eyes locked onto yours, blazing with a sudden, searing intensity that made the room feel stripped of oxygen.
“Are you alright?” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, rich and thick with restraint.
“Yes,” you breathed, your pulse thumping against your ribs. “I... I just didn't see you.”
But you didn't pull away... and neither did he.
His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering there with a desperate, agonizing hunger that had been kept under lock and key for almost two years. His thumb stroked the curve of your hip, a subconscious, needy movement that made a quiet sigh escape your mouth.
That faint sound shattered the last of his defenses.
Neteyam leaned down, closing the tiny gap between you, and captured your lips in a deep, hard kiss.
You let out a soft groan, sliding your arms up to entwine your fingers in his thick braids, pulling him down to kiss him harder. Neteyam let out a low, shuddering growl in the back of his throat, his large hands sliding up your back to press you so close there wasn't a breath of air left between your bodies.
The kiss deepened, heavy and intoxicating. His mouth opened against yours, tasting you with a slow, ravenous passion that set your entire nervous system ablaze. He shifted his hips, pinning you lightly against the wooden edge of the counter, his tongue tracing yours in a rhythm that made your knees go weak. You tightened your grip on his shoulders, arching into his heat, completely lost in the sensation of being held by him again.
Both of you knew that nothing was stopping you. Mako was fast asleep, the hut was dark, and the door flap was secured against the night wind. The lingering longing of long, painful years throbbed between you, practically begging you both to abandon the slow pace you had carefully set.
Neteyam’s lips trailed down your jawline, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the side of your neck, making you gasp softly and tilt your head back to give him complete access. His hands cupped your thighs, lifting you slightly onto the edge of the counter, pressing his raging hard-on against your crotch.
He was trembling. The sheer force of his desire was palpable, vibrating through every muscle in his arms as he pressed his forehead into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your bare skin.
“Y/N...” he choked out, his hands gripping your legs with a reverent, desperate strength. “Fuck, I want you so much...”
You cupped his cheek, feeling the intense heat of his skin, your own chest heaving just as fast as his. You looked into his golden eyes, dark with passion yet filled with absolute devotion. You kissed him softly, “Take me,” you mumbled against his lips.
He pulled away a little, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes for a moment in an intense attempt to calm himself down. As intoxicating as it was to feel you this way again, he knew the quiet, beautiful truth anchoring you both: he didn't need to rush anymore. He was no longer on a mission to prove anything to anyone; his time with you had no timer on it, and you weren't going anywhere.
You two had all the time in the world.
“I want us to mate first...” he mumbled against your skin.
A breathless chuckle escaped your swollen lips. You reached up, gently threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face back to yours, pressing a soft, slow kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Wise,” you whispered against his cheek, your thumb stroking his cheekbone.
“I will court you,” he mumbled softly. “I will formally ask your grandmother and brother for your hand.”
Your lips twisted playfully. “No need for that...” you mumbled.
He shook his head firmly. “Don’t say that. Antulo might actually kill me this time if I make moves under their noses.”
You laughed breathlessly, hugging him around the shoulders. “Okay...” you mumbled against his neck. “Okay.”
The tension in his shoulders softened, replaced by a profound, blissful peace. He rested his forehead against yours, a soft, breathless laugh breaking from his lips. “And... my family will be coming for Mako’s first birthday,” he mumbled.
You pulled back slightly, “Birthday?” you asked, your forehead creasing in confusion.
His hands caressed your waist gently. “It’s a Terran tradition my father brought with him. We celebrate the person every season, during the exact day they were born,” he explained.
You smiled up at him, “That’s amazing. I want to celebrate Mako,” you mumbled.
He nodded, “And you, too... You did so well on that day. You survived it, and that’s amazing considering the size of his head.”
“Hey!” you said softly, a giggle escaping your lips as you playfully smacked his chest. “Not my son’s head! He got that entirely from you.”
He grinned, lowering his head to press a lingering kiss to your lips. You kissed him back for a long moment before pulling back slightly.
“And... are your parents okay with me?” you asked, suddenly feeling worried and uncertain.
He chuckled softly. “Of course. My parents have always been impartial in their judgment,” he said. “And they knew that I was with you before.”
Your eyes widened a little. “How?” you mumbled.
He bit his lip, looking away as if thoroughly embarrassed. “Well...” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remember that time I...” His eyes widened to indicate a specific memory. “You... behind the stock hut?”
Your eyes narrowed as the memory returned. Your face heated up instantly, and you closed your eyes in intense embarrassment.
“Right... that was my reaction, too,” he said in a humored tone, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
It had been even worse for him, to be honest. His parents had been standing near the stock hut, speaking about the matter of your presence in the clan, when they were treated to the quiet, unmistakable moans coming from behind the structure. They were certainly old enough to know what was happening, but they were mostly curious about which young people were desecrating the stock hut.
“You taste so good...” they had heard a familiar raspy voice murmur.
“Let’s go,” Jake, scandalized by the sounds, had pulled Neytiri away.
Neytiri allowed herself to be pulled, but she looked back over her shoulder. “That sounds like Neteyam,” she thought out loud.
Jake looked back too, shaking his head. “That boy...”
They stayed within sight of the stock hut, ready to lecture Neteyam once he revealed himself. After what seemed like an eternity, however, a smaller figure emerged from the shadow. A woman. You had tried so hard to fix your single-braided hair, but it was so messy that you chose to simply unbind your hair before adjusting your top and loincloth, both of which were askew as though you had been ravaged.
Both Jake and Neytiri’s jaws had slackened to see you, but especially when, minutes later, their firstborn son emerged. Not casually walking at all; he was palming his crotch and squeezing as though he were desperately trying to calm his body down. He was about to walk up the winding ramp after you when Neytiri called out to him from where they stood.
His shoulders had squared immediately, standing straighter as he walked toward his parents with all the air of a respectable, dignified warrior. But that façade was shattered right away when his mother calmly pointed out the remnants of wet essence glistening around his mouth.
Now that Neteyam recalled the memory, he couldn't help but laugh softly as he held you close. That felt like a hundred years ago, and the two of you had come so incredibly far. Most people would say they wouldn't change anything about the journey that brought them to where they currently were, but he definitely wished he could change a few things... or just one specific thing.
The part where you got hurt. He wished he had taken your side completely and defended you to his people openly from the start. But he could not erase what he had done, so he was determined to make everything right going forward. He would love you so intensely that you would never be haunted by what had happened. He would give you his absolute faith, belief, and devotion.
His official courtship began the morning after he spoke to your brother. The air between them cleared in a raw, quiet conversation down by the lower terraces, where Neteyam looked Antulo dead in the eye and swore on his very soul that he would never hurt you or allow danger to touch you or your son again. Your grandmother had watched from the shade of the pavilion. Though she hadn't held Neteyam to the same white-hot wrath as Antulo, the Tsahik’s heart had ached deeply for what you had endured; seeing Neteyam’s humble, unwavering devotion over the past moons was the only reason she blessed his intention to woo you properly.
Antulo’s first official decree as the brother being appeased was immediate, however: “Move out of her hut, warrior. You may have fathered my nephew, but you’re still a suitor, not a mate. You want her? You earn her from the ground up.”
Neteyam didn't complain for a single second. That very afternoon, he built a small shelter, close enough to hear Mako if he cried, but far enough to respect your honor and the clan's traditions.
The formal courtship transformed Neteyam from a quiet co-parent into an utterly shameless pursuer. Every morning, before you even opened your eyes, a new gift would be left on your wooden porch.
One afternoon, you sat with Enya and Penxi near the weaving looms, sorting through the vibrant blue stones and rare, hand-carved bone hair beads Neteyam had brought you that morning.
Enya picked up a beautifully carved wooden comb, turning it in the sunlight with a dramatic sigh. “He has been courting you since forever, Y/N, and he still has endless ideas for gifts!”
Penxi smiled at you before turning to Enya. “All of that before was just Neteyam repenting. But this right now? This is the actual courtship, and he must show he is worthy.”
“Either way,” Enya giggled, nudging your shoulder, “the chief warrior of the Omatikaya is sleeping in a woven tent for you. I say put him out of his misery!”
Penxi laughed. “Or make him sweat a little longer?”
You smiled softly, tracing the smooth wood of the comb, your chest swelling with a warmth that knew exactly what to do, despite the playful chatter around you.
While the village thoroughly approved of the courtship, one tiny person was severely offended by Neteyam’s sudden shift in behavior: Mako.
Now a fully mobile, incredibly vocal toddler, Mako was used to having both of his parents in a neat, protective triangle centered entirely around him. Neteyam’s sudden habit of giving you undivided, romantic attention—which he foolishly thought the boy wouldn't notice—did not sit well with the young child.
One evening, Neteyam brought over a basket of sweet, roasted roots. You sat together on the terrace steps while Mako played with a set of wooden animal blocks near your feet.
Neteyam leaned in, offering you a piece of the roasted fruit. As you took a bite, he lingered close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his hand gently resting over yours.
“NO!”
A high-pitched, furious screech shattered the romantic atmosphere.
Mako dropped his wooden blocks, his little brow furrowing into an outrageously dramatic scowl. He shuffled over on his chubby legs as fast as he could, wedging his tiny body directly between you and Neteyam. He pushed his hands against Neteyam’s chest with all the strength his little arms could muster.
“Mine!” Mako shouted fiercely, slapping Neteyam’s knee before wrapping his arms tightly around your neck and glaring at his father. “Mama mine! No kiss!”
Neteyam gasped, clutching his chest in mock agony. “What? Buddy, I brought the sweet tubers! I carved the blocks! You betray me for a cheek kiss?!”
Mako puffed out his cheeks, burying his face in your shoulder and letting out a protective, tiny growl.
You burst into breathless laughter, kissing the top of Mako's head while Neteyam shook his head in fond disbelief.
“I can't believe I have fought rogue warriors and border beasts, Y/N, but my fiercest rival for your heart is my own son.”
Days before Mako’s first birthday, Neytiri, Jake, Kiri, and Tuk arrived for Mako’s nameday celebration. Neteyam welcomed them alongside you, Mako snuggled securely in his arms. Both Jake and Neytiri were breathless at the sight of the little boy. He looked remarkably like Neteyam when he was that age, but Neytiri noticed his brows and low-set kuru right away.
She looked at Jake, who also looked back at her with a soft, understanding smile. Mako was restless in Neteyam’s arms, hugging his father shyly as Neteyam introduced him to his family.
“Dad, Mother... you remember Y/N,” Neteyam said, turning his body toward you, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to his side.
Kiri smiled warmly from behind her parents, while little Tuk remained silent, her eyes fixed on Mako, curious and full of quiet wonder.
“I remember her,” Neytiri said with a soft, gracious smile, stepping forward toward you. “I am sorry for what my people brought upon you...” she mumbled, lifting her hand to gently touch your cheek. “And for the treason we allowed to foster among our people, whose poison bled onto the innocent.”
You offered a genuine smile, nodding and gently holding her hand. “I hope knowing who the real culprit was brought peace to the grieving families.”
She smiled, her eyes misting as she recognized the deep grace you held in your heart. It had allowed you to forgive her son. For this, she was profoundly grateful. Grateful to know that her son’s heart had chosen a spirit as pure as yours.
Your brother welcomed Toruk Makto and his family with a grand feast, housing them in a comfortable, spacious hut and assigning local guides for Kiri and Tuk. Tuk visited your hut frequently, initially not speaking much and simply playing with Mako’s toys. Mako was far more talkative, which endeared him greatly to Neytiri.
It was not until Mako’s actual birthday that something truly momentous occurred. You were preparing Mako, bathing him and dressing him in a fresh loincloth, while Tuk quietly hovered nearby.
“It’s his birthday?” she asked quietly, gently touching Mako’s head.
You looked at her with wide eyes; Neteyam did too. You subtly shook your head when Neteyam looked as though he wanted to loudly celebrate the fact that she was speaking. You turned to Tuk and smiled softly, “Yes. His first birthday.”
Tuk smiled gently. “He was born a year ago?” she asked. Neteyam watched her, his face contorting in pure joy as tears filled his eyes. He quietly stepped out of the hut to silently call his parents and Kiri.
Mako looked at Tuk and giggled. “Birthday!”
Tuk giggled too. “It’s the most special day,” she said softly.
You smiled, breathlessly laughing, “Yes. Very special,” you nodded, playfully tapping her nose. “When is your birthday?”
Jake and Neytiri quietly rushed to the doorway, watching Tuk hold a comfortable, easy conversation with you, a huge smile spread across her face as she even laughed when Mako grabbed at her braids. Safe to say, Mako’s birthday was a resounding success, and he grew comfortable enough with Neytiri and Jake to allow them to feed him and carry him around the village.
“He is so chunky,” Tuk giggled, kissing Mako’s chubby arm.
Your son remained unbothered by all the fussing, far too busy gnawing on the cooked meat Jake had given him, holding it tightly with both of his little hands. Neytiri caressed his head while Jake kept teasing his tail, but Mako was completely unbothered by any of it.
“He has long patience,” Kiri remarked, smiling at you and Neteyam.
“Much like Neteyam,” Neytiri piped in warmly. “Nothing could make Neteyam lose his temper when he was small. Jake loved teasing his tail, too,” she shared with you.
You chuckled, watching your son. He had an absolute blast on his birthday, and you were so glad. He ate, played, and then ate again. He fed with you and connected kurus with Neteyam, but he stubbornly refused to take a nap, far too restless as he watched the other children playing and running around. Thus, it was no surprise that by nightfall, he was completely limp and asleep in Neteyam’s arms.
“Can he sleep in our hut?” Tuk asked softly, gently touching Mako’s hand.
“Oh, maybe not, Tuk-Tuk. Mako needs to sleep with his mama in case he gets hungry,” Neytiri said softly, caressing Tuk’s head.
Tuk’s lips pouted forward, and seeing how sad she looked, you couldn't allow the young girl to be disappointed on the very day she had opened up and spoken again. You held her hand gently. “Maybe he can. You are just our neighbors, so I think Mako can sleep beside you in your hut, and you can bring him to me if he gets hungry or fussy?”
Tuk smiled brightly, nodding eagerly. “I will! I will take care of him!”
You smiled warmly. Neytiri smiled at you and softly muttered her thanks. Neteyam handed the heavily sleeping Mako over to Neytiri, and the two of you watched them retreat to their hut next door.
You turned to Neteyam, smiling up at him and tiptoeing to kiss his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you back deeply. Your hand slid down to hold his, gently pulling him inside your hut.
The woven door flap fell shut behind you, and he immediately covered your face with kisses like a starving man, his large hands framing your face as he kissed you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and kissing him harder. He whisked your top away, his hands moving quickly to free you of your loincloth. His lips found their fiery path down your neck, his hand cupping your breast and squeezing reverently.
You lowered yourself onto the floor before he could stop you, untying his loincloth and freeing his length. You felt as though you were possessed. You had missed him so much; you had missed this closeness for so long. He groaned, his knees buckling as your hand wrapped around his thick girth, your mouth following by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his velvety skin, sucking gently.
He took in a sharp breath, his fingers tangling in your hair. You looked up at him as you happily licked the full length of his cock, giving him deep kisses and tasting him while humming softly. He lowered himself onto his knees, allowing you to shift into a position that suited you, letting your hips rise as he took in the view of you.
He hissed softly, reaching for your wetness and slipping two fingers into your tight heat while you continued to pleasure him with your mouth. Your lips tightened around him as he worked his fingers inside you. His other hand gently angled your head so he could move against your mouth, the tip meeting the back of your throat. Your mouth had been accustomed to his impressive size before, and the familiar fullness brought a surge of pleasure to you both.
You licked and stroked, drawing intense groans from him until he came hotly in your mouth. Even as he tried to pull away, you swallowed and cleaned him thoroughly. When you were finished, he drew his fingers out from your core, licking them before lifting you easily by the waist.
He kissed you deeply, his tongue tracing your lips and tasting himself before placing you gently onto the soft mats. He licked his lip, admiring the raw beauty of your bare body beneath him.
There were subtle, beautiful changes to your frame after childbirth, and he adored this version of your body most of all. He lowered his head to kiss your lips, then moved down to trail kisses across your breasts, kneading the soft skin carefully before his hands slid behind your knees, opening you wide for him. He hungrily lowered his head, meeting your slick core with his mouth opened, licking away your sweetness and groaning happily.
“Fuck, I missed you so much...” he mumbled against your skin, and you laughed breathlessly.
“My pussy?” you teased softly. “Wow.”
He nipped gently at your folds. “Everything. I missed all of you so much... I missed this, and I missed my sweet one,” he pressed his thumb into your core before sucking your clit gently.
You let your head fall back onto the mat with a soft laugh, moaning when he continuously lapped at your pussy. You were trembling from intense stimulation by the time he pulled up, your thighs loose and unresisting in his firm hold. He hovered over you, reaching for his kuru and showing yoy the trendils undet the hair.
“I should have asked before we started...” he mumbled softly, taking your hand and kissing your palm. “But I’m not doing this without this anymore...”
You bit your lip to stifle a radiant smile, reaching for your own kuru to offer it to him. He lowered his head to kiss you deeply before connecting your tendrils. You arched your back as you gasped, your hand gripping his bicep as you stared straight into his golden eyes, both of your pupils dilated from the overwhelming wave of sensation the bond provided. He flooded you with an infinite ocean of love, but you also caught a brief glimpse into his emotions from the past years, the lingering fear, the regret, and the deep grief, all of which were completely conquered by his all-consuming love for you.
Your emotions flooded him in return: the love, the fear, the painful sense of betrayal, and then love that sent warmth to his chest. He choked on a sob, looking down at you in absolute disbelief, overwhelmed by the depth of your heart and how completely you had managed to forgive and love him again.
He kissed you tenderly, and you parted your legs wider for him. He looked down, giving his cock a few firm strokes before guiding himself inside you in a single thrust that made you moan loud. Even though you had given birth, your body welcomed him intimately, wrapping tightly around his length. He began a slow, deliberate rhythm, pulling back and thrusting deep, marking you with every familiar contour of his body.
He moved within you with a steady, passionate pace, his thumb massaging your clit as he buried his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his groans. When your climax hit, he didn't stop, continuing his deep, rhythmic thrusts that drew loud, breathless moans from your throat. He kissed you deeply to capture the sounds, moving with relentless devotion until he spilled hot and thick inside you, burying himself to the hilt as a powerful shudder wracked his entire frame.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders, pressing sweet kisses to his jawline.
Over the next few hours, neither of you thought of stopping. You ignited a fiery hunger in him when you rolled on top of him and took control, riding him with confident grace, until he eventually flipped you onto your hands and knees to take you deeply from behind. When you finally collapsed onto your stomach in sheer exhaustion, he gently lifted your leg to slide back inside you, his hand reaching around to stimulate your clit until you both shattered once again.
He was so insatiable that you were physically trembling by the time he finally pulled a soft woven blanket over both of your bodies. He wrapped his long arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Was I too much?” he mumbled softly into your hair.
You shook your head, a contented smile gracing your lips as you snuggled deeper into his warmth. “Never...” you answered softly. “I didn’t forget your stamina.”
He laughed raspily, holding you tight. “I'm sorry,” he said with a soft grin.
“Please, I have high respect for that animal,” you smirked, kissing the soft skin of his shoulder.
He cupped your chin in his large fingers, tilting your head up to kiss you with profound sweetness. “I love you so much, Y/N...”
You kissed him back, your eyes stinging with happy tears. “I love you, Neteyam... so much.” you breathed against his lips.
His hand stroked your cheek gently. “I hope you believe me when I say I will never allow you to be hurt like that again. I will lay down my life for you and Mako, always...”
Your lips curved into a soft smile, tears spilling over as you nodded against his skin. “I believe you, Neteyam. I believe in every word that you say,” you whispered, placing your palm over his steady heart.
He pressed his forehead firmly against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “All my love, belief, and devotion are yours, Y/N. Always.”
You grinned through your tears, pulling him down into another deep, everlasting kiss.
The morning after you two reunited in every sense of the word, the quiet peace of the hut was broken not by the sounds of tears, but by a brand-new, highly questionable skill your son had picked up.
Kiri’s voice calling outside made you and Neteyam sit up in panic.
“Wait!” you said, grabbing your loincloth and tying it on your tail. Neteyam grabbed your top when he finished tying his own, helping you put on it.
You quickly went to the woven flap, pulling it aside and being welcomed by the sight of your son theatrically mimicking the look of a wild animal roaring. You figured that he was also the one you heard roaring earlier. Tuk was standing beside Kiri, grinning at you and Neteyam.
“Mako can roar like a palulukan now!” she proudly announced.
Your son immediately demonstrated again. You were quick to jump into action, acting scared as he reached for you. “Nooo! Papa, save me!” you stepped back.
Mako giggled. “No, Mama!” he said like he was assuring you. “Just baby!”
You and Kiri melted in a puddle of aww. You reached for your son, hugging him to you and kissing his cheek. “Good morning, my boy,” you whispered.
Neteyam held his hand with his fingers, bringing it to his mouth to pretend bite it. Mako squealed and laughed. “Papa!”
Neteyam roared softly, coaxing a roar from Mako that the boy immediately gave. Neteyam took this new development as a serious parental responsibility. Every morning before sunrise, as you were trying to piece together enough sanity to prepare breakfast, Neteyam would crawl on his hands and knees across the floor mats, trailing behind Mako with an utterly deadpan, stoic expression.
“Watch closely, Mako,” Neteyam whispered solemnly, crouching low over a woven basket. “This is how a true warrior hunts. First, the stalk...”
Mako wobbled beside him, copying his father’s serious posture, his chubby little cheeks puffed out.
Neteyam suddenly threw his hands up in the air, baring his fangs and letting out the most dramatic, over-the-top, rumbling roar. Mako squealed in utter delight, throwing his little five-fingered hands up and screeching a high-pitched “Rrrr-rawr!” before losing his balance and rolling backward onto the soft mats.
Neteyam immediately collapsed next to him, dramatically clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “Argh! You have struck me down, Chief Mako! The warriors lost!”
You stood by the cooking fire, leaning against the wooden post, holding a wooden spoon and shaking your head as you wheezed with laughter. “Neteyam, he is one year old. Stop letting him defeat you before sunrise.”
Neteyam looked up from the floor, one golden eye open while Mako sat on his stomach, slapping his chest. “I cannot help it, Y/N. He is far too powerful.”
Mako babbled triumphantly, bouncing up and down on Neteyam’s broad torso like a little chief who had just conquered a mountain. “Rawr! Papa down!”
Neteyam let out a exaggerated groan, letting his head fall back onto the mat as if drawing his final breath, which only prompted Mako to collapse forward, burying his little face into Neteyam’s chest with giggles that sounded like chiming bells.
You set the food down wooden tray and walked over, shaking your head affectionately as you knelt beside the two dramatic males in your life. You reached down, tickling the back of Mako’s thigh until the toddler squealed and rolled into your lap instead.
“Traitor,” Neteyam muttered, instantly sitting up with a boyish grin, his golden eyes warm as they swept over your face.
You looked up at him, your gaze lingering on his lips. The quiet residue of the night before still hung sweet and thick between you, the memory of his touch, the warmth of your connected kurus, and the unspoken promises he had breathed against your skin. You felt a soft flush rise on your cheeks, and Neteyam’s smile widened, knowing precisely what you were thinking.
“What?“ you asked, trying to sound stern, though the smile pulling at your lips betrayed you completely.
“Nothing,” Neteyam murmured smoothly, reaching out to tuck a stray braid behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheekbone with reverent tenderness. “Just thinking about how blessed I am.”
Mako, sensing that he was no longer the sole center of attention, promptly wedged his chubby body between the two of you once more, letting out another high-pitched squeak right into Neteyam’s chest.
Neteyam laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the hut, and wrapped his broad arms around both you and your son, pulling you tight against him. For the first time in two long, painful years, the air felt completely clear, the future wide open, and your home whole.
in which, JASON TODD has got a big, fat crush on the neighborhood's bookstore owner; so it's not a surpise when he ends up inside of her, right?
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includes: jason todd x fem!reader, bookstore-owner!reader, mature content (17+), tw / cw: depictions of blood loss, stab wound, stitches, ... making out, thigh-humping, 'the knee thing,' begging, panty-ripping, oral (f. recieving), fingering, biting, marking, being bent over, mirror-sex, drooling, dirty-talk, sub!reader, creampie, 6.9k words.
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kinktober masterlist.
FOR ONCE, gotham was sunny. warm rays shone down through the large, floor to ceiling windows of your bookshop-- air tinged with scents like crisp autumn wind and faintly stale coffee. a few individuals traversed between each row of books, fingers running idly down the spine of the few that caught their eyes. it was calming. natural. a welcomed escape from the harsh reality that existed for many outside of the parameters of your humble store; an environment where worries melted off of the shoulders of even the most damned, and where the innocent could flourish.
from the register, you fiddled with a pen-- twirling it absentmindedly between your pointer and middle fingers. the motion was relaxed; practiced, and exuding only contentment.
however, the sound of your shop's door-bell chimed softly as a new civilian entered; and your movements paused, irises tracking down the face of the potential customer. to your slight surprise, (and something deep within your gut eerily similar to relief, or perhaps even giddy), recognition washed over you.
"jason," you called out softly, waving a hand towards one of your regular customers.
greenish-grey eyes flicked upwards to meet yours, and the man echoed your name. it sounded heavy on his tongue-- but not with angst; with care. "i'm back already," he grinned, wooden floorboards creaking with age as he stepped closer to the check-out where you remained.
a smile bloomed across your face. "missed me that much?" you questioned, teasing. "it's barely been a week."
jason shrugged noncommittally, hands raising playfully in surrender, though his freckled cheeks tinged a faint shade of red. "y'know you can't keep me away,"
the sound of your laughter combined, and floated its way to the ceiling of your bookstore. it clung to the wooden beams spanning the roof; seeping into the oak, willing itself into the history of the building.
when the laughter died down, you jutted your chin to the side-- motioning the back of your store. "a new shipment of second-hand books just arrived from metropolis; you know where to find 'em,"
jason saluted, "aye, aye captain," before making his way towards his desired items. the man would be kept occupied for a good little while with the boxes upon boxes of books you hadn't bothered to sort through yet; and you smiled quietly to yourself.
it was easy to recall the first time you had met jason; even easier to lose track of when your friendship had blurred into this slow, thumping heart-beat of comfort and familiarity. he came in at the beginning of each week, would purchase a handful of books, and would return the following week to do the same thing. after a few repeated cycles of this, you and him had begun to chit-chat beyond his payments-- and just like that, you had become acquainted with the large, handsome man.
beyond that, though, you didn't know much about him. as his fingers would dust across yours at the register, your eyes would linger on the collection of scars littered across his skin; but you never pushed. you understood that, while you looked forward to jason's arrival at your store like clock-work, the privacy of his life remained his.
the affairs he found himself tangled within outside of the haven you offered to gothamites alike was none of your business; all you could hope was that jason remained safe in whatever trials he thrust himself into.
especially now-- that thought crossed your mind as he approached a mere ten minutes later, with four books in his hands. dropping them on the counter-top, his cheeks dimpled. "i'm shocked i was able to pick only four, that new shipment is loaded with good shit."
you grinned, totaling the sticker-prices of the books into your register. "the four book only policy doesn't apply to you," you whispered, leaning forward ever so slightly, "take as many as you'd like." the scent of his cologne-- something earthy and inviting-- floated its way into your nose. you shivered.
jason's eyes widened softly, a dark eyebrow arching upwards. "willing to bend the rules just for me? i'm flattered," glancing towards jason's face, you wished for nothing more than to burn the image of his grin into your memory permanently.
"yeah, well," your eyes rolled, fingers typing away at your cash register, "you're a returning customer-- and i'm not worried you'll resell my shit for a lower price."
the sound of jason's laugh sounded nothing short of mesmerizing. "shouldn't judge a book by its cover," he said easily, "i'll put you out of business."
it was your turn to laugh softly as you reached beneath the front-desk, grabbing a re-usable bag for jason's books. the man took out his wallet, and dropped a twenty and a ten on the counter. "please," you scoffed, handing him his books, "the only way you'll put me out of business is by buying all of my fuckin' stock."
"that's right," jason agreed, nodding. black wisps of hair fell into his eyes, and he ran a sturdy hand through his locks. "i'll be back before you know it, pretty."
✩✩✩
night howled against the windows of your book-store, and the silence of after-hours was terribly loud. your keys jangled and clanked against your hip as you made your rounds-- making sure all the doors and windows were secured and locked. up and down each aisle you traversed, the smell of homey paper sticking to your skin as if the library was trying to fuse itself to you.
all the books were where they were supposed to be, and every possible place someone could break into was reinforced properly. you sighed, fingers clutching tightly onto the fabric of your leather coat. despite the familiarity and warmth your shop offered during the day-- there was something uncomfortable about it once night fell onto the city of gotham.
chuckling to yourself, you recalled the previous owner of the building nervously mentioning ghosts living within the walls.
how childish, you thought to yourself, unlocking the register to empty its contents, who believes in ghosts anyways? certainly not me--
a loud series of bangs on the back entrance of your store rattled the entire building, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood in urgency.
you remained in place silently, and in shock, for a few moments; save for a small lamp near the front desk, the rest of the lights in your bookstore were off-- who on earth wanted to be let into a seemingly closed bookstore?
when the banging continued, almost growing desperate, you had closed your eyes-- "fuck," you muttered, reaching into a cabinet within the front desk that held a baseball bat.
(living in gotham, you could have never been too careful.)
it took a few falsely-confident steps to make it to the back of your store, and the metal door that was the entrance from the alley-way at its behind. you swallowed, the pounding of someone's fist unrelenting against the cool metal. you considered yelling, alerting the potential threat to your prescence, but figured you'd lose the upper-hand-- so without much thought, you swung open the door, raising the baseball-bat as if to attack the perpetrator-- until exactly who it was startled you.
"red hood?" you gaped, fingers clutching tightly onto the bat as the vigilante's mask glimmered a cherry red underneath the subtle lighting of the moon. you were no stranger to gotham's silent heros; especially not as someone running a small-business that happened to remain open about an hour past dusk. seeing one in-person, much less face-to-face, was daunting; especially since you knew-- or at least, had heard-- what this one was capable of. shit, you thought idly, did he see me j-walk last night?
red hood raised his hands; or, well, one hand-- the other remained glued to his side, and upon further inspection, he seemed to be leaning heavily to the opposite side of his injury. when he spoke, his helmet had muffled his voice-- and the voice changer you assumed he had implemented, crackled and popped. if he had said anything else-- you were certain you would not have been able to distinguish it underneath the fuzz of his helmet's voice changer-- but you immediately recognized that the man was saying your name.
something ran down your spine, and your face contorted into a mixture of fear and confusion. "what the fuck?" you frowned, fingers itching at the wood of your baseball bat.
you soon realized, however, how useless the weapon was-- red hood pushed past you, barely brushing your figure, and into your book-store. you yelped in surprise, twisting your body to watch the vigilante as he traced, without error (as if he was familiar with the store layout), your bathroom. while you couldn't see him from where you stood anymore, you were able to watch light spill onto the wooden floor of your store-- a harsh, fluorescent glow lighting up the small bathroom.
exhaling deeply through your nose, you entered your store again and closed the back entrance to the door tightly-- locking the deadbolts, preventing anyone from entering or exiting. "hey!" you called out hurriedly, making your way towards where red hood was, "i'd appreciate it if you would tell me what the fuck you're doing in my book-store,"
red hood, very clearly, had made himself comfortable in the bathroom; his own jacket had been discarded and sat messily on the floor, and his black compression shirt was pulled up to just underneath his left pec-- a nasty wound, most likely from a knife, seeped blood onto his pants and onto the tiles of the bathroom floor. you heard the man hiss as he pressed a wad of damp paper-towel to the injury, and you cringed away harshly.
"fuck," you winced, a phantom pain shooting directly into the side of your mid-section.
red blurred your vision softly as red hood turned his head towards you. "do you have a first-aid kit?"
without answering, you moved into the tiny bathroom-- opening a cabinet on the wall to pull out exactly what he was looking for. you placed it onto the small counter-top, and popped it open; red hood immediately reaching for thread and a needle.
"hey," you stopped him, grabbing onto his gloved wrist, "there's a walk-in clinic right down the road-- i can drive you there, it'll take like five seconds--"
"no," red hood answered almost immediately, gently tearing his hand from your grip to continue rifling through your first-aid kit.
"no?" you questioned, eyebrows raising. "what do you mean no? you're bleeding out--"
"i'll be fine." he answered shortly, bringing a spool of thread to his mouth to tear a long string with his teeth. "and i came here for a reason," his voice changer crackled as he spoke.
confusion etched its way deeper onto your face. "what?"
red hood sighed, and the glimmer of his mask caught your eye as his head turned towards you; his stare was harsh, despite the fact that you couldn't even see his face. "you were the closest person i could come to," he answered awkwardly, one hand still holding the paper-towel to his wound, "closest person i know."
you opened your mouth to speak, simply baffled by what he meant; but his next actions stole the words right from your throat.
with his free hand, he dropped the medical supplies onto the counter-top, before gripping his helmet and tearing it off of his head; his vision remained glued to the floor as he shook his hair out, recognizable black locks falling onto his forehead.
"jason?" you gaped. "holy shit," you practically laughed-- because what were the odds the person you had seen less than seven hours ago was one of gotham's most well-known vigilantes. the humour in the situation, though, died out quickly-- as you watched his irises examine his wound closer now, slight panic arising in both of your throats.
moving without a second thought, your palms found jason's biceps, leading him to sit on the counter-top. "sit. let me do it," you said quickly, gesturing to the thread and needle.
jason gave a long exhale, resting his body-weight against the counter with little refusal; "you don't need to do this," he argued weakly.
you rolled your eyes, gently prying the paper-towels from his wound; luckily, with some of the blood cleaned up, was less serious than you had first assumed. "i want to."
"you didn't want to before i took the helmet off," jason laughed softly. the movement made him wince.
"that was because i assumed i didn't know you," you murmurred, tongue-sticking out of the corner of your mouth in deep concentration, "i couldn't have been responsible should anything have happened to a stranger. but now that i do know you, why not put the first-aid course i took four years ago to the test?"
though you didn't bother looking up, you could practically feel jason's face scrunching up. "so i'm your guinea pig?"
you offered the slightest of nods.
"i'm fucked."
"hey," you protested, "i patched up a kid with a scraped knee like last week. you're in great hands,"
"not quite the same thing as a minor stab wound, but still reassuring, i guess,"
jason felt you poke into a non-injured section of his torso gently with the needle, only to laugh. something spurred to life within your ribs.
✩✩✩
after about ten minutes of stitching, you finally finished-- tying off the last suture, your fingertips grazed his abdomen. they lingered, as if his body was pulling you in-- like something couldn't keep you from stepping away. jason's breath hitched.
you cleared you throat, reeling your hands back towards your body, remaining medical supplies tossed haphazardly onto the counter. "sorry," you breathed.
jason's hands brushed over the newly bandaged wound, examining carefully, before greenish-grey irises met yours in the small cracked mirror of your tiny bathroom. "don't be." he said simply, holding your gaze.
you had so many questions. they were burning at your throat, clawing at your tongue-- fighting you, willing themselves to be released. but the longer your eyes stayed trained on each-other's within the shitty little mirror, the less they wanted to escape.
it was odd; you had had this idea of jason, in the back of your mind-- every-time he stepped through your bookstore's doors, you wondered what kind of life he led. perhaps he was a teacher, or maybe a fire-fighter, you had day-dreamed once; he seemed like the kind of man that knew the real grit that covered every surface within gotham, and he seemed like the kind of man who wanted to erase it all. you had been right, in a way; because wasn't that what red hood stood for? nonetheless, the vigilante's identity had made your fingers quiver against his skin as you tended to his wound, and you knew jason was pointedly ignoring the tremor in your palms as you patched him up. you considered the fact that, he too, most likely knew it wasn't from who the version of himself he had hidden from you, but rather the one you thought you knew all too well.
the silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. no, it was charged. the air between the two of you practically vibrated with what was once fear, now morphed into understanding, anxiousness; a yearning of sorts. it wasn't quite fear, but it was not quite relief either. now you had seen jason for what he truly was, and that was a scary thing to have admitted on both of your ends. you swallowed, eyes tracing downwards on jason's form in the mirror-- down the bridge of his nose, down to his lips (where they lingered for longer than what you wanted), and down to his jaw. examining him so closely, you could see the way his pulse jumped in his throat.
your reflection looked back at you—wide-eyed, flushed, and unsteady. naked, in some sort of sense. jason’s gaze dropped from the mirror to you, slow and deliberate, and you realized with a start that he wasn’t the only one feeling bare.
"why did you come here?" you asked, words so quiet on your lips you were certain jason had not heard you. when he answered, something spiked lowly in your gut.
"i told you," jason whispered back, "you were the closest person i trust."
"you trust me?"
"more than i'd like to admit." jason dragged a calloused hand through his hair. a nervous tick. "do you trust me?"
"yes." the answer was immediate, and the lack of hesitation made the corner of jason's eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.
the sound of his laugh sent sparks up your spine. "you shouldn't."
tilting your head to look at him, one of your eyebrows arched upwards. "you haven't shot me or anything yet, so i think i'm okay,"
jason laughed again. the sound was low, from the back of his throat. shamefully, your cunt throbbed. "you never know,"
"right," you agreed, "i think i'll take that risk."
jason watched your eyes flicker down to his lips, and took that as a sign-- crashing his mouth onto yours, he kissed you like his life depended on it.
there was nothing sweet about it, nothing gentle; nothing like the man jason was when he let his guard down around you, nothing like the man you thought you knew. his hands fumbled clumsily along your body, as if he didn't know what to do with them, until one of them cupped the back of your head and the other found your hip. using his strength, he kept you glued to his body; crooking your head to the side, you deepened the kiss.
jason groaned into your mouth once he felt your tongue drag against the fat of his bottom lip. he opened wider to allow you access into his mouth, and you grinned. it was messy-- spit dribbled down both of your faces, and your fingers had found themselves at jason's scalp-- pulling, tugging, willing him as close to you as he could get. the sounds of your breathing, laboured, shallow-- coupled with the wet noises coming from your kissing was obscene, and it echoed within the tiny bathroom of yours.
you began to suck on jason's tongue, and another pretty noise fell from his throat. using his hips, he shoved you backwards and onto the edge of the counter-top-- your ass digging into it's end. you whined, once you understood what he doing; jason used one of his knees to separate your legs, before he shoved his thigh right between your own.
the heat of your cunt, even through your jeans, was embarrassing. having jason's leg pushed up against your pussy, barely moving, barely giving you what you wanted-- he broke the kiss, voice raw and lips plump. "'s this okay?" he asked.
to his surprise, you laughed. "if it wasn't, i would have slapped you like.. five minutes ago,"
the man shrugged, bringing one of his hands to the side of your cheek-- his thumb idly playing with your bottom lip. "i was just making sure," he swallowed, "i didn't know if you wanted this."
"i mean," you started, eyes locking on the way his thumb lingered near the entrance of your mouth, "i would have preferred it if it didn't happen because you were stabbed."
jason nodded, corners of his mouth lifting upwards in the ghost of a smile, although there was little humor in his voice as he spoke, "me too."
"yeah?" you asked, voice teasing.
jason's voice was not teasing. "yeah."
something in your gut swirled, and you couldn't help but grind your hips-- your aching cunt-- down onto jason's thigh. he hummed, content at your action, finally shoving his thumb past your lips and into your mouth. he felt your tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb, lazily sucking as if you just needed something inside of your mouth.
when he spoke again, jason's voice had gone impossibly low. "i've always thought you were so gorgeous," jason began, "always thought you were way too pretty and too smart to be running a cute lil' shop like this, in this fuckin' city,"
without much thought, you nodded at his words-- the feeling of the seam of your jeans rubbing against his flexed thigh and knee, and onto your clit, far too intoxicating.
"i've been wanting to ask you out for forever, but every-time, i chickened out," he confessed, pushing his thumb deeper into your mouth, "that's it baby, grind that pussy onto my leg-- jus' like that,"
the sweetness of his confession combined with the filth of his praise made you moan around his digit-- hips quickening along his leg.
"i've thought about taking you out, maybe to see a nice lil' movie. maybe then-- oh, i know, feel's good, huh?-- maybe then we'd get dinner, there's a real nice place near china town i think you'd like,"
jason's words were becoming mush within your mind; nonetheless, they spurred you on, your clit pulsing and pussy sopping beneath the fabric of your ruined jeans and panties.
"then," he started, leaning forward to pepper kisses along your jaw, leading all the way to the shell of your ear, "then i'd take you home, and i'd make love to you so good, you'd never be able to fuck anyone else."
you moaned whorishly at his words, spit dribbling down your chin as his thigh brushed against your cunt again and again and again-- pleasure becoming all-consuming, and lust fogging every rational thought in your mind. "jason," you gasped out, words muffled by the man's thumb still in your mouth, "please." you begged.
"please what, sweetheart?" he questioned, pulling his finger from your mouth to let you speak, "tell me what you want."
all that consumed your mind was jason-- so that's exactly what you said. "you," you exasperated, fingers digging into his shoulders, "please i need you."
"mm," the sound of jason humming vibrated against your skin, his lips searing marks down your throat all the way to your collarbone. "keep begging, pretty girl. maybe then i'll give you what you want,"
grinding your cunt back and forth on his leg, your eyes welled up with tears of frustration; god, you needed him so badly. "jay," it fell from your lips in a gasp as jason began sucking harshly on your pulse-point, "please. please, anything you give me i- i'll take it, your fingers, your mouth, your dick--"
"m'giving you my thigh to grind on right now," you felt him smile against your skin, "isn't that enough?"
"more," you practically sobbed, other incoherent words flying from your throat at an embarrassing rate. back and forth and back again, humping jason's leg like a dog in heat. "please, jason."
pulling off of your neck with a pop, jason's lips glistened with saliva; the way he ran his tongue against the plump fat of his bottom lip, you'd think he was still able to taste you. "alright," he conceded finally, hooking two fingers into the waistband of your jeans to shrug them down your hips. when they had fallen to the floor, the man wasted no time in holding you tightly by the waist and propping you up onto the counter-top. the granite was cold against your bare bottom; you shivered.
before you could question what he was going to do next, jason sunk to his knees. it was tender, the way he studied the ruined fabric of your panties-- now on display right in front of his face. soft irises flicked upwards to meet yours, and your cunt throbbed with need. "please." jason paid your final plea no mind, lips connected to the plush of your thighs with a mission.
he kissed and he sucked and his bit-- teeth sinking into your leg just enough to make you moan, but not enough to hurt. darting his tongue outwards to soothe the blooming mark along your skin, he'd brush forward-- closer to your pussy-- to leave another violent hickey.
you began to squirm on the counter-top; hips involuntarily bucking towards jason's face-- seeking out any pleasure you could find. it was pathetic-- and if you hadn't been so drunk on fore-play, perhaps you would have cared about being so desperate in front of the man you liked. but the way your pussy was leaking down onto the granite, and the way your nipples had stiffened despite no attention being allotted to either of them-- you didn't give a fuck.
"patience," jason murmured, sucking deeply on your left thigh.
"i don't have much of it left."
at your snarky remark, jason's teeth bit into you-- the tiniest bit harder than his previous nips. you yelped, and he smiled against your skin.
opening your mouth to say something-- maybe beg, maybe cry, maybe snap-- jason cut you off when he reached two large hands forwards to grasp the edges of your panties. you face scrunched up, as if to say why not just pull them to the side? before a loud rip bounced off the walls of your bathroom.
within jason's hands-- the remains of your panties looked measley and useless; torn into two, jason tossed them onto the floor haphazardly.
"hey!" you gasped.
jason shrugged. "what? did you want me to keep them on you? not give you what you want?"
your face flushed, heat crawling up your neck. "well no,"
"exactly." jason leaned forward, lips pursing, and blew a cold gust of air onto your clit.
you couldn't fight the loud whine that escaped you at his actions, and jason's laugh rumbled deeply; his eyes danced upwards to your face again, and he made no effort to break the eye-contact as he pressed his mouth to your cunt.
the man licked a long stripe, flattening his tongue along your folds, slowly from your hole to your clit. you moaned, back arching away from the counter. 'jason!" you cried, fists clenching at the edge of the counter-top as he repeated his actions at a faster pace.
he moaned in response, reveling in the taste of you on his tongue, before his lips latched onto your clit. he sucked and sucked and sucked-- the sensation maddening. "i know," he cooed against your pussy, "you taste as good as you feel, baby,"
his tongue was unrelenting against your cunt-- jason lapping at your slick like a starved man. when he tilted his head downwards to lick and prod at your entrance-- the bridge of his nose brushed against your clit, and your hips stuttered along his face. "oh, jay," you moaned, body running hot at his actions.
jason's hands left your hips momentarily, reaching closer to your thighs-- only to hike them along his shoulders and back, inadvertently driving your cunt closer to his face. at the newfound angle, you both moaned in sync.
"god--" your breath hitched, "deeper, jason, c'mon,"
jason wasted no time in listening to your orders-- sticking his tongue past your sopping hole to tongue-fuck you with vigor. in and out and in again, his tongue practically curled and massaged your insides.
the man only pulled back for a second, to spit onto your aching cunt, before diving right back in. his tongue flattened against your folds again, his hands finding your hips. "this feel good, baby?" he asked.
you nodded, sweat beading at your temple.
jason's movements ceased, though his tongue remained connected to your pussy. "then fuck yourself on my tongue-- make yourself feel good, sweetheart,"
jason did not have to tell you twice-- your hips immediately began rocking along the man's appendage, the friction causing your lower stomach to coil with pressure.
you were, shamefully, lifting yourself off of the counter to grind against the vigilante's face now-- your own contorted and washed over by a myriad of pleasure and ecstasy. "jay," you moaned loudly, "please, i wanna cum,"
at your confession, jason's movements restarted again-- this time, with a renewed sense of purpose. he moaned into your cunt, vibrations only adding to the ever-growing sensation of your orgasm within your lower belly. "yeah?" he asked, voice muffled by your pussy.
"m-mhm!"
two of jason's fingers poked at your hole as his mouth re-attached to your clit-- and sunk in with ease. "shit, baby," he peeled himself off of you to mumble, "so fuckin' soaked for me-- this pussy's squeezing my fingers so good,"
you nodded, before your head lolled backwards as jason began sucking on your clit, his fingers curling and uncurling against your g-spot rapidly. there was no rhythm, no pattern; just jason chasing your orgasm as if it was his own.
the sound of your pussy squelching around his fingers was nothing short of obscene; your bathroom mirror was fogging up, and you hips tilted to meet the thrusts of jason's hand within you. greenish-grey irises blinked upwards to meet your own, and the intimacy your eye-contact sent you over the edge.
"jason," you gasped, jaw going slack, "m'cumming,"
jason smiled against your pussy, tongue and fingers working in tandem to keep you riding the high of your orgasm-- even as it dripped down his wrist and his chin.
your cunt pulsed and throbbed and squeezed like there was no tomorrow-- hips stuttering and shaking along jason's face, legs wrapping around his head in an effort to shut.
"i know," he praised, voice warm and low, dripping with arousal, as he continued to drag out your orgasm. "bet you feel so good, this wet fuckin' pussy painting my face," he whispered, delivering a final lick to your cunt, looong and slow, before he pulled away. "don't you, pretty?"
you nodded, chest heaving greatly. the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked your core, sending shivers from the tip of your spine all the way to your toes.
you couldn't remember the last time a man made you cum that hard. you can't remember the last time you made yourself cum that hard.
"well," he said, standing, "imagine how good my dick will feel."
you whined softly, bracing your hands along jason's chest when he finally stood in-between your legs. leaning forward, you connected your lips. the taste of your cunt on his lips was intoxicating.
lazily, jason kissed you back-- your tongues hadn't hesitated to be stuck down each other's throats, and your nails dragged down jason's torso. only when your fingertips met the bandages you had put on his wound earlier, did you stop.
"oh," you said lightly, "maybe we shouldn't; i don't want you to get even more hurt--"
jason cut you off with a roll of his eyes, his lips dancing across the bottom half of your face with ease. "baby," he mumbled between kisses, "a little cut won't stop me from makin' you feel good,"
"a little cut?" you laughed, slightly in shock. "you were stabbed."
"and? i'm a grown man, i can handle it."
his palms found your waist again, picking you up only to lower you onto the floor. when your feet met the tiles of the bathroom, he spun you around so you were facing the mirror. "don't come crawlin' back to me when your stitches are fucked, then, 'cause i won't redo them."
jason chuckled against your neck, his breath warm as you heard his belt buckle come un-done. "liar," he whispered. something flipped within your core. "we both know that if it'll end with me paying this," he reached a hand forward and around, to give your bare cunt several taps, "pretty pussy any attention, you won't say shit."
...
you hated that he was right. especially now knowing he could give you an orgasm that made you see god.
you rolled your eyes, your silence saying everything you couldn't. jason laughed again, before reaching into his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock.
"you made me so hard," he whispered along the shell of your ear. "see?"
his question, though, was not meant for you to literally see-- no, at his words, jason pressed his aching dick to your cunt, grinding his length along your folds at an infuriatingly slow pace.
you moaned. couldn't help it-- not at the sensation of every vein, every ridge, every bump along his cock skating over your pussy. "yeah," you nodded, bottom lip getting caught in between your teeth, "put it in me."
jason stilled for a moment at your words, before one of his hands flew from you hip and to the back of your neck-- pressing you firmly onto the counter-top. your torso was flush to the granite, and jason successfully had you bent. "i thought we established that you could beg better than that," his voice was low. serious. "with some manners."
shame flooded your system-- but the sensation of your pussy practically drooling onto jason's cock was far too enamouring for you to ignore. "please," you exhaled, "please, baby, put your cock in me-- i need it so badly,"
"that's better," jason hummed, beginning to grind his tip against your clit again. the sound of a low moan from the back of his throat fell onto your ears, and instinctively, you arched backwards and into the man.
"jay, please," you sobbed. jason's hand had travelled from the back of your neck to your head-- keeping you pressed securely to the counter-top. your irises met his, and your entire body tingled with need.
"please what? say what you want." he mocked, hips slowing as he continued to grind against your weeping pussy.
"please--!" you were growing desperate beyond coherent words. "please, jason, please just fuck me."
in the mirror, you watched jason grin. his cheeks dimpled and your stomach flipped. "atta girl," he lined himself up with your hole with ease, before slooowly pressing into you.
you both moaned as his cock began to fill you out-- inch by inch, the further he moved within your pussy, the more you both became drunk on one another.
your jaw had gone slack against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool surface by jason's sturdy hand as he finally bottomed out inside of you. his balls gently rocked against your clit, and he held you there-- unmoving, save for the occasional twitch of his cock.
"holy shit," he breathed out your name heavily, voice coated in a seductive euphoria. "you feel-- god, you feel like you were made for me,"
you whined at his words, arousal dripping onto his length crudely as the visceral need for jason to move enveloped you. "mhm," you hummed dumbly, "made for this fat fuckin' cock,"
the man moaned at your words, hips finally beginning to pace against your ass. it was steady, after a few thrusts-- his cock stretching your pussy out.
"yes," you cried, hands bracing the edge of the counter-top as his tip began to abuse your g-spot. "feels s'good, jay,"
"oh, i know, princess," he gasped, each plap, plap, plap! of his hips meeting your ass becoming more obscene than the last. your cunt pulsed as it surrounded his cock, sucking him in-- holding him, keeping you both impossibly close.
jason grunted and moaned loudly, in tandem with your cries of pleasure, and it spurred you on. without thinking, you began to back yourself up onto him-- meeting each thrust with a bounce of your ass on his cock.
to your surprise, jason's hand snaked its way between your throat and the counter, choking gently, before he yanked you upwards. his thrusts didn't stop-- in fact, his pace only quickened, cock moving in and out and in again at a brutal pace. "no," he said sharply, forcing your jaw upwards to make you look at him through the mirror's reflection, "let me do it. let me fuck you how i want, how you deserve to be fucked,"
your pussy was dripping-- soaking jason's cock as you observed in the mirror (through clouded, tear filled eyes), as he fucked you.
"see?" he questioned, grasp tightening ever so slightly around your throat, "such a good girl when you let me fuck you like this-- when you watch yourself take this cock,"
"yes, jay," you moaned, hands still gripping the counter. every single syllable that fell from his mouth went straight to your pussy, which fluttered whorishly around jason's dick as if it was the only thing it needed.
you had said other things, too; you babbled mindlessly as his dick drove in and out of you, punishing your aching and needy pussy. your feet kicked upwards as jason pushed your hips along the counter's edge, the weight of his hips slamming into your ass keeping you folded.
"haah," he moaned, grinding his cock impossibly deeper into your cunt. "shoulda done this sooner," he said, "shoulda stuffed this pretty little pussy so deep such a long time ago, i've been needin' it so bad,"
his words went straight to your cunt, and it squelched loudly around him in response. wordlessly, you were begging for more.
"oh, what's that? you been-- shiit-- needing it too, sweet girl?" he questioned, cock pistoning your pussy passionately.
"yes--! yes, yesyesyes, i needed this so badly," you agree, far too cock-drunk on the man to say anything else. your toes and fingertips tingled, pleasure bleeding into every sensation you had.
"now you've got it, s'okay, i'll take-- fuck-- i'll take care of you," jason tried his best, really, to keep his sentences together-- but the way your cunt was strangling his cock was starting to get the better of him.
his thrusts grew erratic-- out of time, sloppy-- as he bit down onto your shoulder, eyes still on yours in the mirror.
"i'm goin' to cum," you announced, his teeth sinking into your body only spurring on your second orgasm of the night. "i-- oh god, jason, i'm not going to be able to hold it--"
"then don't," he breathed out, his hand leaving your throat to travel to your clothed chest. despite the fabric of your shirt, jason still groped and molded your tits; he moaned into your neck, giving your right breast a hearty squeeze. "cum all over this fuckin' cock, baby,"
at his words, you obeyed. the corners of your vision went spotty as you head tilted backwards onto jason's shoulder-- your orgasm causing your entire body to twitch. your legs vibrated, and cunt spasmed along jason's dick-- to which you felt him throb inside of you in response.
"c-can i fill you up? inside?" he asked suddenly, thrusts impossibly random as he chased his own orgasm.
you were nodding your head before you could even think about it-- your pussy still beating intensely at his actions, clit pulsating and dripping with need. "holy shit-- yeah, jay, cum inside me,"
jason groaned again-- teeth biting into your shoulder and remaining there as he started to cum. hot, thick ropes, spurting into your pussy-- being stuffed deeper and deeper and deeper with every half-thrust that followed. the moans of the man seeped into your skin, jason drooling all over your body as he continued to pump himself deep inside of your womb.
the sensation of his cock inside you quickly became overstimulating-- but there wasn't anything you could do except moan as jason continued to fuck into you. "jay--!"
"fuck-- i know, sweet girl, i just-- haah-- just let me milk every last drop," and you were certain, as well, that jason was becoming overwhelmed in your pussy as well; hisses followed his moans now, and only when hot tears streamed down your cheeks, did jason pull out. you fell forward and onto the counter-top, the cold surface a harsh contrast to the heat that radiated off of both of your bodies in waves.
jason's body bent in half as he copied you-- except his chest was flush to your back. sweat dripped from his hairline and temple, and you felt a sloppy, warm kiss being pressed to the nape of your neck.
"mm," he hummed, eyes fluttering shut.
you mirrored him, the fluorescent lighting of your bookstore’s bathroom suddenly far too harsh against everything you were feeling. “jason?”
he grunted in response, the sound low and amused at the croak in your voice.
“if you liked me, you could’ve just said so,” you muttered. “no need to get yourself stabbed over it.”
his laughter vibrated softly against your skin. “you think I got stabbed because I couldn’t figure out how to confess to you?”
“the last book you bought from me was Romeo and Juliet,” you reminded him.
that earned a louder laugh, though he offered no defense. the sound was warm, almost boyish — and for a moment, it made you forget the blood still drying on his ribs; made you forget that his cum was seeping out of you.
“hey,” he murmured after a pause, “at least I didn’t die for it. been there, done that. wouldn’t recommend.”
you frowned, half-confused, half-concerned — but before you could ask, he leaned in, the smell of gunpowder and cologne and something entirely him pressing close.
“Thus with a kiss…” he whispered against your forehead, his lips ghosting over your skin, “I will not die again.”
for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. the line hung between you — tragic words rewritten into something fragile and defiant, something that belonged to him. to you.
and as his breath lingered against your temple, you realized there was far more to jason todd than the man who haunted your bookstore shelves. there was a story still being written — and somehow, you’d just found yourself in the middle of it.
PLUVOiA 25’ ® - masterlist
loren's thots: heyyy... how yall doing......... lmfao sorry this took a minute the universe threw an evil evil situationship at me w a man whos 6 ( S I X !!) whole yrs older than me.... god i love older men...... anyways its been consuming my mind and uh anything to do w sex has made me terribly emotional as a result but I POWERED THRU for yall i hope u like it.. n ya ik it wasnt the next one planned for kinktober no i didnt skip the eve and kyle pieces i js wanted to write for someone that i think yall would eat upppp so.. i love u all and omg freakin talk to me? omg cobwebs in my inbox damnnnn....
SYNOPSIS: Everyone at Station 18 knows your name, your address, and the increasingly ridiculous reasons you keep calling for help. Toji Fushiguro insists you're nothing but trouble. But for someone so annoyed, he never seems to let anyone else answer your emergencies.
WORD COUNT: 13.8k
A/N: trying out a romcom vibe, is it ok or is it too cliche?
You were not, strictly speaking, a damsel in distress. You had a job, a mortgage, and a concerning collection of houseplants that somehow refused to die no matter how many times you forgot to water them. But when your elderly neighbor Mrs. Tanaka’s ancient tabby, Mr. Whiskers, decided to stage a dramatic reenactment of The Lion King on the highest branch of the oak tree in your backyard, you panicked.
Not because the cat was in danger. He looked smug, actually. But because you had exactly zero idea how to get him down without a ladder, a helmet, and possibly a priest.
So you did what any rational, independent woman in her mid-twenties would do.
You called the fire department.
“Station 18, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, yes, there’s a cat stuck in a tree,” you said, trying to sound appropriately concerned and not like someone who had already named the firefighter she was hoping would show up based on nothing but pure delusion.
A sigh on the other end. “Address?”
You gave it. They knew the street. They probably knew your house by now, but this was your first time. Honest.
Ten minutes later, the fire truck rolled up like a red chariot of competence and mild annoyance. You stood on your porch in fuzzy socks and an oversized hoodie that read “Emotionally Attached to Fictional Men,” clutching a can of tuna like a sacrificial offering.
The first firefighter to hop down was tall, white-haired, and wearing a grin that suggested he’d already decided this was the highlight of his week.
“Cat in a tree, huh?” Satoru Gojo said, blue eyes sparkling with pure chaos. “Classic. I love it.”
Behind him, a more normal-looking man with dark hair tied back surveyed the tree with professional detachment. Suguru Geto. You’d learn their names later. Right now you were focused on the last man off the truck.
Toji Fushiguro.
He looked like he’d been personally carved out of bad decisions and gym memberships. Tall, broad, scarred, with a resting expression that said I have seen things and none of them were worth my time. His turnout coat was slung over one shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly. The man radiated “I could bench press your problems and then tell you to stop being an idiot.”
You felt your soul leave your body for a second. Then it sprinted back in and started screaming.
“Evening,” Toji grunted, voice low and rough. He didn’t even look at you. Just assessed the tree like it had personally offended him.
“Hi,” you squeaked. “I’m… the one who called. About the cat. Mr. Whiskers. He’s… up there. Being dramatic.”
Gojo leaned against the truck, already eating popcorn he’d produced from nowhere. “This is gonna be good.”
Toji ignored him. He grabbed a ladder from the truck with one hand like it weighed nothing, propped it against the tree, and started climbing with the bored efficiency of someone who had rescued seventeen cats before breakfast.
You watched, transfixed. The way his arms flexed. The way he muttered curses under his breath when Mr. Whiskers hissed at him. The way he still managed to coax the cat down with surprising gentleness, one big hand carefully securing the furious furball.
When he reached the ground again, Toji deposited Mr. Whiskers into your arms without ceremony. The cat immediately started purring like a traitor.
“Thanks,” you breathed, looking up at him. He was even taller up close. And smelled faintly like smoke and pine soap. Dangerous combination.
Toji glanced at you for the first time. His green eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to decide if you were a real person or just another neighborhood nuisance.
“No problem,” he said flatly. “Try to keep him inside next time.”
“I will! I mean—Mrs. Tanaka will. He’s her cat. I just… live here. And panic-called you. Sorry.”
Gojo stage-whispered, “She’s cute when she’s panicking.”
Toji shot him a look that could have extinguished actual fires. Then he turned back to you. “You good?”
Your brain short-circuited. The line you’d rehearsed in your head, it was something smooth and charming, but embarrassingly came out as:
“So… do firefighters rescue hearts too, or is that just in movies?”
Dead. Silence.
Toji stared at you. Gojo choked on his popcorn. Geto turned away, shoulders shaking.
Toji’s expression didn’t change. Not really. But the corner of his mouth might have twitched. Or maybe that was just your dying brain hallucinating.
“… I’m leaving,” he said, already walking back toward the truck.
“Wait!” You clutched Mr. Whiskers tighter. “I mean—thank you! Really. For the cat. And not laughing at me. Out loud.”
He paused. Looked over his shoulder. For a second, something almost like amusement flickered in those tired eyes.
“Next time you’ve got a real emergency,” he said, “call. Otherwise… maybe invest in a taller ladder.”
Then he climbed back into the truck and they drove off.
You stood there on your porch, cat in your arms, heart doing Olympic gymnastics, and whispered to Mr. Whiskers:
“I think I’m in love.”
Mr. Whiskers blinked slowly, unimpressed.
From the truck, you could’ve sworn you heard Gojo cackling.
Three days later, your smoke detector started chirping at 2:17 a.m.
You knew exactly what it was. The battery was dying. You even had spare 9-volts in the junk drawer. A normal person would have fixed it in five minutes and gone back to sleep.
But you were no longer a normal person.
You were a woman with a crush on a firefighter who had rescued a cat and then emotionally destroyed her with one deadpan “I’m leaving.”
So you waited until a semi-reasonable hour like 8:45 a.m. and made a fresh pot of coffee, and called dispatch again.
“Station 18.”
“Hi… it’s me again. From the cat house. The smoke detector is beeping and I can’t reach it without risking my life on a step stool.”
A long pause. You could practically hear the dispatcher’s eye-roll through the phone. “We’ll send someone.”
Twenty minutes later, the red truck rolled up. This time you were waiting on the porch with two travel mugs of coffee and a plate of slightly burnt chocolate chip cookies you’d stress-baked at 7 a.m.
Gojo hopped out first, sunglasses on, grin feral. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Station 18’s newest regular.”
“Morning,” you said, cheeks already warming. “I brought coffee. And cookies. As thanks. For… last time. And this time. Not a bribe.”
“Everything’s a bribe if you’re cute enough,” Gojo declared, snatching a cookie. “These are terrible. I love them.”
Geto took a mug with a polite nod. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
And then Toji appeared, looking like he’d already lost the will to live at the sight of your house.
He clocked the cookies. Clocked the coffee. Clocked you in slightly nicer loungewear than last time which was complete progress.
“You again,” he said. Not a question. Just a statement of suffering.
“Me again,” you confirmed brightly. “Smoke detector. Third one from the left. It’s been chirping like it’s personally offended by my life choices.”
Toji grunted and headed inside without another word. You trailed after him like an eager puppy, pointing out the offending alarm as if he couldn’t see the blinking red light of betrayal on the ceiling.
He didn’t need the step stool. The man simply reached up, unscrewed the detector with one hand, popped out the old battery, and replaced it like the entire process bored him to tears.
You stood way too close, watching the way his shirt stretched across his back. Focus. Say something normal.
“So… do you do this a lot? Rescue people from their own laziness?”
“More than I should,” he muttered. He twisted the detector back into place. It gave one final, defeated chirp and went silent. “There. Fixed. Try not to let it die again for at least six months.”
“I make no promises. My coordination is questionable on Tuesdays.”
He finally looked at you. Really looked. Those sharp green eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing shape. You felt exposed. Seen. Mildly terrified in the best way.
Gojo leaned in the doorway, chewing his second cookie. “She’s been staring at you the whole time, Toji. It’s adorable.”
“Shut up, Gojo,” Toji said without heat. He turned back to you. “You good? No more beeping?”
“I’m great. Perfect. Never better.” Your brain supplied another terrible line. “You know, if you ever need someone to test your smoke detectors, I’m available. Full-time. With baked goods.”
Toji stared. For a full three seconds.
“You’re weird,” he said. Not mean, just factual.
“Yeah,” you agreed, smiling despite the soul-crushing embarrassment. “But I make up for it with enthusiasm.”
A tiny, almost invisible twitch at the corner of his mouth. You might have imagined it. But you didn’t. You couldn’t have.
Geto cleared his throat from outside. “We should head out. Nanami’s already texting about paperwork.”
Toji gave you one last nod. “Stay off ladders. And step stools. And whatever else you use to almost die.”
“I’ll try. Thanks again, Toji.”
He paused at your use of his name. You hadn’t been formally introduced, but you’d overheard it last time. He didn’t correct you.
As the truck pulled away, Gojo stuck his head out the window and yelled, “Come by the station sometime! We love bribes!”
You waved until they disappeared around the corner, then slid down your front door with Mr. Whiskers watching judgmentally from the windowsill.
“I called about a battery,” you whispered to the cat. “A battery. I’m hopeless.”
Inside, your heart was doing cartwheels.
It was supposed to be a peaceful Saturday morning. You’d stepped out onto your second-floor balcony with a book, a mug of tea, and the noble intention of pretending to be a productive adult who enjoyed fresh air. The door had closed behind you with a soft, innocent click.
Twenty minutes later you discovered it was locked. From the inside.
Your phone was on the kitchen counter. Your keys were inside. Your dignity was somewhere in the mulch below.
After ten minutes of increasingly creative cursing and one failed attempt to jimmy the lock with a bobby pin from your hair, you did the only logical thing left.
You leaned over the railing and waved down at the street like a shipwreck survivor.
The fire truck that happened to be driving past slowed. Of course it did.
Gojo’s head popped out the passenger window first. “No way. Balcony girl! This is premium entertainment.”
Toji was driving. You could see the exact moment he recognized your house because his shoulders slumped in visible resignation. The truck pulled over.
By the time they reached your yard, you were sitting on the balcony floor, legs dangling between the rails, trying to look casual.
“Morning!” you called down cheerfully. “Small problem. The door locked me out here. Brain cells apparently on vacation.”
Toji looked up at you, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You know you could’ve climbed over, right? It’s not that high.”
“I have anxiety,” you said immediately.
“You literally waved at me with both hands like you were directing airport traffic.”
“… Confident anxiety,” you countered. “Very different.”
Geto was already laughing quietly as he assessed the balcony. Gojo had his phone out, clearly recording for station group chat posterity.
Toji pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get the ladder, Gojo.”
While Gojo and Geto handled setup with theatrical flair, Toji stayed below, looking up at you with that same mix of annoyance and something softer you couldn’t quite name yet.
“You alright up there?” he asked, voice lower.
“Yeah. Just rethinking every life decision that led to this moment. Mostly the ones involving this house.”
He exhaled something that might have been a sigh or the ghost of a chuckle. “Stay put. Don’t try anything stupid.”
“Define stupid.”
“Anything that ends with you falling.”
“No promises, but I’ll do my best.”
Toji climbed the ladder himself. When his head cleared the railing, you were suddenly very aware of how close quarters this was. His shoulders were broad enough that he had to angle himself carefully. One big hand braced on the balcony floor near your hip.
For a second, neither of you moved.
“You smell like smoke and bad decisions,” you blurted.
Toji’s eyebrow rose. “You smell like tea and poor planning.”
Touché.
He tested the door, confirmed it was indeed locked, then simply reached through a gap in the railing, grabbed your waist with both hands, and lifted you over like you weighed nothing.
You made a very undignified squeak.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice rough but steady as he set you down on solid ground. His hands lingered a half-second longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“Thanks,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “For the rescue. Again.”
“You keep this up and we’re gonna have to start charging you rent at the station,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.
Gojo whistled from below. “He carried her! That’s new. Usually he just tells people to stop being idiots.”
“Shut it,” Toji called down without looking away from you.
You swallowed. “I really am sorry. I swear I’m not this much of a disaster normally.”
Toji studied your face for a long moment. “You’re not helpless. Just…” He searched for the word. “Persistent.”
“Persistent,” you repeated, smiling despite everything. “I like that better than ‘walking emergency.’”
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth again. Progress. You were collecting those tiny almost-smiles like Pokémon cards.
He stepped back, clearing his throat. “Lock works fine from the outside. Try not to trap yourself again.”
“I’ll add it to the list. Right under ‘don’t call hot firefighters for non-emergencies.’”
Toji froze halfway down the ladder. Gojo’s cackling could probably be heard three blocks away.
You waved as the truck pulled off, heart hammering.
Later that afternoon, Shoko Ieiri, the paramedic you’d met briefly when she tagged along on a call, showed up at your door with a bottle of wine and zero explanation.
“Spill,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “I’ve heard the balcony story three times already. Gojo’s group chat is unhinged.”
You groaned and let her in.
You told yourself it was purely practical.
After the balcony incident, you’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about how often Station 18 seemed to be in your neighborhood. Their response times were impressive. Too impressive. And if you happened to notice the big red truck making rounds on certain days more than others… well. Knowledge was power. Or at least that’s what you told your reflection while pretending you weren’t memorizing shift patterns like a mildly obsessed stalker.
Tuesday mornings: training drills downtown.
Thursday afternoons: community outreach or equipment checks.
Saturday evenings: higher chance of calls near the residential blocks.
You weren’t proud of it. But you also weren’t above using the information when your kitchen sink decided to stage a minor rebellion on a quiet Thursday.
It wasn’t even a real emergency. Just a stubborn clog that had escalated after you’d tried to fix it yourself. Water everywhere. Tools scattered. Pride in tatters. You called it in as a “possible leak that might affect electrical,” which was technically stretching the truth but not a complete lie.
When the truck arrived, you were waiting outside with a towel over your shoulder and a calm expression that said I have my life together, mostly.
Gojo spotted you first and grinned like Christmas came early. “Schedule girl returns! We should start selling tickets.”
“Shut up, Gojo,” you replied evenly, though the corner of your mouth twitched. You were getting better at rolling with their chaos.
Toji stepped off the truck last, rolling his shoulders as if already preparing for the headache. His eyes flicked over the damp towel, the faint puddle visible through your open front door, and then to your face. He looked… tired. But not angry. Just resigned in that specific Toji way that was starting to feel oddly comforting.
“Leak,” he stated.
“Sink,” you confirmed. “I tried fixing it. Turns out plumbing hates me more than usual today.”
He grunted and moved past you into the house without further comment. Geto and Gojo followed, but not before Geto gave you a knowing look and a small nod. They knew. Of course they knew. You’d shown up on their radar enough times now that you were no longer “random caller” but “that woman on Maple Street.”
You stayed out of the way while Toji worked. He was efficient, muttering curses at the pipes like they’d personally betrayed him, sleeves rolled up to reveal scarred forearms. You handed him tools when he asked, kept quiet when he didn’t. No terrible pick-up lines this time. Just quiet observation and the occasional sarcastic remark when he shot you a side-eye.
“Most people call a plumber,” he said at one point, voice muffled under the sink.
“Most people don’t have Station 18 on speed dial and excellent response times,” you shot back. “Besides, I figured you’d rather deal with this than another cat-in-tree situation.”
A low huff that might have been amusement. “Fair.”
Gojo, who was “helping” by mostly leaning in doorways, piped up. “She knows our Thursday route now. Impressive. Or concerning. We haven’t decided.”
You felt heat creep up your neck but kept your tone dry. “Observant citizen. That’s all.”
Toji slid out from under the sink, wiping his hands on a rag. His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. “Fixed. Don’t overload the garbage disposal next time.”
“Thanks, Toji.” You said it simply. No flourishes. Just genuine.
He paused, green eyes narrowing slightly like he was recalibrating something in his head. Then he nodded once and headed for the door.
As the crew packed up, Nanami, the captain you’d only seen in passing before, stood by the truck reviewing a clipboard with a deep frown. He glanced toward your house, then at Toji.
“Maple Street again,” Nanami noted, voice flat. “This is becoming a pattern.”
“Coincidence,” Toji replied, climbing into the driver’s seat.
Gojo laughed. “Sure, boss. Coincidence that she times it perfectly with our patrol loop.”
You caught the exchange from your porch and felt a mix of mortification and warmth. They were teasing, but there was no real malice. Just the easy camaraderie of people who spent too many hours together in life-or-death situations and now had you as their favorite sitcom subplot.
Later that evening, Shoko stopped by again, this time with takeout. She’d somehow become your rapid-fire confidante, the one person who saw through everything without needing the gory details.
“They’re taking bets, you know,” she said around a bite of noodles, legs tucked under her on your couch. “Geto’s got money on you asking Toji out by month’s end. Gojo thinks you’ll trap yourself on the roof next.”
You snorted, poking at your food. “I’m not that bad. I just… like the guy. He’s competent. Blunt. Doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile even when I’m clearly making excuses.” A pause. “And he’s stupidly attractive when he’s annoyed. Which is always.”
Shoko smirked. “He’s patient with you. That’s the part that’s got everyone whispering. Toji doesn’t do patient. Not like this.”
You thought about the way he’d fixed your sink without lecturing, the brief eye contact that felt heavier than it should. The tiny almost-smile you were starting to chase like a reward.
“I’m not trying to be a burden,” you said quietly. “I just keep finding reasons.”
Shoko shrugged. “Keep doing it. He hasn’t told dispatch to ignore your address yet. That’s practically a love letter in Toji-speak.”
The next morning, you found a small note tucked under your doormat. No signature, but the handwriting was blocky and practical.
Checked the main line while I was there. Should hold.
— T
You stared at it for a long time, thumb tracing the single initial. Something warm and terrifying settled in your chest.
This wasn’t just about silly calls anymore. Not really.
The universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
You’d been trying, and genuinely trying to cook a simple stir-fry. Nothing fancy. Just vegetables, some chicken, and the kind of focus that came from deciding you needed to stop relying on takeout and firefighter rescue services for basic adulting. The pan was on medium heat. You stepped away for thirty seconds to answer a text from Shoko.
Thirty seconds was apparently all it took.
Smoke curled up lazily at first, then thicker. The grease you’d used decided it had opinions about your life choices and ignited in a dramatic whoosh that made you yelp and fumble for the fire extinguisher you thankfully kept under the sink.
You managed to contain it before it spread, which was a small victory, but not before the smoke detector. The same one Toji had fixed started its piercing wail and the kitchen looked like a war zone of charred bits and foam.
Dispatch answered on the second ring.
“Station 18. Let me guess.”
“Yeah,” you said, coughing lightly. “Kitchen. Small grease fire. It’s out but… smoke’s bad. Better safe than sorry?”
They didn’t even sigh this time. Just a resigned, “Units en route.”
When the truck arrived, the energy was different. Gojo’s usual grin was tempered. Geto moved with quiet efficiency. And Toji… Toji looked at the lingering smoke drifting out your front door and his jaw tightened in a way that wasn’t just annoyance.
He was through the door before the others had fully unloaded, scanning the kitchen with sharp eyes. The extinguisher sat on the counter like evidence. The pan was in the sink, blackened and pathetic.
“You okay?” he asked first, voice low and rough. Not the flat professional tone. Something closer to a demand.
“I’m fine,” you said, wiping your hands on a towel. “I caught it early. Just… stupid mistake. Left it unattended for a minute.”
Toji stepped closer, checking you over anyway. There were no burns, no distress beyond the faint smell of smoke in your hair. His hand hovered near your shoulder for a second before dropping.
“You could’ve gotten hurt,” he said. The words came out gruff, almost accusatory. “Grease fires spread fast. One wrong move and this whole place goes up.”
“I know. I messed up.” You met his eyes steadily. No deflection this time. “I’m not pretending it was nothing. Just… glad I had the extinguisher handy.”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The rest of the crew filtered in to ventilate and double-check, but Toji stayed in the kitchen with you, expression stormy.
Gojo poked his head in, trying to lighten things. “On the bright side, at least it wasn’t another pickle jar emergency. We’ve got a pool going on what your next excuse would be. I had money on ‘haunted toaster.’”
“Not helping, Gojo,” Toji growled without looking away from you.
Geto chuckled softly from the hallway. “He’s right though. You’re becoming a regular feature in our logbook. Nanami’s started a separate folder labeled ‘Maple Street Shenanigans.’”
You managed a tired smile. “Tell Nanami I’m sorry about the paperwork. And that the cookies last time weren’t a bribe. Mostly.”
Toji’s gaze softened just a fraction at the edges, though the worry lingered. “You don’t have to keep calling for every little thing,” he said quieter, once the others had stepped back. “But if something’s actually wrong… you call. Immediately. No hesitation.”
The sincerity hit harder than any sarcasm. You nodded, throat a little tight. “I will. Promise. I’m not trying to waste your time, Toji. I just… keep ending up in these situations.”
He studied you for a long moment, the kind of look that made the smoke-damaged kitchen feel smaller. “Yeah. I’m starting to notice that.”
A beat of silence stretched between you. Not awkward exactly, but heavy with things neither of you were saying yet.
Gojo ruined it beautifully by calling from the living room, “Hey! There’s a perfectly good fire extinguisher here and she still called us. I’m telling the captain she likes us better than plumbers.”
“Geto, drag him out,” Toji said flatly.
Geto’s laughter echoed as he complied.
Once the truck was gone and the house aired out, you sat at your kitchen table with the charred remains of dinner and replayed Toji’s words. The scolding had been real, born from actual concern. Not just the gruff firefighter routine. He’d been worried. About you.
Shoko texted later:
Shoko: Heard about the fire. You good? Also, Toji apparently chewed out a rookie for laughing about it back at the station. Thought you’d want to know.
You smiled at your phone, the warmth cutting through the lingering smell of smoke.
Progress, maybe. Tiny, smoke-tinged progress.
After the kitchen fire, something changed. Not dramatically. Nothing with Toji ever seemed to move fast, but the calls became less about manufactured excuses and more about small, genuine gestures. You started showing up at the fire station during shift changes with coffee trays and containers of cookies that weren’t burnt this time. Practical thanks, you told yourself. Nothing more.
The crew noticed immediately.
On a clear Thursday afternoon, you pulled into the station parking lot with a box of pastries balanced on one hip and a carrier of decent black coffee. Gojo spotted you first from where he was half-heartedly polishing the truck.
“Snack delivery! Our favorite civilian has arrived,” he announced loudly enough for the whole bay to hear.
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I come in peace. And with sugar. Figured I owed you after the smoke show last week.”
Geto wandered over, wiping grease from his hands. “You don’t owe us anything. But we’re not complaining.” He accepted a coffee with a grateful nod. “How’s the kitchen?”
“Smells less like regret now, thanks to your captain’s insistence on proper ventilation protocol reminders.”
Nanami appeared in the doorway to the office, clipboard in hand as always. He looked mildly exasperated but took the coffee you offered. “Appreciated. Though I’d prefer fewer incidents requiring said protocols.”
“Working on it, Captain,” you said dryly. “Baby steps.”
Toji emerged from the equipment room carrying a heavy hose like it weighed nothing. His eyes landed on you, then the box of pastries, and he let out a long-suffering breath.
“You again,” he muttered, but he took the coffee you held out. Black, no sugar, the way you’d overheard him order it once.
“Me again,” you replied evenly. “These are actually edible this time. No charcoal aftertaste guaranteed.”
He grunted, grabbed a cookie anyway, and bit into it without ceremony. The tiniest nod of approval followed. It felt like winning a small battle.
Gojo, never one to let a moment stay quiet, leaned against the truck. “You know our schedule better than some of the rookies at this point. Thursday coffee drop-off. Impressive dedication.”
“It’s efficient,” you said, keeping your tone light but not defensive. “You all helped me multiple times. Least I can do.”
Toji shot Gojo a warning look. “Don’t encourage her. She doesn’t need more reasons to show up.”
“Too late,” Geto chimed in with a smirk. “She already knows when we restock the apparatus bay. Half the station’s betting on what she brings next week.”
You raised an eyebrow. “There’s an actual betting pool? On pastries?”
“On everything,” Gojo confirmed cheerfully. “Current odds favor banana bread, but I’m holding out for those lemon bars you mentioned once.”
Toji muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiots” under his breath and turned to check the truck’s compartments, but you caught him glancing back at you more than once. Not annoyed exactly. More like he was cataloging details like the way you joked easily with his team, how you remembered everyone’s coffee preferences after only a couple visits.
Later, while the others were distracted loading gear, Toji lingered near where you were packing up empty containers.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Bringing stuff. Checking in.”
“I know.” You met his gaze. “I want to. It’s not pity or obligation. Just… appreciation. And maybe a little stubbornness.”
He studied you, green eyes sharp but not unkind. For a moment, the usual wall of sarcasm thinned. “Stubborn’s one word for it.”
Before you could respond, Megumi, Toji’s teenage son, who sometimes stopped by the station after school had appeared from the side office. He took in the scene with the weary expression of someone far older than his years.
“Dad,” Megumi said flatly. “The cookies again?”
“Shut it,” Toji replied without heat.
Megumi looked at you, then back at his father. “She knows your schedule. And brings coffee. Just saying.”
Toji rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Coincidence.”
“Sure,” Megumi deadpanned. “Like the balcony and the cat and the sink. All coincidences.”
You bit back a laugh. The kid had Toji’s bluntness but with less gruff filter. It was endearing.
As you headed toward your car, Gojo called after you, “Next time bring enough for the whole shift! And tell us if you need anything fixed. Toji volunteers fastest for Maple Street calls lately.”
Toji’s growled “Gojo” carried across the lot, but there was no real bite. You caught his eye one last time before driving off. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment, maybe even quiet acceptance.
Back home that evening, your phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. The message was short:
???: Cookies were good. Don’t burn anything else. —T
You saved the contact immediately, a small smile lingering as you replied with a simple thanks.
The “emergencies” were slowing, but the reasons to see him weren’t disappearing. If anything, they were shifting into something steadier. Warmer.
It started as a completely innocent attempt to wear your grandmother’s old silver ring. A simple band with a small stone, nothing flashy. You’d found it while cleaning out a drawer and slipped it on while rushing out the door for errands. By the time you got home, your finger had swollen enough that the ring refused to budge. Ice, elevation, soap… nothing worked. The skin around it was turning an angry red, and the mild panic set in.
You debated waiting it out. Then debated calling a jeweler. Then, with a sigh of reluctant acceptance, you called the one number that had become far too familiar.
“Station 18.” The dispatcher sounded almost amused now. “What’s the issue this time?”
“Jewelry. Stuck ring. Finger’s swelling. It’s not cutting off circulation yet, but I’d rather not test that.”
A pause. “We’ll send someone.”
Toji arrived with Geto and a noticeably excited Gojo. The latter was carrying a small ring cutter tool like it was a trophy.
“Ring rescue mission,” Gojo announced as they entered. “This is peak domestic drama. I’m invested.”
You sat at the kitchen table, hand resting on a towel. “It’s not dramatic. It’s physics and bad timing.”
Toji pulled up a chair across from you without fanfare. His presence filled the small space with his broad shoulders, focused expression, the faint scent of the station clinging to his uniform. He took your hand in his with surprising care, turning it gently to examine the ring and the swelling.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly near the knuckle. “We’ll cut the ring, not the finger. Hold still.”
His hands were large and calloused from years of rough work, yet the way he held yours was steady and precise. No unnecessary pressure. Just calm competence. You found yourself staring at the concentrated furrow of his brow rather than the tool.
Gojo hovered nearby. “Need me to hold her hand for moral support? I give excellent moral support.”
“Touch her and I cut something else,” Toji said flatly, not looking up.
Geto snorted from the doorway. “Easy there. She’s not going into shock.”
You tried to keep your breathing even as Toji positioned the cutter. The metal snipped cleanly through the band in two careful places. He worked methodically, peeling the pieces away without pinching your skin. Throughout it all, his fingers remained wrapped around yours which was warm and grounding.
“Almost done,” he said quietly. His face was close now, focused entirely on the task. You could see the faint scar along his jaw, the way his dark lashes cast shadows. Your heart rate definitely wasn’t just from the swelling.
“You can blink,” Toji added without looking up, a hint of dry humor threading through his tone. “Finger’s not going anywhere.”
“I forgot how,” you admitted, half-joking, voice softer than intended.
He finally glanced up. Your faces were close. Way closer than they’d ever been. Green eyes met yours, and for a suspended second, the kitchen faded. No Gojo, no Geto, no station banter. Just the steady pressure of his hand holding yours and the unexpected intensity in his gaze.
Then the truck door slammed outside, Gojo must have stepped out briefly, and he burst back in dramatically.
“OHHHHHH—” Gojo started, eyes wide with delight.
Both you and Toji pulled back instantly. Your hand slipped from his, the moment shattering like the ring pieces on the table.
“Get out,” Toji growled at Gojo, ears faintly red.
“I’m just saying, that was cinematic,” Gojo protested, dodging Geto’s attempt to pull him away. “Slow motion. Soft lighting. I should’ve filmed it for the group chat.”
“You film anything and I’ll hide your sunglasses for a month,” Toji warned.
You flexed your freed finger, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on your skin. “Thanks, Toji. Seriously. I owe you. Again.”
He stood, gathering the tools with practiced movements. “Just… be careful what you put on next time.” His voice was back to its usual gruffness, but he lingered a beat longer than necessary, eyes flicking to your hand once more.
As they packed up, Geto gave you a subtle thumbs-up on his way out. Gojo was still grinning like an idiot.
Alone again, you stared at the ruined ring pieces and the faint red mark on your finger. The memory of Toji’s careful touch and that charged second of eye contact replayed on loop.
Later, Shoko confirmed what you already suspected when she texted:
Shoko: Gojo won’t shut up about the ‘hand-holding tension.’ Toji told him to run laps. He’s been quiet since they got back.
You smiled despite yourself, pressing the saved contact on your phone but ultimately not texting him. Some things were better left simmering.
The line between excuse and genuine need was blurring more every time. And you weren’t sure either of you minded anymore.
The fire station’s annual open house was supposed to be a low-key community event. Kids climbing on the trucks, demonstrations of equipment, free stickers, and Nanami’s carefully organized safety pamphlets. You went because Shoko had texted you the details and because bringing a large tray of brownies felt like the right way to continue your “not-bribes” campaign.
What you hadn’t expected was to become part of the main attraction.
You arrived mid-afternoon, brownies in hand, and were immediately swarmed by a group of neighborhood kids who had apparently decided you were an official fixture.
“Are you Firefighter Toji’s wife?” one little girl asked, eyes wide as she accepted a brownie.
You nearly dropped the tray. “Uh… no. Just a friend. Neighbor. Frequent… caller.”
Another kid piped up. “My mom says you two are dating because you call him all the time.”
Before you could formulate a response that didn’t involve dying inside, Toji appeared around the side of the truck wearing his full turnout gear for the demonstration. He looked unfairly good. Completely broad, competent, and slightly sweaty from earlier drills. He clocked the kids around you and the expression on your face and raised an eyebrow.
“Problem?”
“Apparently I’m your wife now,” you said dryly. “The neighborhood has spoken.”
Toji’s face did something complicated. A flicker of surprise, then that familiar flat stare. “Kids say weird shit.”
“Tell that to their moms,” you muttered.
Gojo, who had been eavesdropping while handing out plastic firefighter helmets, burst out laughing. “This is better than I hoped. Someone get a photo for the station wall!”
“Absolutely not,” Toji and you said at the same time.
The synchronization only made Gojo worse. “Soulmates.”
Geto wandered over with a camera for the official open house photos. “Smile, you two. Community relations.”
Toji looked ready to walk into actual traffic. You, on the other hand, decided to lean into the absurdity just enough.
You held up a brownie toward him like an offering. “For the record, husband, I brought your favorite. No charcoal.”
The kids giggled. Toji took the brownie with a resigned sigh but ate it in two bites. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Only a little,” you admitted. “It’s payback for all the times you’ve looked at me like I’m a walking disaster.”
A small group of older ladies from the neighborhood had gathered nearby, whispering and nodding approvingly in your direction. One of them gave Toji a thumbs-up. He pretended not to see it.
The real chaos peaked when the station photographer needed volunteers for the charity calendar shoot. Gojo immediately volunteered you both.
“Come on, it’s for a good cause,” Gojo said, dodging Toji’s half-hearted swipe. “Toji looking broody with the hose, and our favorite civilian looking supportive. Perfect.”
“I’m not modeling,” Toji growled.
You crossed your arms. “Neither am I. I draw the line at accidental marriage rumors. Calendar photos are a hard no.”
Nanami, overseeing everything with his usual long-suffering professionalism, finally intervened. “No one is required to pose. Gojo, stop harassing people or I’m assigning you bathroom duty for a month.”
The threat worked temporarily. But not before Gojo managed to snap one candid shot of Toji standing protectively close to you while explaining a fire extinguisher to a kid. With his hand hovering near your back, your head tilted toward him in conversation. It looked… intimate. The kind of photo that would fuel gossip for weeks.
Later, while the crowd thinned, you found yourself alone with Toji near the side of the building as he took a quick break. He handed you a bottle of water without asking.
“Neighborhood’s got active imaginations,” he said gruffly.
“They do.” You took a sip, watching him. “Doesn’t help that I keep showing up everywhere you are.”
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re not as annoying as I expected.”
“High praise.”
A beat passed. Then, surprisingly, he continued. “The crew likes having you around. Even Nanami’s stopped complaining about the paperwork as much.”
You smiled faintly. “And you?”
Toji looked away toward the trucks. “I’m… used to it.” His voice was quieter. “The calls. The coffee. You.”
The admission hung there, simple and honest in a way that felt bigger than the playful chaos of the day. Before either of you could say more, Megumi appeared, looking secondhand embarrassed as usual.
“Dad. The old ladies are asking if you’re bringing your girlfriend to the next neighborhood barbecue.”
Toji groaned. “I’m not— She’s not—”
You laughed softly. “Tell them we’ll think about it.”
Megumi shook his head and walked off, muttering something about “hopeless.”
As the open house wound down, you helped clean up small things. Toji stuck around longer than necessary, finding reasons to be in the same areas as you. When you finally headed to your car, he walked you there under the guise of “making sure the crowd’s cleared.”
“Thanks for today,” you said. “Even with the fake marriage rumors.”
He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Could’ve been worse. At least no one locked themselves on a balcony this time.”
You drove home with the memory of his hand near your back and the quiet way he’d said he was used to you. The fire was starting to feel a little warmer.
The storm hit harder than anyone expected. What started as steady rain turned into a downpour that flooded low-lying streets and turned your quiet neighborhood into a temporary river. You’d been out running errands when it worsened, and by the time you tried to make it the last two blocks home, the water was knee-deep in places and rising.
You weren’t an idiot. You knew when to wait it out. But after twenty minutes sheltering under a store awning with no sign of improvement, and your phone showing flash flood warnings, practicality lost to stubborn pride. Your house was right there. You could see it.
Halfway across the worst section, the current tugged harder than anticipated. Your footing slipped. Cold water soaked through your shoes and up your legs. You caught yourself on a parked car but realized with growing frustration that pushing forward might actually be dangerous.
That was when the red truck appeared through the sheets of rain, lights cutting through the gloom.
Toji was out of the vehicle almost before it fully stopped, rain jacket slung on but unzipped, expression thunderous. Gojo and Geto stayed back by the truck, giving him space which was smart move.
“What the hell are you doing?” Toji called over the rain, wading toward you with powerful strides. Water didn’t seem to slow him down.
“Getting home,” you shouted back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “It’s not that far.”
He reached you in seconds, one large hand gripping your arm to steady you. Up close, you could see the tight set of his jaw and the way his eyes scanned you for injury.
“It’s deep enough to knock you over. You’re not swimming home.” His voice was rough with irritation, but the grip on your arm was careful. “Come on.”
You dug your heels. “I can manage the last bit. I don’t need—”
Toji didn’t argue. He simply bent, slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and lifted you against his chest in one smooth motion. You let out a surprised sound, instinctively grabbing his shoulders.
“Put me down. This is ridiculous.”
“Shut up,” he said, already carrying you back toward higher ground and the truck. Rain poured down on both of you, but he kept his head angled to shield you as much as possible. “You’re freezing and stubborn as hell. Pick one problem at a time.”
His heartbeat was steady under your palm where it rested on his chest. The turnout coat was wet and heavy, but the warmth of his body cut through the chill. You stopped protesting after a moment, letting yourself lean into him just a little.
Gojo whistled from the truck as you approached. “Knight in shining turnout gear! I knew the calendar photo energy would pay off.”
“Not now, Gojo,” Toji growled. He set you down carefully on the dry step of the truck, but kept one hand on your shoulder as if worried you’d try to bolt back into the flood.
Geto handed you a blanket from the cab. “You alright? That current looked nasty.”
“I’m fine. Just wet and embarrassed.” You wrapped the blanket around yourself, glancing at Toji. “Thanks. I was being an idiot.”
“Yeah. You were.” He crouched in front of you, checking your legs for any scrapes from the fall earlier. His hands were efficient but gentle, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the truck floor. “Next time you wait for help. Or call. Immediately.”
There was real concern under the scolding this time which was the kind that came from seeing too many things go wrong in weather like this. You nodded, throat a bit tight.
“I will. Promise.”
He lingered there a moment longer than needed, green eyes searching your face. The rain continued its steady roar around the truck, but inside the cab it felt quieter.
Gojo cleared his throat. “We should get her home. And maybe dry her off before she catches pneumonia and we have to do another rescue.”
Toji shot him a glare but stood up. They drove you the short remaining distance, Toji insisting on walking you to your door even though the water was shallower there. He waited while you unlocked it, arms crossed against the rain.
“Change into dry clothes. Drink something warm,” he said. Not a suggestion.
You turned in the doorway. “You’re going to catch a cold yourself, playing hero in the rain.”
He shrugged, water streaming off his shoulders. “Part of the job.” A pause. “Glad you’re okay.”
The door closed behind you, but you watched through the window as he jogged back to the truck. Shoko texted you later that evening:
Shoko: Toji came back to the station soaked and in a mood. Told everyone to double-check flood protocols. He’s been staring at the clock since.
You replied with a simple thanks and a photo of the dry clothes you’d changed into. No teasing this time. Just the quiet knowledge that the worry in his eyes hadn’t been about protocol.
The rain eventually eased, but the warmth from being carried through it lingered long after.
Toji Fushiguro had never been one for routines that didn’t involve hoses, axes, or calculated risks. Life was simpler that way because it was straightforward, no complications. But lately, his patrols had developed an annoying new habit.
It was Tuesday again. The truck rolled through familiar streets under a gray sky. He was driving, jaw set, eyes scanning intersections out of habit. When they turned onto Maple Street, his gaze drifted left on its own. Your house. Porch light on even though it was daytime. Car parked neatly. No smoke. No drama.
He caught himself and forced his attention back to the road.
Gojo, sprawled in the passenger seat with his usual lack of professionalism, let out a low whistle. “Third time this week, man. You’re not even subtle anymore.”
“Eyes on your own damn job,” Toji muttered.
Geto leaned forward from the jump seat. “It’s cute, really. Big scary rescue specialist has a favorite house on the route. The rest of us just pretend not to notice when you slow down passing it.”
Toji’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He knew your coffee orders. He knew the exact shade of paint on your shutters. He knew that on Wednesdays you usually worked from home because your car stayed put and the lights stayed on later. He knew your cat’s name, for fuck’s sake. None of this was intentional. It had crept up on him like smoke you didn’t see until it was already thick.
“Coincidence,” he said flatly.
Gojo laughed. “Sure. Like the way you volunteered to check her porch after the storm. Or how you ate those slightly questionable cookies without complaint. Or how you carried her through floodwater like she was made of glass.”
“Drop it.”
But they didn’t. Not really. Back at the station, during downtime, the teasing continued in lower voices. Nanami reviewed logs with his usual precision and raised an eyebrow when your address didn’t appear.
“Quiet lately on Maple Street,” the captain noted. “Almost suspicious.”
Megumi, who had stopped by after school to use the quiet space for homework, didn’t even pretend to stay out of it. “Dad’s been driving past her place on off-hours too. I saw the truck.”
Toji rubbed his face. “Kid, don’t you have actual studying to do?”
“I’m studying how denial works in real time,” Megumi replied dryly. “It’s educational.”
Toji escaped to the apparatus bay and spent the next hour checking equipment that didn’t need checking. The truth sat heavy in his chest. He looked for your house. Not because he expected trouble, but because seeing the lights on, knowing you were safe and probably laughing at something on your phone or arguing with that damn cat, settled something restless in him.
He wasn’t ready to name it. Naming things made them real. Real things could burn down or flood or disappear.
Meanwhile, across town in your quiet living room, you were reaching a different conclusion.
You hadn’t called the station in over two weeks. No minor leaks. No suspicious noises. No “I can’t reach the top shelf” excuses. The brownies stayed in your kitchen. The extra coffee you bought on instinct went unused.
Shoko had noticed during one of her drop-ins. “You’re pulling back.”
“I’m being reasonable,” you corrected, stirring tea with more force than necessary. “They have real emergencies. Kids in actual danger. Buildings on fire. I’ve been turning their job into my personal social hour. It’s embarrassing.”
Shoko watched you carefully. “Toji hasn’t complained once. In fact, the crew’s been weirdly bored without your chaos.”
You smiled faintly but shook your head. “That’s the problem. I don’t want to be the entertaining distraction anymore. If he wants to see me, he knows where I live. Otherwise… I need to stop inventing reasons.”
The decision hurt more than expected. You missed the banter. You missed the way Toji’s gruff concern slipped through when he thought no one was looking. But pride and genuine affection demanded better than turning into the station’s running joke.
The neighborhood felt quieter. Your days stretched longer. Even Mr. Whiskers seemed judgmental about the lack of firefighter visitors. After the rescue mission, he found himself joining the joyride of your entertainment.
At the station, the quiet registered.
Gojo slumped dramatically over the table one evening. “No snack deliveries. No panicked calls. I’m dying here. Who’s going to bring the good coffee?”
Geto smirked. “You could always go buy it yourself.”
“Not the same. She remembers how I like it. Extra shot, ridiculous amount of sugar. It’s the little things.”
Nanami sighed from his office doorway. “If she’s moved or changed numbers, we should update the logs. This level of inactivity from that address is… anomalous.”
Toji said nothing. He stared at the report in front of him without reading a single word. The house had looked fine when he drove by earlier. No reason to worry.
But the silence felt wrong.
He lasted four more days.
By day nineteen of radio silence, Toji’s patience that was already thin on a good day had now worn paper-thin. He told himself he was just checking on the neighborhood after another round of storms. He told himself it was professional diligence. He told himself a lot of things.
None of them explained why he was standing on your porch at the end of his shift, still in his station polo and work boots, staring at your front door like it owed him money.
He knocked. Three firm raps. The kind that said I’m not leaving easily.
You opened the door after a moment, wearing an oversized sweater and the surprised expression of someone who had talked herself out of hoping for exactly this. “Toji? Is everything okay? No one called—”
“You haven’t called,” he said, cutting straight to it. No preamble. No excuses. His voice was low, rough from the long day and the longer internal argument that had led him here.
You blinked, then stepped aside to let him in. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the distant sound of evening traffic. Mr. Whiskers observed from the back of the couch with mild feline disdain.
“I thought I was overdoing it,” you admitted after a beat, crossing your arms. “The calls, the snacks, showing up at the station… I didn’t want to become the crew’s full-time entertainment. Or your burden. You’ve got real work. Important work.”
Toji stood in your living room like he took up more space than the furniture allowed. He looked around, noting the fixed smoke detector, the repaired porch step visible through the window, the small stack of books on your coffee table before his eyes returned to you.
“You weren’t a burden.” The words came out gruff, like they cost him something. “Annoying sometimes, yeah. But not a burden.”
You let out a soft laugh, tension easing slightly. “High praise from you.”
He didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched in that now-familiar way. “The house feels off when we pass it. Too quiet. Gojo’s been insufferable. Even Nanami asked if you’d moved.”
Your eyebrows rose. “The captain noticed?”
“Everyone noticed.” Toji rubbed the back of his neck, a rare tell of discomfort. “I noticed.”
The admission hung between you, simple and heavy. You gestured toward the kitchen. “Want coffee? Or water? I wasn’t expecting company, but I can—”
“Stop.” He followed you anyway, leaning against the counter as you moved on autopilot. “You don’t have to keep fixing things for us. Or making excuses. Just… don’t disappear on me. On the station. Whatever.”
You turned, gripping the edge of the counter. “I like seeing you, Toji. All of you. But especially you. And I got embarrassed about how obvious it probably was. The balcony, the ring, the flood… I kept creating reasons instead of just saying something normal like ‘hi, want to grab coffee sometime when you’re not saving me from my own stupidity?’”
He watched you steadily, green eyes sharp but softer around the edges than they used to be. “You did say weird shit. Heart-rescue lines. Schedule stalking. Still showed up anyway.”
Heat crept up your neck. “I was trying. Badly.”
A low sound that almost sounded like a chuckle had escaped him. “It worked. Somehow.”
Silence settled again, comfortable this time. He accepted the mug of coffee you handed him, black just the way he liked. Your fingers brushed. Neither of you pulled away immediately.
“I’m not good at this,” he said eventually, staring into the mug. “The talking part. The… whatever this is. But I got used to you being around. The crew did too. Even the damn cat probably misses the extra attention.”
Mr. Whiskers meowed from the doorway as if in agreement.
You smiled, genuine and warm. “I won’t disappear. But I’m also not inventing emergencies anymore. If you want to see me, you know where to find me. No sirens required.”
Toji took a slow sip, then set the mug down. “Good. Because showing up here unannounced feels fucking stupid, but it beats wondering.”
The honesty cracked something open. You stepped closer, close enough to see the faint exhaustion lines around his eyes from the long shift.
“Thank you for coming anyway,” you said softly.
He looked down at you for a long moment. The air felt thicker, the kitchen smaller. His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm or your cheek, but he stopped himself.
“Lock up after I leave,” he said instead, defaulting to safety protocols. “And text if anything feels off. Real stuff only.”
“I will.”
He headed for the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Next time you make those lemon bars… bring enough for the whole shift. Gojo’s been whining.”
You laughed. “Noted.”
The door closed behind him. You watched through the window as he walked to his truck, shoulders a little less tense than when he’d arrived. Your phone buzzed a few minutes later with a single text from his number:
Toji: Made it back. House looked fine. —T
You read it with a small, private smile and replied:
You: Good. Drive safe next time.
The emergencies had slowed, but the connection hadn’t. It was shifting from chaotic calls and dramatic rescues to something quieter. Steadier. Scarier in its own way.
And for the first time, neither of you seemed in a rush to stop it.
The charity calendar photoshoot had been on the station’s schedule for weeks. Proceeds went to local burn victims and equipment upgrades. A good cause that even Toji couldn’t grumble about too loudly. What no one had planned on was you accidentally becoming part of it.
You’d stopped by the station on a sunny Saturday with a batch of lemon bars which was now enough for everyone, per Toji’s request and a vague offer to help set up tables for the community bake sale portion of the event. Gojo, ever the opportunist, had other ideas.
“You’re perfect,” he declared, steering you toward the equipment bay where lights and backdrops had been arranged. “Supportive civilian energy. The calendar needs variety. Toji brooding by the truck. You handing him a hose or something wholesome.”
“I’m not a model,” you protested, though you were already holding a tray of bars like a shield. “I came for baked goods distribution, not photos.”
Geto grinned from behind the camera. “Too late. The neighborhood ladies already voted. You’re officially ‘Firefighter Toji’s favorite civilian.’”
Toji, who had been adjusting straps on his turnout gear in the corner, turned with a dark look. “Leave her out of this.”
But Nanami surprisingly waved it off. “It’s for charity. One or two shots won’t hurt. Keep it professional.”
Professional went out the window quickly.
They posed you near the truck first, holding a spare helmet while Toji stood beside you looking every bit the stoic veteran. The photographer kept asking you to “lean in naturally.” You tried. Toji’s arm brushed yours more than once. Each time, your pulse jumped.
“Smile like you’re glad he rescued your cat,” Gojo called helpfully.
“I am glad,” you shot back. “Doesn’t mean I know how to pose with heavy equipment.”
Toji muttered under his breath, “This is ridiculous,” but he shifted closer anyway, one hand resting lightly on the truck near your shoulder. The resulting photo was unfairly good. Him tall and imposing, you looking up at him with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something warmer.
The neighborhood audience that had gathered for the open house element ate it up.
One of the older women from the barbecue rumor mill nodded approvingly. “See, Martha? I told you they were together. Look at that.”
Another chimed in, “About time. She’s been calling him for months. True love.”
You heard every word and wanted the floor to swallow you. Toji’s ears went faintly red, but his expression stayed locked in professional neutrality.
During a break, while you were handing out lemon bars to kids and crew alike, Megumi appeared at your side with the deadpan delivery only a teenager could master.
“They’re planning your wedding in the group chat. Mrs. Tanaka wants to do the flowers.”
You nearly dropped the tray. “We’re not— There’s no wedding.”
Megumi shrugged. “Tell that to Dad. He’s been glaring at Gojo for suggesting couple photos.”
Across the bay, Toji was indeed shooting daggers at Gojo, who was dramatically reenacting the hand-holding ring incident for a group of amused onlookers. Shoko, who had shown up in her paramedic capacity, just sipped coffee and watched the chaos with a knowing smirk.
Later, when the crowd had thinned and the official photos were done, Toji found you packing up leftover bars near your car. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the lot.
“You survived,” he said, voice low.
“Barely. I think the entire neighborhood has us married with two kids and a dog now.”
He huffed almost a laugh. “They’ve got active imaginations.” A pause. “The photos weren’t terrible.”
You raised an eyebrow. “High praise. Does that mean I can expect a copy of the brooding one?”
“Don’t push it.” But he took the container of bars you offered him for the ride home. His fingers brushed yours again, deliberate this time. “Thanks for coming. Even if Gojo ambushed you.”
“I don’t mind helping. Or being here.” You met his eyes steadily. “As long as it’s not just because of fake emergencies anymore.”
Toji held your gaze for a long moment. The teasing from the crew, the neighborhood gossip, the slow accumulation of small moments. It was all pressing in, forcing the truth closer to the surface.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “It’s not just that.”
The simple admission felt bigger than any calendar photo or dramatic rescue. He walked you the rest of the way to your car, waiting until you were safely inside before heading back to help close up.
Shoko caught up with you later via text:
Shoko: Toji volunteered to take the calendar proofs home for review. He’s been staring at the one of you two for ten minutes. Progress.
You smiled the whole drive home.
The rumors were ridiculous. The teasing was relentless. But underneath it all, something real was building.
The fire extinguisher lesson had been Toji’s idea.
“You should know how to use one properly,” he’d said during one of his now-regular unannounced visits. “Not just point and pray.”
So on a quiet afternoon, he showed up with a spare training extinguisher and a no-nonsense attitude. You set up in your backyard, away from anything flammable. At least in theory.
Toji demonstrated first, showing the stance, pin, aim, squeeze, and sweep. His movements were efficient, practiced, intimidatingly competent. You tried to focus on the technique instead of how his arms looked in the short-sleeved shirt.
“Your turn.”
You stepped up, took the extinguisher, and followed his instructions. Mostly. On the sweep portion, you got a little enthusiastic. The nozzle kicked, foam sprayed wildly, and a solid blast caught Toji square in the chest and shoulder.
He stood there, white foam dripping down his front, staring at you in flat disbelief.
You froze. “Oh no.”
Gojo, who had “just happened” to tag along, howled with laughter from a safe distance. “She got you! This is gold.”
Toji wiped foam from his face with one big hand. “You did that on purpose.”
“I swear I didn’t!” You were trying not to laugh, but it was bubbling up anyway. “Sweep, you said. I swept.”
He looked down at his ruined shirt, then at you. The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough that your stomach flipped. “Dangerous. I knew it.”
You helped him clean up, both of you ending up with foam on your hands and sleeves. The lesson dissolved into quiet conversation after that. With him correcting your grip more gently the second time, you teasing him about his patience wearing thin. By the end, the extinguisher was empty, the yard was a mess, and something between you felt lighter.
That evening, the neighborhood festival made everything more complicated again.
String lights hung across the blocked-off street. Music played. Food stalls lined the sidewalks. You went because it was tradition and because Shoko had threatened to drag you if you didn’t. Toji was there off-duty, in a simple black shirt and jeans that shouldn’t have looked as good as they did, mostly because Megumi had insisted on coming for the food.
He kept finding reasons to be near you.
Checking the crowd. Making sure you had a drink. Standing a little closer when the music got louder. He claimed it was “just looking around,” but you caught him glancing your way every few minutes, even when he was talking to other residents.
Gojo spotted it immediately, of course. “He’s orbiting. It’s adorable. Like a grumpy satellite.”
“Leave him alone,” Geto said, though he was smiling.
At one point, while watching a group of kids playing near the fountain, Toji ended up beside you again. The festival lights caught the side of his face, softening the usual hard edges.
“You keep checking on me,” you observed quietly.
He didn’t deny it. “Habit.”
“Good habit,” you replied.
He looked at you then and the noise of the festival faded for a second. No jokes. No deflections. Just the two of you in the middle of all the chaos, the slow burn finally feeling close to ignition.
Megumi walked by, took one look at the pair of you, and muttered, “Finally,” before disappearing toward the food trucks.
Toji exhaled. “Kid’s too smart for his own good.”
You smiled. “He gets it from somewhere.”
The night ended with Toji walking you home again, the long way, festival sounds fading behind you. No big confession. No dramatic kiss under the lights. Just his shoulder brushing yours and the quiet understanding that whatever this was, it was no longer pretend.
You were falling. Hard. And for once, you weren’t reaching for an excuse to justify it.
The day had started so normally.
You spent the morning working from home, answering emails and stealing glances at your phone whenever it buzzed with a text from Toji. The messages were simple like Shift’s quiet. You good? But they made you smile every time. In the afternoon, you ran errands, picked up groceries, and even baked a small batch of cookies “just because.” By evening, you were curled up on the couch with Mr. Whiskers, a book in your lap, feeling the kind of quiet contentment that had become more common since Toji started showing up without sirens.
He had texted earlier that his shift would run late. Something about training drills. You replied that you’d leave the porch light on, half-joking, half-hoping he might stop by after.
The first hint of trouble came around 11:15 p.m.
A faint electrical smell. You dismissed it at first since it's an old house with old wiring. But it grew stronger. You got up to check the kitchen, then the laundry room in the back. Nothing obvious. You cracked a window for fresh air and returned to your book.
By 11:30, the smoke detector you and Toji had once laughed about began its shrill cry.
This time it was real.
Panic hit fast. You grabbed your phone, called 911, and tried to make it to the front door. Smoke was already thickening in the hallway, pouring down from the ceiling. The laundry room where faulty wiring had been quietly failing for months had become an inferno. Flames roared to life, hungry and fast, cutting off your escape route downstairs.
You retreated upstairs, coughing, heart pounding. “Help,” you whispered into the phone before the line went dead in the smoke. You huddled near your bedroom door, trying to stay low, mind racing with memories of Toji’s extinguisher lesson, his warnings, his steady voice saying You call immediately.
Outside, the neighborhood was waking up. Mrs. Tanaka had seen the glow and called again for good measure. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.
Station 18 arrived like a cavalry charge.
Toji was out of the truck the second it stopped, eyes locked on the flames consuming the back half of your house. The sight punched the air from his lungs. No. Not this house. Not you.
“Possible occupant trapped!” the radio barked.
Nanami tried to issue orders, but Toji was already moving with his mask on, tank secured, every muscle coiled with lethal focus. “She’s inside,” he said, voice like gravel. “I’m going in.”
“Fushiguro, wait for backup—” Nanami started, but Toji was already kicking the front door open, smoke exploding outward.
The interior was a nightmare vision. Flames danced across walls that had once felt cozy and safe. Heat pressed against him like a physical wall. He moved on instinct and training, dropping low, calling your name hoarsely through the mask.
“Reader! Where are you?!”
No immediate answer. Only the roar of fire and the groan of wood giving way.
He pushed through the living room, past the couch where you’d sat together weeks ago. The stairs were still passable but weakening. He took them fast, shoulder slamming into the wall for support as embers rained down.
Upstairs, the smoke was denser. He found you slumped in the hallway, trying desperately to crawl toward safety, one hand clutching your phone. Your eyes met his through the mask.
“Toji—”
He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest like you were the only thing that mattered in the burning world. “I’ve got you,” he growled, voice fierce and protective. “Hold on. Don’t you dare let go.”
The retreat was cinematic chaos. Flames surged behind him as if angry at being denied their prize. A ceiling beam cracked and fell, missing them by inches. Smoke clawed at his mask. But Toji moved with unstoppable determination, carrying you down the stairs, through the inferno, and out into the cool night air.
The crew was waiting. Shoko and the paramedics rushed forward. They eased you onto a stretcher as you coughed violently, oxygen mask placed over your face. Toji dropped to his knees beside you, ripping off his own mask. Soot streaked his face. His hands that were usually so steady, now trembled as they gripped yours.
“You could’ve died,” he rasped, voice raw with everything he’d been holding back for months. The fear, the relief, the bone-deep terror of almost losing you. “What the hell happened? Why didn’t you get out sooner?”
Tears cut tracks through the soot on your cheeks. You squeezed his hand weakly. “I tried… the smoke came so fast. I couldn’t see the stairs. I’m sorry, Toji. I was upstairs and—”
“Don’t.” He leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching yours, uncaring who was watching. His free hand brushed damp hair from your face with surprising gentleness. “Don’t apologize. Just breathe. Stay with me. I can’t do this without you anymore. Not the calls, not the stupid cookies, not any of it. I need you here.”
The confession spilled out under the flashing lights, surrounded by the wreckage of your home. Gojo stood frozen mid-step. Geto lowered his hose. Even Nanami paused, respect and understanding in his eyes.
You reached up, cupping his soot-streaked cheek. “You ran in for me. Without waiting. You absolute idiot.”
A shaky, relieved laugh broke from him. “Yeah. Guess I did.” His thumb traced your knuckles. “Because it’s you.”
The ambulance doors opened. They needed to take you in for smoke inhalation and observation. Toji stood but kept holding your hand until they loaded you.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, voice steady again but eyes still fierce. “We’re not done talking. Not even close.”
As the ambulance pulled away, sirens fading into the night, Toji remained in the street, staring after it. Your house smoldered behind him, but the only thing that mattered was the woman inside that ambulance. The one who had turned false alarms into the realest thing in his life.
The crew gave him a moment. Then Gojo approached carefully.
“She’s gonna be okay, man. Shoko’s the best.”
Toji nodded once, jaw tight. “She better be. Because I’m not letting her out of my sight again.”
The fire was out. But something far more important had only just begun to burn.
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and the low hum of the air conditioning. You’d been kept overnight for observation due to smoke inhalation, minor burns on your hands, and exhaustion that ran bone-deep. By morning, the worst had passed. You were sitting up in bed, coughing less, when the door opened.
Toji looked like hell.
He’d clearly gone home to shower and change, but the exhaustion and worry were etched into every line of his face. He carried a small bag with clean clothes for you, your favorite tea, and a suspicious-looking container of cookies that Shoko had probably forced on him.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice rough. He set the bag down and pulled up the chair beside your bed, sitting like he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
“Barely.” You smiled weakly. “How bad is the house?”
Toji hesitated, then took your bandaged hand carefully in both of his. “Bad. Back half is gone. Insurance is already involved. But it’s just stuff. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Silence stretched, comfortable but heavy with everything that had happened the night before. You remembered his raw words on the stretcher with the fear in his eyes, the way he’d held onto you like you might vanish.
“Toji,” you started quietly. “What you said last night…”
“I meant it.” He didn’t look away. Those sharp green eyes held yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “I’ve been fighting it for months. Telling myself it was just the calls. Just the habit. But it stopped being about emergencies a long time ago. I look for your house on every patrol. I check my phone hoping it’s you. I eat your burnt cookies and fix your porch and carry you through floods because I want to. Because it’s you.”
Your eyes stung. You squeezed his hand. “I kept calling because I liked you. From the first cat rescue. It was stupid and obvious and I couldn’t stop. Every excuse was just a reason to see you.”
A small, rare smile tugged at his mouth with the real one, soft around the edges. “I figured that out around the washing machine incident. I just… wanted to be sure. That I wasn’t imagining it. That you weren’t going to disappear when the novelty wore off.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “Even if my house is half-burnt.”
He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “Good. Because I’m not letting you. We’ll figure out the house. You can stay with me and Megumi until it’s fixed. Kid already said it’s fine. He’s tired of me moping.”
You laughed, then coughed. Toji immediately adjusted your oxygen mask, fussing in his own gruff way until you settled.
The crew visited throughout the day. Gojo brought ridiculous balloons and recounted the “heroic carry” in dramatic fashion until Toji threatened to throw him out the window. Geto and Nanami offered practical help with insurance and temporary housing. Shoko checked your charts and gave you both knowing looks.
Megumi stopped by in the evening, awkward but sincere. “Dad’s been unbearable. Glad you’re okay.”
By the time visiting hours ended, Toji was still there. The nurses had given up trying to kick him out.
In the quiet night hours, with the hospital lights dimmed, he sat on the edge of your bed and kissed you for the first time, full of months of unspoken want. It tasted like smoke and relief and the beginning of something solid.
Six months later, your rebuilt house stood on Maple Street. Now stronger, with updated wiring and a shiny new smoke detector system that Toji had personally inspected three times.
You no longer needed excuses to see him.
Most evenings, Toji’s truck pulled into your driveway after his shift. Sometimes he brought Megumi for dinner. Sometimes it was just the two of you on the porch, his arm around your shoulders as the sun set.
The station still teased you both mercilessly. Gojo claimed credit for the entire relationship. Nanami kept the old “Maple Street” folder as a cautionary tale for new recruits. But the calls from your address were now only for real emergencies, and even those were rare.
One quiet evening, you were cooking dinner when the smoke alarm gave a single, warning chirp. Nothing serious, just a pan left a little too long. Toji walked in from the living room, took one look at the faint smoke, and raised an eyebrow.
“Real emergency this time?” he asked, voice dry but fond.
You turned off the burner and smiled at him. “Maybe I just missed seeing you in uniform.”
He crossed the kitchen in two strides, pulling you into his arms. “You’re unbelievable.”
But he kissed you anyway, the kind of kiss that promised tomorrow and the day after that. Outside, the neighborhood went about its business. Inside, Mr. Whiskers watched judgmentally from the counter as the two of you laughed between kisses.
False alarms had led you here. But this, the real thing, was worth every single one.
Toji slammed the front door shut behind him with his boot, the sound echoing through the quiet house like a warning. He was still in full uniform. The dark navy pants hugging his powerful thighs, the tight black station shirt stretched obscenely across his broad chest and shoulders, sleeves rolled up to show off thick, veined forearms. Soot and sweat still clung to him. He looked every inch the dangerous, exhausted firefighter who had just spent twenty-four hours putting out literal fires.
And he was staring at you like you were the one that needed to be handled.
You were waiting for him in the hallway wearing nothing but his oversized station t-shirt, the hem barely covering the curve of your ass. The second his eyes landed on you, his expression shifted from tired to feral.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Been thinking about this the entire ride home. You in my shirt, waiting like a desperate little slut for your firefighter.”
He didn’t give you time to respond. In two strides he had you pinned against the wall, one massive hand wrapping around your throat with perfect pressure while the other yanked the shirt up to your waist. His fingers immediately found your bare, dripping pussy.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, two thick fingers sliding through your folds before pushing inside you without warning. “Missed this tight cunt squeezing my fingers, huh?”
You moaned loudly, hips bucking against his hand as he curled his fingers expertly, hitting that spongy spot that made your knees weak. Toji leaned in, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark as he fingered you roughly.
“Please, Toji… I love you in uniform,” you gasped. “You look so fucking hot like this.”
“Yeah?” He pumped his fingers faster, the wet sounds obscene in the hallway. “You get off on knowing I spent all day being the big strong firefighter, and now I’m home to wreck your little pussy?”
He added a third finger, stretching you open while his thumb rubbed tight, merciless circles on your clit. Your legs started shaking. He kept you pinned, using his body weight to hold you in place as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” he warned, biting your earlobe. “Not until I say.”
He pulled his fingers out right as you were about to tip over, making you whine pathetically. Toji smirked, bringing his soaked fingers to your mouth. “Clean them.”
You obeyed eagerly, sucking his fingers clean while staring up at him with wide, needy eyes. He groaned at the sight.
“Good girl.”
He spun you around suddenly, pressing your chest against the cool wall. You heard his belt buckle open, then the sound of his zipper. He didn’t bother taking the uniform off, he simply freed his thick, heavy cock and rubbed the fat head against your dripping entrance.
“Beg for it,” he ordered, voice dark.
“Please, Toji… fuck me. I need your cock. I’ve been wet all day thinking about you in this uniform—”
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out at the sudden fullness. Toji didn’t give you time to adjust. He started pounding into you hard and deep, one hand fisted in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
“That’s it. Take every fucking inch,” he growled, hips snapping forward. “This pussy belongs to me. My little emergency slut who gets wet every time she sees me in uniform.”
The angle was perfect, his cock dragging against that sensitive spot with every thrust. Your moans grew louder, more desperate. Toji reached around and rubbed your clit again, fast and firm, just like he handled a fire hose.
“You’re gonna squirt for me tonight,” he promised, voice low and filthy. “Gonna soak my uniform like the messy girl you are. Flood this cock the way I put out fires.”
The pressure built impossibly fast. His relentless pounding, the dirty words, the way his uniform shirt rubbed against your back, it all became too much. Your orgasm exploded through you.
You screamed his name as you squirted hard, clear fluid gushing around his cock and soaking his uniform pants, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. Toji groaned loudly, fucking you through it, drawing out every pulse until you were shaking and overstimulated.
“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Look at the mess you made on me.”
He pulled out, spun you around, and lifted you effortlessly. Your back hit the wall again as he hooked your legs over his arms, folding you in half. He thrust back inside in one smooth motion, fucking you even deeper in this new position. The mirror across the hallway let you see everything, the way his powerful body in full uniform slamming into your bare, squirt-soaked pussy.
Toji’s pace was punishing. Sweat dripped down his neck. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked on where you two were joined.
“Again,” he demanded. “Squirt on my cock again. I want you dripping everywhere.”
His thumb found your clit once more, rubbing in tight, fast circles while he drove into you with deep, punishing strokes. You came again within minutes, squirting even harder this time, the fluid spraying against his abs and uniform.
Toji cursed, his rhythm faltering as he finally let go. He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, flooding your pussy with thick, hot cum.
He stayed inside you for a long time afterward, holding you up against the wall as you both caught your breath. Then he carried you to the bedroom, still buried inside you, and laid you down gently.
He finally stripped off the top of his uniform, revealing his scarred, muscular torso, before crawling over you again.
“We’re not done,” he murmured, kissing down your body. “I want you to soak the sheets next. Then maybe I’ll let you ride me while I’m still wearing the pants.”
You whimpered at the promise, already aching for more.
there were many things you had learned to live without. family was the first.
not in the tragic way people assumed when they first found out, with their faces falling and voices softening as though the very mention of the loneliness that you no doubt were going through had to be handled in a delicate manner. it was always followed up with a note of confusion whenever you’d murmur something about it being a personal choice, finished off with an air of dismissal.
no one knew the lengths you had gone through just to survive them, to survive the abuse - the constant thump of anxiety in your chest wasn’t sustainable, not when you knew it would kill you. leaving had been the easiest thing you had ever done, and yet staying gone had been the hardest.
you had grown accustomed to it a long time ago, now, and had essentially learned that grief eventually became less of an open wound and more of an extra organ tucked tightly within your ribs.
you had no one. nothing.
you wondered what it might have felt like to have someone merely think of you, or even wait for you. perhaps that was the strangest thing about loneliness - you weren’t even sure what the taste of a warm home was like outside of yourself. it was half morbid curiosity, and the other a despairing wonder you knew would surely hurt you more.
there was nobody checking the clock when your shift ran impossibly late, nobody sending increasingly irritated messages demanding to know whether you’d eaten, nobody calling when the weather had turned for the worse to make sure you’d remember to pack an umbrella.
you simply existed, quietly. you made sure to keep yourself small and invisible, and for the most part, you were strangely good at it.
new york was perhaps the easiest place in the world to be left alone without ever actually being by yourself - millions of people tacked tightly, bodies always brushing against one another on pavements and shoulders knocking each other on the subway. there was an art of living here, an understanding, that everyone was fucking lonely.
it felt less lonely to do it together.
your apartment wasn’t much either. a single studio space tucked five floors high on a street that somehow managed to remain nosy no matter the hour, with temperamental heating, a kitchen barely large enough for one person to navigate and a large bedroom window you’d often sit outside on, your feet resting on the old, metal fire escape located just there.
all sorts of people lived in your apartment, knowing there were five or more floors above, with some murmuring that the top floor was quite lavish indeed. you often listened away in the elevator, overlooked, never noticed by the people chattering away as you became one with the walls, tote bag heavy on your shoulder, big eyes fluttering over at them.
most people, however, were not jeon jungkook.
the tall, muscular bachelor who lived on the very penthouse floor that was so often spoke about.
you didn’t know what he did, no one did, but you assumed it was something to do with the sciences considering all of the papers he would always be carrying whenever you’d pass him.
you didn’t really know much about him whatsoever - only that he was young, and terribly handsome. so unfairly beautiful that it had your fingers clutching your bag a little tighter whenever he’d be in your presence, heartbeat picking up embarrassingly so.
for some reason, you were always in the elevator at the same time as he was.
“morning.” he’d gently whisper to you, quiet and soft, in the elevator, paired with a little grin that had you matching it on your face as you murmured the same greeting back.
you’d immediately become fascinated with the illuminated numbers on the wall, cheeks flushing a deep red that you hoped he wouldn’t notice - pathetic. you had never even spoken for longer than a minute, and yet your heart was doing somersaults at the sight of him.
once, he had even helped you with your groceries. it was a rare day off, your shoulders hurting, as you carried your brown bags of groceries through the city, finally meeting your apartment foyer only to have them all break apart, your fruit falling out of your arms immediately.
the apples scattered, all whilst you let out a sound akin to a whimper, feeling your shoulders utterly slump at the sight. you could feel the humiliation rising as you began to crouch down, and though no one was there to watch you, you could feel your eyes sting wet in embarrassment.
“got you.” you had heard, your eyebrows pulling in confusion as you looked up.
your gaze was met by none other than jungkook himself, arms already filling up as he managed to grab a hold of a big majority of your groceries, picking up the apples one by one with utter ease before giving you a small grin.
“you okay?” he had murmured as you also helped, your cheeks bright pink.
“yeah, i’m sorry.”
“why are you apologising?” he had tilted his head at you.
you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know how to answer him. that, alone, added to the humiliation in your chest.
without even letting you ponder, he whispered a gentle come on, before leading you to the elevator, all the way up to your floor. you struggled to look away from the way his arms bulged, his muscles on show as he held your groceries with utter ease, tattoos lining up his arm as though it was natural. you were half in awe, other in bashful attraction.
you remembered how large he looked in your hallway, how intensely he stood in your kitchen as he placed your things away for you despite your dismissal. he was sweet personified, despite his intimidating look, and for that, you cursed him. the swirl in your stomach just looking at him had forever been altered by the knowledge he really was as warm as he would always be in the elevator.
“thank you, jungkook.” you had whispered by the end of it.
you, unfortunately, had been completely oblivious to the way his hands shook at the mere sound of it.
oh, how clueless you were, so shallow in your thinking to assume that jeon jungkook wasn’t head over heels in love with you, his sweet, angelic girl.
he couldn’t fucking breathe around you, always swallowing up your scent whenever he was beside you as though it was a gift, greedy in his nature, always wanting to take, take, take. his dna had been altered years ago, arachnid senses creating an animalistic nature to him that only seemed to heighten whenever he was around you - his brain screaming; yelling even, that you were his, all his.
his hearing had always been excessively sensitive, always doing his best to listen in whilst he sat in his own apartment. he could hear neighbours moving around in their homes, no matter the floor, no matter the distance, so used to being inside their minds that he could distinguish them by breath alone. it was yours he was most fixated on.
couldn’t help himself from recognising yours first.
and he certainly couldn’t help the strange little warmth that gathered inside of his heart every single time the elevator doors opened up, revealing you stood outside, waiting to get in.
pretty. sleepy. coffee in both hands. always offering him that shy, little smile.
“morning.”
“hi.”
that was enough. it had to be.
because jungkook had learned very early on that wanting something and being allowed to have it were two completely separate things.
you were so soft, so gentle, that the thought of him getting his hands on you were enough to have his dna spike. he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t an idiot - he could hear your heart. could hear the way it would beat so much faster around him, or the sound of your blood rushing to your cheeks, the way your eyes would sneakily stare at his biceps. you wanted him too, and that killed him. it killed him to know you could be his so easily and yet he wasn’t allowed.
you deserved somebody normal. somebody that wasn’t fucking spiderman.
he had lost everyone too. his uncle ben, his aunt may. had let go of all his friends because he knew it was only a matter of time until they were used against him, and that just wasn’t something he could live with. the thought of you, so warm, so small and quiet, targeted by people who’s only existence was based on evil itself, simply because you were his was enough to kill him.
you deserved boring. you deserved someone who was mundane.
somebody who’s nights didn’t consist of bloody knuckles and healing on the bedroom floor, or somebody who could promise you dinner and arrive with certainty at the correct time. someone’s who’s enemies wouldn’t destroy you by discovering what you meant to him.
jungkook knew what happened to the people he loved, and he had lost far too much for you to become one of them.
and so, you remained the beautiful girl that lived downstairs that had him chained, lock and key, with your mere presence. destined to constantly breathe your scent in as you stood by him, bodies barely brushing together, interacting in small beats each morning in the elevator only to be left a mess.
fuck.
—
the bookstore closed at eleven.
you typically left at eleven ten, but tonight, an older couple had come in asking for recommendations 2 minutes before closing, and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn them away. you hadn’t minded, not that you ever did, but by the time you helped them choose something, and wrapped it in the brown paper whilst they searched for exact change in their wallets, the clock mounted above the register read eleven fourty.
you cringed a little, knowing that meant your walk home would be significantly different.
you completed the final checks alone, flicking off all the smaller lights and finishing up your cleaning before you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.
the city was quieter than usual - not that you’d ever really seen it this late in this area.
you breathed out slowly. it took you fifteen minutes to get home, and you knew the route well enough that you could do it blindfolded.
left at the pharmacy, straight for three streets and then across the twenty-four-hour laundromat. most of the shops closed at the same time as your walk home, but considering how late you were done, you knew it would certainly be silent.
your apartment wasn’t particularly safe, nor was the neighbourhood surrounding it, but the rent was too expensive to save and move and you had survived far worse places than this - it also helped knowing you lived in close distance to your crush, a thought that felt oddly sweet whenever you’d think about it.
you knew the rules.
key between your fingers, phone charged, headphones inside your ears but not loud enough that you couldn’t hear the world around you - don’t stare, don’t stop, don’t engage. if someone scared you, go somewhere busy. if someone followed you, don’t lead them home.
you were repeating the mantra in your head, calming your racing heart, only for it to come to a stop as you began hearing someone behind you.
“hey.”
you heard him immediately. your eyes remained forward.
“hey, sweetheart.”
you flinched a little, fingers curling around the strap of your tote as you continued to walk. two separate voices.
“you deaf?” one laughed, making your shoulders raise further as you realised there were three.
your stomach sank.
you noticed them vaguely when you had left your workplace - three men stood outside the corner shop at the end of the street, smoking, one leaning against the brick wall whilst the others spoke loudly enough that you’d crossed the street without consciously deciding to. you had hoped that would have been enough to protect you, but it was clear that it hadn’t been.
“damn she’s rude.”
your heartbeat had begun changing, beating so loudly that it was all you could hear. they were laughing at you, enjoying the way you were trying to get in hurrier motions all whilst their footsteps got louder.
you swallowed, unable to look at them, hoping they’d get bored. men like this typically did when you refused to acknowledge them. you kept telling yourself that you’d be home soon, and that with another few streets, they’d disappear and leave you alone, that they’d find something else to be interested by.
“nice skirt.”
your hands began to shake.
“where are you going?”
every step you took to bring you there faster only resulted in them walking faster too. the fear in your mind and chest didn’t arrive dramatically, but instead built upon itself, climbing harshly through your throat until it had your eyes watering.
your hand disappeared inside your coat pocket and closed around your phone, making your fingers still for a moment - who could you even call? the question appeared before you had given yourself a chance to unlock it.
your co-worker was already underground, your manager living a whole fourty minutes away. you didn’t have friends, still too new to an area you were unfamiliar with, and you certainly didn’t have family. no mother whos number you could press without thinking, no father that would rush out the door to protect his little girl. no brother, no sister, no cousins or aunts, uncles and grandparents. nobody sitting inside your apartment wondering why you hadn’t turned your key in the lock yet.
you had spent years telling yourself that there was a sort of freedom in being alone, only to feel the danger of it in real time.
your apartment building appeared at the far end of the street and for a moment, you could feel your heart leap, before it sank deep inside your stomach.
you couldn’t go home. how could you go home?
if they watched you enter, they’d know where you lived. they’d know that the only home with a stable fire escape by the massive window belonged to you, an easy way to access you whenever they liked - the thought had a sob climbing up your throat. you’d never be able to sleep properly again.
so, you walked past the final turn. away from home.
tears were slipping down your face, not that you even noticed, the fear practically gripping you by your very soul.
“aw,” the voices were closer, and closer. “she’s crying.”
your lips trembled, shakily wiping your face as you took in your surroundings. shops, closed. no one was on the streets this late, no one was stupid enough - it was this hour of night where the evil liked to play, and you were seeing it first-hand for yourself.
you kept turning, going into another street, and then another, realising that they were enjoying the chase more than anything. you wanted to call 911, but even you knew they wouldn’t help you, especially not fast enough. you were alone with a bunch of men who didn’t bother to pretend, didn’t bother to hide their very intention, laughing each time you increased your pace.
a gust of wind had your skirt rising a little, only to have it followed by a loud whistle, a small whine of genuine fear releasing from under your breath.
you could feel it begin to paralyse your mind, and without thinking, you turned once more, heading straight into the nearest street despite not being familiar with the route. your entire body stopped when you realised you had settled yourself into a dead end.
just as you had come to a stop, so did the footsteps behind you.
slowly, you turned, hands shaking by your chest as you made eye contact with three separate men - one smiled, hardly friendly, whilst the others looked you up and down with a slight snarl.
“please..” you whispered, internally shuddering at how desperate you sounded whilst backing away.
“we just wanna talk, that’s all.”
“i don’t want to.”
“that’s rude of you, sweets.” one of them smirked, stepping closer. “been trying to talk to you for ten minutes.”
“yeah, you think you’re better than us?” the other scoffed, approaching you openly.
“i just wanna go home. i won’t tell anyone.” you whimpered back, the flood of tears dripping from your face only increasing in volume which only seems to egg them on.
you ended up closing your eyes, just as the one on the end lunged for you, hand gripping your wrist in what could only be described as painful, yanking you forward until you had fallen onto your knees. you could feel the soreness on your legs, scraping them against the hard ground, leaving you a whimpering mess.
the man reached again, just as your eyes squeezed tighter.
before he could initiate any further contact, the sound of something whipping through the air flooded your ears, a small thud just in front of you that had you looking up slowly. before you could even register anything, the harsh hold on your wrist was lifted, and the man in front had completely disappeared.
you yelped as you heard him scream, yanked into the air and his body slamming into the brick wall just a few metres away, thick, white webbing wrapping around his chest and legs so tightly, it rendered him immobile.
you scuttered back almost immediately, eyes shooting up to finally see what had happened.
a figure of red and blue landed in front of you in a low crouch, figure rising slowly. broad shoulders began to obscure your view of the other men entirely, with a single black spider stretching across his back.
oh, you knew that suit. you knew it just as well as any other resident of the city, your eyes blinking in utter disbelief.
“you know, when someone’s crossing the street to get away from you.” his head tilted at the other two men, who had fallen, inching away with wide eyes. “and they’re crying, and begging you to stop.. at what point does your brain go, yeah, she definitely wants me to keep following?”
“fuck off!” one managed to shout at him, though it was laced with genuine fear.
“right,” the stranger laughed a little. “that’s what i expected you to say.”
he stepped forward, into the moonlight, the streetlights glinting against his suit to confirm he truly was the only person that could save you in a situation like this.
spiderman.
before you could think any further, he shot additional webs at the two left near you, forcing them onto the wall in precarious positions that no doubt was not comfortable, almost doing it in a way that felt comical.
everyone knew spiderman’s moral code of conduct - never kill, never purposefully injure. he simply aided in getting the bad guys into the hands of the police, and he prided himself on being composed, always going out of his way to disarm and suspend to make sure everyone would be safe. those were the rules he had created for himself, to ensure he wouldn’t go too far considering his strengths well surpassed that of the normal man - too much strength, his speed unmatched. it would always be an unfair fight.
jungkook rolled his shoulders, his suit so perfectly moulded to him that it looked like a second skin. this was a pretty easy situation, a bunch of sleazy men that he had gotten rid of quickly, with the authorities already alerted through his ingrained system.
turning around to finally face you, you watched as his goggles widened, indicating the size of his eyes at the mere sight of you.
that coat. cream and slightly too big for your frame - he’d recognise it anywhere. recognised it from the millionth times he’d stan beside you in the elevator, so desperate to brush his fingers against your own but fighting the urge in hopes it would protect you.
and yet, here you were, flooded in tears, on the floor.
his stomach dropped, a small chanting of no echoing in his mind and his eyes moved upwards, examining your face to confirm his worst nightmare.
you.
his angel girl. his sweet, sweet neighbour with the large eyes and cute pout, always muttering a shy hello.
his girl.
jungkook could feel something heavy in his throat as he stepped back just slightly, fingers tingling and body aching at the mere prospect of breaking each and every limb on the bodies of the men that had targeted you - his fucking girl. his. all his.
you were so small in that moment, knees to your chest with tears streaming down your face, clutching your bag in front of you as though it provided a sense of protection from the men now dangling above. you couldn’t believe spiderman was in front of you, in all of his glory, muscles defined against his suit and mask concealing his identity perfectly - and yet, you watched the way his goggles moved in perfect unison to his eyes, widening and squinting, narrowing and sharpening.
the sound of your heartbeat was enough to have his brain swirl, heavy and loaded as he began approaching you, all whilst your breath hitched, too large eyes reaching his through his mask in half fear and other relief. he wanted to cradle you, hide you away, make sure no one could ever touch you again all whilst his mind practically screamed at him.
he had stayed away. he had been good and done the right thing, not approaching you and making sure you couldn’t get too close despite smelling the very attraction radiating off of you. he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted anything more in his life and yet, he had placed you first, and for what?
for the haunting realisation that the world was fucked and out to get you regardless?
it swam in his bloodstream, the anger, the confusion and rage, as he finally crouched in front of you.
“hey,” he whispered, so gentle, a juxtaposition to what he had just done. “it’s okay.”
in response, you could only whimper, body shaking rapidly in front of him. it was cold out, and the air was only getting more and more chilled.
“look at me.”
at that, you met his gaze, leaking eyes only crying harder at the prospect of safety in front of you.
“did they do that?” he asked you, goggles flicking downwards.
you felt so overwhelmed, too confused to register his words, only making him repeat them even softer to you, your eyes trailing downwards do see the harsh markings around your wrist from where you had been grabbed earlier. you were always so quick to bruise, but the horrible red and soon to be blue sheen on your skin was a mere confirmation that all of this was real.
“h-he grabbed me.” you finally managed to speak through your cries.
jungkook nearly whined at the sound of you so upset, so afraid - it was enough to make a man like him angry, a dangerous thing given his abilities. he visibly shook in front of you, and your brain couldn’t register why, especially given the nature of his job. surely he had seen worse, done worse, and yet here he was, crouched in front of you, fingers gently grazing over the bruise as though this was the worst thing on earth.
“which one?”
your brows knitted together. “huh?”
“which one touched you?” he repeated, a little firm this time.
something in his voice frightened you, a confusing conclusion as your eyes unconsciously moved past him, making eye contact with one of the sleazy men before returning to his.
jungkook had followed your gaze, confirming his suspicions.
“fuck.” he whispered, breathing audibly changing. “need you to do something f’me, okay?”
the slight slur in his words had your shoulders raising as you sniffled through your tears, nodding lightly.
“need you to close your eyes for me. you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
you shifted in confusion, uncertain as your fingers curled around your bag again. “why?”
“don’t want you to see what i’m gonna do next.”
your lips parted. “s-spiderman.”
his attention immediately returned to you, pulled out of his murderous haze just slightly as though your voice had pulled him from his rage, soothed it enough to bring him back to reality. that was..new.
“you’re safe now, okay?” he promised you, stepping closer to you until his knees were touching your bag, your faces unusually close. “nothings gonna happen to you, but i need you to close your eyes for me.”
another tear rolled down your eyes as you nodded faintly, lips quivering a little just as his hands turned into fists, no doubt desperate to cradle you and comfort you the way you deserved.
immediately, your eyelids fluttered closed, lashes wet and coated in tears as he watched you pull up your hands as an afterthought, hiding your eyes from underneath. his heart clenched at the sight of you so trusting of him, his ego inflating for the first time in his entire life at the knowledge his girl, his sweet, sweet girl knew she was in safe hands without even knowing it was him.
something dangerously similar to devotion swirled in his mind just as he turned around, facing the three men in front of him.
you had done exactly as he asked, hands clenching around your face as you made sure to instil the darkest environment around you, plunged into nothingness whilst the horrible sounds of pleads and bones breaking filtered through the air. you winced uncontrollably, enough for him to notice no doubt, all whilst he flew in the air, causing him to take the men out of earshot so he really could do whatever he wanted.
by the time he was done, he knew he had gone too far. he knew he had gone against every inch of his moral code, his suit bloodied and rage at an all time high - the arachnid dna was polluting his mind and body, but he truly couldn’t help it. his girl. they had touched his sweet, sweet girl.
he dropped from the high building, webbing through the sky until he dropped right in front of you, and took a few measured steps closer. you were still curled against the wall, legs packed so tightly against your body as your hands completely covered your face, still crying, still whimpering.
“hey,” he softly whispered, approaching you like you were a fawn. “it’s me.”
your fingers trembled over your eyes just as he crouched down right in front of you.
“it’s all over.” he assured you again.
“..can i look?”
his heart broke at the sound of you asking permission.
“yeah, baby. you can look.”
the endearment escaped him before he could even ponder over his words, but it was exactly what your brain needed as your hands slowly lowered from your face.
your eyes were swollen from your tears, face blotchy, makeup ruined. he couldn’t help but stare at you, breath taken away, despite the situation.
he watched as you peered behind him, assessing the situation not because you didn’t trust what he was telling you, but to have it confirmed in your own mind. only then did your hands fully drop, sniffling away as he got closer and closer, almost cooing at you, hands pushing your hair out of your face as though he wasn’t covered in blood. you noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask, your body too exhausted from the adrenaline that was slowly dissipating.
“are they gonna follow me?” your bottom lip trembled.
he shook his head immediately, body a little too close to yours but it only provided the very comfort you actually needed.
“no, don’t worry about them. they’re never gonna come near you again.”
you nodded, another few tears falling as you let out a little breath of relief.
“promise?”
“promise you.”
he watched you as your brain slowly caught up to you, his eyes trailing over the way your knees had slowly began bleeding, scraped from the fall leaving your skin broken, wrist looking similar with its hellish bruise. the knowledge that another man had held you so tightly as a means to hurt you was enough to have him rolling his shoulders back, jaw aching with the thought of going back and truly ending their lives.
something ugly was pulling at his chest.
“you’re hurt.”
you looked up properly, sniffling. “hm?”
“hm.” he repeated, hand darting out to properly push your hair behind your ear. “your knees hurt?”
“oh it’s..it’s fine. hurts a little.” you admitted, eyes darting all over his mask.
the anonymity of it all only had you wanting more, the sudden thirst for truth unfortunately pulling at your chest. you weren’t special in that regard, knowing that most people that met spiderman were intrigued by him, his almost charismatic nature enough to have people urging for more, wanting nothing but to have the truth of who he is. you were ashamed to say you felt it too, that familiar pull that people talked about online. you were just like them.
he nodded at you, blowing gently against your knees to give them some reprieve from the pain, dulled by the material covering his mouth and yet it reminded you that he was real. a real human behind material.
“come here.”
you blinked. “what?”
he began to stand, head tilting back for a moment, shoulders rolling once more before he stretched out his hand. large with long digits, so much bigger than your own, and you immediately took it without even thinking, body already knowing him as safety defined as you stood.
your knees buckled almost immediately.
before you could even fall, he grabbed you with a single arm, swooping you up with ease.
“o-oh.”
“easy.” he murmured, face awfully close to your own as he pulled you up, your feet no longer on the ground as he held you safely.
you could feel him so entirely. hard muscle and warmth, bicep curling around you in a way that had you feeling engulfed as you were pressed against a chest that seemed to go on forever. you couldn’t fathom him being so much bigger than you, but oh, how good it felt. your hands immediately met on his pecs, breath shaking, tears finally drying up.
it felt strange.
being held by him, it felt familiar and comfortable, which was alarming considering he was a complete stranger to you, and you found yourself curling close to him openly. you swore you could feel his breath hitch.
in response, he wrapped his other arm around you, pushing you up further into his arms so you’d be held a little more comfortably.
“gonna take you home, okay?” he whispered gently against you, too sweet for a man that had just displayed a level of violence that went above human.
your eyes flickered to the end of the alley, shuddering in his arms as you remembered how you got here in the first place.
“i can walk.” you murmured quietly, though that was the last thing you wanted to do.
“no.” his voice was firm. “not letting you walk home after that.”
you swallowed.
“kinda need to walk to get home.”
the lighthearted nature of what left your mouth had a small laugh leaving his lips, enough to have you forming a shaking grin yourself, the silliness of the circumstance sort of easing you both as you curled deeper into his arms. he could feel the anxiety lessen in your body, feeling it deep within his own and it only made his arm tighten around you as he prepared the webs in his other.
“how do you think i get around?” he laughed a little at you.
“wait..no way.”
“yeah.”
“what, like on instagram? like, seriously?”
“am i going viral on there?” he hummed back, genuinely curious whilst you stared at him with open eyes and an open mouth.
you simply stared at him, agape.
“gonna need you to hold on tight f’me, okay?” he suddenly moved your hands away from his chest and guided them up, around his neck instead. “you ready?”
“wait!” you squeaked almost immediately, clinging to him. “what if you drop me?”
“i won’t drop you.”
“no, but what if you do?”
“then i’d catch you.”
you swore you could see him grinning through the mask, his goggles giving him a sort of mischervious look.
“that isn’t reassuring!” you huffed.
“i promise. i’m really good at swinging, but you gotta hang real tight.”
before you could even say anything else, he shot a web out at the nearest building and yanked both of your bodies up, holding you as though you quite literally weighed nothing. the shriek that left your lips echoed into the night, your arms clinging to his neck in a death grip.
you could even register when he had started a new web and when one ended, swinging through the air with a practised ease that you know you’d be thinking about later. for now, you were scrambling against him, clinging to his arms in overwhelming adrenaline.
“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” you chanted in his ear through inhales of breath, the wind whipping through your air as you pressed your cheek against his through the mask.
he couldn’t help the laugh, or the smile that was pulling on his lips. his girl, in his arms, all whilst he swung through new york to take her home. it was a sort of exhilaration he couldn’t replicate, and now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t fathom ever having anything else. oh, he had crossed the line in so many ways in the span of a few minutes and he didn’t give a fuck. he had no intention of ever stopping.
another web fired. you shrieked again, hiding your face against his cheek, closing your eyes as you breathed directly into his mask, feeling him even more intimately than before.
it wasn’t long until he had landed outside your building, shooting his final web that had your bodies moving up and finishing up on the old fire escape. he noticed you were still tucked against him, no doubt the adrenaline blinding your vision and thoughts, unaware you were both stationary.
fuck, you were so cute.
he slid through your open window, finally standing in the middle of your tiny apartment, his arm tight around you, but his other hand coming up to gently brush against the back of your hair.
“hey.”
you simply made a noise of pure fright back at him. he couldn’t help the laugh that followed.
“you’re safe. we’re home.”
“huh? promise?” you mumbled out, eyes shooting open to look around you.
immediately, your arms slowly lessened in grip once you realised you really were stood in front of your bed. the familiar warmth of your lamps that you had forgot to turn off again, and the pink of your duvet and plushies that all sat in a row. embarrassingly enough, your spiderman toy that you often snuggled with sat bang in the middle, no doubt noticed by the real thing as you slid out of his grip, humiliated that you had all but thrown yourself on him for a moment there.
confusion quickly replaced the feeling of adrenaline and fear as you looked around openly before meeting his gaze, body still inappropriately pressed against his despite the fact there really wasn’t any reason to be.
“this is my apartment.” you whispered up at him.
he didn’t respond, fingers curling into your skirt just slightly.
your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “how did..you know where i live?”
again, his only response was silence as he gently placed his arms on your waist, looking down at you. underneath the suit, his heart was beating a million miles per hour, almost desperate to tell you how deeply he knew you, how he sat in his own apartment a few floors up listening to your very breath and footsteps just to ease his mind. how could he explain that every time you stood by him in the elevator, it provided just the right amount of motivation to get him through his vigilante actions?
your fingers were curled into him, right where his stomach sat, nails digging into his hard rock abs through heavy material as your eyes met.
the confusion, the way you were looking at him, the way your eyebrows furrowed - you were driving him insane.
you swore you could see him visibly falter.
“you should lock your window.” he whispered, instead of responding down to you, skirt beginning to bunch in his hands.
you hated how much you liked the feel of it.
“..w-what?”
“fire escape right outside. easy access.” he grunted a little, voice husky. “you need to keep it closed, and locked.”
you nodded, throat tight, eyes blinking up at him.
before you could open up your eyes properly, or offer a rebuttal, he finally took a step back. the loss of warmth was beyond jarring as you watched him part from your smaller frame, letting go of your skirt so it could hide the skin he had revealed, watching as your hands slipped from his own body as a result.
looking at him, blood seeping through his suit, shoulders so much wider in person; you couldn’t help but feel your mouth water. was it fucked up to feel attracted to someone you couldn’t even see? even you recognised how insane that was and yet your hands itched to go back to the position you were just in.
he turned, making his way to the window, no doubt to leave, only to be stopped by your loud whimper as you rushed over to him, grabbing him by his arm.
“wait!” you had exclaimed.
you watched him look down, staring at your smaller hand on his much larger bicep, before looking at your face, head slightly tilted.
“thank you.” you whispered, eyes large.
jungkook stilled.
the sincerity behind your voice felt heavy both in his mind and body, as he turned his head to face you, despite being ready to leave. he hated the way you said it - as though you felt like it wasn’t enough to properly describe what you meant and yet there was no equivalent in the language you shared. you owed him nothing. he wanted to scream that at you.
instead, he settled. “you don’t have to thank me for anything.”
“i do. i don’t..i don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”
your hand remained on his arm, curling into the material again.
if only you could see the way his jaw clenched at your words, moving from the window frame to properly turn to you once more, height completely engulfing yours as you tilted your head to meet his gaze.
“don’t say that shit.”
“but..”
“no.” his voice was firm. “you’re here, and you’re safe. don’t think like that.”
you stared at him for a moment, nibbling away at your lips as you eventually nodded, understanding.
you couldn’t help but lower your eyes down, down, down.
before you could overthink your next actions, your hands raised gently, slowly even, as you reached for his mask, fingers gently brazing the end of his neck where the edge of his suit connected to the mask hiding his face.
immediately, jungkook reacted out of pure instinct, hands grabbing your own. his grip wasn’t harsh by any means, as though his body recognised you as something entirely different, merely holding too gently given what you were doing. both of you froze for a moment before you snapped back into what you were going to do.
you couldn’t breathe, and yet he was worse, as you gently began to pull his mask up. slowly, it raised to reveal his neck, milky and golden all at once, his adam’s apple coming into view, allowing you to watch his throat visibly gulp. you pushed it further to reveal his chin and jaw, hardened as he clenched it, feeling your fingers on bare skin. it wasn’t until you revealed his lips, mask now tucked right underneath his nose that you pulled your hands back down to his chest.
your breath mingled with his own, bodies managing to become so intimately close once more, as you took a brave step forward, your hands flat against his pecs.
leaning forward, you gently pressed your lips against his cheek, catching the corner of his mouth in the process.
his hands were on your body, harsh and firm, grabbing onto your back and stomach in a way that showed your effect on him in real time.
you pulled back, lips grazing down to his jaw, finishing against his neck before your fingers pulled his mask back down, a silent thank you that managed to convey exactly how you felt whilst still offering yourself the piece of him you desperately needed in that moment. selfish, even you could recognise that, but with the way he was holding you, you knew he wanted you just as much.
spiderman was affected by you.
you.
you couldn’t understand it. you were no one to him. nobody, not someone anyone really knew and yet he was a mess beneath your body, his inhales and exhales enough to drive your mind into overload.
“goodnight.” you whispered to him in finality, just as he dropped his forehead to touch yours.
he openly nuzzled your nose, your top in his deathly grip as he allowed himself this one prize. the feel of you, so pliant against him, knowing you wanted him just the way he wanted you really was a reward.
alas, he was spiderman in that moment. not jungkook.
the thought nearly killed him as he stepped back finally, gulping visibly as his shaking hands opened the window a little wider.
“lock the window.”
“i will.”
“promise me.”
you grinned a little. that was your line.
“i promise.”
with that, you watched him step out; a web immediately transporting his larger frame away from you in what felt like utter seconds all whilst you found yourself collapsing onto your bed with widened eyes, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the span of half an hour.
what the actual fuck.
—
you woke up thinking about spiderman.
you felt ridiculous, having dreamt about him the entire night, only to wake up with him lingering both in your mind and against your lips. you found yourself grabbing your spiderman plush only to push it into your face, squeaking loudly over the thought of the night before. your wrist still ached, a hideous purple bruise curving around it as a harsh reminder of what had happened less than twelve hours ago, and yet the only thing you could properly recollect was the way your body had pressed against his so intimately.
his mouth.
fuck.
kissing his cheek, capturing the corner of his lips in a way that felt like you were strangely claiming your own stake on him was wild to say the least.
from waking up, brushing your teeth and showering - it was all you could think about.
it was humiliating considering you didn’t even kiss him properly, merely lifting his mask as though you had any right, a stranger at that, sealing a thank you straight into his skin. it was both mortifying and thrilling, your stomach doing loops whenever you recollected the moment, the reminder of how he had held you so tightly, gripping your clothes in a way that rendered you completely pliant.
by the time you were dressed, you had finally had a talk with yourself, convincing yourself that you needed to behave normally. it wasn’t like you’d see him again anyway, and life eventually had to go back to the mundane whether you wanted it to or not.
it was your day off, with the sun shining bright outside despite the winter chill in the air, lingerthing through the skyhigh buildings throughout the city. you weren’t sure what you wanted to do today, but it was imperative you left your apartment in hopes to get some fresh air, deciding that it was best to actually have your brain thinking elsewhere.
you knew there was a bakery that sat a twenty minute walk away that sold pastries you had been eyeing for weeks. that felt like a good enough justification to you.
grabbing your coat, you checked your window twice to make sure it was locked before heading to the elevator.
the doors opened immediately upon pressing the button.
“morning.”
your heart dropped rapidly right into your stomach as you made eye contact with the one person you had been pondering on for far longer than spiderman.
jungkook.
it was comical, really, how you had spent your entire night and morning pondering over one man only to be met with the ridiculously attractive man you were completely obsessed with. the fresh feeling of humiliation waved over you all again.
he looked so good it genuinely hurt, dressed casually for once in dark joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, hair slightly damp from the shower he had just had. his glasses were low on his nose, papers tucked under one hand and his phone in the other - he managed to look expensive and important all at once, despite his casual wear.
his eyes moved over you. up and down, openly, as though he was finally allowing himself the opportunity to indulge after last night’s events.
you, who was unaware of the situation you were in, where the two men you were thinking of were actually one, found yourself flushing as you shuffled beside him, murmuring a soft hi before tucking your hair behind your ear.
“what happened?”
you blinked for a second, turning your head to look up at him. your brain tickled in recognition, having looked up the same way last night.
“hm?”
he shoved his phone into his pocket just as his eyes narrowed, his papers still tucked under his arm before his hand darted out and reached for you. his fingers curled gently around your wrist, lifting it up. he stared at the bruising, so much darker than what it had been last night now that it had time to properly settle.
you watched his jaw tighten, a flush of anger flipping through his gaze.
“oh.” you flushed a little, forgetting it had been so visible. “i just..i fell.”
his eyes lifted slowly to yours as though he didn’t believe you whatsoever. you had never quite noticed how intense he looked.
“someone grab you when you fell?”
your heart skipped at the slight harshness in his tone, as though he knew more than he was leading on. it confused you enough to tilt your head at him in response, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.
“looks like you were grabbed.” he clarified.
he looked down at your wrist, just as you did the same, thumb hovering over evident markings that looked awfully similar to finger marks.
“oh.” you flushed pink. of course. you felt stupid for a moment. “yeah..um..”
your hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by him, his body turning to face you properly all whilst he held your wrist.
a sick part of him wanted you to confirm it. to ask for his help. not spiderman’s, but jungkook’s. so he could stand here and be the man you exactly needed. he couldn’t reveal his identity to you, not until he was sure you actually wanted him in the exact way he wanted you - it wasn’t fair on either of you.
your cheeks burned further, unsure as to how you were supposed to explain such a situation.
he noticed, of course.
“you okay?” his tone became soft, so intensely gentle that you too found yourself turning to face him, eyes wide.
“i’m okay.” you assured, cheeks still pink. “something um, happened last night but it’s all good now. i promise.”
you watched as he clenched his jaw. somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognised the notion to be familiar, too familiar, and yet you couldn’t quite connect the dots. he looked upset, angry even, as though he was recollecting something.
and oh, how he was. the sound of your knees hitting concrete, hearing you cry in his arms in utter fear after being assaulted all whilst he listened to your heartbeat echo through his head. he hadn’t been able to sleep all night, chasing coffees just to keep him awake so he could ponder on it longer, the rush of it only adding to the adrenaline of it all.
your lips. fuck, your lips.
so soft against his cheek, gliding down so gently to his jaw, ending against his neck, right on his pulse.
it was all he could think about as his head rested against his pillow, listening carefully to hear your soft puffs of air leaving your mouth as you slept - it relaxed him, made his heart rest whilst his mind raced.
now, you were stood in front of him, with your hand in his hand, so pretty and sweet. he wanted to kiss you, but he also wanted to lock you inside your apartment so no one could ever hurt you again.
he gently let go of your hand, watching as you returned to focusing on the numbers on the side panel, cheeks too pink to be anything other than utterly shy. he was obsessed with how adorable you looked, tucking your hair behind your ear, pretending you weren’t as affected as you actually appeared to be.
he couldn’t stop looking at you.
not when the memory of your frame packed so tightly against his body was all he could think about when he peered down.
“you working today?” he murmured, almost desperate for your attention.
you glanced over, surprised by his question. “oh, um, no. not today.”
“no?”
you shook your head, smiling shyly. “it’s my day off.”
“what’re you doing?”
you couldnt help yourself, nibbling away at your lip to stop your smile growing a little. he had always been kind to you, going out of his way to help you with your groceries and hold doors open for you but your conversations rarely extended beyond pleasantries and whatever small interaction the situation allowed for. this felt different, as though he was making a conscious decision to speak to you when he had been somewhat reserved before.
it excited you.
“uh..” you adjusted your tote. “there’s this bakery i’ve had my eye on for a while, and i don’t know. i thought it’d be nice to go get something.”
“where?”
you told him, voice soft.
his eyebrows knitted together. “that’s far.”
you laughed. “it’s only twenty five minutes.”
“fair.” he nodded, expression neutral.
he tried to pretend like the prospect of you walking alone mere hours after what had happened last night wasn't enough to throw his nervous system into fight or flight. if he had it his way, you’d be in his apartment, kept away from anything from the outside world just so he could ensure you’d be safe but alas, even he had enough comprehension to recognise that was hardly humane.
the elevator chimed, rendering the conversation over and the disappointmernt on his face was clear - it was enough to have you biting down your smile further.
you stepped out first, shoving the bag further on your shoulder. “have a good day!”
“you too.” he gently murmured, giving you a small smile back just as the doors closed again.
you didn’t realise that the only reason he had gotten in was to be around you, to just have your scent engulf him in the same way it had done last night. he needed to check in on you, to make sure you were still engaging with your normal routine in case whatever had happened had fucked with you too much.
what he hadn’t expected was to feel a longing for you so severe, he was going upstairs to collect his suit.
-
you had only been walking for three minutes when you started noticing the barely there whipping sounds in the air - far enough to be the wind and yet close enough to start to feel repetitive.
you assumed it was all in your head as you turned to the left, unconsciously walking past the same alleyway you had been cornered in last night. you didn’t recognise it, especially considering you usually didn’t come this way, and now that it was daylight, it all looked so much more different.
what you did notice, however, as you walked past was the police tape sectioning it off alongside the police force actually within the area. your brain didn’t compute the fact that they were there no doubt due to the three men that had been stuck against the wall all night thanks to spiderman, nor because of the sheer brutality he had shown them. you had been purposefully sheltered from it all.
instead, you found yourself looking up to the sky, watching the top of the building beside you in curiosity to see where that odd sound was coming from.
nothing.
strange.
you continued walking.
as you crossed the road, the light flashing green, you heard it again, much louder this time as though it had been closer, causing you to gasp a little, looking up again despite being on a busy street.
just as you reached the other side, your confusions were finally given relief as you noticed a flicker of blue and red. the smallest flash of something your mind couldn’t even comprehend.
your heart jumped in your chest at the possibility, the realisation.
instead of focusing on it, you continued to walk, entering a less busy street which meant you could flick your eyes up each time you heard a swoosh, only to be met with fragments of the same colours, confirming your hypothesis in real time.
spiderman was following you.
you couldn’t help the smile that began to form, a small giggle escaping you.
you pushed ahead, face no longer looking up so you wouldn’t reveal the fact you had figured it out, but the feelings in your body were unfathomable. you felt giddy with glee, shy and excited, your mind constantly repeating the same fact over and over and over and over and over until you were growing pink in the cheeks.
spiderman felt something too.
why else would he be doing this?
sure he had a moral duty to the citizens of new york, but this was beyond that and even you could recognise it. you weren’t in any danger, not at all - you were merely walking the streets to go to a bakery and yet here he was, flinging from building to building in hopes of getting your attention.
you decided to test your theory.
once, by stepping into the florist on your left, heading in, aimlessly smelling the flowers and chatting up a storm longer than ten minutes to which you noticed the same suit perched on a building, no doubt thinking he was out of view. by the time you had left, he was back to swinging.
by the time you reached the bakery, you were trying your hardest not to be overrun by excited giggles, despite the pain in both your wrist and knees.
the little bell over the door chimed as you walked in, warmth engulfing you whilst the scent of sugar in the air soothed any lasting stress in your body from the night before. you took your time, pondering over which baked goods to take home, truly savouring the experience.
you ended up leaving with a little bag of different things to try, feeling on top of the moon which felt like a juxtaposition to what had happened to you hours ago.
tucking it to your chest, you looked up again excitedly only to realise he wasn’t there. you frowned a little, eyes peering to the buildings around you and still nothing.
perhaps he had gone.
the embarrassment in your body at the mere prospect of feeling disappointed was enough to have your cheeks heating as you began the journey home, muttering something to yourself over behaving normally. he was obviously on a patrol of the area, or doing something that actually warranted his attention - he didn’t know you. it was ridiculous to assume it was you he was following around.
before you could wallow up in self shame, the familiar whip of webs being formed had you gasping a little, looking up immediately only to find spiderman sat on the edge of a building, feet dangling.
you were openly looking at him, eye contact heavy, as he tilted his head at you, goggles indicating he was grinning at you. at that, you felt all of your overthinking thoughts dissipate, replaced with the reality that yes, spiderman absolutely was following you.
you smiled up at him, looking away once you realised your heartbeat was beating a little too fast before actually going home.
the sound of webs followed you all the way back.
-
by the time nightfall came, you were settled on your bed, movie on the tv, dressed in the prettiest pyjamas you owned. flimsy, sure, but sweet silky pink shorts paired with a matching camisole that left little to the imagination, all whilst your favourite romcom filled the space.
you wanted to unwind, what with your hair up in a bun of sorts, nails freshly painted and face mask just completed.
the city was quiet tonight, which was rare. the traffic was good for once and the laughter of the residents around you sat a little louder than usual, but the usual buzz that forced everyone to compete and never rest seemed to be missing, as though everyone needed today to recharge just like you. it felt oddly peaceful, reassuring even, to know everyone had decided to take a breath with you.
outside, jeon jungkook was perched on the opposite building, simply staring at you.
he knew it wasn’t right, knew he was being ridiculous and overbearing but he hadn’t been able to move for the past hour and a half. he had done everything he needed, fought the criminals and handed them to the nypd with ease, even practicing his look of confusion when they asked about the utter violence that had happened the night before. he had worked and worked and worked and worked and now, he found himself sat, watching his girl unwind as though he was unwinding with you.
you with your green face mask, that you had promptly washed off and the look of concentration as you painted your nails, your tongue slightly poking out of your mouth. he had never been so enamoured by someone before.
he knew that last night had changed the way his brain thought.
for months, years even, he had promised himself to be as objective as possible - he couldn’t get close to anyone, for their sake and never his own. he couldn’t be selfish, he couldn’t place his wants above what needed to happen for the safety of the people around him. no friends, no family and certainly no lovers and yet, you.
you, his angel girl, who he had wanted nothing more than to speak to, indulging slightly in the elevator even though it made his heart clench each time. you, his sweet girl, who had been attacked even though he had done every single thing right.
it was the realisation that no matter what he did, violence would still exist. anger and rage would still be here, and you would still be a potential target - it made no sense for him to stay away when without him, it was simply louder.
and so, jungkook indulged. he indulged in what he could do by sitting here and watching you, allowing his heart to fall deeper in love with you despite having done everything to fight it. he didn’t want to stop what felt so natural to him, not anymore.
he wanted you.
you were safe here, under his watchful eye. that was how he rationalised it anyway, despite knowing you were home, your window locked just like promised, flauntering around in the tiniest pyjamas he had ever seen.
fuck. the mere sight of you had him sporting a bulge, something he was thankful was kept hidden from you, but he couldn’t help but stare and stare and stare. you were beyond beautiful, but it was something about you now, soft and unfiltered, that had his teeth gnawing. he wanted to have a piece of you, if not all, and keep you to himself.
he wanted so much.
jungkook watched as you stood up, humming a little to yourself, audible from his position due to his hearing, going over to your kitchen. he watched you pour water into your kettle, preparing your mug and tea bag, the domesticity of the situation enough to have his heart beating even faster than usual.
you nibbled against your lip as you waited for the water to warm before finally picking it up, pouring it straight into your cup.
lost in your thoughts, your hand shook slightly, causing a little bit of it to pour elsewhere which wouldn’t have been a big deal hadn’t a splash of it jumped at your hand.
you yelped, startling back whilst your poor finger protested. thankfully, it was only a few droplets but the sting was enough to bring you back to reality.
outside, jungkook was already moving, practically jumping off of the building within seconds as he webbed into the air, throwing another to land onto your fire escape. his heart was slamming against his chest, breath caught somewhere behind his ribs as he watched you up close, eyebrows pulling together all due to a small noise that had escaped your mouth.
his hearing sharpened immediately.
your heartbeat, slowly soothing. your breathing, shocked but steady, and then running water, with your fingers sat beneath it, cooling your skin.
you were fine.
he kept chanting it in his head as his own heartbeat relaxed, hands no longer about to break the window in order to get to you, causing him to step back just slightly. in doing so, his foot scraped against a pebble, causing a small sound that wouldn’t have been noticeable had you not already been on high alert due to the slight stinging pain.
your head turned immediately, eyebrows furrowing as you looked over.
the apartment fell strangely quiet, a false pretense considering you know that you had just heard movement. turning the water off and dabbing your hand dry, you turned towards the window, head tilted.
“hello?”
nothing.
you felt slightly foolish as you approached, opening the curtains and window to again, be met with absolutely nothing. you peered over the buildings around you, looking left and right only to have your suspicious rejected - there was nothing, no one, around you.
just as you were about to turn away, something caught your attention.
a small remnant of web was plastered at the corner of your window. small enough to go unnoticed and yet you knew this was fresh, as though it had just been planted accidentally without thought
the smile that formed on your lips was slight and yet you couldn’t fight it even if you tried, a small shake of your head following as your fingers darted out to touch it. it was oddly adhesive, but not sticky, smooth against your fingers and so, so delicate. it confused you and intrigued you all at the time knowing how strong the substance actually was.
“you’re terrible at cleaning up after yourself.” you murmured out loud, in a sort of dry tone, despite the smile on your face.
your fingers rubbed over the web almost intimately, and jungkook willed his bulge to go away desperately but it was hard when the scene in front of him almost felt erotic. you were touching a part of him, a piece that most weren’t privy to whatsoever, so gently. so delicately as though it was precious.
your eyes fluttered over where you had been burned, just slightly, realising that he had probably heard you yelp in shock. your smile only grew at the thought of him watching you, despite it being so deeply unethical.
“i’m okay, spidey. just a little shock.” you hummed as you retreated your hand, standing up again to gently close it.
the nickname settled deep inside his chest as he blinked from underneath his mask, hanging from the side of the building in ease. he felt his entire body sink slowly at the mere thought of you giving him a nickname, one as playful as that too - it fucked with him. fuck, fuck, fuck.
he couldn’t help himself. god, he knew he shouldn’t and yet he watched you walk away, and the thought unnerved him making him drop down immediately, silent as ever in his actions and gently tap on the window.
you stopped dead.
it was your turn for your heartbeat to hasten.
slowly, already smiling shyly, you turned around only to be met with the sight of spiderman hung upside down, one hand keeping him up with his web from up above and the other slowly waving at you. it was as though gravity had no presence in his life, what with his body suspended in the air so casually.
“hey.” he merely said, as though it was normal.
“..hi.”
you sounded so breathless.
“you alright?”
you really couldn’t help the smile on your face. “mhm. just told you that.”
his head tilted. “yeah, suppose you did. guess i just wanted to hear it again.”
you laughed a little, approaching the window again, properly moving your curtains so you could see him entirely, although the window remained closed.
“you’re in the air.”
“technically,” he corrected, with a wag of his finger. “i’m hanging.”
you narrowed your eyes at him.
“you’ve been following me.”
his lenses narrowed after widening momentarily, an almost sheepish nature to him now.
“oh..was i that obvious?”
you gave him a look. “you literally stood outside a florist for like, ten minutes.”
“maybe i just really like flowers?” he tried, only resulting in your giggles.
“you don’t.”
“you can’t prove that.” he hummed back playfully.
“i bet you hate flowers.”
“we’re in slanderous territory.”
“think i’ll tell everyone that spiderman hates flowers.” you hummed back, just as you began opening the window.
“spiderman never said that.”
“he didn’t have to. i get it from his vibe.”
at that, it was his turn to laugh, eyes closing momentarily. it felt so good to just converse with you, and be silly with one another as though this was all completely normal - as if he wasn’t hanging upside down in front of you.
“you’ve been smiley all day.” he murmured gently, as you leaned closer towards him, resting against the window frame.
your faces were awfully close.
“have i?” you hummed. “mhm.” he responded.
“does that mean you’ve been watching me all day?”
“maybe.”
“that’s a little creepy.” you teased, tilting your head.
“yeah?”
“maybe a lot creepy.”
“fair. think i’ll do it again tomorrow, though.”
there wasn’t even an ounce of shame in his voice, as he spoke confidently to you as though the subject matter was completely normal. you couldn’t help the bright smile that was beginning to form.
jungkook watched as you took a seat on the window frame, curling a little closer to him so you could properly face him whilst speaking.
“you’re very confident.” you commented with an intrigued hum, continuing to tilt your head.
“not usually.”
“no?”
“not around you.”
your mind faltered at that. you had only met him twice and yet the way he said that indicated something completely other. you didn’t let it show on your face, but you could feel your thoughts begin to merge, trying to rationalise what he meant.
“really?” you pushed.
“you make me nervous.” his honesty felt like a shock to the system.
“spiderman gets nervous?”
“around you? terrified.”
at that, you were a giggling mess, fingers up to your mouth.
“you’re lying.”
“swear.”
“you literally jump off of buildings and fight bad guys.” you said through a giggle, and you could of sworn you felt a hint of a smile through his mask too. “that literally makes no sense.”
instead of responding, he adjusted himself. he still hung upside down, but now, he was so much closer to you, and you were also pulling yourself forward, hands in front of you as you leaned into him. his free hand tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing against your cheek and jaw.
“heights are easy, but..” he murmured. quiet. “you..you’re different.”
“you’re lying.” you repeated, slightly leaning back.
you watched as he leaned forward immediately, stealing your space as though he couldn’t bare having distance between you.
“promise you.”
“hm, i don’t know.” you hummed. “you’ve literally fought like..aliens, but i’m the thing that scares you?”
“..yeah.”
you both laughed. he sounded pathetic. you loved it.
you searched his mask, so desperate to know who he was underneath it all. would his eyebrows pull together the way you imagined them to, or would he smile the same way he had managed to make you do so in the entirety of your time together.
“why?” you softly asked him, almost breathless.
“i don’t know.”
“now you’re actually lying.”
he laughed. “..i’m just trying not to sound weird.”
“try harder.”
you were both a giggling mess, your head tilting forward momentarily, causing your foreheads to brush against each other.
“okay. but you’re gonna think i’m strange.”
“i already think you’re strange, spidey.”
the smile on jungkook’s lips stretched until he was laughing quietly under his breath with a slight shake to his head. his sweet girl - you were cheeky too. he liked it.
the silence that settled between you was soft, hardly awkward as you recognised he was clearly in two minds about something. you couldn’t fight the shaking feeling of familiarity, that something about him felt normal to you, as though you had long become accustomed to him. you couldn’t put your finger on it.
your eyes wandered lower as the memory of yesterday slowly came crashing back down on you. your lips against his skin, so faintly you swore it felt like you hadn’t done it all. the feel of fabric against your fingers, so unlike anything you had imagined it to feel like - sturdier, silkier, softer. even now, staring at him, you longed to do it again.
your cheeks grew pink.
“what?” he quietly questioned as you naturally edged closer.
you hadn’t realised you were openly staring at him.
“oh, nothing.”
“liar.”
that made you smile.
“i’ve just been wondering..i don’t know.”
“wondering about what?” his voice grew softer, encouraging you.
you hesitated for a moment, all whilst he watched you. “just been wondering what you look like.”
he stilled. you could sense it, the way his heart had stopped for a moment, so much so that his body no longer swayed despite the chilly wind commanding him to do so. instead of pushing you away, however, he merely tilted his head at you - comical due to his upside down position.
“yeah?”
you nodded. “only a little.”
“just a little?” he teased, causing you to laugh.
“okay, maybe a bit more than a little.”
his breathing grew a little harsher. “that’s dangerous information to tell a guy like me.”
“why?” you pushed.
“because..now i’m thinking about it too.”
he watched you bite down into your bottom lip, your large eyes peering over the mask, itching to touch his skin with your own hands. your heart was beating so hard it bordered on painful and the butterflies in your stomach had quickly transformed into stomping elephants.
“thinking about what?”
“what it’d be like if..” he whispered, goggles closing shut for a moment. “nevermind.”
“no.”
“yes.”
you giggled. “you can’t just start a sentence like that, and then finish it with nevermind. that’s silly.”
“watch me.”
“spidey.”
he grunted a little, visibly affected by your words. “that’s cheating.”
you continued your giggles. “what, how?”
“you keep calling me that.”
“oh, sorry. do you not like it?”
“fucking love it.” he scoffed at you, with a cheeky shake of his head. you covered your mouth, getting flustered as you laughed.
the smile genuinely refused to leave your face, feeling intensely comfortable with the superhero in front of you. you were perched on your window will, practically bare in front of him as the cold chill had your nipples hardening against your flimsy camisole, your tiny little shorts doing nothing to provide any semblance of warmth and yet being around him seemed to provide all the heat you needed.
it was like his body was a sauna, emitting warmth so strongly you couldn’t help but inch forward, closer and closer and closer until you were just as close as you had been yesterday.
before you could think, before you could change your mind or ponder your actions, your fingers darted out once more. you pulled his mask down, fingers grazing the sweet spots of his neck, purposely going over his pulse to which you nearly gasped at how erratic his heart was beating. he truly was nervous.
down, down, down until the mask uncovered his mouth once more. you tucked the mask just over his top lip, revealing exactly what you wanted.
your breaths were mingling at this point as your hands went out to cup his cheeks, holding his head even closer as you peered at his lips.
“hi.” you whispered at him, smiling a little.
you watched as his own lips spread into a toothy grin, one that had your stomach rolling into knots from familiarity, every signal in your body pumping, begging you to see that you knew the man in front of you awfully well.
“hi, baby.” he whispered back, your noses nuzzling slightly despite his mask.
before you could think otherwise, you slowly pressed your lips to his in the softest peck you could muster. something small and gentle, as though you were testing the waters.
it barely lasted a second, but it was enough to drive the man wild.
upside down, hanging from a web, jeon jungkook took his other hand and guided your mouth back to his, pressing his lips to your own properly.
it felt like the entire world disappeared around you
jungkook kissed you as though he had spent years imagining what you’d taste like, and as the seconds grew, he almost grew impatient with himself. he wanted to kiss you until it hurt, until he was fused with you in a way that would ensure you’d never be anything other than what you were now - he was enamoured by a single touch of your lips, hooked for life.
his mouth moulded against yours with such perfect longing, lingering just enough to have your heartbeat up into your throat.
your own fingers curled against his skin, one hand going to the back of his head where a few strands of his hair fell loose, allowing you to softly run your hand through them, your nails scratching his scalp just slightly. judging from the way he grunted into your mouth, you knew he liked that. liked it almost too much.
you slowly began pulling away for air, your lips parting from his begrudgingly only to be chased by his, a series of pecks being planted onto your lips. they travelled to your cheeks, your chin and jaw, causing you to erupt in giggles as you swatted his shoulder softly.
neither of you spoke for a while, simply holding one another and basking in each other’s presence, with kisses being shared ranging from sweet pecks to intense make out sessions that seemed to go on for longer and longer as the time went by. each one, regardless of the intensity, resulted in you both smiling wide.
“i should probably go inside.” you whispered gently against his lips, thumb tracing his bottom lip.
“hm?”
“i’m gonna catch a cold.”
he groaned a little, head purposefully dropping back dramatically, all whilst you giggled into your hand, playfully pushing him back, causing him to swing a little. you stole a final peck before swinging your legs back into your apartment, edging so you were back in.
above you, jungkook freed the web he was hanging onto, flipping back onto his feet so he was stood up right. now that there was a massive window between you, you peered up, half in awe of how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were. it was intoxicating.
his mouth was still uncovered, lips shaped into a smile that revealed his teeth - god, he couldn’t hold back his overwhelming joy. it was as though the feeling completely engulfed him, enough to make him want to climb through the window and start all over again.
you, however, tilted your head at him gently. now you were separated by glass and wood and yet the distance allowed you to see openly. the slope of his smile, the bunny nature of his teeth, it all looked so familiar. it felt familiar.
“okay, spidey.” you hummed lightly, fingers taking a hold of the curtains. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”
he leaned against the window, his height domineering even when there was something between you seperating you both. he leaned forward to lessen it, only making you smile further.
“yeah?” he questioned. “what makes you so sure?”
“because..” it was your turn to lean close to him, either hand on one side of the curtain. “i always see you in the elevator on tuesdays.”
with that, you shut the curtains.
jungkook stood there in utter shock, the sound of his heartbeat booming through his ears was enough to have him stepping back, mouth agape and eyes wide. his enhanced hearing picked up on your giggles whilst you were under your covers, as though you had let him into the funniest secret, unaware that it had rendered him absolutely useless.
the realisation nearly killed him.
you weren’t scared. you weren’t confused, or unsure of what you’d said. instead, you were happy - gleeful to a fault, as though the reality of spiderman being him was something that truly couldn’t please you any more. his biggest fear had always been someone finding his identity, and yet you were here, knowing for however long with no care in the world.
his head dropped forward against the brick wall beside your window, a helpless laugh leaving his lips.
“fuck.” he whispered, eyes wide.
you’d known. you had known the entire time, and you still kissed him. you had still chosen him, and held his face, and kissed him.
with that, jungkook fell to his knees.
—
it was shocking how ordinary the next morning felt.
the winter winds were still harsh, intercepted by the sun that provided a warmth that managed to pierce through the chill. the traffic below your apartment still roared, echoing through the familiar streets of new york whilst horns and sirens flooded your eardrums.
everything was exactly the same, and yet everything had changed.
you had kissed spiderman, yet more importantly, you had kissed jungkook.
the same man you had crushed on for months upon months, so entirely enamoured by him each time he stood beside you in the elevator that it had become the sole thing that excited you whenever you’d wake up. to then know he was the masked superhero you had grown to love, just like the others around you.
the same superhero you curled into every night in the form of the cute plushie you snuggled in order to fall asleep.
the thought alone had you laughing to yourself.
the thing that had you swooning was the fact that jungkook was just as gone for you, if not more. from following you around in his full suit, to practically grabbing you in order to kiss you deeper; it felt euphoric. to be wanted, desired even, by someone after years of loneliness was new to you, but it was the sweetness that followed that truly had your heart blooming.
the sweetness of it all almost felt unreal.
you went about your routine - showering, getting ready, perhaps applying a little more makeup than you were used to. with your cheeks manually flushed and lips gently glossed, you smoothed down your hair before finally locking up your apartment and heading to the elevator.
you pressed the elevator button, mind zooming at a million miles per hour as you watched it come down to your level.
what if he wasn’t in today, you wondered.
what if he had spidey duties? he was an in demand superhero after all.
your stomach flipped, mind reeling with too many thoughts, so much so that you didn’t realise the elevator reaching your floor, the doors opening.
your breath hitched a little as you made eye contact with the same man your brain couldn’t stop thinking about.
here he stood, staring at you with a hunger you could recognise immediately.
his lips curled first. he had been waiting for you.
you shyly shuffled in, fighting back your own little grin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear whilst your hip gently brushed against his. his size engulfed the elevator, shoulders wide, hands on either side of him.
“morning.” he murmured down at you, voice husky.
you continued looking ahead. “hi.”
your voice betrayed you - so soft, too shy.
he swallowed hard. the silence shared between you wasn’t awkward in the slightest, instead feeling heavy and full with an unnamable tension that sat biting at your feet. he watched you nibble on your bottom lip, no doubt thinking the exact same thing he was, brain flooded with the thoughts of the makeout sessions you were having a few hours prior.
there was a sort of excitement in knowing he had been spiderman to you for so long, and now he got to be jungkook. the joy sat in the fact he didn’t have to tell you.
his smart girl figured it out for herself.
“sleep okay?” he asked, voice so deep it had your eyelashes fluttering up at him.
“not really.” you confessed.
“yeah?” he turned to you a little. “how come?”
“kept thinking about a certain superhero.” you hummed cheekily, pretending to be oblivious.
at that, he laughed. “yeah?”
“mhm.”
“bet he’s handsome.”
you rolled your eyes, finally looking at him. he got a good look of you.
fuck, you were so pretty it hurt.
“he’s really full of himself.”
his mouth curled. “comes with the job.”
you couldn’t help your giggle, hiding your mouth to muffle the noises that were escaping you. jungkook joined you, loving the sound more than anything.
his eyes flickered down to your hand hanging beside you, the way your smaller fingers flexed as though you wanted to touch him - a master of reading people, he knew he exactly what you wanted, especially when it was word for word what he wanted too.
his own hand moved before he could think.
his fingers brushed your own, not pondering, before he completely engulfed your hand with his own, fingers intertwining almost immediately. you peered up, smiling a little at him.
he couldn’t look away from your face, only to peer up at the number above, indicating you were still quite a few floors up from ground level, confirming his next decision.
nbefore you could read his face, he suddenly crowded you to the corner of the elevator, hands above your head, tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours.
a small moan left your lips at the sheer intensity of the kiss, his body against yours as he pinned you to the wall, your lips moving together in unison; two halves creating a whole. your back arched into him a little, bodies pressing against one another in a way that was anything but innocent, all whilst you both explored each other openly.
his tongue pushed against your lips, to which you openly allowed him access, whimpering a little at the way he used it to caress your own. it was downright sinful, his fingers caressing your wrists, delicate against your bruise and yet so firm that you couldn’t move an inch.
as he pulled away, a small string of saliva seperated you both from your lips.
you panted lightly as he let go of your hands, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.
he looked so severe, the hardened parts of his face so harsh that it had your hooded eyes staring at him just as intensely. your fingers curled into his sweatshirt, before pushing him away cheekily, just as the elevator chimed, indicating you were both at the bottom.
you were a blushy mess, a small smile forming before you began pushing your bag on your shoulder, turning to leave.
before you could even take a further step, he grabbed your hand once more, practically yanking you right back to him. you gasped a little, watching how he held you tightly against him, hand on the small of your back whilst yours curled into his chest.
with his free hand, he pressed the button to the top of the numbers sat on the panel, purposefully choosing the one that took him straight to the penthouse. his apartment.
neither of you spoke. there was no need to.
his hand remained intertwined with your own as slowly but surely, the elevator began climbing again. somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to squeal at the confirmation that jungkook never even needed to come downstairs every morning - the only reason he was in the elevator was just to interact with you. he was so painfully obvious, and yet you loved it.
his thumb brushed over your knuckles, half in disbelief that this was happening. that you had chosen him.
when the doors finally opened, he gently pushed your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss, before leading you out into the hallway, and to his apartment door. it was the only one up here, and you looked around curiously, noting that it was much nicer up here.
once the door unlocked, he gently led you in, letting go of your hand so you could properly explore.
you stopped completely, mouth suddenly agape whilst he slowly watched you.
the first thing you noticed was the large windows, scattered all over, allowing the sunlight you had felt earlier peak into his home in such a beautiful way, shadows dancing across each surface, heat rising in a delicious way. the second thing you noticed, and perhaps the most intriguing, was his desk.
you gasped out loud, approaching it in wonder as you properly took it in. there sat pieces of equipment scattered everywhere, technology beyond your wildest dreams - web carriages and half-assembled gadgets, all adorned with tiny tools you had never seen before.
what caught your attention, allowing you to freeze for a moment, was his suit, draped over a chair, mask sat next to it. it was secluded from everything else, as though its mere presence needed it to exist elsewhere.
you approached it slowly, fingers grazing it with a gentleness you weren’t sure you knew you possessed. holding it, picking it up, feeling the material in your hands - it was identical to the feeling you had felt on so many occasions.
you looked back at jungkook.
he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t read, utterly unrecognisable, lips parted and brows furrowed as though this was never a possibility deep in his mind. he had allowed himself the thought of you for so long, but here you were, suit in hand. he had given himself all to you.
“you really are spiderman.” you whispered gently, eyes wide with wonder.
laughing quietly, he nodded. “yeah.”
you placed it down, taking a seat on his chair in front of his lavish computer, slumping against it momentarily.
“don’t you ever get scared?” you questioned, confused. “of getting hurt or..”
he watched you gulp a little, uncomfortable with the insinuation of something even more harmful.
“not anymore. maybe when i started but, yeah. you get used to it, and i have accelerated healing.” he softly explained, walking closer and closer to you.
“really?” your mouth fell.
“my dna works a bit different to yours.”
“what else?” you whispered, too curious for your own good.
jungkook settled in front of you, looming over you in such an intimidating way and yet you made no effort to move. a deranged part of your brain even liked it.
“i have sensitive hearing. i can hear beyond what most people can. far beyond, honestly.”
you tilted your head at him, reaching for one of his arms. you cheekily pulled him closer until he was leaning down, one hand on the desk behind you and the other in your hand.
“like what?”
“your breathing.”
right on queue, your breath caught in your throat just as you gasped at him, hand curling into his own. you held it at your chest.
“you can hear me breathing?”
“from across the building.”
at that, you sit up fully, face incredibly close to jungkook. your big eyes were comical to him, the new information doing wonders for your brain.
“that’s insane.”
“it’s one of my favourite sounds, if i’m being honest.” he admitted, slightly embarassed. “soothes me when i get home after a big fight, guess its just nice to know you’re downstairs and safe.”
fuck. you wanted to kiss him so badly, your big eyes searching his. before you could stop yourself, you planted a big peck to his lips, holding his face momentarily before going back to your slouched position.
he laughed a little, leaning forward again just to take up your personal space.
“what else?” you asked, though he couldn’t help but notice how breathy you were.
unfortunately, that only sent his blood rushing to his cock immediately. seeing you so undone at the mere mention of his skills was an ego boost he had yet to discover, but was quickly realising that it was enough to have him go crazy.
“strength.”
your eyes immediately left his, falling onto his harsh, bulging biceps. god, you nearly moaned.
he watched you trace them slowly.
“i know you’re strong.” you sighed heavenly. “i watched that one youtube clip of you throwing that car like an insane amount of times.”
“yeah? you liked it?”
he leaned in closer, cock beginning to harden so much more at the knowledge you were this attracted to him.
“mhm. you made it look really easy.” you whispered a little shyly.
you watched as jungkook stepped back, standing to his full height over you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. you looked so flushed, cheeks hot, nibbling against your lip whilst you discussed his abilities in a way that was clearly affecting you - you wanted to know so much.
your eyes flickered down for a moment, only to be met with the sight of his growing bulge straining against his sweatpants. your lips parted, one from the sight of him also so affected by you, so unashamed and open for you to see. the casual confidence in it had your own core aching, whilst your lidded eyes slowly reconnected with his own.
the air had changed.
“what else?” you softly whispered up at him.
his hand darted out to lift your chin even further. his thumb began tracing your lips, your bottom one to be exact, large pad moving them and pushing them against his digit.
“stamina.” he darkly muttered back, voice husky.
“stamina?” you repeated, throat scratching in anticipation.
“i don’t get tired.”
your mouth gently parted, allowing the tip of his thumb to come into contact with your tongue.
“ever?”
“ever.” he promised you.
that was useful information indeed. your eyes dropped to his bulge once more, and you knew that there had to have been a growing little wet patch on the heart of your panties, your mind radiating with the thought of him inbetween your legs. jungkook wasn’t fairing any better, what with your tongue gently brushing against his thumb in a way that shot right down to his cock.
before you could respond to him, jungkook reached down, taking his thumb from your lips and instead taking a hold of your body firmly. he lifted you with an ease that was also superhuman, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, legs around his torso, head meeting his.
“super hearing, strength and stamina?” you murmured down at him, lips grazing one another. “am i missing anything?”
“speed.” he immediately murmured against you, large hands on your back but steadily moving down.
“speed?”
“i’m very fast.” he smirked at you a little, your own grin forming.
“how fast?” you breathed out, and the hitch in your throat had his stomach jumping.
“fast enough for you.” he whispered down at you suddenly, hands reaching your ass where he cupped, pulling you right against him.
this position meant you could feel him in a way you hadn’t expected. bulge against your most intimate area, arms around his neck so tight as you pulled him close, breaths mingling, noses brushing.
before you could think further, jungkook pressed his lips to yours.
this was unlike the others.
messy and uncontrolled - you grabbed his hair, fingers treading through whilst his fingers tightened, squeezing your ass almost roughly, lips moving in unison. you were trying to keep up, desperate to taste him exactly the way you needed, and he was providing. god, the way his tongue felt against your mouth was a mere indicator of what he could do, a thrill going down your spine.
you let out a sigh of content as his lips began attacking your cheek, your jaw and then neck. you were so sensitive, his kisses eliciting little noises out of you that he hadn’t expected and yet now that he was coaxing them out of you, he was sure he could never go back to not hearing them right against his ear.
his lips wrapped around the sweet spot on your neck, attacking so purposefully, sucking a hickey right against your pulse. the taste of your skin, the rapid beating of your heart against his tongue - you had no idea you were driving him crazy.
once he pulled away, he looked at you. properly looked at you.
you, with your big eyes, wide and blown out, panting lightly from the intensity of what you were both doing. what got him was the way you were absentmindedly tugging his top as though you were begging for more.
he nudged your nose with his own, purposefully, checking if you were still with him but your only response was to grab him, and pull him down until your lips touched his.
the intensity of your kisses only meant one thing and despite jungkook having defeated earth’s most evil enemies, the prospect of having you in his arms, making love, was perhaps the scariest of all - he wanted to impress you and fuck, he was willing to do whatever it took to get there.
he grabbed you properly with one arm, other hand picking something up but you were too preoccupied with claiming your stake against his mouth to notice, all whilst he walked you across his apartment. you moaned and pulled against his hair, unable to get enough of his kisses, playfully fighting against his tongue just to elicit a reaction out of him.
he dropped you onto his bed quite suddenly, making you gasp as you looked up at him, hair blown out, eyes wide and skin flushed. your neck was already bruising, just as he wanted - a physical manifestation of him on your body that he’d obsess over.
“you want this?” he whispered down at you, voice husky as fuck. “cause if you do, baby. there’s no turning back, you hear me?”
“want it.” you whined out to him in response, hands trying to grab him down.
“yeah?” he hissed, enamoured by how badly you wanted him. it felt so good considering he felt the same and more. “want me to make you my girl?”
“mhm.” you whined again, finally managing to grab his top, yanking at it desperately.
it was like a switch had turned on in jungkook’s mind.
you watched in real time as within seconds, he pulled off of his sweatshirt, throwing it to somewhere in the room before positioning himself above you, slotting right between your legs, and pushed. he pushed his cock against you, material covering material, grinding down so meanly that you were left a whimpering mess.
“look at you.” he grunted, hands on either side of your head as he pushed his now fully hard cock against you. “so fucking pretty.”
your skirt had been flipped up, leaving you in your now messy panties, the friction practically against you as the flimsy material did nothing to hide your pussy. it was so delicious, the drag of him against your clit, the harsher material making it so much more impactful.
you had never felt pleasure like this before. sure, you had been with guys, but mainly those that wanted a quick fuck or something that focused on their pleasure and yet, jeon jungkook had no intention of you leaving his bed until he was sure you were broken.
“feels good, huh? having me grind my cock into your clit, hm?” he cooed at you, voice so sweet but his actions so sinful. “please don’t s-stop.” you simply begged him back, fingers curling over his biceps.
you couldn’t get over how big he was. shirtless, chest so much bigger without anything covering it, shoulders so wide and fuck, his abs. he looked like he had been chiseled, an art piece no doubt intended for people to gawk at. a devilish part of your brain rejoiced knowing he was all yours now.
jungkook let out a moan himself, eyes closing momentarily despite his actions not stopping and that nearly sent you into overdrive, knowing that you were responsible for how good he felt. it was music to your ears and you wanted more, so much more.
“want more.” you whimpered at him, fingers now digging into his arms. “please, jungk-kook.”
his pretty girl, begging for him? has he ascended to heaven, he wondered as he stopped his actions, watching you whine and move your hips instead, in hopes of achieving friction.
he couldn’t speak. knew if he did that he’d say something harsh, mean even, as the animalistic side of his dna was starting to leak through due to his heightened emotions - he wanted to call you a slut, his whore, wanted to wrap his arms around your throat whilst your head bobbed on his cock. and yet, all he wanted really, was to have you moaning and screaming his name, arms wrapped around him as you met his thrusts, whimpering at the mere possibility of being parted with him. he loved you so much, and you hadn’t the faintest clue.
instead, he pulled back. he looked down at you, an absolute ruined mess, still dressed in your coat and jumper, tiny little skirt pushed up to reveal the sweetest panties. they were practically see through from how wet you had gotten.
within seconds, he was pulling you up. yanking off your clothes, whilst you happily allowed him, your coat, jumper and skirt meeting his own clothing somewhere in the large room, leaving you in just your underwear. your bra, just as pink and lacy as your panties, felt like his personal brand of kryptonite, so sweet against the colour of your skin.
“you trying to kill me?” he hissed down at you, one hand palming his cock against his sweats.
it was your turn to ruin him, you thought.
you sat up just slightly, body leaning on your forearms, your tits practically spilling out your bra whilst you stretched your legs apart wider.
“you like them, kookie?” you asked, breathlessly. “wanna know a secret?”
you had him hooked, as he nodded, eyes desperate, looking over the lacy material before meeting your gaze once more, lips parted. he was a mess, so desperate for you it bordered on embarassing, and it only fucked with your head more.
“bought this set thinking about you.” you sighed, almost dreamily, maintaining eye contact. “couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome stranger in the elevator all the time.”
jungkook practically moaned at your words, grunting as he palmed himself faster.
“used to touch myself thinking about you, kookie. you’re not mad right? you don’t mind?” you teased, tone condescending as you watched him fall apart in front of you.
he shook his head rapidly in no, eyes growing hooded, hands shaking. he was fighting his dna with every inch of his heart, fighting the change that he knew would overtake him, and you could see it - you didn’t quite understand, but you knew he was holding back, and that you couldn’t have.
“but the worst thing is, is i used to touch myself thinking about spiderman too.” you sighed again, body collapsing back into the covers, fingers brushing over your hardened nipples. “used to imagine him ripping off my underwear and doing whatever he wanted. isn’t that so pretty?”
with that, jungkook stilled.
he couldn’t stop it even if he tried, not with the very confirmation he had so secretly desires deep inside his stomach.
you wanted both versions of him.
jungkook, the neighbour, who helped you with your groceries and took anything you’d give him. soft hello’s and good morning’s, all tied into your hands longingly brushing, lustful thoughts hidden underneath.
spiderman, the friendly superhero dedicated to saving new york city with every inch of his heart. the same superhero who swung and protected, who had helped you only two nights prior, who also sat in plushie form on top of your bed, to which you cuddled and often even grinded against in nights of pleasure.
before you could open your mouth, no doubt to goad him further, his hands moved.
first your bra, he yanked it with a single hand, it breaking completely, splitting in the middle until it was yanked off of your body smoothly. you gasped out loud, only for him to follow up with your panties, grabbing, ripping, rendering them useless, thrown somewhere else on the bed, leaving you completely bare.
your chest rose and fell, all whilst your widened eyes fully took him in. no longer was he fighting the arachnid qualities of his essence, as his eyes seemed so much darker, lips curled into a somewhat snarl as he approached you. grabbing either side of your legs, he yanked you down until your cunt was actually in his face.
you yelped. he paid no mind as he dropped his head down, pressing his face to your pussy as though it was everything he needed and more.
“j-jungkook!” you squealed a little, hands flinging to his hair as you watched him breath in your scent.
it was crude, beyond dirty, the way he was inhaling you in, hips already grinding down into the mattress. the sight of it had a whole wave of slickness leaving you, your chest stuttering in anticipation.
he didn’t make you wait long. he was hardly a man of patience himself.
jungkook stuck his tongue out, licking through your folds with an ease that had your breath stuttering, your back arching into him, and your head dropping to the pillow. he licked a stripe all the way up before repeating his actions a few more times, already having you withering back into his impossibly soft bed.
he began his eating you out properly.
he felt no need to hold back, not when he had been doing so for months - he licked, sucked and prodded, going between thrusting his tongue inside of you and using it to lap at your clit. he sucked on it, eliciting such soft moans out of you, enough to drive him further and further.
“taste so fucking good.” he hissed, eyes meeting yours. “my girl’s pussy. fuck.”
you moaned out his name, hips lifting, pulling at his hair.
he yanked you back as you desperately tried to get away, the pleasure sending you into overdrive, a thought that had him nearly hissing at you. now that he’d had a taste, he had no intention of letting you go, and the mere thought was enough to have him get angry. his emotions were heightened, feeling the waves of pleasure in so many different ways - he could hear your heartbeat, your breathing. could feel the thump of pleasure against your clit so well.
soon enough, he was prodding a finger at your entrance, pushing it in until it reached his knuckle. so much bigger than your own, you felt almost winded by the sheer length of his fingers, your hips stuttering for a moment.
watching him slurp at your juices whilst he pumped, your smaller body shaking, legs clamping shut around his head as though that could possibly deter him. your fingernails were scratching at his skin, at the arm that was pressed against your frame, fondling your tits so casually as though you belonged to him.
“so tight. need to stretch you open.” he hissed against you, fucking in another finger, despite your squeals.
two fingers pumping in and out of you, longer than your own, so much thicker too, and all you could do was take it. he pumped so meanly, finding a rhythm that you could barely keep up with, so fast and so hard, curling until he was hitting that special spot inside of you.
your back arched as you moaned out his name.
at that, his eyes closed. he hissed at you. “say my name again, baby.”
you did, over and over and over and over until you could feel your orgasm crashing down on you, too sensitive for the sheer power of his fingers. you had been fingered before, often doing it yourself to relieve any pent up stress and yet nothing, no one, had ever made you feel the way he was doing.
his dna was different - he was half human at this point, and you could see it. fuck, you could feel it.
as though he could see your orgasm teetering on the edge, he smirked a little, wrapping his tongue solely around your clit whilst thrusting in and out.
“cum for me.” he commanded you.
you listened.
your back arched, only for his free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to stay down and take it as your orgasm rushed through you almost painfully. it pinched every one of your nerves, causing your eyes to shut tight, his name coming out in chants, all whilst your juices gushed around his fingers, rendering him a mess.
he fucked you through it, making sure you felt every single inch before he finally stopped, his fingers coming to a stop.
you were a shaking mess, your legs quivering around him whilst you tried so desperately to catch your breath. you could feel the emotion heavy in your chest as the need to cry almost overtook you, lining your waterline as the aftermath left shocks running up and down your poor little pussy.
he removed his fingers, hissing a little as he sat back on his knees, sucking on them almost hungrily, all whilst you watched him with heavy breath.
“you’re fucking with my head.” he growled at you, as though you had been the one to do this to him. “can’t fucking breathe. need you so badly.”
“w-want you.” you whimpered, lip beginning to quiver. “i want you so badly, jungkook.”
“my girl.” his face looked pained as he leaned down, capturing your jaw in a kiss. heavy.
hearing him claim you was euphoria defined, your mind drilling into overdrive whilst you watched him finally lower his sweatpants. once they were off, you could finally see him in all of his glory.
you choked.
thick, so much thicker than you had ever seen, with a deep pink tip, thick veins lined all the way down. your mouth watered at the way it slapped his stomach, gravity almost pulling it down due to its weight, and yet the only thing you could think of was how he’d have to break you just to fit it inside.
he watched you, throat constricting at the look of shock on your face. god, he could feel his ego boosting just from the way your eyes darted all over him, desperate to have him inside and yet knowing you’d never be the same afterwards.
“you won’t fit.” you whimpered almost immediately, legs closing shut subconsciously.
he yanked them open again, barely using his strength and yet it was enough to dominate you completely.
“i’ll make it fit.” he responded, the pupils of his eyes so much darker than they were before. “gonna mould this pretty little pussy, make sure it’s mine forever.”
you let out the dreamiest of moans, sinking deeper into his pillows with your eyes closed. you could feel him moving, no doubt doing something, only to gasp when you looked at him again. he was lining his cock up, seeing how deep he’d be only to see it settle gently against your stomach.
the base of his cock at your core, with the tip up above on your abdomen - the sight was dizzying.
he couldn’t wait any longer. he wanted to fuck you so desperately, so intensely. ha had held back for months upon months upon months upon months, and now that you were here, his sweet girl all perched on his bed, cunt ruined from the first orgasm; he knew he’d never take it for granted.
“haven’t got any condoms, baby.” he hissed, eyes closing for a moment. “i’ll pull out, okay?”
“okay.” you nodded, still half enamoured with how deep he’d be inside of you.
within moments, jungkook was lining himself up with your entrance, after a few moments of running his tip up and down your core, collecting your slick in a way that had you panting out at him.
he began pushing in, just the tip at first, but it was enough to have you squeaking, fingers digging into his meaty biceps almost instantly. he watched your eyes blow out, only to shut them tightly, but that wouldn’t do. he tapped your nose with his own, bordering on mean, desperate to maintain eye contact whilst he split you open.
“that’s it, such a good girl. such a good fucking girl.” he whispered down at you, as he fed you inch, by painstaking inch, watching your face contort in half pleasure and half pain.
he only managed to fit half way in before you were hitting him in the chest, practically convulsing around him, begging for a moments reprieve. it was fucking with his head, seeing you so fucked out when he hadn’t even done anything.
your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate him as he stilled, allowing you to adjust in the best way you knew how. you were whimpering up at him again, all whilst he caged you in, arms on either side of your head, his lips grazing your own.
“s’too much, you’re too big.” you whimpered at him, all whilst he shook his head down at you. “no baby. look at you, you’re doing so good for me.”
the way he was cooing at you, it was laced with condescension. it fucked with your brain, having him so sweet to you, jungkook who had treated you so kindly, and spiderman who had done the most to save you, now treating you like a whore in his bed. you couldn’t believe how wet you were getting from it, wanting more, wanting him to ruin you until the only thing you could think about was having him inside you.
he pressed a kiss to your lips, small and brief, before slowly beginning to move. shallow thrusts at first, just enough to have you moaning, aching around him but the switch in your head was begging for more. he knew it too, but the human side of his body still operated first. he couldn’t break you so soon.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer as his shallow thrusts began to go deeper, feeding you inch by inch until he was completely bottomed out.
he hardly gave you time to adjust, beginning his thrusts properly until you were a moaning, quivering mess beneath him, whimpering his name as though he was everything and more.
“too big.” you whimpered out at him, nails digging into the back of his neck. he caressed your own with his lips. “yeah? too much for you, baby?”
“uh huh.” you nodded, though your legs were spreading wider, begging for more.
god, you were fucking killing him.
he pulled back slightly, so he could look down at the way he was fucking you, his pace a kindness to you despite wanting to ruin you already. his patience was wearing thin, the arachnid dna causing his mind to swirl with one thing and one thing only.
he wanted to fucking breed you.
with that in mind, he couldn’t help himself. oh how he wanted to be good to you, make sure he’d wait like a good man would but he physically couldn’t stop himself.
he pulled back, and began fucking you rough.
the sound of skin slapping against skin started echoing around the rooms, your whimpers and moans so heavy in the air as you begged for more, only egging on his mind, his disgusting thoughts.
silly jungkook had no idea you were just as fucked as he was.
you wanted to feel him in every single way, have him so deep inside of you that the only thought left in your body was that of him and the way he was fucking you - it was poetic, really, how the both of you were so utterly obsessed with one another despite only having snippets.
“o-oh..fuck, fuck, fuck.” you chanted, jungkook’s speed enough to drive you insane. “fuck, right there!”
“you like that, baby? like being used like this?” he hissed at you, forcing you to look at him each time your eyes would close.
“mhm. wanna be used by you all the time.”
“such a good girl. you’re all mine now,” your eyes met with his. “never gonna let you go.”
“promise?” you begged him.
“promise you, baby. never, ever.”
he pressed his body deep against yours all whilst his thrusts only got rougher and rougher, hitting that spot inside you that had your legs quivering until you were batting his chest in pleasure.
you were completely lost in it; jungkook being well versed in your body, probably from the nights he’d hear you pleasuring yourself. ever the gentleman, he’d drown out the sounds by leaving his apartment, mask in hand, desperate to respect your boundaries and yet here he was, inbetween your legs eliciting the same exact noises.
his hips pounded into yours, inhuman speed, inhuman strength - all pulled back to find a happy medium where you’d never get a fuck like this outside of him, outside of his abilities.
you could feel your high reaching again, your chest rising and falling as you clung to him so much tighter.
“kookie, g-gonna cum..” you whimpered at him, your lip beginning to quiver once more as you could feel it approaching.
“not yet.” he hissed down at you, suddenly halting his movements.
the whine that left you was beyond adorable, as you could feel your high dissipate. the climb that had been built was no longer as you were left feeling so intensely full, your hands pulling at his hair.
he watched as you closed your eyes, twitching around him, and fuck did you feel so good around him, your wet entrance sucking him in so perfectly it was as though he had found home in you.
he leaned over, just past your head where he had placed the exact thing he had brought with him earlier whilst you had been in his arms and slipped it into his hold.
by the time you opened your gaze again, you felt your breath catch in your chest.
you weren’t staring at your jungkook, the boy with doe eyes and a jaw sharp enough to hurt. no, the man in front of you was spiderman - his mask sat snug, created solely to accommodate his face, red and black staring at you in a way that had you moaning.
you clenched around him hard.
“j-jungkook?” you whimpered a little, but he gave you no time to speak.
instead, he changed your positions. suddenly, you were pulled on your side, your chest touching his as you both lay on your hips, your leg pulled up just as he began to thrust.
this wasn’t jungkook fucking into you, cock thrusting deep inside your pussy, forcing you to take every single inch, despite knowing it was too much for your poor body to handle; it was spiderman. he was openly claiming his stake over you, all whilst you stared up at him in almost wonder like state.
you were so much tighter like this, core clenching around his cock in a death grip, milking him, desperate to have him completely bonded to you.
staring into his goggles was confusing your brain - so overwhelmed, you weren’t comprehending the fact he was jungkook when all you could see was spiderman.
“spidey..” you moaned out, clinging to him.
his arms were caging you in, thrusts mean, thrusts harsh, all whilst he nudged your nose through his mask. hearing the little nickname had his balls tightening, hissing down at you.
“that’s right, baby. spidey’s fucking you now.”
your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words.
god, you were the cutest girl in the world - so affected by a single mask, the anonymity no longer applicable and yet the thrill remained. you were being fucked, no, pounded by the most recognisable person in the city.
“been thinking about this for so long. fuck, i wish you knew how much i think about you like this.”
you whimpered so loudly. “think about you..f-fucking me all the time..spiderman.”
the amount of times you’d watch videos about him, just like everyone around you, even going so far as to secretly think about him as though he was a dirty little secret whenever you were fingering yourself only to be the object of his infatuation the entire time.
“that’s it baby. take every fucking inch.” he grunted down at you, lifting your leg higher before planting a heavy spank on your ass. “this pussy is mine now, you hear me? belongs to me.”
“all yours.” you nodded desperately.
he watched as drool was beginning to slip from the corner of your mouth, your body sweaty and growing boneless, eyes closed and tight. you had never looked so pretty.
“gripping me so good.” he grunted. “taking my cock like such a good whore.”
that familiar feeling began building in your stomach, the curl of white shining heavy behind your eyes as you tightened impossibly around his cock. he nearly choked from the feeling, knowing it was building, knowing it would ruin you.
“c-can’t hold it..” you begged him, tears lining your waterline.
he could feel his own orgasm coming, the tightening of his balls almost making him falter. he could see the bulge in your stomach, the shape of his cock sitting so nicely it looked like it belonged there, a sickening thought appearing in his stomach.
“where do you want it, baby?” he growled down at you, hands heavy on your ass as he pushed your body to meet his thrusts, both of your orgasms on the cusp.
“inside!” you begged, lips grazing his jaw through his mask.
at that, he gave you his final thrusts, rough, mean and harsh, causing you to fall over the edge.
your second orgasm ripped through you so much harder than your initial one as you completely tilted your head, squealing out loud, chanting a mixture of spiderman and jungkook all at once, clamping down on his cock. he choked at the feeling, feeling you milk ever inch of his cock as he too came, heavy cum filling you up.
he needed to breed you. needed to have you round with his children, cunt oozing his cum every chance he got. you had infiltrated his mind and there was no breathing outside of it.
“take it. fuck, take it, baby.” he hissed finally into your ear, as you both rode out your highs together.
he groaned as he came, burying himself deep inside of you, all whilst he ground his hips into you, cum spilling on either side of your entrance. his cum was hot, aching you from the inside, filling you up as far as your womb went all whilst you cried from overstimulation.
you clung to him like you needed him to function, hands shaking, tears streaming down your face from how overwhelmed you felt. you had stupidly never felt so safe, all whilst being pierced on the cock of a man who was utterly obsessed with you.
he stayed inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other gently placing your leg back down as he felt his arachnid dna slowly begin to soothe and calm, making way for jungkook entirely to come back to you. in response, you slowly lifted his mask, revealing his lips once more, and gently pressed your lips to his.
he remained inside of you for the rest of the night, making no effort to leave, only picking back up every few minutes until you were begging him to stop.
you slept in his arms, curled so deeply against him, clinging as though he was everything you needed and more. you felt like everything in your life had worked up to this very moment, sleeping in the hold of the man who had openly vowed to protect you, going to lengths you had never expected. there was safety in his presence, but also warm, a promise of a future that you had never seen for yourself.
after spending so long alone, you finally felt like you were home.
—
the next morning arrived in the best possible way. quietly.
you blinked away the sleep from your gaze, hands rubbing at your eyes, all whilst the scent of jungkook’s heavy cologne filtered through the space. the smell was comforting, easing you as you leaned your hands forward, feeling around for the man you were thinking about.
only for you to come up empty.
“huh?” you muttered, sitting up almost immediately as the covers pooled at your waist, leaving your bare body on show.
the other side of the bed was empty.
the ache between your legs was utterly delicious, a feeling you already knew was about to become a norm as you grabbed the closest article of clothing you could find, his sweatshirt. you pulled it onto your body, watching it land somewhere just above your knees.
barefoot, you padded into the living room, rolling your shoulders and stretching your arms above you.
hm, empty.
“jungkook?” you called out, the apartment large enough that there was a possibility he was here but you figured quick enough he wasn’t.
you hummed once more, a bit disappointed.
that was, until you heard a quiet whip through the air.
your head turned, lips parting as you looked out through the window, slowly approaching it with raised eyebrows. before you could even step closer, the window suddenly was grabbed by a web and pulled upwards, a gasp leaving your lips.
jungkook flew through, landing on his feet with perfect precision right in front of the window frame, looking at you directly. dressed in his suit and mask, your breath came out in puffs of shock, all whilst he stood to his full height.
you stared, and he stared back.
for half a second, neither of you moved, as though he was in a trance, completely in awe of you in his clothing, so soft and bitten in his apartment.
then, his shoulders relaxed in real time as he approached you, long strides reaching you in seconds. he grabbed you by your legs, picking you up with utter ease and spinning you in his arms for a second.
you squealed whilst he laughed, holding you tight to him.
“morning, baby.”
he continued to laugh as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, before grabbing the back of his mask and sliding it off of his face.
your smile completely disappeared.
jungkook sported multiple cuts, blood dripping from the smaller one beside his eye, all whilst he was beginning to form a bruise near his eyebrow. he looked like he had been targeted, beat up and so much more, and your throat constructed in utter shock.
“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” you practically squeaked, your hands darting to his face. “jungkook, what the fuck?!”
“come here.” he ignored, lifting your chin so he could press his lips to yours, chasing after your mouth.
“you’re fucking bleeding!” you grabbed his face, moving it, left and right.
“barely.” he groaned, pouting a little at being denied a kiss.
“you’re hurt!”
“yeah, well you should see the other guy. did a number on him.”
you blinked, bursting out into laughter at the sheer audacity of the man in front of you, playful to a fault. you couldn’t believe this was a real situation, the way he was clinging to you, kissing up and down your neck as though this was any ordinary day, it was ridiculous.
“can you kiss me better?” he asked.
you wanted to roll your eyes. “shut up, spidey. i can’t believe you found the time to beat up some perps before i woke up.”
“gotta impress my girl.” he scoffed, cheekily holding you with one hand whilst flexing his muscles with the other.
you couldn’t help but laugh, hiding your face further into his neck at how silly he was even whilst hurt. it filled your very soul with so much warmth, it was insane.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“yeah, maybe. go back to bed though, baby, i’ll join you soon.” he said through his kisses planted on your jaw and neck.
“you keeping the suit on this time, spidey?” you asked, grin a little too wide to be deemed anything innocent.
he grunted, liking the insinuation a little too much as he planted you on the ground, heavy hand landing a cheeky spank to your bare ass, loving the feel of it beneath his fingers.
“fuck. you’re gonna be the end of me.”
he watched you giggle out loud, making your way back to bedroom almost gleefully, whilst holding the end of the sweatshirt, allowing him a peak of your bare body, all whilst he slouched a little, the sight fucking him up.
he couldn’t help but realise that everything, all of this time apart, was meant to be. it all made sense because in the end, it led him to you.
it was always going to be you.
—
spidey koo impregnate me challenge… anyway
shoutout to the gorgeous anon who gave me this idea because i had 15k written out of a completely different spiderman idea, and scrapped it for this much better version 😮💨
i hope you guys like this one! super cute and fluffy - you know i love it when they’re obsessed with eachother with a cute red invisible string
as always, PLEASE let me know what you guys think of this one, there’s nothing i love more than hearing you guys vocalise your opinions & thoughts, it makes me feel so so good to see you engaging in a way that encourages me to write!
if you liked this & wanna support a baddie pay her london rent, here’s my kofi <333
HELLO OHHH 🔊🔊🔊 (pls tell me y’all know all the songs I reference )
you can pry normal au good girl x bad boy touya trope from my COLD DEAD HANDS
Tags: fem!reader, no quirk au, reader is longtime friends with fuyumi, reader tooootally ‘hates’ touya, reader is like…kinda snooty about being good? like lowkey superiority complex over being smart/well-behaved, touya likes it but gets fed up, lowkey put more story in it than I meant to, was gonna have smut but I got lazy 😼
—
“…I can’t believe he’s your brother.”
Fuyumi laughs softly, used to your complaints by now. “How many times do you think you’ve said that over the years?”
Frowning a little, you glance at her quickly before looking back across the pool at where Touya Todoroki lounges on a pool chair- tattoos and piercings on full display, swim trunks riding low on his hips, a whole ashtray to himself on the tables beside him, and a plate of greasy pizza just laying on his chest. Truly, he looks exactly like the failure-first-child he is.
Looking back at Fuyumi- the superior sibling, in your opinion- you can only cross your arms and sigh in disappointment. “He finds a new way to shock me with his idiocy every time I see him. It’s the only impressive thing about him.”
She just laughs again, amused by your dislike for her older brother. It’s been like this since you were children, after all.
—
You met the Todoroki’s when you were seven years old.
Your parents had just moved into the neighborhood, and they insisted on going by to meet your closest neighbors. Luckily, directly across the street from your new house was a big family with four children around your age.
The youngest, Shoto, was still an infant.
The second youngest, Natsuo, was four years old. A bit younger than you, but not enough to exclude from games.
The second oldest, Fuyumi, was and still is your favorite. She was eight when you met, so she was already the closest to your age. And, being another girl, you two hit it off pretty fast.
Then came…the oldest. Touya. Nine years old. Even back then, you could tell he was different. He was annoying and…gross. Dumb. Loud. Prideful. Bossy. Lazy. He was and still is the definition of an entitled little brat. And you have always despised him for it.
Whenever you’d come over to play with Fuyumi, he’d be there. Ruining your game, breaking your toys- just being a general nuisance.
You all went to the same private schools as well, which means he’d torment you in the halls, steal your backpack, pick on your uniform. Although…he did also defend you from other boys that would try to do the same.
Later still, when you and Fuyumi started going to the same university after high school, he’d show up at the house just to disrupt your study sessions. Of course, he opted not to further his education after nearly flunking out of high school (although you know for a fact that he’s actually very smart).
Even a decade and some change later, he’s never stopped being a pain in your ass.
—
Sighing heavily, you finally pry your eyes away from the sight of Touya’s tattooed torso- obviously you were just curious how many more of those hideous tattoos he’s gotten…obviously- looking around at the rest of the pool party instead. School’s just gotten out for summer, and Shoto decided to invite his whole class to a pool party, which of course his parents rented out a whole public pool for.
Fortunately, you and Fuyumi commandeered the hot tub before anyone else could get in.
Resting your head back, you close your eyes and relax. It’s been a long semester, after all. Homework, projects, papers, finals…you aced them all, of course, but it was still stressful. And now, if you can just block out the sound of teenagers fooling around, you can almost pretend you’re on vacation at some tropical getaway with endless drinks and hot waiters…
“Wow.”
…And your daydreaming is immediately ruined.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the priss so relaxed.”
Already frowning, you open your eyes slowly to find Touya standing over your tipped-back head, that stupid fucking grin on his face as he looks down at you.
Ignoring the fact that you can almost see up his damn shorts, you push your sunglasses up onto your head and glare up at him. “Would you please not stand over me? You’re probably already drunk enough to fall and crush me with your disgusting body.”
Snickering while Fuyumi giggles, Touya takes a step back. But instead of just walking away like you’d hoped, he steps down into the hot tub…right between you and Fuyumi. Scowling, you’re already scooting away before he can sit down, glaring as he spreads his arms out along the edge of the hot tub. Fuyumi doesn’t move, instead resting her head on his arm, but you’re already multiple feet away.
“Why’d you move?” He mocks, eyeing you casually. “I thought we could all hangout alone, just like good old times.”
Crossing your arms, you glower at him from the other side of the hot tub, annoyed by his presence and the fact he took your spot. “Any time with you around is bad. Why don’t you go back to…smoking, or whatever?”
He chuckles lowly at your attempted insult, rolling his eyes and responding easily. “Not with kids around, c’mon. Didn’t realize you were so open to public smoking.”
God, he gets under your skin so easily. You know it- he knows it. You know he’s only doing this to get a reaction out of you, but still, you just can’t stop yourself from giving it to him. Bristling, you shoot back, “You know that’s not what I meant! As if I would ever support such disgusting public behavior.”
“Yeah, I could tell by the way you were staring at me earlier.” Touya drawls, glancing over as his mom calls Fuyumi over for some help. “Almost looked like you wanted something…I was thinking about coming over and offering you a hit.”
Your face flushes now, both because you got caught staring and just because of the prospect that you would ever be inclined to partake in something so grotesque. “I would never—!”
“Oh, so you didn’t wanna smoke.” He interrupts, grinning sharper now as he eyes you knowingly. “So maybe you wanted something else?”
His words hang in the relative quiet of the hot tub, Fuyumi flashing you an apologetic little smile as she gets out to go help her mom, leaving you completely alone with Touya.
Glaring at him harshly, you stay in your spot. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
Instead of directly answering your question, Touya chuckles softly and stands up, taking a couple steps closer to you. Despite your best efforts, your eyes can’t help darting down to watch the little drops of water run down his chest and stomach, and you swallow lightly at the faint definition under the dark ink. A little scoff snaps you out of it, and your eyes dart back up to see nothing short of condescension written all over his stupid face.
“It means…” He begins, voice a low drawl so no one nearby can hear. “That you keep looking at me like you wanna take a hit of something else.”
Cheeks heating up even more, you scowl at him, refusing to acknowledge what you know is true. “What the hell are you talking about, Touya? I have done nothing of the sort.”
Fondness flashes in Touya’s eyes at your words. You always get more and more proper with your words when you’re angry before completely devolving into stutters when he pisses you off too much. Too cute…
“Aw, c’mon…” He drawls even lower, stepping closer. “We’re all grown up now, aren’t we? No need to be shy…”
Ignoring the low heat gathering between your hips, you finally stand up so he isn’t looming over you, your words sharp as you jab a finger at his chest. “How dare you insinuate such a thing. That is completely inappropriate—.”
Grabbing your wrist, Touya only grins more, making a point of holding your hand between both of his as he leans in closer and murmurs. “What do you think I’m ‘insinuating’? Go ahead and tell me…”
You try to pull away, but he holds fast, keeping you nice and close to him. “It’s not what I think, it’s what I know. You’re trying to proposition me into—.”
Stopping yourself short, you glance around. Fucking teenagers everywhere… And although you’re sure they’ve heard swear words and the word ‘sex’ before, you’re still not about to be so inappropriate in front of children.
Touya just chuckles lowly, leaning in eeeven closer until his face is a few inches from yours. You wrinkle your nose, able to smell the cigarette smoke and alcohol on him.
“Say it, babe…”
Scandalized, you finally rip your hand out of his with a harsh huff, turning away and beginning to wade out of the hot tub. “I’m not- I can’t believe- Why would I ever—?”
There it is. Touya loves when you get all huffy, your careful composure cracking and that perfect vocabulary flying out the window. He watches with a smirk as you mutter to yourself and start climbing out of the hot tub, your shoulders tense and your mind clearly preoccupied.
But then, your foot hits a slick spot…and you slip.
Before you can fall forward and smack your head on the pavement, Touya grabs your waist and pulls you back…although he may have overcompensated a bit, because you both hit the water and go under.
He pops right back up, still holding you as he wipes his eyes and takes a little breath. You, on the other hand, feel like you just got whiplash and waterboarded at the same time. He holds you steady, turning you around and helping get your wet hair out of your face. “You okay?”
You cough and sputter, wiping your eyes and immediately looking around, ignoring his efforts to help you. No one seemed to notice the small spectacle, but still…
Glaring at him even with misty eyes, you push at his chest and stumble a few steps back. “Why- Why did you do that—?”
Touya glares back at you, letting you push him back but now offended that you’re still angry with him. “I just helped you, you little shit—.”
But you’re already walking away again, getting out of the hot tub and walking away quickly, your head hanging low and your hands obviously wiping away tears. He frowns, sighing lowly and brushing his own wet hair back. Such a drama queen…
—
Stupid Touya…
Why did he have to…
He’s always ruining everything…
Your thoughts are a storm of hatred and embarrassment as you stand in the changing room of the pool, sniffling softly as you try to towel-dry your hair (which you were trying to keep dry). Shivering, now cold from being wet and just in a bathing suit, you look at your pitiful expression in the mirror for a moment before the door opens and closes behind you.
Touya walks in behind you, and you glare weakly at him in your reflection. Ignoring your obvious displeasure, and the fact that he’s in the women’s section, he grabs a fresh towel and heads right over to you.
“You’re not supposed to be in here—.”
“Shut up.”
Before you can object anymore, he’s grabbing your shoulders and turning you around to face him. He tugs the towel around your shoulders and holds it tight over you, as if he can will your shivering to stop.
“Y’know, you’ve always been a little brat, but when I help you, you—.”
“Help me? All you’ve ever done is make things harder—!”
“Well maybe if you weren’t so fucking stuck-up all the time, you would see it differently—.”
“I’m not stuck-up! You’re just a useless, annoying, lazy, slob—!”
“That’s really how you think of me after all these years—?”
“Well guys like you never change—!”
At that, Touya gives you a small shake by his grip holding your towel closed. “Guys like me? Guys like me? What exactly do you mean by that?”
You pause for a second, surprised by how…hurt he seemed by that. But you’re too focused on your own feelings to focus on his, shooting back angrily. “Yeah, ‘guys like you’! All you do is smoke, and drink, and blame all your problems on the world! You’ve never done anything meaningful with your life and you never will, because you’re too busy feeling bad about yourself!”
He glares at you now, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Touya so angry. “Really? So just because I’m not living like you, I’m not living a meaningful life?” He growls, leaning in closer. “Just because I’m not living under some made up rules- because I want something more from my life than some dead end, 9 to 5 office job?”
“I’m doing what I’m supposed to do!” You counter, not backing down one bit even if he would look scary right now to someone who hasn’t known him as long. “It’s not my fault that you’re apparently too stupid to follow the simple instructions of the world—!”
“Stupid?” He growls lowly, keeping a tight hold on your towel as he starts walking you back towards the counter. “I’m not the stupid one here, Sweetheart. You’re the one who’s too focused on fake achievements and the life you’re ‘supposed’ to have instead of actually living your life.”
His harsh words stun you into silence for a second, and your breath catches when your back meets the counter. Touya doesn’t let up, though. He grabs your waist, keeping you firmly in place as he keeps talking.
“But that’s beside the point right now.” He grits, eyeing you almost coldly even if his hands are careful where they hold you. “Right now, I’m worried about this fucking attitude of yours. You’ve always been a brat, but this is something else.”
Hands grabbing at his wrists, you try to pry his hands off of you, still glaring even though now you’re actually thinking about what you’ve both said so far. “Let go of me—.”
“No, you listen to me.” He commands lowly, even as he lets go of your waist and plants his hands on the counter instead, still trapping you there but not touching you. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I wasn’t kidding out there. You’ve been staring at me for much longer than just today—.”
“No I haven’t—.”
“And you still fucking deny it.” He finishes despite your interruption. “You can’t even admit to yourself that you want me. Why is that?”
“I don’t—.”
“Is it because you’re not supposed to want ‘a guy like me’?”
“I don’t want you—.”
“With my tattoos, and my piercings, and because I don’t have some stupid college degree?”
“I don’t want you, Touya—!”
“Oh, yes you do.” He sneers, so close now that his body is barely a few inches from yours, one of his legs between your own, and your hands pushing half-heartedly at his bare chest. “You wanna know how I know you want me?”
You’re breathless by now, blushing and glaring and denying it so hard that you can almost ignore the oppressive heat between your thighs. It only works you up more, your brain going into overdrive as you desperately tell yourself that, no, you’re not allowed to want some…some…degenerate like Touya. “You don’t know anything—!”
“Because you know I’m the only one in the world who can handle your fucking attitude, Princess—”
You slap him before you can even fully process his words. Touya’s head whips to the side, a pink mark blooming on his face from where you struck him. It’s silent for a long, heavy moment as you both process what happened.
You snap out of it first.
“…F-Fuck…” You mutter, your eyes misting over quickly as you realize what you’ve done. “I’m- I’m sorry, Touya—.”
The kiss is somehow more abrupt than the slap.
Touya turned back and presses his lips to yours almost fiercely, his eyes shut like he’s waiting for this moment for years, meanwhile yours nearly burst out of your head.
You’re left gaping when he pulls away a second later, staring at him as he stares at you. Your heart feels like it could burst out of your chest, your face burning so hot you can almost feel steam coming off your head, and your brain going completely blank for the first time in your life.
Touya pants softly like that kiss took it out of him, his tongue subtly running over his pierced bottom lip like he can still taste you there. God knows how long he’s wanted to do that- at least since high school. But you…you’re just staring at him…and for the first time in his life, he’s not completely sure he just made the right choice.
“…Shit…” He rasps quietly, starting to pull away now, his eyes leaving yours as his hands let go of the counter. “I’m…I’m sorry, I should’ve asked—.”
But, again, you’re moving before you can think about it, cutting him off with not a slap this time…but your own kiss.
You have no idea how to explain it.
All this time…you have wanted him. Even though you shouldn’t- even though he’s not what you’re supposed to want-…And he knew it. He was right.
Your arms are around his neck, your eyes squeezed shut, your heart jumping in your chest, and your lips smushed against his in what could honestly be called more of a desperate maneuver than a real kiss.
Touya’s stunned. He thought you were about to push him away, or slap him again, or call him every name in the book. He never thought you’d actually…
Closing his eyes, he finally returns the kiss, his hands grabbing your waist again as he pulls you in closer. You tangle your hands in his damp hair, tugging him closer as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. He obliges, of course, although he takes control quickly.
Little gasps leave your lips as they press against his, your hands trembling lightly in his hair while you cling to him. You’ve never been kissed like this before. This is hard, and desperate, and hot. You can feel his snake bite piercings sinking into your bottom lip, and his tongue piercing feels foreign as he licks into your mouth. It makes you shiver, makes you press in for more, makes you moan—
Touya pulls away just an inch when that soft little sound registers in his head, his breathing ragged as he stares at you with a deep intensity you’ve never seen before. Meanwhile, you’re nearly dazed, almost in disbelief that you’re doing this and that you like it, breathing hard as you stare at him in return.
“…Y’gonna keep denying it?”
His gruff words shake you out of your dazed thoughts, although you still need a moment to fully comprehend them. You blink once or twice before they register, your face flushing hotter and your hands beginning to let go of him.
“…I-I’m not supposed to—.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” He drawls lowly, hugging around your waist instead and locking you against his chest, holding tight as you squirm. “You’re not running away from this again.”
You try to push back, your hands trembling lightly as they move to his upper chest to push him away, but you can both tell that you’re not really trying. Avoiding his gaze now, you look down or to the side. You feel…indescribable right now. All fuzzy inside from butterflies and a fluttering heart, but your head almost aches from all the emotions- not to mention your stomach turning at the thought of what would happen if anyone else found out about this.
“I can’t— I-I didn’t mean to—.” You nearly whisper now, your hands pushing a bit harder at his chest. “Just—…L-Let go of me, Touya.”
You blink in shock when he actually does. His arms drop to his side now, no longer holding you in his warm embrace, giving you more than enough room to walk away like you clearly want to. Because despite what he said and how he acts, if you really want to walk away right now, he’ll let you…but that means it’s the end of whatever was beginning, completely.
And, much to your surprise (but not his), you don’t. You don’t let go of him- you don’t even move an inch away. You just stand there, not looking at him, hands on his shoulders now, your mind racing like you physically cannot decide whether to stay or go.
So, Touya decides for you.
“You give me fucking whiplash, you know that?” He growls, grabbing your hips this time and pushing you back until he’s manhandled you up onto the counter. One hand stays on your hip while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Is this what you need? Huh? You need me to push you around? You need me to decide for you?”
Your eyes are so big as you stare up at him, your lips parting a little in shock, your hands grabbing tightly at his forearms. Touya scoffs a little, stepping between your legs as he sits you fully on the countertop. He’s glaring at you now, almost openly scowling, but he doesn’t seem angry so much as…fed up.
“Because I can do that.” He leans in closer then, squeezing your jaw lightly to keep you in place as he closes the distance. “I can be mean. I can tell you how it’s gonna be. I can tell you how to feel if you can’t fucking decide for yourself.”
“I can—.”
“Oh, you can decide now?” He interrupts, holding your jaw a bit firmer, leaning in even closer until his lips are only a couple inches away from yours. “Then decide. Do you want me…Or do you want to leave? Tell me, right now.”
“I—…” You stutter uselessly, staring at him with growing vulnerability.
Fuck.
For the first time in your entire life, Touya’s actually…right. About everything. It feels unnatural, somehow, that you’re the one struggling to come up with a coherent answer while someone else speaks nothing but facts. Usually it’s the other way around. Usually you always know what to say- usually you’re the one on top of things-
“Fucking typical.” He scoffs lowly, scowling at your stupidly conflicted, speechless expression. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Again.”
His hand travels down from your jaw, wrapping loosely around your throat and making you jerk a little before he slides it around to grab the back of your neck.
“You want me.” He decides, but you both know it’s true. Your face flushes and your hands grab tighter at his skin, your nails digging into those tattoos you love hate so much.
Then, for the first time since he walked into this changing room, Touya’s eyes drop lower than your lips…and a shiver zings up your spine as they rake over the rest of your body. “…And you’re gonna have me.”
request kungpaochicken15 how would the batfam react if they had a partner, but dies (up to your interpretation on how), and then, a person who comes to their earth looks like them (multiverse shenanigans) and they actually experienced the inverse (so like, their batfam partner dies in their world). like the vibe is angst and I will love you in every universe type thing. am I making sense??
content damian wayne x gender neutral!reader, multiverse, alternate universe, other universe reader, major character death, you die, lol, blood/injury, on page death, vomiting, emotional breakdown, survivor's guilt, suicide ideation, discussion of resurrection/lazarus pits, funeral scene, flashbacks, disassociation, depression, hurt/comfort, angst, panic attacks
word count 7.7k
masterlist | damian masterlist
No one had ever seen Damian Wayne break.
They had seen him bleed without complaint. They had watched him stitch his own skin closed with hands steadier than most surgeons, his mouth compressed into a pale, contemptuous line as though pain were merely another enemy too unimpressive to deserve acknowledgement. They had seen him poisoned, concussed, stabbed, shot, and once dragged half-conscious from the wreckage of a burning building with enough broken bones to leave Bruce white-faced beneath the cowl.
Damian had never cried. Not where anyone could see.
As a child, he had turned suffering into silence. As a teenager, he had sharpened that silence until it became something he could wield. By adulthood, he had learned how to smile without showing too many teeth and laugh without looking startled by the sound of it, but there remained parts of him that were guarded as viciously as the Cave itself.
Then there was you.
The family watched Damian meet you and did not understand, at first, that they were witnessing the beginning of his undoing.
It happened slowly. Quietly. In fractions too small to recognise until the shape of him had already changed. Damian began returning from patrol before sunrise instead of lingering on rooftops until his muscles stiffened in the cold. He stopped treating injuries as inconveniences and allowed Alfred to examine them because you had once looked at the blood soaking through his shirt and said, very softly, You do not have to prove you can survive everything.
He began carrying snacks in his utility belt that had no nutritional efficiency whatsoever because they were your favourite. He rolled his eyes whenever anyone pointed this out, but he never removed them.
He permitted your feet in his lap while you read on the sofa. He allowed you to interrupt his work, to touch his hair, to steal the blankets, to speak to him when he was angry and remain beside him when he could not find words gentle enough to answer.
You were the only person who had seen him wake from a nightmare with his hands already shaped around an invisible throat. The only person who knew he sometimes stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom simply to assure himself you were still there. The only person who could say his name in a way that made it sound like a life rather than a legacy.
To everyone else, Damian remained composed. Dryly amused on good days, insufferably arrogant on most, and frighteningly controlled whenever something went wrong.
With you, he was different. With you, he rested his head against your chest and listened to your heartbeat as though committing it to memory. He kissed the inside of your wrist where your pulse fluttered beneath the skin. He let you hold his face between your hands, let you see the fear he had been trained to murder before it could fully form.
He told you things he had never said aloud. That sometimes he worried love was simply another weapon someone might eventually use against him. That he did not know how to be gentle without feeling exposed. That every good thing he possessed seemed temporary, and he had spent most of his life braced for the hand that would rip it away.
You had kissed the crease between his brows.
“Then we’ll be temporary together,” you whispered. “For as long as we get.”
He had hated the answer. He had held you tighter because of it.
Years later, when the universe finally came to collect, Damian remembered those words with such perfect clarity that he wondered whether some cruel part of you had always known.
The mission was supposed to be routine. That was what they always said after disasters, as though tragedy were more offensive when it arrived without proper ceremony.
There had been reports of unstable energy beneath Gotham’s east end. Strange electrical storms in cloudless skies. People vanishing from one street and appearing several blocks away with no memory of crossing the distance between. Windows reflecting rooms that did not exist. Shadows moving a heartbeat out of time with the bodies that cast them.
Tim had called it a spatial fracture. Bruce had called the entire family in.
You had insisted on coming. Damian had objected, which meant the argument lasted nearly twenty minutes and ended with you standing in the Cave in your suit, arms folded, watching him grow increasingly furious because neither of you was willing to admit the fury was fear.
“You are not invulnerable,” he snapped.
“Neither are you.”
“I possess considerably more training.”
“And I possess the specialised equipment Tim needs carried into the fracture zone.”
“Drake can carry his own equipment.”
Tim, who had been standing three feet away, wisely pretended not to hear.
You stepped closer to Damian. His jaw was tight enough to ache, and his gloved hands flexed at his sides as if he wanted to grab you, shake you, or pull you against him until the world reconsidered its plans.
“I’m going,” you told him. “You can either spend the mission fighting beside me or waste it fighting with me.”
His eyes narrowed.
You lifted a hand and pressed two fingers to the centre of his chest. “I’ll be careful.”
“You say that as though the universe has ever rewarded caution.”
“Then you’ll just have to watch my back.”
“I always do.”
The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.
Your expression softened, and Damian hated that too because tenderness made him feel as though his ribs had been pried open.
You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. It was brief, little more than a promise pressed into skin. “Come on, Robin.”
He followed you because he always did.
He would spend the rest of his life wishing he had locked you in the Cave.
The fracture was beneath an abandoned rail terminal, buried deep under rusted tracks and old Gotham stone. By the time the family reached its centre, the laws of reality had begun to buckle. The tunnel stretched and contracted around them. Concrete flickered into marble, then steel, then something wet and organic before snapping back into place. Their comms filled with voices that sounded like their own but spoke words no one had said.
Damian heard Bruce shout his name from somewhere behind him. Then from somewhere ahead. Then in his own voice, directly beside his ear.
He turned and saw himself standing at the end of the tunnel. Older. Bloodied. Dead-eyed.
The apparition vanished before he could raise his sword.
“Do not engage with anything you see,” Bruce ordered through the static. “Stay focused on the device.”
Tim’s stabiliser had to be anchored at four points around the fracture. Once activated, it would force the overlapping realities apart and seal the breach. Simple in theory. Catastrophic if mistimed.
Damian remained at your side as the others separated.
He could hear your breathing through the comms. Quick, but controlled.
He counted every inhale.
One.
Two.
Three.
The tunnel shook. A fissure of white light split the air in front of you, and for half a second, Damian saw another Gotham on the other side. Its skyline burned green beneath a violet sky. Wayne Tower had been cleaved in half. The Batsignal shone upside down through the clouds.
Something moved within the opening.
A figure in black and red.
Damian’s own face looked back at him. This version was smiling.
Then the fracture collapsed inward with a sound like a scream being swallowed.
“Anchor three is placed,” you said.
Damian released a breath. “Return to my position.”
“I’m ten metres away.”
“Return to my position.”
There was a pause.
Under any other circumstances, you might have teased him. Instead, you only said, “On my way.”
The stabiliser activated before you reached him.
Tim shouted something through the comms. An error. A power surge. One of the anchors had been compromised. Damian never learned which words came first because the world erupted around him.
The fracture expanded. The tunnel disappeared into white.
Damian felt the ground leave his feet. He saw pieces of other worlds overlapping one another in impossible layers: the Manor abandoned and choked by ivy; Gotham flooded to the rooftops; Bruce kneeling in an alley over the bodies of two children; Dick wearing a cowl that had never belonged to him; Jason laughing at a kitchen table with white in his hair and a baby on his knee.
Then he saw you.
A thousand versions.
You, beside him at the altar. You, holding his hand in a hospital room. You, old and silver-haired beneath a flowering tree.
You walking away. You dying. You killing him. You cradling his body and screaming.
Damian reached for you.
The stabiliser’s central core tore loose from its housing. It came towards him like a meteor, metal burning blue-white, fast enough that even his reflexes could not save him. His body twisted, but there was nowhere to go. The fractured air held him suspended.
He saw it coming. He understood, with perfect clarity, that he was about to die.
Then you hit him from the side.
Your shoulder struck his chest. The force threw him beyond the core’s path, and for one suspended, eternal second, your eyes met.
There was no time for words. Only the widening of your eyes. Only Damian reaching. Only the stabiliser core passing through the space where your body had been.
The light vanished.
Gravity returned.
Damian struck the ground hard enough to crack his shoulder. Dust filled his mouth. His ears rang. Somewhere, Tim was shouting that the fracture was closing.
Damian pushed himself upright.
You lay several metres away. Too still. There was blood beneath you.
At first, his mind rejected the sight. It sorted the details without understanding them—the angle of your arm, the ruined section of your armour, the dark pool spreading through the dust.
You could not be dead. The thought was not denial. It was fact.
You had kissed him less than an hour ago. You had promised to be careful. You were temporary together, but this was not long enough. This was not what the words had meant.
Damian crawled to you. His damaged shoulder screamed. He did not feel it.
He turned you over with shaking hands and saw the wound. “No.”
The word was quiet.
Almost calm.
Your eyes fluttered. For one delirious second, hope detonated inside him.
“Damian,” you breathed.
“I am here.” His hands moved over you, searching for pressure points, for something to bind, something to repair. There was too much blood. It slipped between his fingers, hot and impossible. “Do not move. Father is coming. Drake will stabilise you.”
You looked at him.
Not at the injury. Not at the blood.
Only him.
“Are you hurt?”
His breath caught. “You—” His voice fractured. He forced it steady. “You do not concern yourself with me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
It was a lie. It did not matter.
Your face softened. “Good.”
“Do not.” Damian pressed both hands against the wound. “Do not speak as though— You will conserve your strength.”
You coughed, and blood touched your lips. Something primitive tore through him.
“Father!” Damian screamed.
The tunnel had gone silent around them.
Bruce was already running. Dick was behind him. Tim stumbled through the dust, mask cracked, one hand clamped around his ribs. Jason emerged from the fading light with his helmet missing.
They all saw you.
They all stopped.
Damian understood their expressions. He hated them.
“No,” he said, louder now. “Do not look at them that way.”
Bruce dropped to his knees beside you. His hands replaced Damian’s, pressing hard against the wound, but Damian would not move away. He held your face. His thumbs smeared blood across your cheeks.
“Stay awake,” Bruce ordered.
You barely seemed to hear him. Your gaze remained fixed on Damian.
“I love you,” you whispered.
His entire body went cold. “No.”
“I love you.”
“You may tell me when we return home.”
“Damian.”
“That is an order.”
You smiled. It was small. Trembling. It was the smile you used when he was being impossible and you loved him anyway.
“You never could order me around.”
“Then I am asking.” His voice shook despite everything he did to control it. “Beloved, I am asking you.”
Your fingers twitched against the floor.
Damian caught your hand and pressed it to his mouth. You breathed in.
You did not breathe out.
For several seconds, Damian continued holding your hand.
Bruce’s hands had stopped moving.
No one spoke.
The fracture sealed itself with a distant, thunderous crack, and the tunnel became only a tunnel again.
Damian stared at your face.
He waited. Your eyes remained half-open, fixed on nothing.
“Continue,” Damian said.
Bruce looked at him. “Damian.”
“Continue compressions.”
Bruce’s mouth tightened. “Damian, the damage—”
“Continue.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Do not tell me there is nothing.”
The words came out low and deadly. Bruce did not flinch.
Damian grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand back towards the wound.
“You have survived worse,” Damian said. “Todd has survived death itself. There are Lazarus Pits. There is magic. There are alien technologies capable of cellular reconstruction. We will take them to the Cave and determine—”
“Damian,” Dick whispered.
He reached towards him.
Damian struck his hand away. “Do not touch me.”
Your hand was growing colder in his.
He looked down at it. His mind supplied the biological reasons automatically. Circulation had ceased. Heat was dissipating. Muscles would slacken before stiffening. Cells were already dying from oxygen deprivation.
He knew death. He had been raised by people who dispensed it. He had watched it happen in a hundred different ways. He knew exactly what it looked like.
“No,” he said again.
This time the word collapsed. His chest seized.
He pulled you into his arms so abruptly that Bruce nearly fell forward. Your head rolled against his shoulder. Damian adjusted it with unbearable gentleness, tucking your face into the space beneath his jaw as though you had merely fallen asleep.
“Wake up.”
No response.
“Beloved.”
Your blood soaked through the front of his uniform.
“Wake up.”
His voice rose.
The sound that tore from him next did not resemble language. It was not a sob. Not yet. It was something rawer, dragged from a place beneath speech, beneath dignity, beneath everything the League had trained into him. Damian curled around your body and screamed until the tunnel threw the sound back at them.
Dick covered his mouth. Jason turned away. Tim sank to the floor.
Bruce remained beside his son with blood on his hands and helplessness hollowing his face.
Damian screamed your name. He screamed at you to wake up. He screamed at Bruce to do something. He screamed at the sealed fracture, at the universe, at God, at every dead ancestor who had ever claimed Wayne blood was destined to suffer.
His body began to shake. Not delicate tremors. Not tears slipping quietly down a composed face. His entire frame convulsed so violently that your armour rattled against his. He clutched you tighter, one hand locked behind your neck, the other fisted in the ruined fabric at your back.
“No, no, no, no—”
The words fell apart beneath his sobs.
No one had ever heard Damian sob. They had not known he could make sounds like that.
He bent over you, forehead pressed against yours, and wept with his mouth open because he could not breathe through the grief. Tears poured down his face unchecked. Saliva and blood shone at his lips. Every attempt to draw air ended in another broken cry.
Bruce reached for him. Damian tried to shove him away, but there was no strength in it.
“You were supposed to save them,” he choked out. The accusation struck Bruce like a blade. “You save everyone. You always— You were supposed to—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologise.” Damian’s voice became a shriek. “Fix it!”
Bruce said nothing.
That silence was the final confirmation.
Damian looked at you again. Your face had gone slack against him.
He made a small, wounded sound, then turned abruptly and vomited onto the tunnel floor.
His body heaved until there was nothing left. He never released you. Even while choking, even while Bruce braced a hand between his shoulders, Damian kept one arm locked around your body, as though loosening his grip would permit death to take something it had not already stolen.
When the spasms stopped, he sagged over you.
His forehead rested against your chest. There was no heartbeat beneath his ear.
For years, he had listened to it in the dark.
Now there was only silence.
They had to sedate him to remove your body from his arms.
Jason was the one who finally did it.
Bruce could not. Dick could barely stand. Tim had disappeared into the Cave’s laboratory, already searching for answers no one had asked him to find.
Jason knelt in front of Damian while he rocked on the floor of the transport, your body held against his chest.
“Demon,” Jason said quietly.
Damian did not react.
Jason swallowed. “Little brother.”
Damian lifted his head. His eyes were swollen nearly shut. Blood had dried across half his face. There was vomit on his uniform and a smear of red beneath his mouth where he had kissed your forehead again and again during the journey home.
“They will be cold,” Damian whispered.
Jason’s expression crumpled. “I know.”
“They dislike the cold.”
“I know.”
“I must take them upstairs.”
“You can’t.”
Damian’s arms tightened.
Jason glanced at Bruce. Bruce looked away.
“Damian,” Jason said. “You’re hurt. Let us help.”
“I am not leaving them.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
“You are.”
The tranquiliser entered Damian’s neck so smoothly that he did not feel the needle.
His gaze flicked towards Jason’s hand. Betrayal moved over his face.
“You—”
“I’m sorry.”
Damian lunged. His body failed him halfway.
Jason caught him as the sedative took hold, absorbing the first furious strike and then the second, weaker one.
“No,” Damian slurred. “No, give them back. Give—”
His knees buckled.
Bruce caught your body. Jason caught Damian.
Damian fought even as consciousness left him, his hands clawing towards you, his mouth shaping your name.
Then he went limp in his brother’s arms.
Jason lowered his face into Damian’s hair and cried.
The funeral took place beneath a grey sky.
Damian did not cry. The family had expected him to. They had prepared themselves for another collapse, though no one knew what preparation could possibly mean. Dick remained close enough to catch him. Bruce watched every movement. Jason had removed all weapons from Damian’s room without mentioning it.
But Damian stood beside your grave perfectly still.
His face was blank. His hands were clasped behind his back. Anyone who did not know him might have called the posture dignified.
His family knew it was the stance he used when awaiting punishment.
When the service ended, everyone left except him.
Rain darkened his suit. It gathered in his hair and traced cold lines down his face. He stood before your grave until the soil became mud and the flowers bowed under the weight of the water.
Bruce returned at dusk. “Damian.”
Damian did not turn.
“You’ll become ill.”
“I am aware.”
“Come inside.”
“No.”
Bruce stood beside him.
For several minutes, there was only rain.
“I should have stopped them from coming,” Damian said.
Bruce closed his eyes. “This was not your fault.”
“They were only present because I failed to persuade them.”
“They made their own choice.”
“They chose to save me.”
“Yes.”
“I should have been faster.”
“You could not have been.”
“I should have anticipated the core’s trajectory.”
“No one did.”
“I should have died.”
Bruce’s head snapped towards him.
Damian continued staring at your name carved into stone. “They would have survived had I not been there.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw the path. It was intended for me.”
“They chose to push you out of it.”
“They made the incorrect choice.”
Bruce grabbed his shoulder.
Damian turned with sudden violence, knocking his hand aside. “Do not.”
“They loved you.”
“Then they should have allowed me to die.”
Bruce recoiled as though Damian had struck him.
The rage vanished from Damian’s face as quickly as it had appeared.
What remained was worse. A terrible, exhausted emptiness.
“They would have survived,” Damian whispered. “They would still be here.”
Bruce’s voice failed before he forced it steady. “And you would not.”
“That is the point.”
Grief did not make Damian kinder.
It made him precise.
He returned to patrol eleven days after your death and broke three men’s bones before Bruce ordered him back to the Cave. He dismantled criminal operations with the cold efficiency of an executioner. He stopped speaking unless information was required. He slept less than two hours a night and woke from those hours with your name tearing out of him.
He could not enter the bedroom you had shared. The first time he tried, he made it three steps past the door.
Your clothes remained folded over the chair. A mug sat on your bedside table with the faint print of your mouth still visible on its rim. Your book lay open, facedown, exactly where you had left it the morning of the mission.
Damian stood in the centre of the room. He stared at the depression your body had left in the mattress.
Then he folded to his knees.
The family found him an hour later with your pillow crushed against his face, shaking so hard he could not speak.
After that, he slept in the Cave. Sometimes in the chair beside the Batcomputer. Sometimes curled on the medical cot where Bruce had first placed your body after bringing you home. Once, Dick found him beneath the display case containing his old Robin uniform, staring into the dark.
Titus searched for you.
That nearly killed him. The dog wandered from room to room, sniffing beneath doors and whining whenever footsteps approached. He slept outside the bedroom for weeks. Alfred the cat sat on your side of the bed and hissed at anyone who attempted to move him.
Damian began leaving the bedroom door open.
“For them,” he explained when Dick noticed.
Not for himself. Never for himself.
He fed the animals. He continued your routines. He watered your plants according to the schedule on your phone. He answered the messages sent by people who did not yet know you were dead until Bruce gently took the device away.
He spoke to you when he believed no one was listening. He told you about patrol. He told you Titus had finally eaten a full meal. He complained that Drake had reorganised the computer files incorrectly.
He stood in the doorway of your room each night and said, “I have returned.” Then, after a pause, “You need not worry.”
As though you might still be somewhere, waiting. As though the dead could be reassured.
Tim became obsessed with the fracture. It was, perhaps, the only form his own grief knew how to take.
He reconstructed every energy reading. He ran simulations until the Cave’s systems overheated. He mapped the brief glimpses they had seen of other realities and theorised that the fracture had not truly sealed. It had scarred.
“A weak point,” he told Bruce. “Like tissue that heals badly. It could reopen.”
Bruce looked towards Damian.
He stood at the edge of the platform, listening. Hope was too bright a word for what appeared on his face. It was hunger stripped of all humanity.
“Can it be reopened deliberately?” Damian asked.
Tim hesitated. “Maybe.”
Bruce said, “No.”
Damian did not look at him. “What would be required?”
“Damian,” Bruce warned.
“What would be required, Drake?”
Tim’s eyes dropped. “More power than we can safely generate. A dimensional anchor. A way to select a specific reality out of an infinite number of possibilities.”
“Then begin.”
“We don’t know what opening it could do.”
“I do not care.”
“It could destroy this universe.”
Damian’s gaze sharpened. “Then improve your design.”
Bruce stepped between them. “We are not tearing reality apart.”
“You have violated the laws of nature before.”
“And paid for it.”
“You permitted Todd to return.”
“I did not bring Jason back.”
“You have worked beside magicians, gods, time travellers, and beings who rewrite existence according to whim. Do not stand there and tell me death is immutable when our lives have proven otherwise.”
Bruce’s voice softened. “They would not want you to risk the world.”
Damian laughed. The sound had no humour in it. “Do not use them against me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“You are attempting to make my grief convenient.”
Bruce flinched.
Damian moved closer, eyes burning. “You want me to accept it. To sit quietly in a chair and discuss my emotions with a stranger until I can say their name without making you uncomfortable. You wish me to return to patrol, to attend dinners, to continue breathing as though that is not an obscene thing to ask of me.”
“No one expects you to be fine.”
“Then stop asking me to survive them.”
He turned away.
Tim watched him leave.
That night, he continued working on the fracture.
It reopened three months after your death.
Not because of Tim. Not because Damian had found some forbidden Lazarus ritual or threatened a magician into cooperation.
It opened on its own. A vertical wound of white light appeared in the middle of the Cave at 3:17 in the morning. Alarms screamed. The ground shook. Glass shattered in the trophy cases.
Damian was awake before the first siren.
He reached the central platform with his sword drawn as Bruce descended from above. Dick and Jason arrived seconds later, Tim stumbling behind them with his laptop clutched against his chest.
The fracture widened.
A figure fell through. They struck the stone floor and rolled, coming to rest beneath the Batcomputer.
The fracture sealed behind them.
Silence followed.
Damian stopped breathing.
You lay on the Cave floor.
Your hair was longer. Your suit was unfamiliar, black threaded with gold instead of the colours he remembered. A scar cut from your temple to the edge of your jaw.
But it was your face. Your hands. Your mouth.
For one impossible moment, Damian’s mind removed the differences.
You were alive.
The sword fell from his hand. It struck the floor with a ringing clang.
Your eyes opened.
You inhaled sharply and pushed yourself upright, one hand reaching for a weapon at your hip. You scanned Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim.
Then you saw Damian.
Every part of you went still.
His name left your mouth like a prayer. “Damian?”
He crossed the distance before anyone could stop him.
You rose to meet him.
His hands closed around your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. He stared into your face as if searching for seams, for a mask, for evidence of illusion. His fingers moved to your jaw, your throat, the scar at your temple.
Warm skin. A pulse beneath his thumb.
“You are alive,” he whispered.
Your eyes filled. “So are you.”
Damian’s face twisted.
He pulled you against him.
The sound you made was strangled and desperate. Your arms locked around his neck, and you buried your face against his shoulder. Damian held you with enough force to hurt, one hand cradling the back of your skull while the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades.
His knees gave way.
You fell with him.
Damian struck the floor and did not seem to notice. He dragged you into his lap, touching your face, your hair, your wrists, unable to stop confirming you existed.
“You returned,” he breathed. “You returned to me.”
Your expression changed.
The grief within it became visible all at once.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Damian froze.
You lifted a trembling hand and touched his cheek.
It was the same gesture. The one you had used when nightmares pulled him awake. The one you had used before kissing him in the Cave on the day you died.
But something in your eyes was wrong.
Not absence.
Recognition. You knew his face, but you were looking at it like a ghost.
“You’re not mine,” you said.
The words entered him slowly.
Damian’s hands loosened.
Around them, the others remained silent.
Tim’s face had gone pale with understanding.
Damian stared at you. “What?”
Your thumb traced the edge of his cheekbone.
“My Damian had a scar here,” you whispered. “From when we were twenty. He tried to stop a blade with his face because he was showing off.”
“I did no such—”
His voice failed.
You laughed once, brokenly. “He always said that too.”
Damian looked down at your suit.
Black and gold.
Not yours. Not the one they had buried.
The scar on your face had not existed before.
He noticed the ring hanging from a chain around your neck.
His ring. A simple dark band engraved on the inside with words no one else knew.
You saw him looking and closed your fist around it.
“He died,” you said.
Damian’s body became rigid.
Your tears spilled over. “The fracture opened beneath Gotham. The core came for me.” Your breath hitched. “He pushed me away.”
No one moved.
The symmetry of it was too cruel to interrupt.
“I held him,” you continued. “I kept telling him Bruce was coming, that we had help, that he only needed to stay awake. He asked if I was hurt.”
Damian made a sound as though the air had been punched from his lungs.
You gripped the ring more tightly.
“He said, ‘Good.’ Then he—”
Your voice shattered.
Damian stared at you. You stared back.
Two survivors facing the shape of the person they had failed to keep.
Your hand slipped from his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I thought you were him.”
Damian’s face emptied.
He released you. The absence of his touch seemed to wound you both.
He moved backwards, only half a metre, but it looked like an ocean opening.
Dick stepped forward. “Damian.”
He did not respond.
Your eyes moved over him with aching hunger. You knew the angle of his shoulders. The severe line of his mouth. The tiny crease beside his right eyebrow that appeared when he was fighting not to show fear.
“You look exactly like him,” you said.
Damian’s chest rose once. Twice.
Then the air stopped reaching him.
His hand went to his mouth.
The first sob came quietly.
A small fracture in the silence.
You stared.
Damian folded in on himself.
The grief he had spent months forcing into narrower and narrower spaces exploded. He bent forward until his forehead nearly touched the floor, his fingers clawing at the stone as if the Cave had begun to tilt beneath him.
You moved without thinking.
Your arms wrapped around him.
Damian fought you for one startled second.
Then he realised how you were holding him.
One hand behind his neck. The other spread between his shoulder blades.
Exactly as you had held your Damian. Exactly as his you had held him.
He broke. His body convulsed against yours. He seized the front of your suit and screamed into your shoulder, the sound muffled by fabric but no less terrible. Months of silence poured out of him in great, tearing sobs.
“They died,” he choked.
“I know.”
“They died for me.”
“I know.”
“I could not save them.”
“I know.”
You were crying too.
Damian clung to you like a drowning man clinging to the reflection of land.
“I buried you,” he gasped.
Your hand tightened in his hair. “I buried you, too.”
That sentence destroyed what remained of him. He sagged fully into your arms. You held his weight and rocked with him on the cold stone floor while the family watched two people mourn the same love through different faces.
No one tried to separate you. No one pretended it was a reunion.
It was not.
It was something stranger. Something crueller.
Something sacred.
You stayed at the Manor because there was nowhere else for you to go. Your universe had not vanished, as far as Tim could determine, but the fracture that had brought you here could not be reopened safely. You existed in their world without documentation, without a home, without anyone who knew you except for the shape of the person they had lost.
The first few days were unbearable.
Dick cried when you entered the kitchen wearing one of Damian’s old shirts. Jason avoided looking directly at you. Bruce became so formal that every conversation sounded like an interrogation conducted at a funeral. Tim asked questions until you snapped at him, then apologised for snapping, then wept when he apologised because your voice sounded exactly like the one in his memories.
Damian disappeared.
He remained in Gotham for four nights.
On the fifth, you found him seated beside the grave.
Your grave.
The sight of your own name carved into stone stole the strength from your legs.
Damian heard your breath catch and turned.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you sat on the wet ground beside him.
The grave was covered in flowers. Fresh ones, despite the rain.
“They hated lilies,” Damian said.
You glanced at him. “My Damian hated lilies.”
“They smell like funerals.”
“That’s what he said.”
Damian’s mouth tightened.
You looked back at the stone. Your date of death stared at you.
Three months ago.
In your world, Damian’s grave bore the same date.
“What were they like?” you asked.
His eyes sharpened.
You almost withdrew the question, but then Damian looked at the grave again.
“They sang badly,” he said.
A wet laugh escaped you. “So do I.”
“They knew. This did not deter them.”
“It never has.”
“They cheated at card games and claimed that noticing was proof I lacked commitment to the spirit of entertainment.”
You smiled through the tears. Damian’s gaze lingered on it.
“They disliked tea unless it contained enough sugar to qualify as syrup. They stole my clothing despite owning more than I did. They spoke to animals as though expecting a response.”
“I do expect one.”
“Titus encouraged this delusion.”
You touched the grass near the headstone. “My Damian pretended not to enjoy dancing. He did, when no one could see him.”
Damian looked offended. “I do not dance.”
“You do in the kitchen.”
“I have never—”
“When you’re cooking, and you think I’m reading.”
He stared at you. You stared back.
Something fragile passed between you.
Not recognition, not exactly. The echo of it.
“He drew me,” you continued. “Constantly. I used to find sketches tucked into books and case files. He acted annoyed whenever I mentioned them.”
Damian’s eyes lowered. “I drew them.”
You nodded. “I know.”
The rain began lightly, whispering against the leaves.
Damian looked at your hand resting in the grass. There was a pale band around your finger where a ring had once sat.
“You were married,” he said.
“Engaged.”
He touched the inside of his coat, where the ring he had planned to give you remained hidden in a small velvet box. He had carried it every day since your death.
The universe had almost been symmetrical.
Almost.
“I intended to ask them,” he said.
Your face crumpled. “When?”
“The night after the mission.”
You pressed your fist to your mouth.
Damian turned away, but not before you saw the tears gathering in his eyes.
“My Damian proposed two weeks before he died,” you whispered.
“Were you happy?”
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly.
Damian nodded. “So were they.”
“You know that?”
“They told me.”
He did not explain when. He did not need to.
You sat beside one another until the rain strengthened.
Before leaving, you placed your hand against the carved version of your name.
Damian watched your fingers trace the letters.
“I’m sorry I’m not them,” you said.
His brow furrowed. “You have no reason to apologise.”
“Sometimes you look at me like you’ve forgotten.”
His gaze dropped. “I know.”
“And sometimes I look at you and forget too.”
Damian’s voice was almost inaudible. “I know.”
You stood first.
After a moment, you offered him your hand.
Damian stared at it.
Then he took it.
There were rules. You created them together because grief made careless people of you both, and neither wanted to turn the other into a mausoleum.
No entering bedrooms without permission. No using private nicknames from the other universe. No asking the other to recreate memories. No pretending.
The rules lasted three weeks.
The first one broke when Damian woke screaming.
You heard him from across the hall. By the time you reached his room, he was on the floor beside the bed, breath coming in ragged bursts. His hands were pressed over his ears. Sweat soaked through his shirt.
You stopped in the doorway. “Damian.”
“Leave.”
You did not.
His eyes lifted. For a second, they were wild with hope.
Then the hope died.
You felt it die.
“I said leave.”
“I heard you.”
“Then obey me.”
“No.”
His face twisted with anger. It was so familiar that your chest ached.
“You are not them,” he spat.
You flinched. Regret struck him immediately, but Damian had always been better at drawing blood than bandaging it.
You stepped into the room. “And you’re not him.”
The words silenced him.
Your own tears rose. “I know that every time you speak. Every time you stand too far to the left because he favoured his right knee after an injury you never had. Every time you call Tim ‘Drake’ with a different inflexion. Every time you look at me and I think, for one second, that the nightmare is over.”
Damian’s anger collapsed.
You knelt several feet away.
“But you’re still in pain,” you whispered. “And so am I.”
His breathing remained too fast.
You placed your hand on the floor between you, palm up. “May I?”
Damian stared at it.
Then, slowly, he crawled forward.
He did not take your hand. He pressed his forehead into your palm.
You closed your fingers carefully against his hair.
His breath stuttered.
“You do not have to be him,” you said. “I don’t need you to be.”
Damian’s eyes closed. “And you do not have to be them.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
You looked at him.
“No,” you admitted. “Not yet.”
His hand closed around your wrist.
Neither of you pretended the touch belonged to anyone else.
Spring arrived. The flowers around your grave began to bloom. You visited Damian’s grave in your own world through photographs Tim had managed to recover from the energy residue embedded in your suit. They were distorted and incomplete, but one image showed a grey headstone beneath a cedar tree.
You kept it beside your bed. Damian kept your counterpart’s photograph on his desk.
The Manor slowly learned how to contain you both. Jason began arguing with you about books. Dick stopped going silent whenever you laughed. Tim discovered that your technological knowledge had developed along a different path than theirs and recruited you into dimensional research. Bruce began saying your name without hesitation.
Titus followed you everywhere. The dog knew. Perhaps not the details, not the impossible mathematics of parallel worlds, but he knew you had the same hands. The same voice. The same habit of scratching beneath his collar before smoothing the fur between his ears.
The first time he fell asleep with his head in your lap, Damian stood in the doorway and stared.
You looked up. “I can move.”
“No.”
Damian entered the room and sat in the chair opposite you.
For several minutes, he sketched Titus.
Then his pencil shifted.
You noticed but said nothing.
When he left, the page remained on the table.
It showed your hands resting in the dog’s fur.
Not your face.
Not yet.
But yours.
Love did not return like lightning. It did not rise from the graves fully formed and demand to be recognised.
It came quietly. Guiltily. In moments neither of you trusted.
Damian began making your tea the way you liked it in your universe, not the way his you had taken it. You learned that he preferred silence after patrol, whereas your Damian had always needed music to come down from the adrenaline.
He discovered you hated being touched unexpectedly. You discovered he needed to know where you were in crowded rooms.
You did not fit into the spaces your counterparts had left. The edges were wrong. The weight was different.
Slowly, painfully, you made new spaces.
One night, nearly a year after you fell through the fracture, you found Damian on the roof of Wayne Manor.
Gotham glowed in the distance, ugly and golden beneath the clouds.
You sat beside him. Your shoulders did not touch.
“It is the anniversary,” he said.
“I know.”
In both universes.
One year since you had died. One year since Damian had died.
You took the ring from beneath your shirt. His counterpart’s ring turned slowly between your fingers.
Damian reached into his coat and removed a small velvet box.
Your breath caught.
He opened it.
Inside was the ring he had never given you.
“I considered burying it,” he said. “It seemed dishonest. They never wore it.”
You looked down at the band. “It’s beautiful.”
“They would have complained that it was too expensive.”
“I would have.”
“You are not helping your argument.”
A laugh escaped you.
Damian’s expression softened.
The silence that followed was not empty.
That was new.
“I loved him,” you said.
Damian looked out over Gotham. “I know.”
“I still love him.”
“I know.”
You swallowed. “Sometimes I think loving anyone else would mean I’m leaving him behind.”
Damian turned the velvet box between his hands.
“I once believed grief was the final proof of love. That if I permitted it to lessen, it would mean they had mattered less than I claimed.”
“What do you believe now?”
His gaze found yours. “That grief is not love. It is merely the shape love takes when it has nowhere to go.”
Your eyes burned.
Damian looked back at the ring. “They would despise what I became after their death.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“They would say the same.”
“My Damian would be furious with me for spending a year wishing I’d died instead.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “As he should be.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I have never claimed not to be a hypocrite.”
You smiled. Then the smile faded. “What do we do with it?”
“With what?”
“All this love.”
Damian was quiet for so long that you thought he would refuse to answer.
Then he closed the box.
“We carry it.”
“And if it gets heavy?”
“We allow someone to help.”
Your heart beat painfully.
Damian heard the change. You knew he did from the slight shift in his posture.
You reached for him slowly, giving him time to move away.
Your fingers touched his. Damian looked down at your joined hands.
“This does not belong to them,” you whispered.
“No.”
“And it doesn’t belong to him.”
“No.”
“It’s ours.”
His fingers tightened around yours. “Yes.”
You leaned closer.
Damian’s eyes closed before your forehead touched his.
For a while, that was all it was.
Warm skin. Shared breath. Two people alive beneath an indifferent sky.
“I have loved you in another world,” you whispered.
Damian’s throat moved. “As I have loved you.”
“I think part of me always will.”
“I would not ask you to stop.”
You drew back enough to look at him. “What are you asking?”
Damian opened his eyes. There were tears in them, but he did not turn away.
“For the opportunity to know you in this one.”
Your breath shook. “That sounds suspiciously vulnerable.”
“Do not ruin it.”
You laughed, and Damian smiled.
It was not the smile your Damian had worn. There was no scar at his cheek. No old injury in his knee. His mouth tilted differently, and sorrow had carved unfamiliar lines around his eyes.
He was not the man you had buried. You were not the person whose name waited in the cemetery below. Perhaps that was why you could finally lift your hand and touch his face without pretending.
Damian leaned into your palm.
“I cannot promise this will not hurt,” he said.
“It already hurts.”
“I cannot promise I will never look at you and see them.”
“I’ll probably look at you and see him.”
His hand covered yours.
“But I will learn the difference,” he said.
“So will I.”
When he kissed you, it was not a resurrection.
The dead did not rise. The universe did not apologise.
Your Damian remained beneath a cedar tree in a world you could no longer reach. His love remained in the ring against your chest, in the memories no new touch could erase.
Damian’s beloved remained beneath spring flowers on the Wayne estate. Their laughter still lived in the Manor walls. Their unfinished book still waited beside a cold bed.
Nothing was repaired. Nothing was replaced.
But Damian kissed you with tears slipping down his face, and you kissed him back with grief trembling between every breath.
You loved the dead. You loved the living. Neither love diminished the other.
Perhaps, in another universe, there was a version of you who had grown old beside him. Perhaps somewhere beyond the fractures and branching stars, Damian was grey-haired and irritable, still stealing the blankets while accusing you of doing the same. Perhaps there were worlds where you never met, worlds where you hated one another, worlds where one of you arrived a moment too late.
There were infinite possibilities. Infinite endings. Infinite graves. But here, in this wounded world, Damian held your face between his hands as though life were something precious precisely because it could be lost.
“I found you,” he whispered.
You pressed your forehead to his.
“No,” you said softly. “We found each other.”
Below you, Gotham continued breathing. Behind you, two graves rested beneath different skies. And somewhere, across all the endless versions of existence, love bent the universe around itself and endured.
request kungpaochicken15 how would the batfam react if they had a partner, but dies (up to your interpretation on how), and then, a person who comes to their earth looks like them (multiverse shenanigans) and they actually experienced the inverse (so like, their batfam partner dies in their world). like the vibe is angst and I will love you in every universe type thing. am I making sense??
content bruce wayne x gender neutral!reader, multiverse, alternate universe, other universe reader, major character death, you die, lol, bruce dies in your universe, survivor’s guilt, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending (im nice), second chance (?), grief, discussion of funerals/graves, blood/injuries, CPR, failed resuscitation
word count 8.4k
masterlist | bruce masterlist
Bruce Wayne had planned the proposal with the kind of precision usually reserved for dismantling international crime syndicates.
He had considered every variable. The weather. The location. Your schedule. The probability of interruption. The likelihood that one of his children would discover his intentions and transform the evening into what Dick would undoubtedly call a family operation. He had considered whether you would prefer something grand or private, whether you would want photographs, whether you would cry, whether he would.
The ring had taken him three months to choose. It was not ostentatious despite the expectations that came with his name. The stone was old, removed from a piece that had belonged to Martha Wayne and reset into something simpler. Something made for daily life rather than galas and glass display cases. The inside of the band was engraved with four small words.
In every life. Always.
He had spent an embarrassing amount of time debating the inscription.
It seemed too sentimental. Too vulnerable. Too much like a promise no human being could realistically make.
Then he had imagined your expression when you read it.
He had kept it.
The proposal was supposed to happen on a Thursday evening in the manor gardens, beneath the climbing roses you had persuaded him not to remove despite their thorns and tendency to creep across the stonework. Alfred had once complained that they were impossible to control.
You had smiled and told him that some beautiful things should be allowed to grow wild.
Bruce had remembered that. He remembered everything.
The ring remained in the interior pocket of his suit jacket throughout dinner, a small and impossible weight pressed against his ribs. You sat across from him beneath the warm chandelier light, speaking animatedly about a community project in the Narrows. Your hands moved when you were excited. Your face changed completely when you laughed. Bruce had watched you over the rim of his glass and thought, with a certainty so deep it frightened him, that he wanted to watch you become older.
It was not merely that he wanted you in his life.
Bruce had wanted years. He wanted grey at your temples and lines around your eyes. He wanted your belongings slowly invading every room of the manor until there was no clear distinction between his life and yours. He wanted to hear you argue with Damian about animal welfare and listen to you tease Tim about surviving solely on coffee. He wanted you beside him at galas, in the cave, at breakfast, in bed on quiet Sunday mornings when Gotham briefly forgot to burn.
He had once thought love was primarily an opening through which loss could enter. With you, it had begun to feel like a place he might live.
“You’re staring at me,” you had said.
Bruce had not looked away. “I know.”
Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That usually means one of two things.”
“What things?”
“Either I have something on my face, or you’re silently investigating me for crimes.”
“You have committed several.”
“I put my shoes on the antique sofa once.”
“Twice.”
“The second time was politically motivated.”
“There were no politics involved.”
“There are always politics involved when rich men own decorative furniture nobody is allowed to sit on properly.”
Bruce had almost smiled.
You noticed. You always noticed.
Your expression softened, your foot finding his beneath the table. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That almost-smile you do when you’re trying not to encourage me.”
“I have never encouraged you.”
“You’re about to take me into the garden after dinner, aren’t you?”
His heart had stopped.
You tilted your head.
Bruce Wayne, who had lied under interrogation, evaded telepaths and maintained a secret identity under the scrutiny of the world’s greatest detectives, had apparently been betrayed by his own face.
“Why would you think that?” he asked.
“You checked the weather forecast six times today.”
“I check it regularly.”
“You rescheduled a board meeting.”
“It was unnecessary.”
“You told Damian not to patrol the south lawn.”
“He has other assignments.”
“And Alfred has been smiling at me like he knows a secret.”
Alfred, standing several feet away with the coffee service, had demonstrated the discipline not to react.
You leaned across the table. “Bruce.”
He had looked at you, at the person he intended to spend the remainder of his life loving, and realised that he did not mind if you knew.
He only wanted the opportunity to ask.
Then the windows shook.
The first blast was far enough away that the crystal glasses merely trembled. The second turned the eastern horizon white.
Bruce was moving before the sound arrived.
The ring remained in his pocket as he descended into the cave. It was still there when he pulled on the cowl. It was still there when you caught his arm beside the Batmobile and made him look at you.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“An energy surge downtown. Possible extraterrestrial origin.” The cave screens displayed a pulsing sphere above Robinson Park, electricity branching from it like veins. “The League is responding.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
Your mouth tightened.
Normally, you respected the boundary between his work and yours. You were not a vigilante, but neither were you helpless. You had worked in emergency response long before Bruce met you. You had seen buildings collapse, treated gunshot wounds and pulled people from burning cars. Your bravery had never required a mask.
“I can help with evacuation,” you said.
“It isn’t safe.”
“It’s Gotham. Nowhere is safe.”
“Stay here.”
“Bruce—”
“Please.”
That word had stopped you.
He rarely used it. Bruce asked for many things through commands, implications and the sheer force of his presence. He did not often plead.
Your anger softened into something more frightened.
He should have kissed you then. The thought would return to him later with surgical clarity. He should have removed the cowl, taken your face between his hands and kissed you as though it were the final opportunity he would ever have.
Instead, he pressed his forehead briefly against yours.
“I’ll come back,” he said.
You closed your eyes. “You’d better.”
He did.
You did not.
The rupture above Robinson Park widened thirty-two minutes after the Justice League arrived. What they had initially identified as an unstable boom tube became something stranger: a wound between universes, vomiting energy into the centre of Gotham.
Buildings lost power. Vehicles stalled. The sky tore open in violent strips of blue and violet light.
Bruce worked beside Clark and Diana to contain the rupture while his children coordinated evacuation on the ground. He did not know that you had left the manor until Barbara’s voice went sharp in his ear.
“Batman, we have a structural collapse on Grant and Eighth. Civilian rescue teams are trapped.” Then, after the smallest pause, “They’re among them.”
Bruce had known instantly who she meant.
The rest of the night fractured.
He remembered abandoning the containment field to Clark’s shouted protest. He remembered the Batwing refusing to respond because of electromagnetic interference. He remembered running.
He remembered Grant Street transformed into a canyon of shattered concrete and burning metal.
He remembered finding your coat beneath a section of collapsed wall.
You had disobeyed him. You had driven to the nearest disaster-response station and joined the evacuation. Witnesses later said you had helped clear three apartment buildings before the rupture sent a wave of energy through the city. The street had split. A fire escape had torn loose.
There had been a child beneath it.
You pushed them clear.
The fire escape struck the building and brought half the exterior down with it.
Bruce found the child first. Alive. Crying. Calling for the person who had saved them.
He followed the direction of their shaking hand.
There were moments in which the human mind refused to understand what the eyes had already seen.
Bruce saw your hand protruding from beneath the concrete and thought only that you would be angry if he damaged your fingers pulling you free. He saw blood on your sleeve and calculated pressure, volume, possible injuries. He heard no movement from beneath the rubble and told himself the noise of the city was concealing your breathing.
He lifted a slab that should have required three people.
He moved another.
Then another.
When he uncovered your face, your eyes were closed.
You looked almost peaceful. There was dust caught in your eyelashes. A shallow cut crossed your cheek. Bruce reached for your throat and found no pulse, but his gloved fingers were thick and the ground was vibrating and there was too much noise.
He removed one glove with his teeth.
He checked again.
Nothing.
“No,” he said.
The word disappeared beneath alarms and collapsing masonry.
He began compressions.
Someone landed beside him. Clark, perhaps. Bruce never remembered.
Your ribs moved beneath his hands.
He counted.
He had resuscitated people after drowning, electrocution and blood loss. He had restarted hearts in alleys and on rooftops. He had watched people return after every measurable sign of life had vanished. He knew the precise sequence of actions required.
He also knew, from the angle of your body beneath the debris, that you were already gone.
He continued anyway.
Someone tried to touch his shoulder.
Bruce struck their hand away.
He counted.
Thirty compressions. Two breaths.
Thirty compressions. Two breaths.
There was blood at the corner of your mouth.
He wiped it away with his bare thumb and continued.
The proposal ring dug into his chest every time he leaned over you.
“In every life,” he had engraved inside it.
The universe, apparently, had taken that as a challenge.
The funeral was private. There were reporters outside the cemetery gates regardless. Bruce Wayne’s partner had died in the Robinson Park disaster, one of eighty-three civilian casualties caused by the rupture. News outlets used photographs from galas and charity events. They described you as a philanthropist, an emergency volunteer, a beloved figure in Gotham’s social circles.
They did not know you could never remember where you left your phone. They did not know you sang while cooking, always slightly off-key, or that you spoke to every stray animal as though it had personally requested your advice. They did not know you kept spare gloves in the car for homeless residents during winter or that you had once climbed through a manor window because you forgot your keys and refused to wake Alfred.
They did not know the exact shape of the absence you left behind.
Bruce stood beside your grave while rain collected on his shoulders.
He had not slept for four nights.
Dick stood to his right. Damian stood to his left, rigid with grief and fury. The others surrounded them in varying states of devastation. Jason stared at the coffin as though anger alone might reopen it. Tim looked pale and distant. Cass watched Bruce instead of the service.
After the others left, Bruce remained.
The rain softened to a mist.
He reached into his coat and removed the ring box. He had considered burying it with you. The idea had seemed right until it did not. The ring had never been yours. You had never said yes. Placing it in your grave felt like stealing an answer from you.
Bruce opened the box. The stone caught the colourless afternoon light.
“I was going to ask you,” he said.
His voice sounded foreign in the empty cemetery.
Bruce had spoken beside graves before. His parents. Jason’s, when Jason had possessed one. Friends and allies and people he had failed.
This felt different. Perhaps every loss did.
“I had a plan.”
The sentence almost broke him.
You would have laughed at that. Of course he had a plan. You might have teased him about contingency proposals and emergency engagement protocols. You would have made the unbearable lighter simply by standing beside him.
Bruce closed the box. “I should have told you.”
The grave offered no response.
He stayed until darkness fell.
Seven months later, the rupture reopened.
There was no warning. One moment, the cave was silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the distant rush of water. Bruce sat before the Batcomputer reviewing data from a trafficking investigation in the East End. The next, every screen flickered.
A pulse of energy rolled through the cave. The air above the central platform bent inward.
Bruce was on his feet instantly, a batarang in his hand. The platform disappeared behind a sphere of white-blue light. Alarms erupted. The cave’s defensive systems activated, scanners attempting to identify an energy signature that matched nothing in the database except the Robinson Park event.
The sphere collapsed.
A person fell out of it.
They struck the platform hard, rolling onto one shoulder with the practised instinct of someone accustomed to impact. Their clothing was scorched. Blood darkened one side of their face. A compact respirator covered their mouth and nose, and a weapon Bruce did not recognise was strapped across their back.
The portal vanished behind them.
For several seconds, the cave held only the alarms.
The stranger pushed upright.
Bruce raised the batarang.
They looked at him.
The weapon slipped from his fingers and struck the stone floor.
Your face stared back at him.
Not something similar to your face. Not a cousin, sibling or shapeshifter wearing an approximation. Every detail was correct. The small scar near your eyebrow from a childhood accident. The precise angle of your mouth. The faint line beside your nose that deepened when you smiled.
You looked exhausted. Injured. Alive.
Bruce stopped breathing.
Your expression changed.
You stared at the cowl. At the cape. At the white lenses over his eyes.
Then your entire body folded around a sound Bruce had only heard once before in his life.
It was the sound he had made over your body.
You crossed the space between you before he could move.
Your arms wrapped around him. “Bruce.”
He went completely still.
You clutched the back of his suit with both hands, pressing your face against the armour over his chest as though proximity alone could prove something. Your body shook. Bruce felt each ragged breath through the layers separating you.
“You’re alive,” you whispered. “Oh, God. You’re alive.”
Bruce’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides.
You smelled wrong.
The realisation was immediate and horribly intimate. There was smoke in your clothing, antiseptic on your skin, metal and rain and some unfamiliar chemical residue. Beneath it was something almost known but not exact.
You were shaped like the person he loved. Your voice was the same. But the weight of you against him was subtly different. Your hair brushed his jaw at another length. The person Bruce had lost had favoured one particular shampoo whose scent lingered on the pillows for weeks after your death.
You did not smell like home.
The thought was cruel. It was also the only thing keeping him upright.
Your grip tightened. “I thought— I watched you—”
Bruce found his voice. “Step back.”
You froze.
The words had been too hard. He saw the injury land before you obeyed.
You released him slowly, looking up at the cowl. Confusion entered your expression, followed by a wariness that did not belong there. The you he had known had never feared him. Not even in the beginning.
“You don’t know me,” you said.
It was not quite a question.
Bruce stared at you.
Behind him, the cave’s facial recognition system completed its scan.
The nearest monitor displayed your name.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED.
Beneath it, in red: SUBJECT DECEASED.
Your gaze shifted toward the screen.
Bruce watched you read it.
The blood drained from your face.
“No,” you whispered.
The cave entrance opened behind them.
“B, what happened?” Dick called, boots striking the stairs. “Barbara said there was another—”
He stopped.
Bruce did not turn.
Dick’s silence filled the entire cave.
You looked between them. Your eyes lingered on Dick, softening with another flash of recognition and grief.
“You’re older,” you said.
Dick flinched.
Bruce’s mind moved because it had to. Evidence. Facts. Control. “You came through the same type of dimensional breach that opened over Gotham seven months ago.”
Your eyes returned to him. “Seven months?”
“The rupture killed eighty-three people.”
You looked at the red word on the screen again. “Was I one of them?”
Bruce could not answer.
Dick did. “Yes.”
You closed your eyes.
For a second, Bruce thought your knees might buckle. You steadied yourself against the console instead.
Dick moved carefully closer. “Who are you?”
Your laugh was small and broken. “I think you know.”
“Tell us anyway.”
You gave your name. It was the same.
You listed your date of birth. The same.
You named your parents, your childhood home and the university you had attended. Most of it matched the records Bruce knew. Some details diverged. A different city. A career path altered by a single decision. A scar earned in another way.
Then you looked at Bruce.
“In my world, the rupture opened eight months ago,” you said. “We thought it was an invasion. Bruce and the League tried to close it.”
Bruce felt something cold settle beneath his ribs.
Your eyes lowered to the black emblem across his chest. “He died.”
Dick inhaled quietly.
Bruce did not move.
“How?” he asked.
Your mouth trembled, but your voice remained steady.
“He pushed me out of the containment field when it collapsed.”
The inverse.
Not perfectly. Universes were rarely elegant enough for that. Yet the shape of it was unmistakable.
In Bruce’s world, you had run toward danger and died before he could reach you. In yours, Bruce had chosen your life over his own.
You pressed one hand to your mouth. “The portal opened again yesterday. We built equipment to track it, but something destabilised. I thought I could find another way to reverse what happened.” Your gaze lifted to him, filled with an apology too large for a person to carry. “I didn’t know it would bring me here.”
Bruce stared into your face and saw the impossibility of every unanswered prayer.
You were alive.
You were not his.
Somewhere, in a universe now missing him, you had buried another Bruce Wayne.
They placed you in the medical bay.
Leslie arrived before dawn, summoned without explanation and then sworn to a secrecy she accepted with only a tired look in Bruce’s direction. Your injuries were significant but not life-threatening: two fractured ribs, a concussion, burns across one shoulder and severe exhaustion.
Bruce remained behind the observation glass while Leslie treated you. Dick stood beside him.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
“You should take off the cowl,” Dick said eventually.
“No.”
“They already know.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
Dick turned toward him. “They know a version of you.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
On the other side of the glass, you winced as Leslie cleaned the burn. Bruce’s fingers curled against his palm.
Dick noticed.
“This isn’t them,” Bruce said.
“I know.”
“They have different memories. Different experiences.”
“I know.”
“They are not the person we lost.”
Dick’s voice softened. “I know, Bruce.”
Bruce looked at him then.
Dick’s eyes were red. He had loved you, too. They all had, in different ways. Your death had moved through the family like a second earthquake, exposing fractures they had only recently learned to repair.
Seeing your face had reopened all of them.
“Do the others know?” Bruce asked.
“Barbara does. She’s containing the security alerts.” Dick hesitated. “Damian saw the facial scan before she could shut down the network.”
Bruce closed his eyes.
As if summoned by the statement, the lift doors opened.
Damian entered the cave in civilian clothes, though the sword at his back suggested he had not come unprepared. He walked toward the medical bay with a composure so severe it looked painful.
“Father.”
“Damian.”
His son’s gaze moved beyond Bruce.
Through the glass, you looked up.
You saw Damian. The expression on your face transformed.
“Dami?”
Damian went white.
In Bruce’s universe, you had been one of only three people permitted to use that name without objection. Even Dick had never managed it consistently.
You pushed yourself upright despite Leslie’s protest.
Damian took one involuntary step toward the door.
Then he stopped.
The person you had known was apparently younger. Your affection landed on him without the shared history to support it, familiar and strange at once.
Bruce understood the feeling too well.
You seemed to realise your mistake.
“I’m sorry,” you said through the glass. “You look so much like him.”
Damian’s chin lifted. “You look exactly like them.”
No one needed to ask whom he meant.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Damian turned and left.
Bruce followed him to the stairs. “Damian.”
His son did not stop.
“Damian.”
He halted halfway up, one hand gripping the railing.
“This changes nothing,” Damian said.
Bruce studied the rigid line of his shoulders. “No.”
“They are not the same person.”
“No.”
“Then why do they look at us like that?”
Bruce had no answer.
Damian turned, and beneath the anger he was still Bruce’s child, grieving someone who had once sat beside him in the greenhouse for hours while he nursed an injured bird.
“They called me by that name.”
“In their universe, you were close.”
“I do not care about their universe.”
The lie fractured on the final word.
Bruce climbed one step closer.
Damian’s eyes flashed. “You cannot allow them to remain here.”
“The portal is closed.”
“Then open it.”
“We do not yet understand how.”
“Find a way.”
Bruce absorbed the demand without reacting.
Damian looked toward the medical bay.
“You will look at them and see what you wish to see,” he said. “You already do.”
The accusation struck deeper because Bruce feared it was true.
Damian left.
You remained in the manor because there was nowhere else for you to go.
Bruce offered several alternatives. A secure apartment. A League facility. A private residence outside Gotham under an assumed identity.
You rejected all of them.
“This is where the rupture formed,” you said. “If it opens again, it’ll probably happen nearby.”
“That is not certain.”
“No, but it’s our best lead.”
You were seated in one of the cave’s auxiliary chairs, wearing borrowed clothing that fit imperfectly. The sight of you in the cave was profoundly disorienting. His you had spent years there, usually perched on the edge of a console despite repeated warnings not to interfere with the equipment.
You had preferred the chair beside the medical station. This you chose the one nearest the dimensional scanners.
Different.
Bruce catalogued every difference because the similarities were dangerous.
You drank tea instead of coffee. You wrote with your left hand. You had military training his you had never possessed, acquired after years working alongside your world’s Justice League. You understood advanced physics at a level that surprised Tim. You slept with a knife beneath your pillow and startled awake whenever anyone approached from behind.
You also laughed in exactly the same way. You frowned when concentrating and pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You curled your fingers into the sleeves of oversized jumpers. You hated pears. You tapped twice against doorframes when entering a room, an unconscious habit Bruce had watched a thousand times before.
Each familiar gesture was a blade hidden inside something soft.
You were cautious with him. That was different, too.
The Bruce you had loved had apparently been more open by the end. You mentioned this only once, during an argument three weeks after your arrival.
“You don’t have to watch me every second.”
“I’m monitoring residual energy from the breach.”
“You’re monitoring me.”
“You entered this universe through an unknown dimensional event.”
“And landed in your house with my ribs broken. Diabolical plan.”
“I did not say you were a threat.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Bruce stood behind the cave console, his expression controlled.
You crossed your arms, then winced when the movement pulled at your healing ribs. Bruce immediately stepped forward.
You stepped back. He stopped.
The space between you became something living.
“You look at me like I’m a crime scene,” you said.
Bruce’s mouth tightened. “You look like someone I watched die.”
Regret passed over your face.
He had not intended to say it.
You lowered your arms. “I know.”
“No. You understand the words. You do not know what it is to see you here.”
Your gaze sharpened with sudden pain. “I know exactly what it is.”
Bruce fell silent.
You looked at him, eyes bright. “Every morning I wake up in his house,” you continued, “and for half a second, I think I’m home. Then I remember my home was destroyed. I walk down corridors that are almost the same. I hear Dick’s voice and expect him to be twenty-three. I see Damian and remember a child who still pretends he hates hugs. I see you—”
Your voice broke.
Bruce could not move.
“I see you,” you repeated more quietly, “and every part of me forgets he died.”
The confession seemed to cost you something.
You looked away first. “I know you aren’t him. I know that. Your hair is greyer. You hold your shoulders differently. You go silent when you’re angry instead of pacing. He hated pears and you keep eating them at breakfast like some kind of personal attack.”
Despite himself, Bruce nearly smiled.
Your face crumpled. The almost-smile vanished.
“He looked at me that way,” you whispered.
Bruce’s chest became too tight for breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
He had no idea. Everything, perhaps. For surviving when your Bruce had not. For wanting to touch you. For resenting you whenever you failed to be exactly like the dead. For the relief that came each time he saw you alive at breakfast.
For the ring still hidden in the safe behind his bedroom wall.
“I should not have brought you here,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
“I allowed you to remain.”
“Because there wasn’t anywhere else.”
“There are always alternatives.”
“Is that what I am?” Bruce looked at you. You held his gaze, wounded and furious. “An alternative?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly to be anything but honest.
Something shifted in your expression.
Bruce stepped backwards. “I’ll arrange an apartment.”
He left before you could respond.
You moved out two days later.
The apartment was in a Wayne-owned building under one of Bruce’s shell companies, secure without appearing so. It had two bedrooms, large windows and reinforced locks. Bruce stocked the kitchen himself after reviewing the differences between your preferences and those of the person he had known.
You watched him place tea in a cupboard. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It is already done.”
“You always say that.”
Bruce paused. “So did he?”
“All the time.”
He resumed arranging the boxes.
You leaned against the counter, studying him. Your burns had healed into pale, uneven scars across your shoulder. Bruce had seen them only during medical examinations, yet he had memorised their shape.
Your Bruce had died pushing you from the rupture. Those scars were the final place his hands had touched you.
“Did they live here?” you asked.
Bruce did not need clarification. “No.”
“But we were together?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
You absorbed this. “In my world, it was five.”
Bruce placed the final box in the cupboard.
“Were you happy?” you asked.
The question was too intimate. More intimate, somehow, than asking whether he had loved you.
“Yes.”
Your mouth curved faintly. “He always looked surprised when I asked him that.”
“I was not surprised.”
“You have the same face.”
Bruce turned away from the cupboard.
You were still smiling, but tears had gathered in your eyes. He hated that grief could coexist with humour. He hated that your pain looked exactly like yours had.
“What happened?” Bruce asked.
Your smile faded. “With him?”
“Yes.”
You had offered only the simplest explanation before. A collapsing containment field. A final act of sacrifice.
You moved toward the windows, Gotham’s evening lights stretching beneath you. “The rupture opened over the harbour. It wasn’t as large as the one here, but the energy kept building. Bruce thought the field could be stabilised from inside.”
“He was wrong.”
“He knew.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
You stared through the glass. “I followed him into it. We were arguing. He ordered me to leave, and I told him I was tired of loving someone who believed his life was always the most expendable thing in the room.”
Bruce felt the words as though they had been directed at him.
“Then the field collapsed,” you continued. “He could have reached the exit. I couldn’t. He came back for me.”
“Of course he did.”
You looked over your shoulder. “He pushed me through. I watched the rupture close around him.” Your hand rose unconsciously to the scarred shoulder. “For three months, I tried to reopen it. Everyone told me there was nothing left to recover. No body. No signal. No evidence that he had survived.”
Bruce understood the obsession. The refusal to accept an absence without remains. He would have torn the multiverse apart if there had been any possibility that his you was alive somewhere beyond it. Perhaps that was precisely what you had done.
“I didn’t come here intentionally,” you said. “But some part of me must have been searching for him.”
Bruce followed your gaze toward Gotham. “And instead you found me.”
“Yes.”
There was no disappointment in the word. That was worse.
You approached him slowly.
Bruce remained still.
“There’s something I need to know.”
“What?”
“Were you going to marry them?”
His control fractured so subtly most people would have missed it.
You did not.
Your eyes lowered to his hand. “You keep touching your left pocket whenever someone mentions them.”
Bruce had not known he did that.
“The ring isn’t there anymore,” you continued. “Whatever you carried that night is gone. But your body remembers it.”
He should have denied it. Instead, he said, “I intended to propose.”
Your breath caught. “When?”
“The night they died.”
You closed your eyes.
Bruce felt suddenly cruel for telling you. The information belonged to another life, another version of you who would never hear the question.
“What did it look like?” you asked.
“That is irrelevant.”
“Bruce.”
He had not allowed you to say his name often. Not like that. Soft and exasperated, threaded with an intimacy earned by another man.
“The stone belonged to my mother,” he said eventually. “I had it reset.”
You nodded as if you could picture it. “Did you engrave it?”
Bruce looked at you sharply.
Your expression was sad. “He always engraved gifts. Somewhere hidden. As if saying something only counted when nobody else could see it.”
Bruce’s throat tightened. “Yes.”
“What did it say?”
He could not tell you. The words had already proved too large for one universe.
You did not press.
Instead, you reached out, slowly enough that Bruce could stop you.
Your fingers touched his wrist.
Bruce’s entire body locked.
You were warm. The dead were never warm. He had forgotten how devastatingly simple that difference could be.
Your thumb rested over his pulse. You did not grip him. You merely held the smallest point of contact between you, an anchor neither had earned.
“I’m sorry they never got to answer you,” you said.
Bruce looked down at your hand.
“I’m sorry he never got to ask me,” you added.
The words left no room for defence.
Bruce turned his wrist beneath your fingers and held your hand.
It lasted only a few seconds.
Then he let go.
The family adjusted to you unevenly.
Dick tried first. He invited you to lunch in Blüdhaven and returned with the unsettled expression of someone who had spent several hours speaking to a ghost who remembered a childhood he had never experienced.
Tim approached you as a scientific problem until you dismantled three of his dimensional models and improved the fourth. After that, the two of you became dangerously capable collaborators.
Jason avoided you for a month. When he finally appeared at your apartment, he brought groceries and refused to acknowledge their resemblance to the exact selection your counterpart used to purchase for him after difficult patrols.
Cass accepted you most easily. She watched your face, recognised the differences and treated you accordingly.
Damian did not speak to you at all.
Bruce saw you notice every absence. He also saw you pretend not to.
The rupture refused to reopen. Months of research produced theories but no viable route home. You worked with the League, Wayne Enterprises and every scientist Bruce trusted. Each failure made the possibility more apparent.
Your universe might be inaccessible permanently.
You built a life anyway.
You volunteered again, initially in administrative roles while your injuries healed and later in the field. You learned this Gotham’s streets. You stopped turning toward an older model of the Batmobile when you heard the engines beneath the city. You formed new relationships with versions of people you had once known.
Bruce kept his distance. He told himself it was kindness.
Then you were injured.
It happened eleven months after your arrival. A warehouse fire in the East End spread to an adjoining residential building. You entered with the emergency crews. The structure became unstable. Bruce arrived as Batman in time to see part of the roof collapse.
For a fraction of a second, the world became Grant Street again.
Dust. Shouting. Concrete. Your hand beneath the rubble.
Bruce stopped hearing the comms.
He entered the building despite the commander’s warning and found you on the third floor, pinned beneath a beam. You were conscious, one arm shielding a young firefighter from falling debris.
Your eyes found him through the smoke. “Bruce.”
Not Batman.
Bruce tore the beam away. He lifted you into his arms.
“I’m fine,” you coughed.
“You are not.”
“Good to see bedside manner remains universal.”
He carried you out as the remaining crews evacuated.
The moment they cleared the entrance, the building groaned behind them. Bruce turned his body, shielding you as the facade collapsed into the street.
You clutched his cape.
His heart was beating too quickly. He could feel it against the armour, violent and uncontrolled.
You looked up at him.
“I’m here,” you said.
Bruce stared down at you. The fire painted gold across your face. Ash coated your hair. There was a cut above your brow in almost the exact place he had seen blood on the night you died.
“I’m here,” you repeated.
Something inside him broke open. “You should not have entered the building.”
Your expression hardened. “There were people inside.”
“You could have died.”
“So could they.”
“I told you not to enter unstable structures.”
“You told someone else that.”
Bruce went silent.
You pushed weakly against his chest. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“I can walk.”
“You may have spinal injuries.”
“I can move my legs.”
“That does not rule out—”
“Bruce.”
He carried you to the ambulance anyway.
You refused to speak to him during the examination.
After the paramedics cleared you with bruising and a mild concussion, you found Bruce waiting on the roof of your apartment building.
He had changed out of the suit.
You stopped beside the door. “You broke into my building.”
“I own the building.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Bruce faced the city.
You approached, anger visible in each measured step. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me like I betrayed you by surviving incorrectly.”
His shoulders tightened.
“I know what happened to them,” you said. “I know why tonight scared you. But I am not going to spend the rest of my life avoiding every risk they took.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“You tried to order me out of my own job.”
“You were almost killed.”
“So were you.”
“That is different.”
A humourless laugh escaped you. “There it is.”
Bruce turned toward you.
“You think your life is inherently more disposable than everyone else’s. Even across universes, you managed to keep that.”
“This is not about me.”
“It’s always about you when you’re afraid.”
The statement landed with uncomfortable accuracy.
Bruce looked away.
Your anger softened.
“My Bruce was afraid too,” you said. “All the time. He just turned it into rules and contingency plans so he could pretend it was something else.”
“I am not him.”
“I know.”
“You continue to compare us.”
“Because I loved him.”
Bruce flinched.
You saw it.
For months, neither of you had spoken directly about what existed between you. The pull. The recognition. The unbearable familiarity. It had lived beneath every conversation like a buried electrical current.
You stepped closer. “And you loved them,” you said. “That doesn’t disappear because I’m here.”
“No.”
“I don’t want it to.”
Bruce finally looked at you.
You were crying, though your expression remained steady.
“I don’t want to replace them,” you said. “I couldn’t. I don’t want you to replace him either.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
The honesty was more frightening than any declaration.
You wiped at your cheek with the heel of your hand. “I know that when something happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. I know I can recognise your footsteps outside my apartment. I know you take your tea differently from him, and your sense of humour is somehow even more repressed. I know the scar on your back is three inches lower than his was.”
Bruce’s breath stopped.
You had treated an injury there two months earlier after a patrol. Neither of you had mentioned the intimacy of it.
“You aren’t him,” you continued. “But I know you now.”
Bruce could not speak.
“And maybe that’s worse,” you said. “Because losing him was supposed to be the worst thing that could happen. Then I found you.”
The city stretched behind you, all glittering windows and distant sirens.
Bruce stepped toward you.
He stopped close enough to feel the warmth of your body but did not touch.
“I keep waiting for you to disappear,” he admitted.
Your expression crumpled.
Bruce rarely confessed fear aloud. Naming it gave the thing shape. “Every time you leave a room, I expect the cave alarm to sound. Every time you fail to answer your phone, I see the rubble. I know you are not them. I know this is a different life. But my body does not understand the distinction.”
You lifted one trembling hand and placed it against his chest. “Mine doesn’t either.”
Bruce covered your hand with his.
Neither moved.
“What happens if the portal opens?” he asked.
You closed your eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Would you return?”
“There’s nothing for me there.”
“Your family. The League.”
“They rebuilt without me. I vanished almost a year ago. For them, I may be dead.”
“You did not answer the question.”
Your fingers curled against his shirt. “Because I don’t know the answer.”
Bruce nodded.
It hurt. He respected it anyway.
You opened your eyes. “Would you want me to stay?”
The truthful answer pressed against his ribs beside every other dangerous thing he had ever carried.
“Yes.”
You exhaled shakily.
Bruce touched your face. The motion was careful, almost reverent. His thumb traced beneath your eye, wiping away a tear. Your skin was warm against his hand.
You leaned into the touch.
For a moment, grief folded the universes together.
Bruce saw you across the dinner table beneath chandelier light, teasing him about the weather forecast. You saw a man running back into a collapsing field because he could not imagine a world in which your life ended before his.
Then the moment changed.
Not disappeared.
Changed.
You looked at Bruce, not the man you had lost.
Bruce looked at you, not the person buried beneath a headstone outside Gotham.
He bent toward you slowly enough to stop.
You closed the distance.
The kiss was quiet. It did not feel like the first kiss Bruce remembered. Your mouth moved differently. Your hand settled against the side of his neck instead of in his hair. You hesitated where the other you had once been certain.
Different. Real.
Bruce held you as though learning the shape of you from the beginning.
When you separated, your foreheads remained pressed together.
You were both crying.
“This feels like betraying him,” you whispered.
Bruce’s hand tightened gently at your waist. “I know.”
“Does it feel like betraying them?”
“Yes.”
You nodded, the answer apparently more comforting than a lie. “What do we do?”
Bruce looked out across Gotham.
For once, he had no plan.
“We proceed carefully.”
A wet laugh escaped you. “Very romantic.”
“I am capable of revising the phrasing.”
“No. That was perfect. Painfully you.”
Bruce almost smiled.
This time, you did not mistake it for anyone else’s.
The portal opened six weeks later.
Bruce was in the cave when the dimensional scanners began screaming. You were upstairs at dinner with the family. By the time the rupture formed above the central platform, everyone had descended.
The sphere stabilised into a shimmering doorway.
On the other side was another Batcave.
Different computers. Different suits. Familiar faces. A younger Dick Grayson stood nearest the opening. Behind him were the other universe’s League members, exhausted and disbelieving.
Dick saw you.
His face broke.
You took one step toward the portal.
Bruce felt the movement like a blade entering his chest.
The other Dick spoke your name.
You covered your mouth.
Damian stood at Bruce’s side, utterly still. Over the previous months, he had begun speaking to you. Then training with you. Then appearing at your apartment under the transparent excuse of checking its security.
He looked across the portal toward the younger version of himself.
The boy could not have been more than fourteen.
The younger Damian stared back.
“Are they alive?” the other Dick asked.
Your voice trembled. “I’m here.”
The reunion became chaos. Scientists on both sides confirmed the portal was temporarily stable. You crossed first, disappearing into the arms of people who had mourned you. Bruce watched your family surround you. He watched the younger Damian hold himself rigid for less than ten seconds before you pulled him into your arms.
Bruce turned away.
He had always known this moment might come. Knowledge did not soften it.
The portal would remain stable for approximately four hours. Afterwards, no one knew whether it could be reopened.
You had a choice.
The others left Bruce alone in the cave without being asked. Even Damian eventually followed, though not before looking back at him with an unreadable expression.
Bruce stood before the portal. Across the divide, your world’s Batcave was crowded with celebration and grief. People touched you constantly, as though confirming you were solid.
You belonged there. The certainty was unbearable.
After three hours and forty-one minutes, you returned alone.
Bruce waited beside the console.
You had been crying.
“So,” you said.
Bruce said nothing.
“The portal is losing stability.”
“I know.”
“Victor thinks they can replicate the conditions now. It might be possible to open it again.”
“That reduces the immediate risk of separation.”
You smiled sadly. “You make everything sound like a mission briefing.”
“It is easier.”
“I know.”
The sphere behind you flickered.
Bruce kept his hands at his sides.
“What did you decide?” he asked.
You looked at him for a long moment. “My world needs rebuilding.”
Bruce’s heart stopped quietly.
You continued before he could respond. “But it doesn’t need me.”
He stared at you.
“Dick is leading the League. Damian is almost offensively competent. Gotham survived. They miss me, but they’re alive. They have one another.”
“You are part of that.”
“I know.”
“Then you should return.”
Pain flashed across your face.
Bruce forced himself to continue. “You have spent more than a year attempting to reach them. Your life is there.”
“My life was there.”
“The distinction is immaterial.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The rupture crackled behind you.
You walked toward him.
“I loved my Bruce,” you said. Bruce’s jaw tightened. “I will always love him. He died saving me, and part of me will probably spend the rest of my life wishing he hadn’t.”
Bruce understood.
“But you are not him.”
“No.”
“And I’m not the person you were going to propose to.”
“No.”
The word scraped his throat.
You stopped before him. “Do you love me?”
Bruce had faced gods with less fear. “Yes.”
The answer seemed to move through you.
“Not them?”
Bruce stepped closer. “I loved them. I still do.”
You swallowed.
“But you are not an echo,” he continued. “You are not an alternative or a second attempt. I know the differences now.”
“Name one.”
“You pretend to enjoy tea without sugar because your Bruce drank it that way, but you add honey when you believe no one is watching.”
Your lips parted.
“You sleep on the left side of the bed. You dislike thunderstorms but enjoy heavy rain. You understand quantum mechanics and cannot operate the manor’s washing machine. You tap doorframes twice because your mother told you it prevented bad luck when you were six. You are left-handed. You lie badly when you are tired.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
Bruce touched it away. “You are reckless in ways they were not,” he said. “Patient in ways they were not. You forgive more easily and trust less. You are not them.”
“And you love me?”
“Yes.”
The word was easier the second time.
You closed your eyes.
Bruce waited.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
Across the portal, someone called your name.
You looked back.
Your family waited on the other side.
Bruce prepared himself to let you go.
You turned toward the portal and approached it. For one awful second, Bruce thought that was the end. That you would cross without looking back because looking back would make it impossible.
You stopped at the threshold.
You spoke with Dick. Then with Damian. The younger boy began arguing immediately, his hands cutting sharply through the air. You knelt before him. Whatever you said made his face collapse.
Bruce looked away, granting you the privacy distance could not provide.
Several minutes later, you returned.
The portal contracted behind you.
Bruce stared.
You walked faster as the light folded inward.
By the time you reached him, Bruce had opened his arms.
You collided with his chest.
The portal vanished.
The cave went dark and silent.
Bruce held you tightly enough to feel each breath.
“You stayed,” he said.
You pressed your face against his neck. “I chose.”
There was a difference.
Bruce understood it.
A year later, Bruce took you into the manor gardens.
You noticed immediately.
“You checked the weather six times today.”
“Four.”
“You rescheduled a board meeting.”
“It was unnecessary.”
“You told Damian not to patrol the south lawn.”
“He threatened to deploy smoke bombs if any of the others interrupted.”
You smiled.
The roses had grown across the stone archway, wild and nearly impossible to control. Evening sunlight caught on the leaves. Somewhere beyond the hedges, there was an extremely suspicious rustle that suggested several members of the family had ignored Damian’s warning.
Bruce stopped beneath the arch.
Your smile faded. “Bruce?”
He removed the ring box from his pocket.
For years, he had imagined this moment with another version of you. Then he had spent months believing the ring could only ever belong to a grave and an unfinished life.
He opened the box.
You stared at the ring.
Bruce had considered changing it. A different stone. A different setting. Something without history attached to it.
In the end, he kept the original.
Not because you were interchangeable. Because love did not become less real simply because it had existed before.
“The stone belonged to my mother,” Bruce said. “I chose the setting before the rupture.”
Your eyes filled with tears.
“I know this was intended for someone else,” he continued. “I know part of us will always belong to people who are no longer here.”
You reached for his free hand.
Bruce held yours. “But I am not asking because of who you resemble. I am asking because of who you are.”
Your fingers tightened.
Bruce lowered himself onto one knee.
The rustling behind the hedge stopped completely.
You laughed through your tears.
Bruce looked up at you.
“I cannot promise that there is no universe in which we lose one another,” he said. “We know better than most that such promises are meaningless.”
Your expression softened.
“I can promise that in this life, for as long as I have, I choose you.”
You covered your mouth with one hand.
Bruce’s composure wavered. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” The answer came before he had finished breathing. “Yes, Bruce.”
He slipped the ring onto your finger.
It fit.
You pulled him upright and kissed him beneath the roses as a cheer erupted from behind the hedge, followed immediately by Damian shouting several threats concerning privacy and concealed explosives.
Bruce barely heard them.
You drew back just far enough to examine the ring.
Then you noticed the engraving.
Your breath caught.
In every life. Always.
Bruce watched you read the words once, then again.
“They were meant for them,” he said quietly.
You looked at him.
“They were,” you agreed. Your thumb moved across the hidden inscription. “And now?”
Bruce touched his forehead to yours. “Now they mean you.”
You smiled.
Somewhere, in another universe, there was a grave without a body and a city that remembered a Batman who had given his life for yours. In this universe, someone bearing your face rested beneath Gotham soil, loved beyond death by a family who would never forget them.
Neither loss disappeared. Love did not undo death. It did not close the wounds between universes or restore the lives that should have been lived.
It only endured. It changed shape. It crossed impossible distances. It found familiar hands and learned to hold them differently.
Bruce kissed you again beneath the wild roses.
In one universe, he had loved you first. In another, you had loved him longer. Here, in the life neither of you was supposed to have, you chose each other.
And perhaps that was what the promise had always meant.
Not that every universe would be kind enough to keep you together. Only that somewhere, somehow, every version of Bruce Wayne would look across a crowded room, a ruined city, a wound in reality itself—
if every memory was erased, could your mate make you fall in love with him one more time?
warnings : (18+ MDNI), neteyam x omatikaya fem!reader, mature themes, explicit s3xual content, strong language, slow burn kinda, reader has an amnesia from war & she doesnt know shes mated, yearner neteyam :((, heavy angst i think, intense effects (panic attack & more), pet names, vanilla s3x, softdomreader, praise knk, risk of getting caught, both r freaked out, reverse cg, handjob, oral (f receiving), fingering, riding, swimming s3x omagahhrrh, cckwarming, intimate s3x (i hope so umm), dirty talk, A LOT of smut (P in V), etc.
a/n : this is the third request ohgashhh the idea looked so much better in my head, i cant believe it ended up like this smh . anyways, i loved this request sm though, i had so much fun writing it... also, take note of how this couldve ended after just one smut scene, but i kept it going cuz i got way too attached to these two 😭
wc : 19k (no proofread)
You stared at the empty sheet of bark, the charcoal stick hovering uselessly above it. A knock of your knuckles against your forehead did nothing to shake loose a single idea.
Alone in your hut with no duties assigned for the day, you had eventually given up on idling, and decided to wander through in your place.
A Memory Keeper, they called you.
You had held the history of an entire clan in the palms of your hands, apparently. But to you, it felt like a joke, for your own remained locked away in the dark.
Your heart felt like it was lacking, wanting something, seeking something, though you had no name for what was missing.
After few minutes, the only thing you had managed to sketch was the outline of a panopyra. It felt sooo wrong. You knew your hands were capable of far greater than this, the image was vivid in your mind, but the moment the product touched the surface, it resulted into ugly lines.
You had drawn it only because the same flower seemed to exist in everything you had ever made. It was carved into your wooden furniture, painted along the borders of your work, woven into your loincloths. Tiny beads shaped its petals in your jewelry, a carved charm swung from your songcord, and the sheets of songs scattered across your kelku had the same symbol. Against one wall hung a massive scroll, where the detailed botanical study of the plant itself can be seen, rendered good that it looked alive.
You knew its name: Tawtsngal, the love flower.
But the longer you stared at it, the more your chest ached. It was strange to recognize something so intimately without remembering why.
“Are you there, Y/n…?”
You flinched, moving the things before pushing yourself up. Pulling back the curtain, you blinked at the tall figure standing in the doorway. Neteyam, your mentor, stood there, his cummerbund on his waist and the leather armguard tight around his right forearm. In his hands, he balanced a wooden tray with different foods.
“Yes, Sir?” A smile made its way onto your face. “Good morning! Did you need something?”
He shook his head, the beaded ends of his braids swaying against his shoulders. “I do not. I came to bring you breakfast,” He held the tray out toward you.
“Oh no, Sir, you really didn’t have to!” Your hands flew up, waving in refusal as heat entered at the back of your neck in embarassment. “I was just about to head into the village to gather my own—”
“Well, it’s here now. Surely you wouldn’t have me carry it all the way back to the cooks?”
“No… of course not.” You stepped back, holding the curtain open for him. “Please, come in.”
The moment his feet crossed the threshold, a wave of self-consciousness hit you. The hut was a disaster! Smudged pigment bowls sat tilted on the floor, dust coated the edges of the mat, and crumpled papers were scattered across the floorboards. “Sorry, Sir! Lemme just—” Panicking, you dropped to your knees, clearing the clutter off the low wooden table to make room.
“It’s alright, Y/n… Take your time,” Neteyam didn’t move away or rush you. Moving the tray onto one hand, he used his free arm to bend down and gather the ones you missed, tossing them into the bin tucked in the corner.
He moved through the space without a single glance to check his footing. Once the table was cleared, you sat on the ground, waiting as he set the wooden tray down between you. You crossed your legs, giving him a polite nod. “Thank you for the food.”
“Mhm…”
Instead of leaving, Neteyam folded his legs, sinking onto the mat directly across from you. He lifted his leg and rested his elbow on his knee, his golden gaze fixed on you as he waited. You paused, your fingers hovering over the steam rising from the wrapped leaves. “Have you… not eaten yet, Sir?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “You need to eat. You’ve been shutting yourself inside for days. The children have been asking where you are.”
A knot formed in your throat, you picked at the string binding the meal, peeling back the leaf in thin strips to avoid meeting his eyes. “It’s just… weird,” you mumbled. “Walking through the village while everyone looks at me like they know who I am… and I have to look back at them like strangers. It makes me feel ashamed.”
Across the table, Neteyam gulped. His jaw clenched, his eye twitching as his hand tightened into fist. Before you could speak, his palm reached out, fingers closing around your forearm. “Y/n… you have nothing to feel sorry for. I told you that I’ll help you through this. I meant it.”
You let out a nervous laugh, pulling your arm back just enough to break the hold, scratching at the back of your neck as you forced a smile. “Right… sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful…” You looked down at the food, missing the way his hand hovered in the air before dropping back to his knee. “Thank you, really.”
“It’s nothing, Y/n…”
Moments passed before you held out a portion of the meal toward him. He shook his head, saying he only wanted to make sure you were full, but you insisted. You gave him a look he couldn’t resist until he sighed, giving in to share the breakfast he had prepared for you.
Once the food was gone, Neteyam walked beside you toward the medical tent, matching your pace. It felt like a burden, having your temperature checked every single morning, resting your head against machinery while human face after human face hovered over you.
They called themselves Norm, Alma, and Max. You were growing to trust them, remembering how they had been the first ones to greet you through the blinding lights on day one. They were the ones who helped you when you panicked at the sight of human metal, heck, even the sight of a human itself.
To make things easier, Norm and Alma stayed inside their Avatars whenever they came to treat you so they wouldn’t startle you. Max, on the other hand, apologizes, giving you space to grow accustomed to his small frame since he lacked an Avatar of his own.
Still, your eyes always searched the room for the Tsahik, taking comfort in her familiar rituals while the science team ran their tests.
Soon, a fresh bandage was wrapped around your forehead, and you were sitting in the nursery where many children surrounded you, yapping about how much they had missed you. One girl scrambled straight into your lap, thrusting a messy painting inches from your nose as she grinned up at you.
“In here, you can see the person’s skin melting,” she exclaimed, her finger pointing at the smudges, “because like I told you before, I’ve been so into nature that it feels like it’s pulling my whole body into it! And the butterfly is shining bright because the whole forest is amazing, and the butterfly represents all of it! Oh and the swirls in the background are because I forget to hear any noise when I’m busy admiring Eywa’s work!”
“Oh…” You blinked. “That’s… remarkably well thought out.”
“Of course it is! You’re always so good at what you do, Y/n, and I want to be just like you when I grow up!” Her eyes almost disappeared when she smiled.
An ache bloomed in your chest omce again. It hurt so deeply to know you had once been so passionate about a craft. “I wish I could teach you all properly…”
The room went still as the kids began sniffling, frowns replacing their smiles. They were young, but they weren’t naive. They knew what had been taken from you, and it was hard on them, too. They had spent weeks sitting by your side, retelling stories of everything you used to do for them, how your arts had guided them, and how you also managed to save lives because people carried your wisdom.
It was early but the marketplace was already awake.
“Y/n, my dear! Have you eaten already?”
You turned toward the call, seeing an older woman beaming at you from behind a table stacked with baked goods. A smile touched your lips as you gave a nod. “Yes. I just did a few hours ago.”
“Well, if you’re hungry, you should totally eat this loaf!”
“Oh no, it’s alright! It’s your business, I don’t wanna—”
She swatted your hand away with a flick of her wrist. “Do not bother, darling! The wood you carved for me attracts half the village to my stall. The least I can do is cook your favorite!”
You paused, taking a breath as the scent of the bakery hit you, causing your stomach to betray you when it sunk. She led you into the shade of her booth, the aroma wrapping around you. Sitting back against the tree, you accepted the steaming wooden cup she pressed into your hands.
“Where’s Neteyam? Not with you?”
“I’m not sure,” you said, shrugging as you took a small sip. “He’s probably doing his usual routine… training.”
Without even trying, you had his morning memorized. Every time he finished bringing you breakfast, he would disappear, taking on tasks for the council, flying out with his ikran, or just walking deep into the woods to be alone. He had been there every step of the way since you woke up. He was the one who walked you through the forest, teaching you the names of the goods, pointing out the bioluminescent vines, and explaining the world to you piece by piece.
He had kept his promise to never leave your side.
However, whenever you dared to ask about who you were before, or your past as a whole, a barrier dropped between you. You would watch the way his jaw clenches, his eyes close then brushing the question aside. “You’re not ready yet,” he would say.
You believed him.
For he was the only person your age that you felt safe around, there’s just this wall standing between you, the line between a teacher and a student.
The old woman sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. The rest of the clan knew the truth, but out of respect for Neteyam’s plea to protect you, everyone held their tongues, leaving you in the dark.
After taking the bread and bidding her farewell, you stepped back onto the main walkway, letting the crowd carry you along.
A few stalls down, a booth belonging to a Soul Seer caught your eye. That tug hit the center of your chest again, your heart skipping a beat before leveling out again as your hand flew to your sternum.
What even awaited you in this place that your heart knew, yet your mind could not?
-
You were dreaming.
Up ahead, a man stood looking back at you, like you kept him waiting. Even across that distance you couldn’t easily cross, and without features on his face, you felt your eyes meet his.
“C’mere,” He whispered it, holding out his arm.
With all your strength, you tried to walk on the sticky ground that held your feet down, reaching out to catch his hand.
The moment your fingers were about to touch, your hand went right through his skin. You stared at your own palm, then looked up just in time to see another faceless woman running into his embrace.
“—Y/n?”
Your eyes shot open, blinking fast as the sky settled into place. You looked up to see a shadow hovering over you, his features tense against the light. “Oh, thank you, Greatmother…” Neteyam murmured, pressing both palms to his face. He sighed deeply then dragged his hands down, his golden eyes searching your face. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“My head is just throbbing… did something happen?” You wince, resting a palm against your temple as the forest tilts in your vision. The muscle along his jaw twitched, a telltale sign of the anxiety he was trying so hard to keep under control. “Are you okay now?”
“Yes, sir…”
“Why are you out here alone?”
“Sorry… I must’ve fallen asleep,” you confessed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows before looking at him. “I was looking for you.”
His golden eyes went wide. “You were… looking for me? Did something happen?” He repeated your question with nervousness, but you just shook your head. “No. I just wanted to see you.”
Neteyam’s heart dropped, his mouth opened to speak, then closed, an indigo settling down cheeks before he spoke. “You should’ve waited for me then. Something bad could happen to you out here.”
You frowned at his concern. “I’m sorry, Sir…”
The color on his face slowly faded. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“It’s just… nothing. Let’s go,” he said, sitting up and gathering the basket beside you before holding out his hand. You looked at his palm, lifting yours to meet it. He pulled you up, and as you stood close, your heart gave that same throb. You licked your dry lips, stepping beside him. You had wanted to ask him something for days now. You didn’t know why you waited so long, but you couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
“I want to come with you.”
Neteyam stopped walking and looked back at you. “What?”
“In your mornings… I want to be there with you.”
“...Why?” You saw his hands shake a little, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I- I don’t wanna be alone anymore. I’m scared of what will happen to me.”
“Y/n… I—”
“You cannot, right?” You cut him off, taking a step toward him. “Where you go, it’s dangerous for me. Where you go, I can’t be in it.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m afraid I cannot protect you there.”
“I’ll take the risk,” You reached out, putting your palm on his cheek. He went still, his hand tightening on the basket at his waist.
“Why?” He held your hand against his face with his free one, biting the inside of his lip. “You would go with me to the deep sea? To the sky, and into the thorns where the ground burns?”
“Yes. I want to be with you. If you go there, then I want to be there too.”
“Oh…” He looked at you for a moment, then turned his head a little, pressing his lips to the middle of your palm. “You would put yourself in danger… just to be with me?”
“I will.”
“It’s hard to say no because I want to be with you too,” he mumbled against your skin. “But… you understand, right? We cannot always have what we want,” he said. You looked away, pulling your hand back. He held your fingers as long as he could before letting go reluctantly. “I’m sorry, y/n… I’ll bring you back whatever you want. Just tell me. I’ll get it for you as soon as possible,” You felt him step closer, but your throat was tight.
You didn’t even want things brought back to you. Your hut was already full of things you didn’t remember making. You didn’t want to be around anyone else in the clan, you didn’t want their eyes on you, or another conversation where you had to form a sentence. You just wanted to run from the way everyone tried to pull your lost memories out. Neteyam never forced you, he stayed true to his promise to stand by you and protect you from the weight of what you forgot.
You bit your lip, looking into his eyes again. “I only want you.”
His eyes eidened, releasing a breath he held for too long. He looked down at the dirt, then back up at you, setting the basket down on the ground. He reached for your hands, giving you time to pull away. When you stayed, his fingers closed around yours. “...You do?”
“I do, Sir.”
He bit his lip, watching your face. “But I… I want you safe.”
You held onto his wrist tight. “Do you not want me?” His mouth stayed open in silence, words failing him. Your heart ached again, skipping beats until it felt like it sank into your lungs. Neteyam saw the tears filling your eyes, he couldn’t stand it, pulling you fast into his arms. Your chin rested over his shoulder while he hid his face in your neck.
“I do… I want you so much,” he whispered. He felt his own heart break when you let out a cry, wrapping your arms tight around his neck to pull him closer. “Then what’s stopping you?”
“A lot…”
Your lips trembled. “I’m scared of everyone. I don’t wanna be there…”
“I know… I know,” he whispered, holding you until your shoulders relaxed, you stepped back and he wiped a tear off your cheek, before tucking a hair behind your ear. You looked up at him. “Why can’t I come with you?”
Neteyam raised his arm, wiping his eyes with his forearm before he looked back at you. “Please don’t ask that. I want you to stay where our people can watch over you. If you stay here, I can tell myself that you’re safe... and for a little while, my heart will know peace. I get that you wish to do more but until the day I no longer fear losing you... this is all I can ask of you. I hope in time you’ll understand.”
“I… undertand, Sir.”
You tried to.
Days passed in a blur, yu spent the morning putting away your washed loincloths into the carved cabinet, which, of course, was etched with the same symbol. You really must’ve loved that flower, huh?
Finishing your daily check-up with the science team, you took a break from your tasks for the rest of the day. With nothing else occupying your time, you began to reorganize the hut, only to pause, staring up with a wrinkled forehead at a row of baskets tucked onto a high shelf. You had to strain on tiptoes just to brush the undersides with your fingertips, literally out of reach.
What had the old you been thinking, putting things up there?
Moving deeper into the kelku, your gaze caught on one of the main support beams, the bamboo visibly worn and smoothed down in a deep groove. It looked as though it had been continuously rubbed raw by a rope, suggesting your hammock probably once hung there before moving to the other corner.
With the amount of work needed to fix up the space, a headache began to pulse behind your eyes. You lifted a hand, rubbing your fingers in circles against your forehead to ease the tension.
Sighing, you patted your hands clean against your tewng, blowing a puff of air to nudge away the stray baby hairs falling over your face. You had only just bathed earlier but here you were, covered in a fresh layer of dust all because you couldn’t sit still for some reason.
When you pulled back the entrance curtain, you shrieked, planting a hand over your pounding chest at the sight of your teacher standing right there. “Oh my… you scared me, Sir!” You pouted up at him, and Neteyam raised his hands, offering an apologetic wave.
“Why are you here?” you asked, raising a brow. He gave you a baffled look. “Didn’t you say you wanted to visit the Tree of Souls?”
“Oh, sh— I actually forgot! I’m so sorry! I got caught up cleaning my place…” You scratched at the back of your neck in embarassment but he only shook his head, looking past your shoulder into the hut.
“You should’ve called for me. I could’ve helped you clean inside.”
Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I wouldn’t wanna bother the Olo’eyktan’s son. Besides, you already have so much on your plate, Sir. I don’t wanna add to it when you’ve already helped me so much.”
“Y/n, I told you that I—”
“Yes yes! You will help me but I’m no damsel in distress!” You cut him off, smirking a little. “I can do plenty with my own two hands, y’know.”
To prove your point, you tapped your bicep, making a smile break across his face as he watched you. “I’m not saying you’re helpless. I just wanna be there for you.”
“It’s fine, sir. Uh, do we have to go right now? I’m kinda dirty.”
Neteyam blinked. “What?”
“I just spent the whole morning dusting, right?” You pointed to the smudges on your skin. “I have dust all over me.”
He looked away, a blush creeping up his neck before he nodded. “Oh… well, it’s no big deal to me. You can be dirty anytime.”
You tilted your head. “That sounds a little weird.”
“I-I mean— you could be covered in mud and I’d still be fine with it! It’s not in… a certain way,” he stuttered, clearing his throat as he tried to save himself. “Just forget it. Let’s go, shall we?”
The walk toward the path was peaceful, you watched his face thoroughly as he spoke, taking in the movement of his forehead, his hands, and how his gaze stayed on the ground to guide your steps.
He talked continuously as you passed through the forest, making sure that no awkward silence grew between you as he searched for things to share, and you just listened. You took mental notes of his words, noticing the times he looked toward the stone arches above, his lips pressing into a straight line.
Soon enough, you arrived at the Vitraya Ramunong. Against the fading sunset of the Pandora’s sunset, the massive spirit tree and its sprawling root system stood out in breathtaking grandeur. Your eyes shone as thousands of long tendrils began to glow in ethereal shades of pink.
Neteyam watched as you stood awestruck, you had mentioned wanting to visit the tree on your own, having heard that as a memory keeper, you frequented the sacred site, it was your favorite spot a d seeing you so captivated made his heart ache with a tender warmth, you always found a way to fall in love with the beauty of Eywa’s creation.
“This is where her roots connect to every single plant and animal on the planet,” he said, reaching out to brush a hand against a glowing tendril as he watched you examine one of your own. “Everyone’s memories and consciousness live here forever.”
He licked his lips, watching you gather several tendrils into your palm and press them against your cheek. His breath hitched for a second at the sight of you. “...We plug our queue into these so we can hear the voices, advice, and memories of those who came before. It’s the strongest place to pray to Eywa… and so much more.”
“This is beautiful,” You opened your eyes and met his gaze, a smile gracing your features. “It really is,” he replied, his gold eyes locked onto yours, unable to look away.
You swept your braid over your shoulder, bringing it to the front before glancing at him for reassurance. Neteyam stepped closer, giving a nod. Slowly, you connected your kuru to the vine, watching as the tiny filaments rose to intertwine with it. A sudden flash burned through your vision as the connection pulled you into a memory.
Rain was pouring heavily.
You looked up at the stormy sky before your gaze shifted to a woman standing nearby, her face remained blank, but her voice was clear.
She called out to someone as she looked past you. Turning around, you saw a man approaching; his face was also obscured.
He walked right through your form, passing through you, and wrapped his arms around the woman. “I told you, you’d get sick out here…”
The woman laughed, cradling his face in her hands and pinching his cheeks before leaning in closer—
A surge of energy slammed into your mind, severing the link and snapping you back to reality. You stumbled back in panic, your hands flying to your head as you collapsed into Neteyam’s arms. Groaning from the pressure, your hands moved frantically, covering your eyes, shielding your ears, then pressing against your forehead to push back the intense ache.
“—y/n! Can you hear me?”
His voice was muffled over the pounding in your ears. You couldn’t speak. You gasped and trembled against him as he lowered you to the ground, his palms cupping your cheeks. “I’m here. Take deep breaths.”
You clung to his voice, taking stuttering breaths while pressing your palm hard on your eye to block the pain. “I-It hurts, Neteyam—”
”I know— I got you,” he whispered. His hand caught your wrist mid-air before you could hit your temple again, his fingers wrapped around your joint. He pulled your shaking hands away from your face, forcing them down onto his chest so you could feel the beat of his own heart. “Stop, don’t hit yourself, y/n… look at me. Breathe.”
His other hand cupped the side of your neck, his thumb pressing right beneath your jaw to hold you while the bioluminescent dots on his face flared with his heightened stress. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, blocking out the dizzying glow of the tree above until his gold eyes were the only thing in your field of vision. “In,” he commanded, taking an exaggerated deep breath himself, his chest expanding against your trapped hands. “Out. Follow me, c’mon.”
You forced your lungs to expand, a gasp tearing through your throat as the searing pressure behind your eyes began to recede into a pulsing ache. The laughter of the faceless woman and the sound of the pouring rain gradually dissolved, replaced only by the presence of Neteyam, his heat, his scent, and the tremble in his breath that he was trying so hard to hide.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his ears pinning back in relief as your breathing began to sync with his, though he didn’t let go of you. “That’s right. Stay right here with me. You’re alright?” He sighed as you nodded, his thumb stroking your cheekbone to wipe away the tear that had slipped down your skin during the panic. His eyes searched yours before he glanced back up at the glowing tendril hanging beside your heads, his jaw clenching tight. “What are you feeling right now?” he asked, his gaze dropping back down to hold yours. “Can you answer?”
You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his waist for comfort. You sniffled against his chest, your wamrth seeped into his skin as you clung to him. Neteyam’s breath hitched in his throat at the touch, his body going still before the tension melted out of his shoulders. His arm wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand moved up to hold the back of your head, pressing his fingers into your hair to keep you close to him. “It’s okay,” he mumbled into your hair, “I’m right here, y/n… You’re safe with me,” he watched the way your ears dropped as you hugged him even tighter.
He moved his hand back and forth on your back, the beat of his chest pressing against your cheek as his ears twitched at the sound of your cries. He didn’t push for answers anymore, letting the silence of the clearing set over the two of you while the vines above swayed. His chin rested on top of your head, his breathing slowing as his heartbeat gradually settled to match yours.
It hurt Neteyam to see you avoiding it after what had happened. It pained him to see his lover, once so captivated by the spirit tree, now standing with shaking lips whenever her gaze went to its leaves. He couldn’t help but blame himself again. He knew he should’ve stopped you, knowing your connection to the tree would show some scenes to the surface. But he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse you, you were curious, and he didn’t wanna strip away your desire to discover the truth.
A week had passed since that night. Neteyam continued your lessons with dedication, teaching you everything you needed to know, answering your questions, and staying by your side to protect you whenever the strain proved too much.
For the meantime, you strolled past the stalls, exchanging nods and smiles with the villagers you encountered along the way. Your cheeks flushed awkwardly at the giggling children who whispered when you walked by, their big eyes following your every move. Looking out beyond the vendors, your gaze caught a flash of light reflecting off the river tucked beneath the canopy of trees.
Walking over toward the water’s edge, you spotted a young girl sitting on the grass, swaying her feet in the stream. You recognized her by her braids, it was Tuktirey, one of the younger children under your care at the nursery. But unlike the other kids who ran up to you, She always kept a distance, watching you with an unreadable look that you couldnt quite figure out.
She was humming a melody, plucking the petals off a blossom one by one. You hesitated for a second, swallowing down your nervousness as you prepared for an interaction that felt nerve-wracking. Clearing your throat, you stepped closer. “That’s a pretty song.”
Her hands froze over the flower, but she didn’t turn around to look at you. “You made it,” she mumbled under her breath. Missing the words, you took another small step forward. “Sorry?”
The young girl finally turned her head, an evident pout could be seen in her lips. “You wrote it for me…” The words hung in the air, thick with a grief that made your heart ache. You looked down, a downward smile appearing on your lips as you took a seat on the grass beside her, keeping a distance so as not to scare her. Slowly, you dipped your toes into the cool water. “Oh…” you whispered, rubbing the back of your neck. “I wish I could remember, Tuktirey…”
She pulled her dripping feet from the water, dragging her knees against her chest to make herself as small as possible. She didn’t reply to your apology and just let her eyes stay locked on the ripples expanding across the stream where a few leaves had fallen.
You took a peek at her, your heart aching at the sight of her lower lip trembling into a frown. You knew from the conversations around the village that you had once been close to your people, that they cared for you deeply, but seeing this little girl withdraw so much made the reality of your lost memories crash down on you for you had no idea what your existence meant to her.
You licked your lips, opening your mouth to try and soften the tension between you two, but she cut you off before you could speak. “That’s not even what you used to call me…” she mumbled into her knees, her voice barely audible over. She kept her face hidden with her hair, refusing to look at you, her fingers gripping her ankles that her knuckles turned pale.
The words you wanted to say stayed trapped in your throat as you sat frozen on the grass, the river dancing against your ankles while you searched for even a single fragment of a memory to hold onto. Nothing came from the hollow spaces in your mind, leaving only the realization that a child who loved you deeply had become a stranger to you. “I’m really sorry... but I know in my heart that I’m fond of you.”
Her shoulders hitched as she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her small hands over her face to stop the tears from falling at the sound of your voice. You didn’t like when others pushed you to remember things you couldn’t reach, but you knew she wasn’t being cruel, she was just guarding her bruised heart from the pain of grieving someone who was standing right in front of her.
A rustle of leaves signaled an arrival, your ears twitching back as you turned to see Neteyam stepping out from the foliage, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a nod before he crouched down beside his sister. “Tuk? What did we talk about, hm?” She sniffled, burying her face into her big brother’s chest as her voice came out muffled against his skin. “W-Why...”
Your lips pressed into a line as your chest ached at the sight, questioning why it hurt so much to see someone weep for the person you used to be. Neteyam cradled her head, stroking her hair before lifting her up from the ground. You stood up with them, biting your lip to keep your composure while Neteyam met your gaze, giving you a reassuring look that tried to carry the weight for both of you.
Tuk’s crying quieted down after a while, her small feet nudging to be put down as she looked up at her brother. “I’ll go back to mom, you stay with her,” she mumbled, letting go of his hand and turning away without giving you a single glance. You watched her figure retreat through the trees, her shoulders slumping low while her eyes stayed fixed on the dirt paths.
Your gaze dropped to the ground, but Neteyam stepped closer, his fingers reaching out to tilt your chin up until you were forced to meet his eyes. “She’s still processing everything, y/n… you mustnt blame yourself for this, okay?”
“I just wonder... who else was I close with?” You held a hand against your chest. “Who else loved me so much that my absence makes them cry or turn away like she did?”
Neteyam stayed silent, his fingers lingering on your chin before his hand lowered to rest at his side, his jaw tightening as he looked down at you. He gestured with a turn of his shoulder toward the heart of the village, where the evening fires were beginning to spark into light and family groups gathered around shared meals.
“Look around you, y/n…” Neteyam murmured, his voice softening as his golden eyes swept over the scene before settling back on yours. “Every single person in this clan carries a piece of who you were, and they’re waiting for you to come home to it, but that doesn’t mean you have to rush. Like I said before, you’re treasured here, just as you are right now. If time is what you need, then you will have all the time in the world, and I’ll be right here beside you for every step of it.”
You held his gaze before looking down at the ground with a smile, your heart aching while a throb began to pulse behind your eyes. Your ears started ringing, the high-pitched sound growing nearly deafening, but his presence somehow moored you enough to ignore the pain. “Thank you… that’s— it makes me happy.”
“Of course,” Neteyam replied, though a flicker of bashfulness crossed his face as he licked his lips and rubbed the back of his neck under your gaze. “You always know the right things to say to make me feel better, Sir.”
The moment the title left your lips, Neteyam froze, the light in his golden eyes dimming into an exhaustion. His jaw clenched as his gaze dropped to your lips before going up to your eyes. “Oh well, that’s… what I’m good at.”
It hurt him deeply, how you unconsciously gave a divide between the two of you, turning what used to be sweet moments into a cold lesson between a master and his apprentice. His chest ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, but rather than letting the frustration snap, he just turned and gestured for you to follow, guiding you up the path. He brought you to a cliff hidden beneath the sweeping stone arches, a place where the mountain air blew well.
“This is Zi’ell, my traveling buddy. C’mon, meet him,” Neteyam said, a smile breaking across his features as he leaned his forehead against the ikran’s snout before giving it a pat.
Your jaw dropped, your eyes sparkling as you took in the creature up close for the very first time. The blend of green, yellow, and brown stripes across its skin was breathtaking. You pressed a hand against your mouth, flabbergasted. “Oh… he’s so cute.”
Neteyam stepped back as Zi’ell slowly approached you, you froze, unsure of what to do as the big apex predator circled your form. The ikran slid behind you, tilting its head before nudging your cheek with affection from behind. A warm flush spread across your face at the touch of such a deadly creature.
Smiling, you reached up to stroke its skin. Neteyam watched the bond forming between you and his ikran. It was just like before, you had always been so close with Zi’ell that your own ikran used to grow restless with jealousy.
“Did I… Do I have my own?” you asked, turning your gaze to him. As if you were reading his exact thoughts, Neteyam licked his lips and looked down. “Yes, you do, y/n…”
“May I see her?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, giving Zi’ell a pat before mounting the saddle. He connected his kuru to the banshee’s queue; the creature let out a huff and straightened its back. Looking down at you, Neteyam extended a hand. “Where do you wanna sit?”
“May I sit in the front?” You pointed to the space right before him. He swallowed hard, giving a nod. “Yes, you may,” He moved back on the saddle to make room, extending his hand once more to help you up. You took his hand and settled onto the ikran. Neteyam licked his lips yet again, taking in the sight of you oh so close in front of him. “Hold onto the harness here so you don’t fall.”
You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder. “Where will you hold onto?” Neteyam met your curious gaze, suddenly choking on his own saliva and coughing. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uhh. I can just—”
“Just hold onto me,” you said, reaching down to take his hand and resting it over yours against the leather harness. “R-Right… I’ll do that,” he stutterd, clearing his throat as his fingers tightened around yours, his chest warm against your back.
Neteyam leaned forward, his chest pressing close against your back as he wrapped his other arm around your waist to secure his grip, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. He sighed to calm his racing heart before leaning forward to speak over the wind. “Hold tight, okay?”
The ikran let out a cry before launching off the edge of the stone cliff, dropping straight into the open expanse of the valley. Your stomach leaped into your throat as the wind whipped past your face, catching your hair and blowing it back against his shoulder.
Your grip tightened over the harness, your other hand hitting Neteyam’s thigh as a gasp escaped your lips, the creature snapped its massive wings wide, and his hold on you remained hard, his fingers interlacing with yours over the strap while his chin rested against your shoulder.
Later, Neteyam slid down from Zi’ell’s saddle before offering his hand to guide you down to the ground. He brushed a strand of hair behind your back, his golden eyes sweeping over your beaming face. “How do you feel?”
You cupped your cheeks with both hands, leaning closer to him as your eyes sparkled with excitement. “That was so cool! We soared up so fast, and the wind was so cold— like— it felt like it was slapping my face!” You threw your hands up to mimic the thrill of the dive, drawing a smile from him before you pressed on. “We must race each other one day on our ikran!”
“We will. You always loved to race,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he reached out to touch your forearm then straightening the strap of your top. “Really? Was I good at riding?” You tilted your head, “I feel as though I would be terrible at it now.”
“You’re perfect,” he said without hesitation, he took hold of your wrist, his warm fingers wrapping around your skin as he led you toward the shadow of a cave. You followed closely at his heel, examining the rocky entrance with curious eyes. “Why is my ikran hidden all the way out here?”
“My father thought it best to get you to recover first and keep her away until you were ready to handle the bond again,” Neteyam explained, pulling back a leaf to clear the path. “Don’t worry. She’s well fed, and I’ve taken care of her every day.”
The sight inside took your breath away; resting in the shade was a magnificent banshee, her skin glowing with a brilliant pattern of your favorite colors. “Woah… she’s so beautiful.”
“She is,” Neteyam agreed, stepping forward to pat the creature’s neck. You approached slowly, your heart beating in your chest as the ikran tracked your movements with wary eyes. Halting a breath away, you reached out a hand, pressing your palm against her skin. The ikran closed her eyes with a huff, leaning into your touch and nudging her snout against your palm to demand more affection, making you giggle. “Oh… hello there. Does she have a name?”
“Her name is Mayì,” Neteyam answered, his eyes fixed on the sight of you two together. “But if you wish, you may give her a new one.”
You looked up, catching his smile before glancing down with a flush creeping up your neck. “I think… I’ll keep her name. I may have lost a lot, but she shouldn’t have to lose her identity because of me. Right, Mayì? You’re so gorgeous! I must’ve known exactly what I was doing when I sealed the bond with you.”
You two did end up racing on your way back to the village, and you won, loterally beaming as you teased Neteyam for coming in second. He only shrugged in response, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he watched you revel in your victory. You had no idea that in all the races you had shared before, you were always the one to take the lead, he let you have your glory, thinking it was only fair that you owned the sky, as you’ve always did.
The dreams didn’t stop there, they kept haunting you, and seeing those faceless Na’vi while being unable to recognize who they were felt like a nightmare.
This time, however, you could see their lips, and the way the woman smiled was so wide and it didn’t go unnoticed by you. You had no idea why you were being shown such a vision, watching a couple so in love that it seemed like they were the only two beings in the world, oblivious to everything else. To watch them clinging to one another, laughing, always smiling, and sharing such raw intimacy felt like having a front-row seat to a life you couldn’t reach.
You woke with a gasping cry, the sound of voices trying to rouse you as you thrash against the flat woven mat, your feet kicking at the floor while the ringing in your ears threatened to tear your eardrums apart. You opened your eyes weakly to see the healers hovering over you, their lips moving in words you couldn’t process through the noise.
You tried to sit up, staggering backward before collapsing back onto the mat, pressing your palm against your temple as the throbbing grew unbearable, even as hands tried to hold your wrists to keep you from hurting yourself, you just slapped them and forced out a plea, “It hurts— fuck, please! B-Bring Neteyam!”
One of the healers scrambled to her feet and rushed outside, while the others held your hands tightly, their eyes full of worry as they waited. And what felt like years passed before the entrance flap was shoved aside, and footsteps rushed to your side.
“Y/n? Y/n, Are you—”
You didn’t let him finish, throwing yourself into his arms the second his voice reached you. Neteyam was knocked back onto the ground by the impact, his arms wrapping around you, holding your head as he let you seek his warmth. You clung to him, your nails digging into his skin as you fought back the effects until they finally began to vanish.
Neteyam looked up at the healers, his voice deep as he asked for water. Feeling you slowly calm in his arms, he held you tight as you rested your head against his neck, sniffling before hiding your face in your hands and letting the tears fall against his skin.
“Oh, Y/n… I’m sorry I was late.”
“It hurts… W-Why does this have to happen to me? What did I do?” You cried out into his skin, your whole body trembling against his. He shook his head, pressing his hand against the back of your hair to hold you close. “You did nothing wrong, y/n… We have no one to blame for this… you’re so strong, and I’m so proud of you for coming through it once again.”
You just hugged him tighter, hiding your face in the curve of his neck as your chest heaved with sobs. “What if I’m not able to come back from it next time?” you asked, your forehead furrowing in fear as you pressed a palm to your own chest, feeling your heart.
“I’ll be right there with you when that happens,” he whispered as his fingers tightened around your back. “I’ll hold you through it every single time, as long as you want, I promise.”
You pulled away from the hug, looking at the healers with a deep frown before taking the wooden bowl of water from their hands. “Forgive me for causing trouble…”
“It’s alright, y/n… We’re only glad you were sleeping on the mat instead of the hammock, or you would’ve fallen to the floor and startled yourself even more,” they replied, glancing toward the small crowd gathering near the entrance. You followed their gaze, your heart dropping at the sight of the Sully family watching with concern written across their faces. Embarassed by the commotion you caused, you pressed your face back into the crook of Neteyam’s neck, hiding from their eyes.
Neytiri crouched down beside you, taking care not to startle your frayed nerves as she pressed a hand against your shoulder. “My dear… how does staying with Neteyam sound to you?”
Neteyam’s eyes widened, a tension seizing his body as he looked up at her. “Mother—” Neytiri just gave him a look that silenced him, her eyes holding a weight. “She needs someone nearby if these episodes strike again in the dead of night, Neteyam. The healers cannot run across the village every time her spirit is shaken, she needs a presence beside her to help her before she hurts herself.”
Jake stepped forward then, his hand coming down onto his son’s shoulder, giivng a nod of agreement. “Your mother is right, son. She trusts you more than anyone else in the clan. It makes the most sense for you to keep watch in her kelku until these spells subside.”
You tilted your head back against his collarbone, looking between the two elders before your eyes settled on Neteyam’s tense profile. You touched Neteyam’s chest as you looked up to meet his eyes. “Is that… alright with you?” you asked, your voice raspy from the crying. “I don’t wanna be a burden.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his face twitching as he looked down at you. “It’s no burden, Y/n…” he managed to choke out before he helped you sit upright. “You will never be a burden.”
After the healers double-checked your pulse and the Sully family offered their reassurances, the crowd dispersed, leaving the two of you in silence at your place.
You watched as Neteyam stood near the far corner of the room, staring blankly at the floorboards. His shoulders were stiff, his hands clenching and unclenching into tight fists at his sides. You hovered behind him, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, Sir… I know you didn’t ask for this… I’m sorry my weakness forced your parents to make you stay here.”
Neteyam flinched as if struck, his head snapping up to look at you, his forehead curled up. “Do not apologize. I’m not forced into this, trust me.”
“It just feels like… it,” you admitted, looking down at the woven rug as you scratched at the back of your neck in shame. “You already do so much for me during the day… and now you’re stuck sleeping in my hut too just because I can’t handle some dream.”
Hearing you call his home your hut, hearing you treat him like an assigned guard rather than the male who would’ve laid down his life to keep you safe, sent an ache straight through his ribcage. He wanted to scream, to pull you into his arms and press his lips against your neck until you remembered the way his skin felt against yours, the way you used to trace the lines on his back while falling asleep right on your mat. Instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you as he reached out, his fingers hesitating for a second before cupping your jaw.
“I’m not forced, Y/n…” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with softness that made your breath hitch. “I choose to be here. I’ll always choose to be here. I told you that I’d stay beside you through this, and whenever you need me, I’ll be here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“I don’t want you doing this just because you feel obligated to, Sir,” your brow furrowing as your hand reached up, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold his palm against your cheek. “I want you here because you really want to stay… I don’t want to force my presence onto you when you already bear so much.”
He stared down at your hands, his fingers twitching against your cheek before he let his arm drop back to his side. The loss of his touch left an ache in your heart, but the way his golden eyes stayed with you made it throb in a good way.
“I’m not doing this out of obligation. I stay because I want to protect you. I stay because when you’re hurting, I cannot walk away and pretend my heart is at ease elsewhere. You’re not forcing yourself onto me. You could never.”
You searched his face, looking for any trace of resentment, but found only that devotion that made your ears ring. You didn’t understand why the sight of his jaw clenching or the sight of his ears drooping made your soul want to reach out and pull him close, but the pull was undeniable.
“Okay…” you whispered, stepping back to give him room, bt your eyes stayed on his face. “If you’re sure, Sir… then I’m glad you’re staying.”
Neteyam closed his eyes for a second, swallowing hard against the tight knot in his throat. “Y/n… how do I say this.”
“Hmm?” You hummed, tilting your head to the side as you searched his face. “What’s wrong?”
He gulped, licking his dry lips before stepping closer, his golden eyes dropping to your resting hands before taking them into his own. “I don’t like it when you… call me that, the Sir thing.”
“But why? You said you’re my teacher, and you’ve been the one teaching me everything since I woke up, I’m just being respectful.”
Neteyam cut off. “In this situation, maybe it feels like I’m teaching you, but I’m really not, Y/n… I’m only helping you remember what you already know, I could never teach you something you were already an expert at,” He looked into your eyes, his chest rising and falling as he tried to swallow down the hurt in his throat. “When you use those with me, it feels wrong, like there’s a wall between us when it shouldn’t be there in the first place.”
You looked at his face, sensing the sadness hiding behind his voice, though you couldn’t quite place where it came from. “I just thought it was proper. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… Neteyam.”
Hearing his name leave your lips, made a sigh escape him as he squeezed your hands a ljttle tighter. “It’s not uncomfortable, it just… brings peace to my heart when you speak to me as myself, not as a leader or an instructor.”
You cleared your throat, feeling a heat rising up your neck at his gaze. Moving your weight from foot to foot, you gestured toward the corner where the wide sleeping mat rested on the floorboards. “Well… since you’re staying, you can take the mattress, and I’ll just sleep up in the hammock.”
Neteyam shook his head, his ears flicking back as he took a step closer. “No, Y/n, you’re still recovering and need proper support for your back, besides, the healers literally just warned us about the possibilities of you falling out of the hammock.”
“I won’t fall out,” You pouted, crossing your arms while trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach when he stepped into your personal space. “I’m not letting you sleep on there when I’m the one who caused all this commotion.”
“You’re not sleeping in the hammock either,” he said, his golden eyes scanning the wide sleeping pad before darting back to your flustered face. An indigo blush began creeping along his high cheekbones, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the leather strap at his waist as he offered a compromise. “The mat is… wide enough for two. If you don’t mind sharing?”
Your heart did a leap against your chest, the simplicity of his suggestion leaving you breathless. “Oh… well, I mean, if you’re okay with that, then sure, it’s definitely big enough so we won’t be crowding each other.”
“Well then, ready for the day?”
Your eyes widened, your shoulders tensing. “What? We have plans?”
Neteyam smiled, looking down at the wooden floorboards while his braids swayed against his shoulders. When he looked back up at you, his golden eyes held a flicker of amusement. “You said you wanted to be in my mornings, didn’t you?”
And so, you got to witness the side of him that belonged to the village. You walked beside him as he carried out his duties, delivering messages from one side of the settlement to the other and stopping by the artisans’ huts to check on their progress. He slipped into every conversation with such grace that you found yourself just staring, marvel(🕸️)ing at how he carried the weight of his place here easily.
When an elder asked for assistance with the supplies, you stepped forward to help, only for Neteyam to catch your wrist with a touch. “You can just stand prettily beside me, and you’ll be helping plenty,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. You rolled your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you as you watched him lift the load, his muscles flexing.
Later, he brought you along to greet the hunters returning from their night patrol, where his behavior changed, from grinning at you to having his chin up at the class. He listened intently, offered decisive directions, and coordinated the distribution of their catch with that authority. Standing a few paces back, a sense of awe went in your chest as you realized just how respected he was, and how many people relied on his strength every single day.
By the time the sun climbed higher, the rumble of your stomach spoke between the two of you, breaking the silence of your walk. Neteyam let out a laugh, and you grabbed his forearm and dragged him toward the food stalls. You both reached for the last loaf at the exact same moment, your fingers brushing against his before you looked up, exchanging a startled glance that dissolved into shared laughter.
“I want one too!”
You looked down to see Tuktirey, her eyes fixed not on her older brother, but on you. An eager smile played on her lips. You looked at Neteyam before breaking the warm bread straight down the middle, leaning down to hand her the larger piece. Then she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Thank you, n/n!”
The nickname slipped out so easily that your heart skipped a beat, “Of course, Tuk-Tuk,” you murmured, cradling her head against your side. She gasped, looking up at you in surprise then a grin broke across her face, she grabbed your hand, tugging you toward her and leaving Neteyam standing behind with his jaw dropped, stunned by his little sister’s action.
Clearing his throat, he gave his head a shake, he took a few steps forward, folding his arms across his chest while watching the crowd of children tug at your hands.
“Is that so?” Neteyam murmured, his voice laced with a quiet warmth that made your ears twitch. “Look at you, making friends all over again.”
Tuk beamed, vibrating with excitement as she wrapped her arms around your thigh. “She remembers my name, Neteyam! Well, the short one! That means she’s gonna remember everything soon, right?”
The air grew a little still at her words, the children looked up with hopeful eyes, waiting for an answer that wasn’t yours to give. You felt a flicker of pressure rising in your chest, your fingers tightening around the hem of your top. Before the doubt could take root, Neteyam stepped in, he crouched down to Tuk’s level, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It means she cares about you, Tuk. And that’s more than enough for today. Let her take her time, alright?”
Tuk pouted for a second before nodding, letting go of your leg to run off with the other kids. As their noisy laughter faded into the background, everything settled over the two of you. You looked over at Neteyam as he straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck while a purple flush crept up to his high cheekbones.
“She gets ahead of herself, you see,” he mumbled, turning his head to hide his expression, though you caught the quick twitch of his jaw. “I hope she didn’t make you feel rushed.”
“No,” you said, a smile touching your lips as you stepped a little closer to him. “Not at all. It actually felt… nice.”
His eyes flicked back to yours, holding your gaze for a long beat. The warmth between you felt normal, stripped of the expectations that usually clouded your days. As the afternoon sun began to dip, Neteyam touched your shoulder gently. “C’mon. Let’s get out of the crowd before they recruit you for another storytelling session.”
Night fell over the village, wrapping the forest in soft bioluminescent hues of blues and violets. After the gathering dinner, you sat on the hammock, swinging back and forth as you watched Neteyam across the room. He was checking the woven ties near your hut’s entrance, his back turned to you, his braid hanging down his back.
He had finished settling his things into your space, considering he would be staying here from now on. For reasons you couldnt quite name, the kelku didn’t feel crowded at all. It was spacious, almost as if it had been built to comfortably hold more than one person, accommodating all your scattered tools and scrolls without feeling cramped. When he finished, he turned around, pausing when he caught you staring. “...Everything alright?”
“Yes. I was just thinking about today,” you muttered, looking away as you leaned over the edge of the hammock, avoiding his gaze. Neteyam looked at you, his golden eyes tracking the bamboo beam where the net was attached as you swung. “What’s up?”
“I just… I felt safe,” you admitted, looking back up to meet his eyes. “Even when everyone was watching me. Normally… I’d get this feeling inside like I couldn’t stand people always bringing up my past or who I used to be. But today just felt different. It was like I finally accepted that people are always going to see me that way but not in a forced way. I think I accepted it because… because they really believe I’m capable of remembering. It felt nice to know they have that kind of faith in me even if I dont think i’ll be regaining anything anytime soon. I feel like I’m making progress, at least… Am I making any sense?”
Neteyam’s throat moved as he swallowed, his jaw tightening under the weight of your words. “Yes. You are making progress, Y/n… To watch you grow, to see you wake up every day with that look in your eyes, that curiosity despite everything pulling at your spirit, it means everything. Seeing your dedication, how much you still reach for who you are… it feels good to see.”
A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy or tense like before, it was intimate, peaceful, and warm, like every moment with him nearby. You licked your lips before slipping off the hammock, walking toward him with slow steps. “Neteyam?”
“Yes, y/n?”
You bit your lower lip, closing the distance until your chest almost brushed against his. His gaze stayed locked onto yours, his heart beating fast in his throat at your proximity. Looking up at him, the atmosphere changed with tension, and he recognized that look in your eyes all too well. “Can I ask you something… if it isn’t weird?” you whispered.
“Of course. Anything.”
Your eyes flicked down to his lips before going back up to his gaze, catching the way his golden irises dilated under your focus. “Would it be strange… to ask what we were before? I don’t mean if we were just friends or companions, but… what actually were we to each other?”
Neteyam’s mouth parted, the words catching in his throat as he stared down at you. He pressed his lips into a cable line, licking them as his pulse quickened. Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to cLm himself against the bashfulness. “Not strange at all, Y/n…” he rasped out. “Well, we were… We had something special,” He licked his lips again, feeling them dry out as fast as his nerves took over.
“Special… like?”
“Very special,” he stated, looking at your lips. “It wasn’t something you shared with any other, and it certainly wasn’t something I had with anyone else. It was so special that it belonged only to the two of us.”
He watched the way your eyes sparked with life, before you looked away, ‘tucking’ a strand of hair behind your ear, even though not a single piece had fallen out, just wanting an excuse to break his state and to look cute under his gaze. Both of you were blushing furiously, like young clanmates exchanging hidden glances across a fire, timidly trying to convey feelings too fat for words.
“That puts my mind at ease,” you whispered.
“How so?” He hummed, his golden eyes filled with curiosity at your vague words. Before he could push further, you turned around, walking over to the wide sleeping mat. You dropped down onto the futon and patted the space beside you, offering him a smile. “C’mon… let us sleep, Neteyam.”
He swallowed hard, his throat going dry as he watched you move toward the cushion, every beat of his heart thumpimg so loud he was certain you could hear it. The way you did that twirl, the invitation to sleep beside you, the way your voice said his name sent a rush of heat straight up his neck. Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he inahled to calm the oscillating in his chest, biting back the smirk threatening to break across his face as he finally moved toward you.
In the morning, you found yourself walking side-by-side with Neteyam through the lanes of the vendors’ stalls. He had taken the day off, leaving his duties behind for once so he could help you explore the village and mak sure your time together was spent well, rather than you just trailing after him as he did his tasks.
As you walked together, your eyes caught the spot where the soul seer’s booth stood. Today, it didn’t have many people surrounding it unlike before when you had passed by alone and felt that magnetic pull drawing you in.
“You wanna try it?” Neteyam grinned, catching the direction of your gaze. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, before you chuckled, shaking your head. “No… it’s— I’m just curious, is all.”
He smiled, putting his hands on your shoulders and turning you toward the booth. “C’mon. If you’re curious, then we’ll go try it. We have all the time.”
The entrance to the area was cool and shaded by swaying mats, feeling as though a breeze hugged your skin as you went in. Your heart skipped a fast beat and a faint ringing rang in your ears, but it melted away the second Neteyam slid his hand down to rest over your wrist. “Good day! Is it possible to get a reading?” he asked on your behalf.
The elder sitting behind the low wooden table watched you two, a braid swaying over her shoulder as her brows twitched upward, if even visible. A sneer touched her lips before she pointed toward the cushions set before her table. “Well then, do get comfortable.”
Neteyam looked at you, waiting until you sat down then he took the seat beside you. The woman dipped a feather quill into a jar of dark ink, unrolling a clean sheet of parchment on her table without looking up yet. “A duo reading or solo?”
“A solo reading for the lady, please,” Neteyam answered. You looked at him with wide eyes, but he only gave you a reassuring look, covering your hands as they rested in your lap. You pressed back against his palm, drawing confidence from his touch as you turned your focus back to the woman.
“Tell me your dreams, dear.”
“Dreams as in my goals? Or dreams when I sleep?” you asked. Neteyam’s thumb rubbed his finger against the back of your hand. “Your dreams when you sleep.”
Taking a deep breath, “It’s ambiguous… but it’s been constant to the point that it feels intentional. I dream about this couple. They have no faces, at least, none that I can see. They’re so deeply connected, so wrapped up in each other… and whenever I wake up, something hits me giving me aches I can barely handle.”
Neteyam’s golden eyes flicked to your profile, so that was what was causing those painful episodes. His jaw tightened as he looked down at your joined hands, then back to the woman. She listened, her eyes scanning your face before her fingers moved over her collection of tokens. She selected three, sliding them forward into a line across the wood of her table: a shining Thanator’s tooth, a dried river stone, and a wooden carved Tawtsngal. “Pick one,” she instructed.
Your eyes locked onto the flower token of course, recognizing the curve of it. The elder noticed the immediate draw and tapped the wooden piece with the tip of her quill. “You recognize this?”
You gave a hesitant nod, unconsciously pinching Neteyam’s skin in nervousness. “I know it used to be carved into almost everything I owned… though I never understood why I was so attached to it.”
“The Tawtsngal is the love flower,” she explained, leaning back as she watched the way you nodded. “So I take it you didn’t feel pulled toward the tooth nor the stone?”
“That’s right…..?” you murmured. She hummed, her gaze moving toward Neteyam, whose fingers tightened around yours with pressure, before her eyes locked back onto you. “Then your spirit has given you your answer, dear. When people dream of those they cannot name, they often think their mind is mocking them. But by choosing this token, you confirm that the ache in your chest isn’t born from resentment, nor are you actively trying to run from it.”
“I’m… confused?”
“It just means the faceless ones who visit your dreams are born of a bond. The pain that follows is the cry of a heart that remembers what the mind has yet to acknowledge.”
You stared at the three tokens, your thumb tracing the edge of Neteyam’s hand as the weight of her words settled into the air. “Uhh I think i just picked the Panopyra because it’s what was familiar to me… what if I were to pick either of the other two?”
She chuckled before shaking her head, “Choosing the tooth would mean you carry anger toward what happened to you, and choosing the stone would mean you’re shutting your heart off to keep yourself safe. But you didn’t pick those, dear, you got pulled by the flower itself because it’s what you feel,” The elder leaned forward, her warm eyes holding yours as she tapped the wooden flower one last time.
“Your mind may be locked behind a wall, but your heart isn’t fighting what’s resting on the other side.” She glanced toward Neteyam, her eyes closing with a smile on her lips. “Sometimes… what you yearn for is standing right in front of you. You only have to open your eyes.”
-
You crouched along the forest ground with Neteyam trailing beside you, picking ripe berries from its leaves so you could crush them into pigments for painting later. You kept humming a song and let it surround you both, your mind remained tethered to the words of the woman. “What did you think of what she said?” you asked without looking up, thumbing the skin of a dark fruit to test its freshness.
Neteyam scratched the back of his neck andchuckled. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Y/n, I was lost for half of it, it has been a long time since I heard her give a reading, and I forgot how vague she can get with her words.”
You nodded before tossing the fruit into the basket, wiping your stained fingers against your loincloth. “It almost felt like she was calling me desperate for trying to piece everything together,” you mumbled, the ache in your chest tightening as you stared down at the dirt.
Neteyam crouched into the damp grass, resting his palm against your back. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know nor are you wrong for caring about who you were,” he said, his thumb rubbing small, reassuring circles against your spine. “Your spirit will give you the answers when you’re ready, and until that time comes, I’m right here to carry the weight with you.”
You looked at him with your lips pulled into a pout, unable to shake the bitter feeling. “And when am I gonna be ready? See? I wish it were that simple, Neteyam. I’m tired of digging through shadows and wishing I was just normal again… I just want to accept that those memories are gone so I can stop feeling like a stranger in my own life.”
His chest tightened at the pain bleeding through your words, prompting him to move closer until his knee brushed against yours on the ground. “You’re normal to me, y/n. You don’t have to drown in what the clan says, you don’t have to force open the doors that are still locked, like the elder told you, there’s a whole life waiting right in front of you if you would just look at it.”
“I know there is, Neteyam, which is why I try my best to appreciate everything and everyone around me who keeps helping me along the way,” you murmured, staring down at your stained hands. “But of course there’s still this feeling inside me that needs to know who I was, almost like I’m terrified of missing out on my own life.”
Neteyam reached out, his fingers sliding over your hands to stop its fidgeting. He squeezed them, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles as his golden eyes held yours that made your heart skip. “Every breath you take right now belongs to you. I know the dark feels endless when you’re searching for answers, but as long as I’m alive and breathing, you will never have to walk through it alone.”
You looked up at him as he spoke, a sunbeam piercing through the trees above, bathing his features inthat golden light that caught the beadwork into his braids. His gaze struck you oh so that your heart stopped beating, pinning you to the dirt beneath your knees.
Everything seemed to drop into a stillness around you both, the chirping of the birds fading away as his hand remained against yours. You sat there with your mouth agape, your eyes locked onto his, unable to stop the flush from creeping up your neck and coloring your cheeks.
The woman’s words echoed back through your mind, reminding you of how she had insisted that what your spirit yearned for was standing right in front of you. You realized then that your hand hadn’t reached for the love flower just because of familiarity, but because that love flower was the reflection of your soul.
Neteyam…
His earlier promise flashed through your thoughts alongside her reading, repeating the exact way he had confessed that the two of you shared something so special it belonged to no one else in the world. Your mouth parted in absolute awe as you stared at him, the fog of your frustration melting as you swallowed past the sudden dryness in your throat, feeling a racing vibe that settled deep in your stomach.
You looked down at his lips before looking up into his eyes, the atmosphere between you feeling so natural. But just as the world settled into that perfect air, a tightness seized your throat and choked the breath right out of you, leaving you gasping as a deafening ring went straight through your right ear, sending a wave of dizziness crashing over you. Even though you were already crouching, the shock made your ankle slip out from beneath you, causing you to lose your footing and fall hard onto the damp ground as your hands flew up to cover your ringing ear.
“Y/n?!”
His panicked yell did nothing to soothe you, it slammed a second wave of ringing straight into your left ear, forcing you to throw both hands over your head. The high pitched noise vibrated into your skull, and in a desperate attempt to drown it out, you began hitting your own temple and rubbing your eyes, the throbbing ache punishing you for daring to look at someone in such a way.
Neteyam grabbed your wrist, holding your arm to stop you from hurting yourself, but his words were completely lost to the noise in your head. Panic took over as you swatted his arms away, forcing him to release his grip.
“Y/n— please listen to me…” he begged, cradling your cheeks as you sobbed, praying for Eywa to stop punishing you for falling in love. Your head jolted backward, almost hitting the rough trunk behind you, but Neteyam’s hand was already there, cushioning the back of your head. “Can you hear me?!”
You gave a fast nod, your legs kicking out to push him away, but he refused to budge, taking the blows without a word. “Listen to me, okay? T-Try to take a deep breath. Catch your breath, c’mon, do it for me.”
You gasped for air, forcing your twitching eyelids open to find him through the blur. Starved of oxygen, one of your hands flew to the back of his neck to hold yourself, while your other hand fisted the grass beneath you.
“Inhale— and hold it, please… then exhale. Do it again. Inhale… hold… then exhale. Can you breathe properly?”
You sniffled, shaking your head, your nails digging into his skin as you fought to gasp in air, trying your best to ignore the pressure behind your eyes and the deafening noise in your head to focus only on his voice.
“C-Can you give me five things you see?” he asked, cupping your cheek while resting his palm against your thigh to stop your kicking legs. He watched your eyes dart around the jungle to find five objects. “T-The trees… sky… the leaves… and— and your hair, and… your eyes!”
“Good. How about four things you can touch or feel? C’mon, please…”
“Your hand on my cheek… your hand on my thigh… the grass… and— your hair?” You released your grip on the earth and brought your knees up, panicking as the uncomfortable ache surged through your body. “Three things you can hear? We’re so close, keep going—”
“Neteyam, it really hurts— I-I can hear your voice… my voice… and the— the ringing in my ears that won’t stop—”
“And two things you can smell?”
“The berries I crushed— and… your skin…”
“Last one. One thing you can taste—”
Instead of naming the fruit on your palm or the salt of your tears like he expected, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. Your hand on his neck tightened, pulling him closer to lock your mouths together.
His golden eyes widened in shock as his mind caught up to what was happening, his gaze dropping to see your ears releasing tension, and the way your tail stopped lashing around, a sign that the contact alone was pulling you back from the edge. Neteyam allowed himself to selfishly hold still, lacking the strength to pull away or even kiss you back, still shaken by the terror of watching an episode he couldn’t stop.
You finally pulled back, a final tear slipping down your cheek, before your lips parted into a whisper. “…Your lips.”
Neteyam released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, staring at you with twitching eyes as he licked his wet lips before his body gave out, sinking back onto the damp grass as his head dropped, burying his face in his hands to hide his expression from you. That desperate kiss felt like it had drained the remaining energy right out of his chest, leaving him breathless and just so undone under your eyes.
You held a hand against your chest, feeling your heart thumping so bad over your palm even as you tried to draw in a deep breath. You had no idea why you had kissed him, but in the blinding haze of your panic, all you could think about was him. Every single answer you had given to his questions, every sense, every breath, every response... had been Neteyam, everything at the moment had circled around him.
You stared at his state, his legs spread wide against the damp dirt, his head hanging low as his hair shaded his face, his trembling hands hiding his expression from you. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, your throat was dry, and the air between you was so thick it felt like it was enough to choke on.
Licking your lips, your eyes widened slightly as you brought your fingertips up to touch them. The lingering ghost of his warmth still sat against your skin. You had touched his lips… and it had felt so normal relaxing to be held by them, to taste him, to just be near him. “Neteyam…?” you whispered shyly.
He didn’t lift his head just yet, gulping hard before pulling his trembling hands away from his face to meet your gaze. His golden eyes swept over your flushed, sweaty skin and your lips. “Yes…? H-How are you feeling?”
“...I’m fine. T-Thank you…” you managed to whisper, your throat still tight.
“Of course…”
Then silence sat again on your shoulders once more, the sunlight cutting through the leaves above and beating down on your bodies. The awkward tension hung so good in the air that you could almost feel the heat cooking your skin as neither of you dared to make the first move.
“Sorry—” you began, raising a hand.
“Are you—” Neteyam spoke at the exact same time.
You both froze, eyes meeting in a clash of nerves before you both looked down. You apologized and offered to let him go first, but he shook his head, sayng that you take the floor.
“Like I was trying to say before you spoke— umm… sorry for doing that,” you mumbled, the heat of the day was nothing compared to the blush going up your neck. “At the moment… it felt like the only thing I could think of to make it stop.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, y/n…” His voice trailed off as he reached out, moving to give you time to pull back. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. His fingers closed around your wrist, lifting your hand to press your palm against his cheek. “If it kept you here… if it stopped the pain, then I’d let you do it a thousand times over,” he whispered, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your eyes snapping up to meet his eyes.
“I was scared… seeing you like that again, feeling like I couldn’t reach you,” Neteyam murmured, a swallow working down his throat as his eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second before forcing themselves back up to yours. He squeezed your hand, the tremble in his touch betrayed the war raging inside him. “I don’t care how you brought yourself back to me, as long as you came back.”
That night, you were able to sleep with his arm resting around your waist, his heart beating against your back. He held you with almost painful softness, making sure not to pull you too close, but refusing to let you go. Above everything, you were grateful that nothing felt awkward between you. Even with his thoughts in disarray, a conflict tore at him with the overwhelming urge to hold you tight against his chest versus the need to push you away so history wouldn’t repeat itself, neither of you chose to let go.
Sleep, however, refused to grant him the same mercy it gave you. He stayed awake, listening tk the sound of your breathing. Eyes tracing the ceiling of the kelku, the very home he had shared with you before the war shattered your peace.
Not a day went by where he didn’t wish the amnesia had taken him instead. He hated not knowing the void you lived in, however the thought also pulled him apart for the mental image of you looking at him with heartbreak as he failed to recognize you made his heart feel like it was disintegrating. Before thought could intervene, instinct took over, and his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.
Only when he could feel your breathing against his chest again did he realize what he had done. His eyes squeezed shut in frustration, he had sworn to keep his distance, to protect you from the past, but every part of his being still knew you by heart.
“Please don’t do this to me, baby…” he whispered, oh so silent that even Eywa wouldn’t be able to hear it. He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent. “How is it that… your soul keeps finding mine?”
Neteyam rested his forehead on the nape of your neck, the memory of you calming down from the kiss, the way you sought him out every time the panic set in… every limb of him wanted to believe that, against all odds, you were choosing him all over again. The negative thoughts haunted him nonstop until you let out a hum in your sleep, the familiar melody you had once composed just for him, he just collapsed.
He’s so in love with you, a truth he could never rewrite.
Waking up, you stretched across the mat, opening your eyes and turning around only to find Neteyam still fast asleep beside you. You cupped his cheek in your palm, your thumb tracing the skin before your gaze went to his lips, then up to his closed eyes. An ache sent to your chest like a thujderstorm as you noticed how swollen it was, a sign that he had been crying while you slept. Not wanting to disturb his rest and unable to suppress the urge to comfort him, you guided his head against your chest. Wrapping your arms around him, you held him close, letting the beat of your heart help him in his sleep.
As you held him, a sound slipped past your lips. You found yourself humming a tune into the air of the hut, your voice soothing against his cheek. You didn’t even know why you were singing it. You couldn’t recall where you had heard the melody, nor did you remember learning the notes, but your lips moved through the song like second nature. It felt too familiar, buried deep in your bones long before the war took your memories away.
The morning sun was already peeking through the walls of the hut and you didn’t feel like moving at all. The clan could have come to escort you both, and you would only do your best to kick whoever dared to disturb this moment with him. Just as you were about to go back to sleep, he stirred in your arms, letting out a sigh as he buried his face deeper into yout neck, pulling you closer, inhaling against your skin before resting his head against your breasts. “Y/n…” he whispered hoarsely, “It’s okay, you can rest,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his braids.
“Yes, sorry… I’m just overwhelmed.”
“I missed your voice...”
He leaned back until his golden eyes could meet yours, you gave him a smile, but it faded into a frown as your fingertips reached up, tracing the skin under his eyes. “Mhm... Have you been crying?”
“With everything?” you asked, your hand resting against the side of his face. “Mhm…” Neteyam muttrred, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch, letting out a long sigh he seemed to have been holding all night. Your heart pinched at the exhaustion in his voice, you moved on the futon, sliding your arms under his neck and pulling him closer. He went willingly, burying his face in your neck with another sigh that fanned air against your collarbone, tickling you. His arms wrapped around your waist, his grip needy.
“You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, Neteyam. I’m right here.”
He nodded, pressing a kiss against the curve of your neck. He didn’t bother putting up a front or hiding his exhaustion anymore, he just stripped his feelings bare, letting you feel every ounce of his vulnerability. His lips trailed kisses across your throat, pulling a hum from you. Neither of you made a move to start the day, content to let the rest of the world wait while you both sank deeper into the warmth of each other.
The afternoon bled into training, Neteyam adjusting your posture as you drew your bow. Crouched beside each other in the bushes, his hand rested against your thigh to ensure neither of you made a sound to startle the yerik nearby. You inhale and aim just behind the creature’s front leg, releasing the string. The arrow flew straight, piercing the heart and lungs to grant it a quick death.
Coming out of the grass, you knelt beside the fallen hexapede, resting your hand against its shoulder to feel its fading warmth. “I see you, sister. I thank you. Your spirit goes to Eywa, while your body remains to nourish the People,” you whispered into the wind, your fingers brushing over its skin.
“Good kill,” Neteyam said, kneeling beside you to offer a silent prayer for its spirit. As he finished, his hand reached out to fix the slipping strap over your shoulder, his fingers stayed for a second against your skin. He looked up, catching the smile spreading across your face, and a grin broke across his own lips, so he held out his arm. “C’mere.”
A laugh bubbled up from your chest as you grinned, throwing yourself straight into his embrace. “Oh… I was so nervous,” you muttered, burying your face into his neck. After a beat, you leaned back slightly, looking down at the fallen creature with a pout. “I feel bad.”
“You should only feel bad if you didn’t send her a prayer,” Neteyam said, his golden eyes filled with warmth as his arm caressed your waist. He hauled the kill back to the cooks to let them prepare it, earning praise for the blessing. Neither of you made a show of it, just waving off their thanks with your hands.
Soon you both decided to take a bath in the river, Neteyam had to shyly look away when you stripped off your loincloth and removed your accessories. He had no idea why he did that when he had already seen every part of you in the past. Both of you sat side by side.
Your head rested on your palm with your elbow on the ground while the water reached just above your chest, he sat with his back relaxed against the rock behind the two of you, the falls hiding you two in the shade. He talked about how your ikran had always been the jealous type and hated you getting too close to his banshee. You laughed along and said that in that case you wouldn’t go near his ikran anymore, which made him laugh harder. Your chuckling died and you just watched him laugh with no thoughts behind your eyes. You gulped, sat up straight, and crossed your legs under the water before turning to face him. Your hand found his bicep. “Hey…”
Neteyam stopped laughing and looked at you. He caught the way your face was blushing. He licked his lips before gulping. “Yes?”
“Would it be weird if I were to kiss you right now?”
He bit the inside of his lip and gulped again, he looked away like the two of you hadn’t done that a million times before. “No…”
“I want to kiss you.”
“...Don’t.”
“Hmm?” He looked down at your lips as you hummed and tilted your head. You let one hand rest at his neck while the other rested on his thigh under the water. “You don’t want me to, Neteyam?”
“I… I don’t know. Please…”
You didn’t say anything else, you just leaned in closer, still giving him time to pull away or push you back for even trying. But he didn’t, and it wasn’t long until your lips met while the water showered both of your skin. Your hand stayed on his cheek, rubbing it as he hummed into the kiss. He still didn’t kiss you back yet, fighting off the urge inside him. You pulled away only long enough to change your seat and straddle his thighs. You held his jaw with your hands while he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and bkushing cheeks. “Y/n…”
“I want to keep kissing you, Neteyam,” you whispered against his lips before kissing him again. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His hands instinctively found your waist and pulled you in tighter.
You pulled away from the kiss to press a peck to his cheek, your hands staying against the skin of his neck. “Are we so special to each other that we used to do this all the time?”
Neteyam grunted under your touch, his golden eyes rolling to the back as he closed his eyes. He tried to tilt his head away to catch his composure. “Answer me…”
“Yes…” he rasped, “So special.”
Your fingers trailed down to his jawline, tilting his face back up until he was forced to meet your gaze once again. “Special as in… you’ll let me stay this close?”
A chuckle broke through his chest as he pulled you in tighter by the waist, resting his forehead against yours. “More than special,” He couldn’t ignore the fsct that you were sitting right on his cock or that your bare pussy rubbed against him through the water.
The heat of him pressed right against your folds, making you moan in the kiss, you rolled your hips once, feeling how hard he already was under you. Neteyam gasped into the kiss, his fingers dug into your waist like he was trying to hold himself back and pull you closer at the same time.
You kept moving against him, letting the water make every slide smoother. Your breasts pressed to his chest while you kissed him deeper, tongue brushing his. He finally kissed you back, hungrily, letting his hands travel down. “Y/n…” he whimpered against your mouth when you pulled back just enough to breathe. “You don’t know what you’re doing..”
You looked down at him as you kept grinding down in circles, letting the tip of his cock drag against your clit with every movement. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Neteyam groaned as one of his hands slid up your side until it cupped your chest. He played with your nipple while the other stayed on your moving ass, guiding the roll of your body against him. He watched the way your breasts bounced in front of him. Every time you pressed down harder, a sound left your lips and made him gulp. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the side of your neck. “We shouldn’t do this…”
You reached between your bodies under the water and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock. He jerked at the contact, hips twitching up into your hand. You stroked him slow, feeling how hard he already was. “I don’t see you stopping me, Neteyam,” you whispered, you kept touching him under the water, thumb brushing over the head each time. He thrust up into your grip, still holding your ass tight, you pinched the tip and lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance. You wiggled against him, teasing the head along your folds while your breasts moved right in front of his face. Neteyam stared for a second before closing his mouth over one nipple, sucking hard enough to pull a shameless moan from you.
You sank down onto his cock in one slow motion, the stretch made both of you whimper. Water lapped around your joined bodies as you took him all the way to the base. Your hands rested on his shoulders for balance while you stayed still, getting used to the full feeling.
“Fuck, y/n…”
You started rolling your hips, lifting almost all the way off before dropping back down. Soft moans left your lips each time he filled you perfectly, yoour fingers dug into his shoulders as the stretch pulled more sounds from you. Neteyam stayed quiet, only breathing hard against your chest, and letting his hips push up to meet yours, matching the pace you set.
He was thankful for the nearby waterfall cascading down the river, hiding you both from sight and masking every noise. If not for the wall of crashing water, someone surely would have caught you.
One of his hands stayed on your ass, helping you bounce, while the other pinched and rolled your nipple. He kept his eyes half-lidded, focused on the way you moved on him. You leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tongue sliding against his as you kept riding.
“Oh… yeah. You’re so big, Neteyam… Mhm… fuckkk,” you whispered against his mouth. You sank down harder, taking him all the way to the base and grinding there for a second. His cock twitched deep inside you while a sound left his throat. You kept the pace, raising and dropping with rolls of your hips. Water splashed around your joined bodies each time you came down. Neteyam’s head fell back against the rock, eyes closed, mouth open as he just took everything you gave him.
“You feel so good inside me,” you said next to his ear. You squeezed around him on purpose and watched his jaw clench. You grinned, kissing along his jaw and down his neck while you fucked yoirself into him deeper.
Every time you bottomed out, a desperate noise slipped from him. He held your skin tighter, pulling you closer without speaking a word, lost in the feeling of finally having you again, his hips jerked up harder to meet you.
You kept bouncing on his length under the water, groaning leaving your lips as he rubbed your clit under with his thumb to get you to edge. “I’m close… right there,” you whispered. You grind down harder, taking him as deep as you coulx, your walls fluttering around him as the pleasure builds fast. He thrusted up to meet you one last time, burying himself over. A groan tore from his throat as he came hard inside you, filling you while he held you down on his cock.
The feeling of him spilling deep pushed you over the edge. You clenched tight around him and came with a cry, rocking through the wster while his cock kept twitching inside you. Both of you stayed locked together, breathing hard against each other’s skin.
“That felt good…”
It really did.
Neteyam couldn’t help but notice how your behavior shifted after that kiss, you clung to him more, bolder in your affection, not that he was complaining in the slightest. Whatever negative doubts had weighed on him before just disappeared, to the point that the nightmares that used to haunt your sleep began to fade, the ache in your chest easing by being near him.
The next few weeks felt better than anything you had known since waking up, the two of you lived together in the same kelku. You sneaked kisses whenever you could and spent long stretches of time wrapped around each other. You couldn’t stop making out. Hands stayed under loincloths, bodies stayed pressed close, and more often than not you ended up fucking until both of you were too tired to move, the shared home felt full.
With every day spent by his side, your lost memories resurfaced. The recurring dreams finally smoothed into clarity until the truth was unmistakable, the faceless man who had haunted your visions all along had always been Neteyam, and the woman in his arms had always been you.
Standing outside beneath the open sky, you tilted your head back and let the downpour wash over your face, laughing as the cool rain soaked your skin. The press of lips against your cheek made you open your eyes to find Neteyam slipping his arms around your waist, prompting you to turn in his hold and wrap your arms around his neck. “I told you, you’d get sick out here…” he spoke against your mouth.
“I love the rain, Neteyam…” you whispered against his mouth, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck as your bodies pressed together. He leaned into the touch, his hands resting against your waist as the water washed over you both. “I know you do, baby…”
The water washed over your skins, but between his hug and heartbeat, you had never felt more happy. “Neteyam,” you sighed, your thumb tracing his cheekbone while the rain ran down the dark strands of his braids. “I saw this… in my dream.”
He smiled down at you. “You did?”
“Yes! This exact moment, and exactly what you said… I swear I’m not losing my mind.”
“I believe you,” he said, a teasing grin breaking across his lips. “So… it was a future vision? That’s pretty cool, baby,” He leaned down, claiming your mouth in a kiss, smiling right against your lips. You pulled back with a pout, glaring up at him. “You think I’m lying.”
“Nooo, babyy,” he frowned, his hands tightening around your waist to pull you right back flush against him. “I said I believe you.”
The endearments slipped out as you stood together in the middle of sprinkle, holding each other close. It barely felt like water raining down on your skin anymore, but rather the weight of your love pouring over the two of you, washing away every last trace of the pain that had kept you apart.
At night, cuddling often turned into sex, and the affection you both carried after being away for so long from each other made every touch feel overwhelming in the best way.
Your arms stayed wrapped around his neck while your lips stayed connected. Neteyam thrusted up into you slow and deep, one hand on your ass as he raised your leg and pulled you closer. His other hand rested under your neck, holding your head against his. Both of you made tiny sounds into each other’s mouths as you moved your hips in rolls, matching the gentle pace he set.
Being wrapped around each other like this felt right, your chests pressed together so your hearts stayed close. Every slow thrust made you hold him tighter, like you never wanted any space between your bodies again. You could’ve stayed like this for the rest of your life. Just him inside you, arms locked around each other, breathing the same air. The love between you made every movement feel deeper than the physical part alone.
Neteyam kissed you while his hips kept the same pushes, you answered by squeezing around him and burying your face against his neck for a moment, neither of you rushed the heat. You just stayed connected, moving together in the dark of the kelku.
“You feel so good, baby,” he whispered against your mouth. “Just like this… nice and slow.”
You answered with a moan and rolled your hips down to meet him. “Don’t stop, my love… I need you close,” Your fingers slid into his braids, holding him there. Every time he pushed deep, a whimper left both of you. Neteyam kissed along your jaw and down to your neck. “You’re taking me so well, princess. I can feel how perfectly you fit around me.”
You pressed your forehead to his and breathed with him. “I love when you talk to me like that… keep going,” Your walls hugged him tight, making him grunt. The wet sounds of your skins slapping, made both of your bodies sweat even more.
He groaned and held you even closer. “I love you so much. Missed this… missed you, you’re so perfect, baby… Mhm… so tight too.”
You kissed him again, “I love you too. You feel so deep, Neteyam,” Your voice sounded needy and full of love. He moved to press your bodies fkush together. “You’re doing so good for me. Taking every inch like you were made for it, huh?”
Your breathing grew uneven as the pleasure built. “I’m coming… don’t pull away, ’teyam,” You clung tighter to his shoulders. He nodded against your skin and kept the same loving pace, never breaking the connection.
“Cum for me, my love,” he mumbled in your lips. “I want to feel you. C’mon…” His hand slid between your bodies to brush your clit with strokes, the added touch made your thighs tremble around him.
You came with a cry against his neck, walls pulsing tight around his cock. Neteyam held you through it, still thrusting. “That’s my good girl… Oh… squeezin’ me tight,” A few more rolls of his hips and he followed you. He buried himself all the way and came hard, painting your walls white while he moaned your name, his arms locked around you so neither of you could move even an inch apart.
It even got to the point where the two of you almost got caught more than once. One morning started the same as many others lately, you were still half-asleep on the mat when Neteyam kissed down your stomach and pushed your loincloth aside. He settled between your thighs and licked a stripe up your folds. A gasp left your lips as your hands found his braids, he hummed against you and kept going, tongue flicking fast on your clit.
“Oh, Neteyam…” you muttered, voice raspy from sleep. Your hips lifted to ride his mouth, he held your thighs open and licked deeper, he took his time. Slow circles, soft sucks, the occasional drag of his tongue that made your fingers tighten in his hair, even praises left him between licks. “You love that, baby? You taste so good, yknow…”
You kept panting, and one hand stayed in his braids while the other covered your own mouth to stay quiet. Neteyam didn’t rush, he kept eating you out with the same patient attention he gave everything involving you.
“Right there… please,” you sighed happily, he answered by sucking gently on your clit and sliding two fingers inside you. The dual feeling made your thighs tremble around his head, he curled his fingers just right and kept his mouth working.
You were getting close when the sound of footsteps approached the kelku. “S-Someone’s outside,” You hit his shoulder to make him stop eating you out but he didn’t, he gave you a few more licks to make you cum before pulling back, wiping his lips using the back of his palm.
You scrambled to fix your loincloth, when you were actively still releasing, while Neteyam went back to bed, hiding his flushed pouting face for getting interrupted with you.
The curtain swept open a second later, Mo’at stood with her back to the inside of the hut, already speaking as if she expected you both to be awake and decent. You were glad she hadn’t turned around fully. If she had walked in facing the two of you, she probably would’ve dragged her grandson out by the ear for putting his mouth on you before you had even finished your morning check-ups.
Even with you back by his side, Neteyam never shirked his duties as the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son. He still took his place on patrols, hunted for the communal feasts, and assisted the village, and as a devoted lover, he always was by your side whenever you needed help piecing together the fragments of your past.
With the aftermath of your amnesia finally fading into nothing, you menaged to ask him to tell you the truth of how it all began. Listening to him was miserable, laying on his back with your chest pressed to his skin and your arms wrapped around his neck, you felt your heart ache as he spoke about the war. He recounted how you had thrown yourself in harm’s way to save him, and how the image of your head hitting the rock had burned itself into his memory. “I kept thinking that maybe Eywa made you forget about me as a sign… now that it went to the beginning, I should stay away so it would never happen again.”
“That would be really selfish, y’know?” you murmured, frowning against his skin. “I know… that’s why I made a promise to myself. If I couldn’t protect you then, I will from now on.”
You moved off his back to lie at his side, keeping your arms on his neck as you watched the fire in his eyes. Resting your weight on one elbow, you reached up to touch his jaw. “You don’t have to beat yourself up over what happened. You have no reason to.”
“I have every reason to, angel,” he murmured, leaning his face into your palm and turning his head to brush his nose against your wrist. His other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “It wasn’t your fault, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
“...It wasn’t yours either.”
“I might’ve forgotten everything up here,” you said, tapping your temple then sliding your hand down to your chest, “but this never forgot. Neteyam… in every universe, I promise you, I’ll find my way back to you. I swear it, and yknow I don’t swear.”
“And I’ll keep falling just as hard for you, yawne… in every universe, too,” he promised, his face relaxing as he leaned in to catch your lips. You both breathed a shared sigh into the kiss, letting the tension melt away into the warmth of your hut. With him, the rest of the world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in each other’s presence.
When he finally pulled back, he couldn’t resist leaning right back in to press a kkss to the corner of your mouth, leaning back wiht that stupid grin on his lips. “Did I mention how glad I am that you didn’t look for anyone else?”
You rolled your eyes. “You’ve said that at least ten times tonight.”
“I can’t help it,” he chuckled, “I’m just that happy. Especially when you asked if you could kiss me before… all I could think was that you never have to ask me ever again.”
“So cheesy, ’teyam… have you always been like this?”
“It’s who you fell for the second time, so yes,” he grinned. He sat up on the mattress, pulling his legs beneath him, and you copied the movement to sit in front of him. Reaching out, you held his jaw once more. “I mean, how could I not? You were so perfect that I stood no chance against falling for you.”
He licked his lips, biting back a shy smile as he placed his hand over yours, pressing your palm closer to his cheek. “I can’t bear being apart from you anymore, y/n, for all I ever do is dream of you.”
“Neteyam…” you whispered, leaning in until your forehead rested against his. You nudged your nose against his and closed your eyes. He pulled you closer by the hips and kissed you deep, you moaned into his mouth as the kiss turned sloppy. His tongue pushed against yours while he let you take control of it. He whimpered shamelessly when he realized those sounds alone made you wetter.
You pulled away to catch your breath, then moved down to his neck. His hands gripped the futon for something to hold onto as you sucked hard on his favourite spot. You leaned back to examine the mark you left before grinning and kissing his cheek.
You turned around in front of him and started untying your accessories from the back, he watched as your fingers worked and your top fell to the floor. You lifted yourself on your knees to untie your loincloth from your tail, he bit his lip and held your ass while staring, making your tail slap his chest to demand him start removing his own. He rose onto his knees and pressed his hips against your ass, forcing you down onto all fours as he untied it and threw it aside.
You hissed at the pressure, then pushed him back again, your fingers trailed back to your clit from behind, giving him a view. You rubbed circles while your other hand kept you balanced on all fours, Neteyam sighed at the sight and licked his lips. His hands molded to your ass before he slapped it once, hard enough to make you whimpee. He moved your hand away and rolled his thumb over your clit, stroking your folds until everything felt slippery.
You swatted his hands away and wrapped your fingers around his cock, you aimed the tip at your entrance and teased it, pinching the head between your fingers. He groaned and watched as you rubbed the thick head along your hole. He gave your thigh a pat, silently asking you to put it in. You understood without a word and sank down onto his length, a moan left you as you took him wholly.
You started moving, lifting and dropping on his cock. He hugged your waist from behind and let you ride him. His mouth pressed open kisses along your back while his tongue dragged over your skin.
His hands slid up your sides and claimed both of your breasts, you kept moaning loud every time his cock hit that spot inside you. You held his hands tighter against your chest, then swept your hair aside to give him access to your neck. He leaned up and kissed it from behind, pushing deeper with every movement. You kept riding him hard while his hands stayed locked on your breasts and his mouth stayed busy on your skin.
You kept riding him in reverse, hips rolling needily while his cock stayed buried deep. Both of you were breathing hard like it was the first time all over again. Neteyam’s hands stayed on your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples. “You okay?” he asked against your neck.
The simple question made your walls clench around him, you nodded and pushed back harder onto his cock. “Yeah… feels so good,” you whispered. He groaned and held your waist, his hips lifted to meet every drop of yours, still checking in between movements.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, one hand sliding down to rest over your lower belly, feeling his cock slip inside you through your skin, the concern in his voice only made you wetter. Hou reached back and gripped his thigh, guiding him deeper. “It’s not… keep going,”
Neteyam’s forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, he kept meeting you between thrusts. “Does it hurt when I do this?” He asked as he pushed bsck into you while you jumped on his body, you shook your head fast and let his hands move to your hips.
You leaned forward for better leverage, and the new angle made him hit deeper. Both of you let out sounds like you had never done this before. “Still good, right?” he asked again, kissing along your spine. You answered by squeezing around him and grinding down, his cock twitched hard inside you at the feeling.
“Yes… s-so big and… oh—” You rode him faster, the sounds of skin slapping growing louder between your bodies. “You’re so gorgeous, y/n, so beautiful and pretty,” With his mouth close to your ear, you could feel its vibration and his deep voice made you feel yourself getting close already. “I’m gonna come r-really hard,” you warned, voice cracking. He held your hips and thrust up deeper. “Me too… can I finish inside?”
The question alone pushed you over, you clenched tight around him and came with a cry, walls pulsing hard. Neteyam followed right after, he wasn’t able to pull out with how your walls hugged him like you didn’t want him to go out at all, he then buried himself all the way and spilled deep inside you while he groaned your name. He stayed inside while both of you caught your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, holding you close, kisses landed on your shoulders.
“Baby?” he asked, panting. You hummed and leaned back against his chest, keeping him buried. He adjusted his body and stretched his legs before carefully pulling out of you and falling back onto the bed. You followed right away and guided his cock back inside you, just wanting to feel full again. You hugged his neck as he pulled you closer, he gave one teasing thrust that made both of you chuckle before you held each other tight.
You opened your eyes and found him already looking down at you, you licked your lips and cleared your throat, still dry from earlier. Neteyam’s hand came up to brush your cheek. “You alright?” he whispered. His thumb caressing your chin while he stayed still inside you. You gave a small shrug and nodded.
“Yeah… I’m good,” Your voice came out quiet as you tightened your arms around him and pressed your face against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. “I just… I missed my mate so much,” you admitted, “Having him this close again feels like I can finally breathe.”
Neteyam’s arms wrapped tighter around your waist, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and stayed quiet for a moment. His hand rubbed on your back while he stayed buried inside you. “He missed you too. Every single day.” He whispered then moved to look at your face again. “You sure you’re not sore?”
You shook your head and hugged him closer. “Don’t pull out yet. I just wanna stay like this,” Your legs stayed hooked around him, the peace between you was so addicting. He nodded and the both of you closed your eyes. “Neteyam?”
“Hmm?”
“I meant to ask earlier. How did a flower end up as my... signature?”
A scoff made out his mouth, his thumb caressing your skin. “Long story short? We had our first kiss surrounded by those in full bloom. Right after, you looked at me and said it was the best day of your life, and you never stopped bragging about how cool that moment was.”
You licked his neck, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I must’ve been crushing so hard on you.”
“Yeah... You had it bad, but I had it so much worse.”
Summary: You were captured by one of Gotham’s biggest villains, so Batman does something unlikely and turns to someone he never thought he would ask for help. (wc: 6.7K)
Tags/warnings: All characters are +18, although it isn’t specified. Reader referred to as Osprey. Descriptions of violence. female!reader. Signs of Manipulation. Intoxication by Scarecrow’s gas. Fear toxin/hallucinations. Childhood crush. Friends to lovers. Drugging. Temporary paralysis. Physical violence. Angst. Loads of angst. Very fluffy too. So much fluff. Oh the fluff!! Hurt/comfort. No proof read. Bruce Wayne needs therapy.
“Osprey, confirm your position.“
Bruce’s voice cut through the steady hum of the comms, low and gravelly. You were on patrol tonight, stationed high above the concrete labyrinth of the city. Bruce was only checking up on you—he always kept a tight leash whenever you were out on a solo run.
“Osprey to Batman. Confirming position on 3B, North Gotham. Over,” you responded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
The sleek cowl over your head did its job well, breaking up the silhouette of your shoulders and making you look sharper, taller, more menacing than you actually were. The suit was a matte midnight-black, broken up only by sharp, stark white accents across the chest and gauntlets—designed to melt into the heavy shadows of the city just like your father and brothers did.
Sector 3B was a jagged, gothic high-rise looming right over the harbor, where a whisper of street intel suggested a major drop was going down tonight. Bruce had been skeptical about the validity of the tip, which is exactly why he’d sent you to scope it out. But you weren't entirely alone. You knew Nightwing was lurking a few rooftops over, keeping a watchful eye just in case.
Of course he was. Your older brothers always hovered, fiercely protective no matter how much you fought them on it. And tonight, you didn't mind the backup quite as much; Gotham had been pulling some serious weirdos out of the woodwork lately, and you still didn't know exactly who you were hunting.
When you were younger, you had worn the red and yellow, earning your stripes as Robin just like the boys before you. You and Tim used to trade off the mantle, letting him handle the heavy lifting with the Teen Titans while you ran the rooftops of Gotham at Batman's side.
But things change. Now Damian was Robin. Tim had rebranded as Red Robin—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean—and you had chosen Osprey. Jason had tried to ruin the moment by smugly pointing out that real-world ospreys were diurnal birds that only hunted in the daylight, and you had simply told him to fuck off. That had been the end of that discussion.
Bruce trusted you. Of course he did; you had earned your place in this war. But there was always a catch. To the Dark Knight, you were still his little girl.
And you would never, ever stop being his little girl.
A sudden flicker of movement down by the pier snapped you out of your thoughts. You adjusted the lenses of your cowl, zooming in on a rusted cargo ship docked at the edge of the harbor.
Bingo.
Men in heavy coats were quietly unloading unmarked crates from the hull, moving with the frantic, quiet rush of people who knew they were running out of time. At the center of the operation stood a man holding a sleek, pointed umbrella, barking quiet orders into the freezing night air.
Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin.
A smirk crept onto your face as you crouched low on the ledge, the wind whipping against your cape. The irony wasn't lost on you. Penguin’s whole brand was built on being a flightless bird obsessed with the sea. And Bruce had sent an Osprey—a literal sea hawk whose entire biological purpose was to dive from the sky and tear fish out of the water. Jason would probably have a field day with the metaphor if he were here.
"Batman, I've got eyes on the prize," you whispered into the comms, your voice dropping into its official field tone. "The Penguin’s crew is at Pier 4. They're unloading heavy crates. Looks like tech, not drugs."
There was a brief, agonizing pause on the other end line. You could almost hear the gears turning in Bruce’s head back at the Batcave.
"Copy that, Osprey," Bruce’s voice crackled back. "Observe only. Do not engage until Nightwing is in position."
Right on cue, a familiar, cheerful voice chimed into the frequency. "Too late, B. I'm already on the adjacent rooftop. Osprey, you take the crane, I'll sweep the perimeter?" Dick's tone was light, but you could hear the underlying readiness in it. He was giving you the high ground. He was letting you take the lead.
You looked down at the thugs below, your fingers twitching near your utility belt. You could wait for Dick to make the first move, or you could show your big brother exactly how a real bird of prey hunts.
“I’m going for the goons. Keep an eye on the Penguin,” you instructed surely, your voice steady and authoritative despite the adrenaline starting to pump through your veins.
Before the words had even fully left your mouth, you unclipped your grapple gun. With a swift pull of the trigger, the line shot out, anchoring perfectly to the steel framework of a towering shipping crane. You stepped off the ledge, plunging into the freezing harbor air.
You engaged your cape, catching the sharp updraft from the water and gliding silently into the dark maze of metal containers where the drop was going down.
"Copy that, Osprey. Happy hunting," Dick’s voice crackled smoothly in your ear. There was nothing but pure pride in his tone. He didn't question your play; he trusted your instincts entirely. "I've got Cobblepot's exit blocked. Knock 'em dead."
"Focus, both of you," Bruce’s deep rumble cut through the comms, though he didn't tell you to pull back. He knew better than to interrupt when his kids were working in perfect sync.
You dropped from the sky like a ghost, landing soundlessly on top of a rusted blue container directly above two of Cobblepot’s thugs. They were struggling to haul a heavy wooden crate, breath misting in the cold air, completely oblivious to the predator perched right above their heads.
From this angle, you could see the packing slip on the crate. It wasn't standard black-market artillery. It bore a high-tech corporate logo—experimental Wayne Enterprises tech that had gone missing from a transport truck last week. No wonder Penguin was down here personally supervising.
You pulled two customized batarangs from your utility belt, the matte white details on your gauntlets catching the faint glow of the harbor lights. Moving with practiced, lightning-fast precision, you slipped from the containers, silently neutralizing the perimeter guards one by one. You kept your movements tight, staying entirely out of the Penguin’s line of sight. There was no need to engage him directly; your job was to secure the asset.
“Osprey, keep your comms open, please,” Bruce’s voice sounded in your ear, the low rumble carrying that familiar, heavy weight. You just hummed in agreement, not wanting to break your focus. You knew he worried. Of course he did! He always did.
“She’s doing fine, B! Don’t worry. I’ve got my eyes on her,” Nightwing defended you, his tone a little too cheerful for your liking. You didn’t respond, keeping your eyes moving, scanning the blind spots between the towering shipping crates.
“I know. I just... have a feeling,” Bruce murmured.
Dick let out a soft chuckle through the frequency. Bruce always got this way when it came to you. “Since when do we operate on feelings, Brucie?” he teased.
The only response your father let out was a frustrated, heavy sigh. Under any other circumstance, you would have smiled at their bickering. It was standard Batfamily radio chatter. But you couldn't laugh. You needed to focus. You were focused.
Then, your breath hitched.
A sudden, violent wave of goosebumps broke out across your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Bruce was right. Something was wrong.
Before your brain could even process the threat, a massive shadow loomed behind you. A thick, heavy forearm clamped around your neck, and a chemical-soaked rag was slammed brutally over your mouth and nose. You gasped in surprise, instantly inhaling the sharp, sweet, toxic fumes. A muffled scream caught in your throat.
Didn’t Dick have eyes on you?!
Your limbs immediately went heavy, turning to lead. “Batman, I lost her! Shit—” Dick’s voice crackled faintly in your ear, the playful cheer instantly replaced by sheer, unadulterated panic.
You tried to fight. You tried to reach for your utility belt, to throw an elbow, to use the leverage to flip your attacker—to do anything you had spent years training to do. You had survived death-defying drops, lethal combat, and the worst Gotham had to offer. You never got nervous. You never froze. But your muscles refused to obey. It had only taken a single second. Just one second of slipped focus, and your body was entirely failing you.
The world tilted violently. The harbor lights smeared into streaks of sickening yellow and white against the dark sky.
Bruce was screaming your name now, a rare, terrifying sound of absolute dread tearing through his usual stoic composure. Not your code name, but your name.
But his voice sounded like it was underwater, fading rapidly into the distance. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the heavy blackness of the night rushing in to swallow you whole.
And then, you couldn't hear anything at all.
“She’s doing fine, B! Don’t worry, I’ve got my eyes on her.”
“I know, I just… have a feeling.”
“Since when do we operate on feelings, Brucie?”
“Batman, I lost her! Shit—“
Your head overplayed the last conversation you heard. Your eyes fluttering open slowly, your head hanging to the front. You were tied up on a chair. Your utility belt gone. You still had your cowl intact. Which was both bad and good news. The good one was that whoever had you didn’t mind your secret identity. The bad one was that if they didn’t want to know your real name or what your face looked like… it was probably one of Gotham’s favorite weirdos.
You look around quickly, your breath is heavy. Your comms is gone. You want to guess.
Scarecrow. It most likely was Scarecrow.
You try to test the ropes around your wrists. Tight. Professional. No wiggle room.
The room around you is damp and freezing, smelling heavily of rust, stagnant harbor water, and the sickly-sweet scent of decaying burlap. You are likely still somewhere near the docks, tucked away in one of the abandoned warehouses where the GCPD never bothers to patrol.
Footsteps echo from the darkness ahead. Slow. Rhythmic. Dragging.
"Ah... the fledgling has awakened," a raspy, distorted voice speaks from the gloom.
A figure steps into the pale light of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. The tattered, straw-stuffed mask of the Scarecrow glares down at you, the empty eyeholes practically glowing with a sadistic curiosity.
"I must admit, Osprey, I was quite curious when Gotham's great Dark Knight brought a new bird into his cage," Crane says, tilting his head as he approaches your chair. He raises a gloved hand, the rusted syringes tipped on his fingers clicking together like claws. "Tell me... does the little bird fear the fall? Or does she fear the shadow of the Bat?"
You swallow hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper. The toxin is making it hard to think straight, the faces of Bruce and Dick flashing behind your eyelids, their frantic voices still echoing in your mind.
You are a Bat. You don't break.
But you are human. As you remind yourself, some goon hitting you right on your belly with a breathtaking punch. You see Scarecrow smile, while everything is defusing. You’re confused. Somewhere out there Bruce is desperately looking for you, being self deprecating and blaming Nightwing for not keeping the leash on you tight enough.
The punch to your stomach strips the remaining oxygen from your lungs, leaving you gasping, your head dropping as your vision fractures into sharp, vibrating pieces. The physical pain is sharp, but the creeping fog of the toxin is worse.
Your thoughts are a chaotic blur. You can practically hear the fallout happening in real-time across Gotham. Bruce, stone-faced but burning with a quiet, lethal rage, tearing through the harbor. Dick, eating himself alive with guilt because he took his eyes off you for one single, fatal second. They’re tearing the city apart looking for you, but right now, you are utterly on your own.
“Let’s explore this little bird’s worst nightmares, shall we?” Crane’s voice distorts, warping into a deep, echoing hiss as he steps closer.
He presses the trigger. A thick, hissing cloud of pale straw-colored gas erupts from the canisters, enveloping your face.
You try to hold your breath, but your bruised ribs betray you, forcing you to take a sharp, ragged gasp. The sweet, metallic taste of the fear toxin floods your system, and the warehouse instantly begins to dissolve.
The concrete floor under your chair liquefies into a pitch-black abyss. The ropes binding your wrists tighten, turning into heavy, freezing iron chains that drag you downward. The single flickering lightbulb above explodes into a swarm of frantic, screeching bats—but they aren't here to save you. Their eyes are glowing, malicious crimson slits, and they begin to swarm you, tearing at your suit, blocking out the light.
Through the roaring sound of thousands of wings, the voices return. But they aren't the comforting, protective voices of your family anymore.
"You weren't ready," Bruce’s voice echoes from the darkness, cold and deeply disappointed. "I shouldn't have trusted you."
"It's my fault," Dick’s voice whispers right into your ear, sounding broken and bleeding. "I let you drown."
The hallucination is heavy, pressing down on your chest until you can barely breathe. The toxin is forcing your mind into its darkest, most vulnerable corners, tearing down every ounce of training you have.
The darkness stretches infinitely, heavy and suffocating. You are completely blind, stripped of the visual tactical edge you’ve spent years training to rely on. All you have are your other senses—and right now, they are entirely turned against you by Jonathan Crane’s twisted chemistry.
Your skin crawls. The atmosphere feels thick, smelling heavily of copper, old grease, and that sickening, cheap white face paint.
“Stupid, stupid little bird.”
The voice slices through the void, high-pitched, manic, and dripping with a sadistic glee that makes your stomach bottom out. The Joker. The one rogue who truly terrified you. The one rogue Bruce kept you as far away from as humanly possible. You can’t see him, but you can hear the clicking of his shoes on the concrete, circling your chair, closer and closer until you swear you can feel his hot, rancid breath against the edge of your cowl.
Your body betrays you. A violent, uncontrollable shiver wracks your frame. The clown's diabolical, wheezing laugh echoes from every direction, bouncing off the walls of your own skull. You are trapped in pitch blackness with a monster.
But then, the laughter starts to warp. It stretches out, deepening, turning into a strange, roaring distortion.
And against the absolute dark of your blindness, a sharp, sudden flicker of light cuts through.
A... what?
It’s an orange-gold flash. Small at first, like a match striking in the distance, but it rapidly grows, dancing against the dark. It’s a flame. It expands into a wall of bright, crackling fire that tears directly through the illusion of the dark warehouse.
The heat hits your skin—not the cold, clammy sweat of the fear toxin, but actual, blistering heat. The sickly sweet smell of the gas is suddenly choked out by the heavy, suffocating scent of burning wood and melting steel.
Through the roaring of the flames, the clown's laughter turns into a harsh, metallic hacking sound. The darkness is burning away, but it’s not Bruce or Dick breaking through the door. The warehouse around you is genuinely on fire. Someone is tearing the place apart.
The orange glow of the fire bleeds into the dark, melting the Joker's manic face into ash. The blistering heat is real, but your mind is slipping back down into the heavy, suffocating weight of the sedative. Your head lolls back against the chair, the smoke stinging your eyes as they flutter one last time.
Through the roar of the collapsing warehouse, the voice cuts through again. It doesn’t use Osprey. It doesn't use Robin. It screams your actual name, the raw panic in it vibrating right through your bones. But your brain, thoroughly poisoned by Crane's toxin, can't map the sound to a face. It’s a ghost of a voice.
And then, a silhouette breaks through the wall of smoke and flame.
You expect the heavy, broad shape of Batman. You expect the sleek, agile form of Nightwing. You expect the harsh, metallic red helmet of Jason. But the figure kneeling in front of your chair doesn't fit any of them. The image burns into your fading vision—a face you know, deep down in a place the fear gas couldn't touch, but your paralyzed tongue can't find the words to speak it.
They exist. They're real. They're here.
A pair of hands, trembling but firm, cups your face, lifting your head up. You feel the sudden, sharp release of pressure around your wrists as the ropes are sliced away, but you’re already too far gone to slide off the chair. Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you entirely off the ground and pulling you tight against a chest that is rising and falling in frantic, terrified gasps.
The heavy scent of smoke and the faint, comforting trace of a familiar leather jacket is the last thing you register before the world goes completely black.
When you finally wake up, the roaring of the fire is gone. You’re resting in a comfortable bed that makes you straighten in a second. The cozy bedroom looks nothing like your home, full of posters of bands you take a second to recognize. It’s nightfall. You try to reach for your comms, your utility belt. Anything. You’re not wearing your suit anymore, but a loose t-shirt and some sweatpants you’re sure gonna fall down if you get up. You pull the string, making a tight knot before you get up and an older woman rushes to you.
“Sweetheart! Be careful, you’ve been asleep for two days!” she leaves a tray with what looks like soup right on top of the nightstand, the spoon clattering as she takes your arm to help you up. You blink disoriented.
The mooing of a cow lets you know you no longer are in Gotham.
Your head is throbbing, your heart beating too loud in your chest and an explosion that you didn’t know that happened was still ringing in your ears. You look around, in a swift movement you’re away. You could have easily held her in a headlock, but she doesn’t look that threatening. Even so, your guard is never down enough. You were a vigilante!
“Where am I?” you demand, your voice doesn’t even shake at your question. She smiles warmly.
“This is Smallville, darling,” her hard Kansas accent surprises you enough. You furrow your eyebrows.
“What am I doing here?”
Her smile doesn’t faint. “Conner thought it was best to bring you here. Said you were in trouble or s’mthin.”
You scan your brain; Conner, Conner, Conner… Conner! Right on time he appears with that smug smile, the piercing on his left eyebrow and those eyes that screamed how he’s been through trauma, but was never gonna admit it out loud. You’re glad he’s here, yet confused to why you are here with him.
You blink slowly, staring at him.
“How you feeling, Doll?” he asked in a soft tone, grabbing your hand to hold you for a second.
The puzzle pieces in your head finally click together, the lingering fog of Jonathan Crane’s fear toxin instantly evaporating at the sight of him.
Conner.
Tim’s best friend, the clone, the boy who wasn't supposed to exist but somehow became one of the most real things in your life. The mysterious face in the fire, the one who had screamed your actual name through the smoke while your brothers were still frantic on the comms—it had been him. He had ripped you out of that burning warehouse before the Batfamily even breached the perimeter.
“Conner,” you breathe out, your voice a little rougher than you intend. You don’t pull your hand away from his grip. Instead, your fingers tighten around his, grounding yourself against the solid, impossible warmth of a half-Kryptonian.
His mom—Martha Kent, your brain finally supplies the name as you look at the gentle, worried woman—looks between the two of you with a knowing, soft expression. She quietly slips out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her to give you both some space, leaving the steaming bowl of soup behind.
You let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for two days, looking down at the oversized T-shirt you're wearing, which you now realize definitely belongs to him.
“You took me out of Gotham,” you say, your tactical brain immediately calculating the absolute chaos currently happening across the state line. You stare up into those blue eyes of his. “Conner, Bruce is going to lose his mind. Dick thinks I’m dead or worse, and Jason probably blew up half the harbor looking for Crane. Why did you bring me to Kansas?”
Conner’s smug smile fades just a fraction, replaced by something much softer, much more vulnerable. He rubs his thumb over the back of your knuckles, his piercing catching the faint light from the window.
“He knows you’re here,” he says quietly, his voice dropping into that serious tone he rarely uses unless it really matters. “Bruce contacted Clark and it got to me. We had a better chance at finding you on time than them. By the time I smashed through the roof, Crane had you completely under. You were screaming, Doll. You were looking right at me and seeing monsters.”
He steps closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes scanning your face to make sure you're actually okay. His hand goes to your chin to hold it back and your breath hitches. He chuckles as he noticed, checking your face for any injuries. “Until we know why Scarecrow was targeting you, you’re staying here with Ma, Pa and me.”
You hiss. “I was targeted?” you asked with furrowed eyebrows and he carefully lifts your shirt, not much, just enough to check on your bruised ribs.
“Do they hurt?” you shrug. Bruised ribs were nothing compared to how hurt you ended on training. Bruce never went easy. “We don’t know why you of all the bats. Maybe the bad guys figured you’re Batman’s favorite.” he smiled and you nod.
Your face warms a little at his comment, the sudden rush of heat having absolutely nothing to do with the fear toxin or Ma Kent's hot soup.
Batman’s favorite. You want to roll your eyes and tell him to shut up, but with his hand still gently cupping your chin and his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, the words catch in your throat.
When you were a teenager, Conner Kent had been the center of your universe. Back when you and Tim were trading off the Robin cape, you used to actively look for excuses to look over Tim’s shoulder at Titan's monitors just to catch a glimpse of the boy in the black leather jacket and the tactile t-shirt. You had the biggest, most agonizing crush on him for years. He was everything a Gotham-bred kid shouldn't be: loud, bright, incredibly stubborn, and completely unbothered by the shadows.
And right now, standing in his childhood bedroom wearing a t-shirt that completely swallows your frame, those old feelings are roaring back to life with a vengeance.
"I'm nobody's favorite," you finally manage to mutter, though your voice lacks its usual sharp, vigilante bite. You reach down, gently but firmly patting his hand away from your shirt before he can keep inspecting your ribs. "And I don't need to be coddled, Kent. I've handled worse than Crane."
"Yeah, I know you have," Conner says smoothly, not missing a beat. He drops his hand from your chin, but he doesn't step back out of your personal space. That smug, devastating smile slowly creeps back onto his face, his eyebrow piercing glinting in the dim light. "But you're missing the point, Doll. I wanted you here."
Your heart does a stupid, irregular thud against your ribs.
"Tim is already losing his mind trying to run data diagnostics from the Titans Tower to figure out how Crane bypassed the harbor's security grid," Conner continues, leaning back against the wooden bedpost and crossing his arms over his chest. "And Dick's been calling my phone every twenty minutes to check if you've opened your eyes yet. I told them I'd keep you safe. I intend to keep that promise."
He looks you up and down, his blue eyes softening as they linger on the oversized shirt you're wearing. "Now, are you going to sit down and eat Ma's soup like a good guest, or do I have to use the super-strength to make you rest?"
Your heart does that stupid, betraying thud again—louder this time, enough that you're painfully aware of his super-hearing. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to channel every ounce of Batman’s stoic intimidation, but wearing his faded band tee with string-tied sweatpants completely ruins the effect.
"You wouldn't dare," you say, taking a step toward him.
"Try me, Osprey," Conner smirks, tilting his head. "I've faced down Darkseid's forces, but making a stubborn Bat sit down and take care of herself might be my toughest mission yet."
"I am resting," you insist, though your voice softens as you look at him. The teasing banter feels so familiar, but the air between you suddenly feels charged, heavy with a tension that definitely wasn't there when you were teenagers running around behind Tim's back.
Conner steps in close again, effortlessly closing the gap between you. The smugness melts off his face, replaced by that quiet, genuine intensity that always used to make your throat go dry. Without asking, he reaches out, his large, warm hand gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your jawline.
Your breath hitches loud enough that there’s no hiding it this time.
"You scared the hell out of me," he murmurs, his blue eyes searching yours, completely dropped of all bravado. "When Bruce said comms went dark... I didn't think, Doll. I just flew. I don't care why Crane was targeting you, or what kind of chaos your brothers are causing back in Gotham right now. All I cared about was getting you out of that fire."
"Conner..." your voice is barely a whisper. You reach up, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. You tell yourself it's to push him away, to keep your tactical wall up, but your hands betray you, resting against the steady, thrumming pulse in his arm instead. "I'm okay. I'm tough. You know that."
"I know you're tough," he soft-smiles, leaning down just an inch closer. His thumb lightly brushes over your lower lip. "You're a Bat. You're terrifying when you want to be. But you don't have to be invincible around me."
The room falls dead silent, save for the faint hum of the crickets outside in the Kansas night and the rapid, pounding rhythm of your own heart.
He notices it, of course. A low, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up to yours.
"Your heart's beating pretty fast, Osprey," he teases softly, his voice dropping into a low rumble that sends a shiver straight down your spine. "Is that still the fear toxin... or is that me?"
"Shut up, Kent," you breathe out, but you don't pull back. Instead, you tighten your grip on his wrist, pulling him down that last little bit of distance until his forehead rests against yours.
His skin is warm, radiating that steady, impossible heat. Conner lets out a soft, low breath, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking, despite knowing you could tear through a room of Gotham goons without breaking a sweat.
"I mean it," he whispers, his eyes searching yours in the dim light of the bedroom. "I’ve seen you take down guys twice your size. I’ve seen you stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Bruce and not back down an inch. But seeing you in that warehouse... shivering, screaming at ghosts while the fire caught your cape..."
His jaw tightens, a flash of pure, unadulterated pain cracking through his usual cocky facade. His grip on your jaw firming just a fraction.
"I hated it," he admits, his voice dropping into a rough, jagged edge. "I hated that I wasn't there five seconds sooner. I hated that I couldn't punch whatever was inside your head out of it."
The angst in his tone hits you right in the chest, sharp and heavy. You reach up with your free hand, resting your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. It beats with a slow, powerful, steady thud— a rhythm so drastically different from the frantic, dark chaos of Gotham.
"Conner," you say softly, tilting your head up so he’s forced to look at you. "Look at me."
He blinks, his blue eyes locking onto yours.
"I’m here," you tell him, your thumb running over the soft fabric of the shirt— his shirt— covering your chest. "Crane didn't win. The gas is gone. I'm sitting in Smallville, wearing a t-shirt three sizes too big, arguing with a boy who used to drive me crazy when I was fifteen."
A tiny, reluctant laugh breaks through his lips, the tension in his shoulders dropping just a fraction. "Used to?"
"Okay, still do," you admit with a faint, tired smile. "A little bit."
Conner leans into your touch, his hand sliding down from your cheek to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your dark hair. The warmth of his hand spreads down your spine, turning your knees to water. He shifts his weight, carefully taking your waist with his other hand and lifting you just enough to sit you back down on the edge of the mattress, completely ignoring your mild grunt of protest.
"You're supposed to be resting, remember?" he murmurs, dropping to one knee right between your legs so he’s looking up at you. It’s such an uncharacteristically gentle position for Superboy— the guy who punches through alien metal— to be kneeling on the hardwood floor of his childhood bedroom just to be close to you.
"You're insufferable," you mutter, but your hands find their way into his dark hair, your fingers resting near the crop of his faded undercut.
"Yeah, but I'm your insufferable clone," he smirks, though the softness in his eyes completely undoes the tease. He rests his forehead against your knee for a second, inhaling deeply, before looking back up at you. "Tim called three times while you were out. Bruce called Clark twice. I told them all to go to hell until you woke up."
Your heart does another stupid, irregular flutter. "You yelled at Batman for me?"
"I'd punch the moon out of the sky for you, Doll," he says simply, no hesitation, no swagger, ”just pure, dangerous honesty. "A phone call to Bruce Wayne is nothing."
Before you can digest the weight of those words, the nightstand suddenly lights up, vibrating loudly against the wood and buzzing with a frantic, metallic ringtone that could only belong to a modified Bat-comm link.
Conner’s eyes flick to the phone, his jaw setting into a stubborn line, but he doesn't move an inch away from you. His hands stay resting on your thighs, anchoring you to him.
"Do we answer it?" you ask softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair, the warm fluff of the moment suddenly wrapping around the cold dread of reality calling you back to Gotham.
Conner looks up at you, his thumb gently caressing your knee. "Only if you want to. Otherwise... we can let Gotham wait until morning."
You don’t dare to look away from him, your eyes locked on him, in his face. First those piercing blue eyes and then down to his nose, his lips… those lips you really wanted to kiss, while he toyed with the snakebite piercing he had on the left side of his mouth. You can’t even think about answering Bruce. He knows you’re okay, thanks to the guy standing in front of you; you are. His eyes go down to your lips as well, his lashes brushing his cheek slightly, and he leans up, finally taking your mouth slowly, gently. He’s got no rush right now. You’re okay, you’re safe. Right between his arms.
His hand travels behind you to grip your waist and bring you closer to him, his lips parting slightly, and you can feel the wet velvet slipping through.
The taste of him is warm and grounding, entirely washing away the lingering metallic aftertaste of Crane’s gas. The sudden warmth of his body pressed flush against yours sends a jolt straight down your spine.
For someone built out of steel and raw power, Conner touches you like you’re made of spun glass. His lips move over yours with a slow, agonizing patience, completely unhurried, as if he’s spent years waiting for this exact moment and intends to savor every second of it. His hand at your waist is firm and possessive, pulling you in until there’s no air left between you, his thumb pressing gently into the small of your back.
You melt into him, your fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. You part your lips in response, a quiet gasp escaping you as his tongue slides past yours, slick and hot, deepening the rhythm until your mind goes entirely blank.
There are no vigilantes here. No Gotham shadows, no smoke, no raging Batfamily, no expectations. Just the quiet rustle of the Kansas wind outside the window and the undeniable, breathtaking heat of Superboy holding you like you're the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
When he finally pulls back just an inch, both of your breaths are coming in short, ragged hitches. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark and heavy as he stares down at you, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles on your hip.
"You have no idea," Conner rasps softly, his voice thick and rough, "how long I've wanted to do that, Doll."
A low, familiar smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, the silver piercing on his lip glinting in the faint moonlight. "And before you say anything... no, I am definitely not letting you go back to Gotham anytime soon."
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, resting your hand against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "Conner...” You want to fight him, to tell him you have to go, that you have a duty and a debt to your city. Things he would never understand.
The sound of the helicopter right outside is loud and unmistakably Wayne, which made you pull apart from the superhuman fast, rushed, like a caught teenager. You rush to the window, and you see him right there, standing outside of the parked helicopter that scared Ma Kent’s cows. You stare at his tall, intimidating figure, and you know you’re going to meet a scold, the sermon of your life. You’ll probably be grounded for a while for the mistake you made, for sliding into Nightwing’s blind spot when you weren’t supposed to engage.
But everything about that night is still fuzzy and confusing. You’re not sure how you made the mistake you did, nor how you ended up in harm’s way. Conner took your waist, and he knows. He just knows how the Bat-family manages, how Bruce shows care and worry through yelling and scolding, and how he punishes by not letting you leave the Manor. Making you feel worthless at the same time.
You take away and walk out of the house to see him. Your posture is perfect, even defiant, as you walk up to him. To Bruce Wayne.
“Hey, B,” you give him a small smile, timid and shy. You don’t know how he’ll take it.
But his ever-stoic facade isn’t up in his mask today. He’s showing noticeably worried and concerned, his eyes softening as you greet him. He rushes into you, taking you in his arms in a crushing hug.
It’s a new sensation to have your father like this. The man who never showed worry, the man who probably would scold you for eternity, was now hugging you in a way that said I was so afraid to lose you.
“I failed you,” he whispered close to your ear, and you freeze. Him? Not you? Not you did everything wrong and that’s why you almost got yourself killed?
“You didn’t. It was a trap. Penguin and Scarecrow were working together. They knew we were coming,” he nodded. Of course he knew before you figured it out.
“They weren’t specifically targeting you. But they knew I was going to send in someone. Scarecrow took me by surprise. I knew about the drop-off. I didn’t think—” he stopped. Bruce was the guy who anticipated everything about everyone, every move. “I failed. And I’m sorry. I almost lost you.”
He hugged you again while Conner was staring at the two of you. The kiss was still making your lips tingle slightly, even when you tried to focus on the destroyed father who thought you were dead hours prior. When no one knew if you would wake up and couldn’t risk taking you anywhere else than the Kent farm.
You melt into Bruce's embrace, resting your forehead against his heavy tactical armor as the steady hum of the helicopter blades fades into the background. For the first time in your life, you don't feel the crushing weight of Gotham’s expectations or the suffocating guilt of a failed mission; you just feel safe. You wrap your arms tight around your father, whispering a quiet reassurance against his shoulder that you're okay, that you're right here. But over Bruce’s shoulder, your eyes lock with Conner’s across the dusty farm yard. Superboy stands by the porch, his hands shoved nonchalantly into his pockets, wearing that warm, devastating smirk that lets you know he saw every single blush, every soft moment, and every uncharacteristic tear. Your lips still tingle from his kiss, the phantom heat of his touch contrasting sharply with the cool Kansas breeze. Bruce tightens his grip on you one last time before pulling back, his hand resting heavy and protective on your shoulder as he prepares to bring his little girl home—but as you take that first step toward the Batwing, you know Gotham isn't the only place holding a piece of your heart anymore.
+“Who’s that guy you just said hi to?” R.Nishimura°
Summary: Don’t run, it’ll only make him chase you.
˗ˋˏ ♡Content warnings- : I’m spelling it out so you all know I mean business. Read carefully. Niki is batshit crazy in this, but I jumped through hoops to make everything as consensual as possible because I do not entertain sexual assault of any kind. Yandere!Niki, strangers to obsessive lovers, mentions of alcohol and clubbing, drinking, unprotected s+x, praise, degradation, overstimulation, oral (f. rec), petnames, biting, rough s+x, gaslighting, descriptions of paranoia, fear, and anxiety, possible abduction?, lots of terrible choices, some comedy, threats, again— Niki is CRAZY, reader puts up a good fight tho, crying, dacryphilia, panty sniffing, squ+rting, possession k+nk, he needs to have you live in his lungs the jealousy is that bad folks, cursing, explicit language, don’t be deceived he’s hot but psycho, Jungwon cameo, surprise! he’s nuts too, your best friend is a real one in this and your relationship is up to interpretation, multiple s+x scenes, biting, kissing, detailed kissing, honestly gross kissing, marking k+nk, mouth spitting, hair pulling, n+pple play, dryh+mping, n+pple sucking, n+pple biting, more p+ssy sniffing, he’d snort you if he could, begging, confused feelings, IM SORRY THIS IS SO LONG BUT STAY WITH ME😭💔, pain k+nk, he lovessss biting, dirty talk, my god, scent k+nk, more oral (f.rec), ummmm😭 cl;t biting, cl;t spanking, ch*king, look past the fact his cock is fat—he’s still a red flag and POSSESSIVENESS X 10000000000
‧₊˚ ̳͟͞͞♡—.+.—wc (12K-I’m so ashamed)
_for my fave Niki edit rn_
꒰ঌeveryone alr knows English is not my first language໒꒱
If you knew then what you know now, you’d have just admired the rare sighting of the attractive man from afar. Now you’re living with the lesson that “seeing is deceiving.”
Such a lesson goes by the name Riki and it started around 2 months ago…
X
O
You were having a night out with your friend, dressed up, feeling good and tipsy as loud music blared through the club. Amu had been trying to get you out for weeks but with your demanding new job and responsibilities, it just wasn’t possible but eventually she wore you down.
“Cmonnnn! Just for tonight—“, you scoffed.
“Yeah, until you wanna go out again.”
“That’s because you never come! Pleaaase??”
Her puppy eyes in full affect as she points to the dress of hers she bought for you to wear laid out on your bed. A deep sigh leaves your chest and that’s when she knows she won, clapping excitedly while you got ready. You couldn’t even be upset with her because you’re actually having fun, all dolled up and giggly as you dance together.
You feel so light— no assignments, tasks, or looming deadlines hanging over your conscious. It’s freeing. Maybe a night out was just what you needed.
Bending you over, Amu rolls her body into yours as you grind back on her when she suddenly gasps. You don’t get to ask her what when she’s snatching you up, spinning you to face her but keeping you pressed tight against her. Chin hooked over her shoulder, her hands drift down to your ass, rolling your body into hers when she whispers,
“There’s a stupidly hot guy watching us— or actually, he’s watching you.”
Your eyes widen, excitement and nerves swirl around in your stomach and you bite your lip.
That’s why she’s putting on a show? Curiosity makes you restless and you know why Amu has you facing the way she is because you’d have looked immediately even if she told you not to.
“How do you know he’s looking at me?”
She doesn’t answer with words, instead she lifts one of your legs around her waist before her hands grip your hips as she dips you. It happens fast, leaving you breathless at how you’re suddenly upside down and confused as to how this answers your question when your eyes trail up and you see him.
Stupidly hot was an understatement and true to Amu’s word, he was indeed looking at you.
His intense gaze burns into you as you watch him take you in. From your tiny dress that’s riding up thanks to how it’s hooked around Amu’s waist as she rolls her body into yours all the way to your tits that are fighting not to spill out the top of said dress.
His eyes lock with yours when he winks.
It takes you so off guard that when Amu slowly lifts you back up, smoothing her hands up your back as you loop your arms around her neck—you’re still breathless.
“Jesus fuck.”
She grins.
“Told you.”
When you turn again, this time she lets you and your eyes immediately find him.
He’s tall, you notice. Dark hair matching his dark eyes with a playful smirk on his plump lips. His jewelry glints in the dim light as he shifts, making your pounding heart drop as he leaves the bar, striding towards you.
“Oh my god!” You whisper shout, torn between making a run for it because attractive people make you nervous and it’s been a while or acting like the slut you want him to turn you into. Amu makes the decision for you, tightening her hands around your waist as he gets closer, whispering in your ear.
“Stop. Go for it— you look so hot I’d fuck you and you smell fantastic. Don’t overthink baby, you’ve got this.”
You listen, taking deep breaths as she adds,
“And fix your face, you look scared.”
Well damn. One deep inhale and light smile on your glossed lips as she reassures you and the next time you turn back around he’s there.
A giddy smile breaks across your face before you can stop it because he’s so much more gorgeous up close. High cheekbones compliment the strong lines of his jaw and long lashes. He smelled so good too— your thighs subconsciously clenching together.
Amu doesn’t leave immediately, staying for introductions at least, grinning with a cheeky wave.
“Hi.”
He smiles back, perfect teeth on display as he nods once at her.
“Hi yourself.”
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when you hear how deep his voice is. If you didn’t need that before you would die if you didn’t get it now. He extends a large hand out for you to take, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he raises it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
“My name’s Riki. Or Ni-Ki works too.”
“Where does the ‘NI” come from?” You hear Amu ask.
“It’s the first two letters of my last name, Nishimura. So that with the two last letters of my first name…”. God, that’s hot.
When you don’t speak, just staring back dazed, that’s when Amu decides to take her leave. Kissing the side of your neck, she announces that she’s going to get you more drinks but you know she’s giving you space to hook you up.
Your eyes don’t catch the way his narrow when she kisses you.
You’re nervous, Riki’s attention is intense even when you know he’s interested. He hasn’t let go of your hand either, instead he holds his free hand out for your other one. When you take it, he smoothly pulls you in, wrapping your arms around his neck as you simultaneously move together.
He’s firm, like he works out and it has you groaning inwardly. Your pulse is thrumming— making you hyper aware of everything. At the same time, you feel good.
Shivers scatter down your spine when you feel his hands smooth slowly down your back, stopping at the top of your ass before gliding back up. You sigh breathily at the feeling as he holds you tighter to the hard planes of his body, murmuring lowly in your ear,
“Gonna tell me your name, pretty girl?”
A flash of arousal shoots through you at the petname and you breathlessly give him your name. He rests his forehead on yours, repeating it back to you while his hands run back down, saying your name when he asks,
“Is this okay?”
Biting your lip, you nod and immediately after he’s gripping your ass, pressing you flush against him as you grind together. You wouldn’t ordinarily be this bold but you’re buzzed and Riki was so attractive— it wouldn’t kill anyone if you were a little irresponsible.
His hard length grinds against you and you nearly choke when you feel how big it is. When he does it again, your head tips back as you moan and it’s like something snaps. Plump lips meet your neck with open mouthed kisses, groaning drunkenly as he inhales.
“Fuck…you’re so sexy, baby—“, he rasps.
“Had me hard the whole time watching you…”
Whining, you feel your wetness soak through your panties when he laps up the column of your throat to slot over your mouth in a dizzying kiss.
It’s consuming off the bat, Riki’s broad tongue greedy and wet as he fills your mouth with it until you’re holding onto the back of his neck for stability. The sound the kiss makes when your tongues meet has his blood running hot, smacking his lips harder against yours as he palms the fat of your ass.
You moan into his mouth and he forces himself off your lips before he makes a scene out of you in the middle of the club.
“Come home with me”, he asks through heavy breaths. “I want you so bad…”
He’s kissing every inch of skin he can reach as he waits for your answer. You want to go but you don’t just want to leave Amu and make her worry. Looking around the room for that familiar pink pixie cut, you spot her at the bar sitting on the lap of a cat eyed boy with dimples as he orders her another drink.
Waving your hand at her from behind Riki’s head, she looks over quickly when you point down at the man licking between your cleavage and the door. She understands immediately, nodding aggressively and shooing you so hard she almost creates a breeze before holding up her phone.
Call me if you need me.
You give a thumbs up when you feel Riki’s mouth close around the side of your throat, audibly wet kisses before lapping up to kiss the underside of your ear. Clit throbbing, you reach up to pull his hair, forcing him to let go when you finally give him permission.
“Take me home?”
X
O
X
If Riki had a nice place you wouldn’t know because as soon as he gets you through the door he’s on you.
Lips, hands, teeth, tongue— all over you. Your body feels like one big nerve as he takes his time licking into your mouth, kissing you sloppy and drenched before marking you up. Sharp teeth border on painful when he buries his face in your neck to bite, soothing the burn with a hot lap over the indent.
“Mmm, I’m gonna fuck you so good…”,
A needy moan falls from your kiss swollen lips when he picks you up, carrying you to his room. You don’t know how it happens but by the time you hit the bed, you’re naked— left only in your drenched panties.
“Spread your legs f’me…”
Your body obeys as if on autopilot, letting Riki see the way the wet fabric hugs your pussylips.
“And so wet too… good girl.”
The praise lights you up, oozing pussy clenching around nothing while you watch him strip until he’s naked. Reaching towards him, he follows when you pull him into a slow, filthy kiss. Tilting your head to kiss him deeper as he slides his tongue in your mouth for you to suck, his hand coming up to curl around your throat when he pulls away with a wet slop.
“Open.” He purrs, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.
You obey again, letting his thumb pet your tongue before he grips your cheeks, leans down and spits.
A fresh coat of slick gushes out from your pussy. It should feel disgusting, you’re not usually like this…so why do you swallow it? Moaning for more as you look up into his dark eyes. His cock is dripping precum when he does it again, licking your mouth out only to spit back down your throat and kissing you as a reward when you swallow without him telling you to.
Eventually, your movements turn restless as your pussy throbs.
“Sorry…”, you apologize, like your jitters are an inconvenience and they’re anything but. On the contrary, Riki is loving how sensitive you are— soaking through your cute panties off a little bit of kissing.
“You’re okay, baby. I don’t mind.”
The low timbre of his voice is hypnotic as he suckles hungry kisses down your body, reveling the way your skin jumps beneath his lips when he gets to your cunt. Heat floods your face when you feel his warm breath cool against your skin from how wet you are, both embarrassed and aroused as he coos.
“Fuck, look at her…”, he leans closer, slipping them down off you so he can see her drip for him.
“Pretty, sloppy hole cryin’ for attention, hmm?”
Your mouth drops in a sharp gasp when Riki presses his nose to your cunt, inhaling deep until his eyes roll back, groaning deep in his chest.
“You smell delicious, pretty thing..”
Blood rushes through your ears as your heart pounds at the act. It’s almost too intimate for a one night stand but you like it too much to care. Arousal so thick it weighs you down like a blanket, pliant and warm when he spreads your pussylips to lick a hard stripe up your slit.
A broken moan shoots from your throat when he does it again— sloppily lapping from your hole to your clit, fluttering his tongue against the underside of the twitching nub before closing his mouth around it to suck. Your trembling hand flies to his hair as pleasure ricochets through your body.
Riki hums as your taste blossoms all over his tongue. He had a feeling before when he was watching you earlier with your friend but he’s positive now.
You’re perfect for him.
So sweet and good for him— he’s overwhelming you now but you’ll learn to crave it.
Another piercing cry bursts from you when he curls his tongue, grazing and flicking that hot pulsing spot nestled against your walls as you shake. Tears bud in your eyes from how good you feel, bliss shredding your nerves apart while he kisses your drooling hole— wearing your arousal like gloss before licking you off his lips.
Alternating between heavy laps and mean sucks, you feel your impending orgasm coming on so strongly it makes you sweat; crying out his name like it’s the only prayer you’ve ever bothered to learn. Popping off your swollen clit, Riki watches your face as he lets his tongue hang, teasing it up the length of your pussy when he asks,
“Cumming for me, gorgeous? Gonna make a mess?”
You are— it’s too good and you’re not strong enough to fight it. Even looking at his pretty face doing such an erotic thing brings you that much closer.
Tears fall freely now and in your haze, the hand not in his hair reaches for his hand and when he intertwines them with his, fucking your hole with his tongue as he swirls your clit in firm circles with his thumb, your chest burns as it caves from the force of your sobs— cumming so violently all your other senses check out and the only thing that reminds is Riki.
“Mmhmm”, he takes your cunt out of his mouth to praise you,
“Like that, baby”, another fat lick, “Want her to squirt in my mouth..” and he doesn’t let up until you do.
Treating your poor clit like a pacifier as you scream and cry until your makeup is ruined and your voice goes hoarse but he gets what he wants by your third orgasm. Closing his jaw with your clit between his teeth as he bites down, releasing to suck before the pain becomes too much and that’s what does it. Your entire body convulsing with incoherent warbled moans, pussy tightening like a vice as the building pressure pushes low in your abdomen and you gush— broken and delirious right into his greedy mouth.
The pleasure is brutal, leaving you raw and empty in its wake. You squeeze his hand as you try to brace through it but it’s no use, you’re falling apart too fast to catch even a piece of yourself.
Goosebumps break over Riki at how visceral you sound, completely gone as you go boneless, on the verge of passing out as he licks you clean, coming at the taste of you for the second time while he strokes his cock.
You don’t notice, but you didn’t notice he never let go of your hand either.
Poor thing, he thinks when he gets up to lean over top of you.
Your chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, hazy eyes stare unseeingly into his face as he grips your thighs, folding them to your chest. Riki taps your puffy clit with the fat head of his dick, watching your face as he switches; sliding it between your cum slick lips instead.
Reality returns to you in floaty lights above the head of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, exhausted as he peppers kisses all over your face, rolling his length between your lips, grazing your clit with every thrust. A shuddering moan has him biting his lip, leaning down to give you a kiss that’s less technique and more him licking your tongue.
Pulling away with a wet hiss, he opens his mouth and it’s your turn to spit and his cock jerks when it hits his pallet.He adjusts you one more time, knees almost to your ears when he brings his cock to your entrance and distantly you recall his size.
“You’re not gonna stretch me out first?”
Your voice is soft— slurred. Like your ears are still logged from the blood rushing through them when you came for him.
It’s cute.
Smiling adoringly down at you, Riki brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles.
“No, baby.”
“But won’t it hurt? You’re big, Ki…”
Closing his eyes, Riki has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check before opening them again.
“Mhmm…but you’ll like it.”
He remembers how you reacted to him biting your clit and knows you can take it. Pushing against your hole, you whine, nodding along with him.
“O-okay”, and he’s about to push in when you remember—
“Condom?”
Riki sighs, nuzzling into you neck as he kisses up to your ear.
“Don’t need it, I’m clean.” That’s not the entire point and he knows it, licking hotly into your ear like he already has what he wants.
“Me too but—“,
Riki pulls away to kiss you deeply, cutting you off as he rocks forward, sliding into your pussy while swallowing your moans from the stretch. He pulls away to watch your face melt in agonized bliss as he pushes in, inch by inch. The thoughts visibly leave you. He’s so big you struggle to accommodate him but you love it, already shaking when he grinds his pelvis against your clit, humming.
“What? Worried I’ll get you pregnant, baby?”
His taunt doesn’t even register, much less the words.
“O-ooh—“, you’re too busy going crazy.
The weight of him has your mouth watering, glossy eyes rolling back when he pulls out to slam back in, moaning with you.
“Fuck, she’s tight—!”
Folding you as deep as he can, Riki slams into you harder, fucking you into the mattress right off the bat. You take it but barely, crying again when he shifts, bullying your sweet spot until your brain drips out your ears. It’s one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen— your beautiful face drunk on his cock while he fucks you dumb.
“So hot, dripping around me…”
Wet to the point where it’s audible, debauched squelches ring in harmony with your moans every time he sinks in. You pray he doesn’t have neighbors because you’re loud— practically shrieking when he reaches down to spank your clit. Your body jolts and Riki watches more of your slick bubble around his cock— oh you liked that. A sick satisfaction washes over him.
“Little pain slut, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer when he strikes the pulsating nub again, harder. White-hot pleasure blinds you, turns you inside out when you sob, wailing his name. There’s no denying it, not when you’re cumming so hard you’re shaking. Eyes rolling back, Riki stuffs himself inside you to the hilt, letting your pretty pussy milk him.
“Fuck, yesss—“, he hisses through gritted teeth. Dropping his weight on you, he rides out your orgasms with another deep kiss, tongue practically down your throat as you gush brainlessly on him.
It’s heaven, you make him feel things he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s dangerous but you don’t have a clue, letting him flip you on your tummy and raise your hips as he starts again.
You’re so helpless like this— fucked out of your mind, no choice but to let him take you. It makes his teeth ache and he gives into the urge, burying his face in your throat to bite. Riki bites until you’re writhing, begging so sweetly that it hurts even as your creamy pussy drips down his balls anyway.
Almost in a trance, he bites you everywhere. Neck, shoulders, jaw, even your cheek. The pain paired with how overstimulated you were, you felt like you couldn’t so much as breathe without him as he marks you up.
It’s not long before you’re screaming that you can’t take it. It’s a lie; Riki knows you can because—
“You’re mine, baby. Your pussy was made for me.”
Red lights with the letters S T O P should’ve been flashing but when long fingers wind in your hair, pulling your head back enough so he can fit his arm around your throat, you crumble apart. The lack of oxygen and delicious thrusts have hearts swirling in your eyes, nothing but Riki on the brain and it’s perfect— you’re perfect. He doesn’t need you to think, just needs you.
“Tell me you’re mine, sweetheart. C’mon”, your walls spasm as he goes even harder on you, cologne mixing with the scent of sex.
“Tell me who you belong to— be my good girl, baby.”
He bites you again to hasten your answer, forcing his fat cock in you with devastating accuracy to your g spot. It hurts; aches in a way that makes your voice crack through your sobs when you moan out his name.
“Y- you”, Riki’s broad tongue laps behind your ear, a satisfied purr shakes his chest at your submission.
“M’ yours…Niki—“, he groans, releasing you in favor of shoving your face into the pillows, railing you now. You’re his, only for him, you said it.
His strokes are painfully good, rocking your body with the force, moaning deep when you start to squirt around him. Liquid pushes out of you with startling force, walls twitching and throbbing around him as his pace grows erratic.
“Yeah pretty, you’re mine— no one else is can have you”, Red flags don’t matter if you’re colorblind when tipsy.
You’re shaking but he doesn’t stop, using you like a ragdoll, even as the prolonged stimulation has you climaxing again, gripping the sheets as you’re tortured with orgasm after orgasm. Everything’s buzzing, it’s hot, you’re gonna pass out but he doesn’t mind so long as he’s the first thing you see when you wake up.
“Ah! Fuck—“, his hips slap flush to your ass one more time, seating his cock in your guts when he cums, warming you from the inside out from how much he shoots and you reach your limit, falling into unconsciousness as exhaustion claims you.
Nuzzling against your hot cheek, Riki notices the uneven flow of your breathing, pretty eyes that stay closed even when he calls your name.
He doesn’t panic, he knows he was hard on you for your first time together. Post orgasm bliss and affection swell in his chest as he carefully slides out of you. His cum immediately seeps out of your gaping hole and he holds back on licking you clean.
“Later…”
Riki is soft as he gets a warm, wet cloth to clean you with, carefully not to press too hard on sensitive areas before cleaning himself off too. Scooping you up again, your sleepy whine has him pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he grabs your dress off the floor, carrying you to sleep with him in the guest room.
Lying you down, he pulls the comforter down so he can tuck you underneath it, sliding in after you. His lips are gentle on your forehead as he kisses it, eyelids heavy.
“Mine— just for me. I’ll kill whoever before I let them have you.”
O
O
—
You wake up on top of a warm surface.
Blinking in confusion, you groan softly when you shift just the slightest, body sore.
Looking down, you notice you’re completely naked and so is Riki. Your eyes flit up to his face to find him sleeping peacefully. Heat pools up your chest when the events of last night flash through your mind. The biting, the stretch, the way he spoke to you— handled you.
A flustered smile appears on your lips as you silently lean up, brushing his hair off his forehead as you kiss it. Slowly, you stand on shaky legs, looking around the room for your things. You’re careful not to wake him as you slide your dress on, grabbing your phone next to his.
You’d stay but the one time you did only for the guy to less than subtly hint that you’d overstayed your welcome.
“So, you need an Uber or…?”
It was so embarrassing, the cold humiliation like he hadn’t seen you naked merely hours before and you saw him the same. Riki was sweet but you couldn’t say you necessarily trusted him— you only met last night. So, looking back at his handsome sleeping self one last time, you go press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering.
“Goodbye, Riki”.
Then you slip on your heels and slip out the door.
X
O
When you got home, Amu couldn’t believe her eyes. Gasping as she took in your wrecked appearance with a delighted squeal.
“Ooh— I knew he fucked!”
You roll your eyes, trying and failing to hide the beaming smile as you headed towards the bathroom, the pink haired girl hot on your heels. In the bathroom, you try to close the door on her but she pushes her way inside, watching with shining eyes as you pee.
“What? I’ve seen it all already”, she sighs dreamily. “I remember your last birthday gift to me oh so fondly…”
Heat blooms in your chest, shooting her a weak glare through wide eyes as you hiss her name. She ignores the warning, smiling prettily as you wipe and close the lid before you flush.
“Damn, is he a vampire?” She pokes your neck until you flinch away. “Look at all those bites—“
You can’t avoid her forever though because she doesn’t move off the sink when you go to wash your hands, forcing your arms around her to operate the sink.
“Come on… tell me yours and I’ll tell you mines”.
Oh yeah— you briefly remember she was with a hot guy herself before you left. You caught a glimpse of dimples and cat like eyes before Riki was ushering you out the door.
“His name is Jungwon, a friend of your guy, he told me….” That makes you look at her.
Drying your hands for you and following you to your room, Amu gets comfortable on your bed as she pats the empty space next to her, smiling at you when you go with a heavy sigh.
It’s silent for a beat.
Then it’s not.
“…my clit is still sore—“,
Amu screams, hands flying to her mouth as you begin tell her about your night.
“Oh! Insane way to start this off!” Fanning herself, she snaps her fingers at you, yelling excitedly. “Let’s get itttt!”
Sitting criscross, her energy is infectious as you smile back. Taking a deep breath before you continue. Keeping in mind you don’t remember everything he said during since you had been drinking prior but what you do remember has her getting louder after every detail and when you get to his…
She nearly faints.
X
O
X
A little over a week goes by and your life goes on.
Work is still annoying but unfortunately too well paying for you to quit. You haven’t been out for another girls night either, simply too busy and Amu whines the same as always.
Once she learned that you snuck out after your fling with Riki, she stopped talking to Jungwon too even after you told her she didn’t have to.
“Nonsense— it’s called solidarity.” She said and that was the end of it.
Things don’t get weird until the start of the third week.
First, it’s in passing; when you next see him. You’re at a popular shopping center, looking for something cute to wear for your office’s upcoming meeting. Usually, you wouldn’t care to put in the effort but the new hire had you singing a different tune.
He was good looking, funny, always brought you different coffees and held doors for you— in short, he was sweet. Not at all shy about his attraction to you.
There’s nothing on the current floor that caught your eye, so letting out a huff, you look up the escalator to the second floor stores. Your eyes pass the people on it when they land on a familiar face. But it seems that by the time you see him, he’s already looking at you. Dark eyes and plump grinning lips, lifting his hands to wave as if he hadn’t taken you apart and since left you wet every time you woke up.
Dumbstruck, you freeze. Awkwardly waving back as he makes his way over to you. He’s a natural attention grabber, various eyes track his smooth movements. Your nerves are tangible, being put on the spot but he revels in it, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Low voice mumbling,
“I missed you, baby.”
Oh god.
Hot arousal flares through your body, leaving you warm all the way to your toes. You clear your throat, heart pounding in your chest at how familiarly he addresses you. A confused giggle forces past your lips, as you furrow your brows.
“What’s to miss? I was a one night stand.”
Keeping your tone light, you don’t want to hurt his feelings but the truth was that all good things must come to an end. Riki tilts his head, confused while a frown appears on his lips.
“You’re not just some one night stand”,
He sneers the term out like it insults him. It takes you off guard, looking around to make sure you two aren’t making a scene before grabbing his arm to pull him with you. Almost too eagerly, he lets you.
“Riki…”, you trail off, unsure of where to start. The tall man follows you off the escalator onto the second floor, next to you like distance is a cursed notion as you walk into another women’s clothing store—straight to the back to reason with him in privacy.
“You don’t like me—“,
“Yes I do.” He cuts you off, grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it just like he did weeks ago. It has the same effect and you’re not strong enough to pull away because part of you really is attracted to him.
“You don’t know anything about me— you like what we did together, not me as a person.”
Forcing yourself not to flinch away from the hurt look on his face, you stand your ground, reminding yourself that this is necessary. Emotions swirl through you. Guilt, attraction, arousal, need— it’s confusing.
Riki’s silence only puts you further on edge.
Why was he taking this so hard? You two are strangers. And besides, wouldn’t it be hard to have a serious relationship with someone you had sex with within the first hour of meeting them?
“I know I like you.” You groan but he ignores it.
“You think I don’t know anything about you? Try me.”
A huff of disbelief escapes you, thinking he’s bluffing but he remains firm until you ask him something.
“Where do I work?”
Riki doesn’t miss a beat.
“A marketing firm.”
Your eyes widen. There’s no way—
He’s exactly right.
Your world skids to a stop, hearing blood in your ears as your heart plummets cold in your stomach while he grins at you. A lucky guess? No, it’s more than that as he goes on to tell you your favorite food, favorite weather— that you’re not a morning person because you’re more productive at night and even the color your toes are painted right now. But how? You haven’t seen him in weeks. Blinking in confusion as you look at him.
“H-how—?”
“Because I’m exactly right for you.”
His gaze is unwavering, a long finger hooks under your chin so he can look at the face he’s been watching from afar.
“It’s fine if you don’t see it now but soon you will.”
An unsettling shiver runs down your spine. Wide eyes lock on him, fear and something hotter make your stomach turn. You’re both terrified and wanting, scared and intrigued. The pull makes you hesitant, unable to decide on whether he’s a threat or not. Even on the slim chance he isn’t, Riki is still dangerous— you just don’t know how.
Do you want to find out?
Cooing softly, Riki cups your cheek. It’s just as soft as he remembers and you smell just as sweet too. Your heart is in your throat when he leans down, plush lips brushing yours once, twice before pressing them to yours fully. You barely get the chance to kiss him back when he pulls away to whisper against your panting mouth.
“You kissed my forehead and didn’t even stay..”
His words pull a shocked gasp from your lips.
“Y-you were awake?” He shakes his head no, dipping his head to ghost his lips across your mouth.
“But I felt you.”
Then he’s kissing you again— this time like he means it.
You should push him away. There’s too many questions, you two are in public…
Plump lips suck your bottom lip, then your top, warmth flooding your spinning head as you melt, clumsily copying his movements.
Large hands grip your waist, holding you close as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth, a shiver wracking your nerves. Your fingers grip his shirt as he kisses you slow and deep, tongue coaxing against yours before pulling away with a hungry suck. You have to swallow the moan that almost falls out while he buries his face in your neck— gently nipping at your collarbone.
“You’re confused now but you’ll see.” He pulls back to look at you one more time, kissing you softly again.
“Be good for me until then, okay sweets?”
You’re paranoid and aroused watching him go, back down the escalator until he’s out of sight. Letting out a heavy sigh as you remember where you are, you peek out from where you are. Two women with red faces cough in their fists awkwardly before rushing in opposite directions. The third heads to the register, looking awfully busy all of the sudden and you sigh, embarrassment making you bold as you yell out,
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
The girl at the register shares a look with the others.
“Looked the opposite to me…”
“As hot as he is?”
“If I didn’t have a husband, he could be my boyfriend.”
You all look at the older woman who suddenly spoke, 70s with grey hairs and a walker as she laughs jovially.
“What? Tall, good looking men who know what they want are hard to find.”
A startled laugh bubbles from you as you shake your head. The problem wasn’t that Riki knew what he wanted but what he’d be like in order to get it.
In the end, you leave the center with a headache and no dress— unable to shake them image of striking dark eyes following your every move.
X
O
When you tell Amu, she’s uncharacteristically quiet. Listening carefully as you tell her what happened. There’s no jokes, just her watching you pace nervously. Your hands gesturing wildly until she gets up to hold you still. anchoring you before you spiral too bad.
“Hey—breathe, honey.” She guides you closer to her chest so you can copy her steady breathing.
“There we go. Slowly. Need you to calm down for me. I’ve got you.”
Keeping her voice low and soft, Amu talks to you like she would a spooked animal. She reassures you that she didn’t tell Jungwon anything personal about you for him to tell Riki, so there’s no way he’d know all that stuff from earlier off him. That doesn’t help, instead it leaves even more blanks. She doesn’t want to make your anxiety worse so she ends it with a gentle warning.
“Hopefully today was just a coincidence but be careful. I don’t like how he’s so….”,
Clingy? Knowing? Intense? Possessive? Scary?
The silence says all that and more when she pinches her lips in at the tired look you give her.
“Yeah…”
You hope it’s all some really weird fluked coincidence but a nagging feeling creeps in that it’s only the beginning.
Amu takes another deep breath as she holds you, chin resting on the top of your head when she mumbles, “I guess now would be a bad time to tell you Jungwon sent me money and well shot pictures of his dick and new haircut?”
You go silent.
Amu stiffens.
“I’m scared for my life while my best friend—“, she calls your name, letting go so she can back up before you blow as you continue.
“—is being lured over to the dark side by dick and dimples?!”
You’re tired but not enough to keep you from yelling before you chase her, enjoying the normalcy while you can.
X
O
X
It wasn’t the cold terror that got you, it was the paranoia.
You were naturally an overthinker at heart. Running scenarios and possible reactions through your head multiple times was beneficial in that it helped you prepare for the worst. At the same time, it could also be a cage and the stick that slid through the bars to poke you, making sure you stayed on edge.
Which you seemed to be a lot these days.
Jumpy.
Cautious.
Paranoid.
No matter what you did or how you’d try to calm down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. And just when that feeling would built, making you frantically search your surroundings, you’d see him.
Riki.
always staring back at you.
Sometimes he’d come up to you, pet your cheek and tell you he missed you. Like he was more than what he’d been or was supposed to be—a one night stand. Each time, your traitorous heart would flutter looking into his mesmerizing face.
One time, when he approached, you stepped back before he could make any physical contact with you to which he only followed. Standing in between your feet as he stood so close he could feel you breathe, then he held your face, softly asking what was wrong. To outsiders, he looked like a loving boyfriend concerned for his girlfriend but the reality was something much darker.
He was always there. Whether you wanted him or not.
Walking home from work, at the convenience stores, the park, library, on the bus in passing—you saw Riki everywhere. It was driving you crazy. Amu was going through it too, having to change phone numbers because Jungwon wouldn’t stop blowing it up and when she blocked him, he’d just do the same thing from a burner but at least he wasn’t practically living in her shadow.
“Hey”, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a familiar hand on your shoulder.
Blinking, you look up to see the new hire. Kihyun. Relief washes over you as you smile back at him. His hand is warm and grounding, drifting across your back in soothing motions.
“I’ve been calling you but you were zoned out.” You pause, stiffening before letting out a tired sigh.
“Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping too well…”, and how could you? As soon as you lay down you feel Riki’s hands; hear his voice rasping filthy praise hotly in your ear, see him bite his lip as he tips his head back— sweat beading down the column of his throat before he cums. Even when he’s not there, he haunts you.
Kihyun frowns, looking at you in concern before dropping down next to your desk to offer,
“Wanna talk about it?” You wince.
“Not really.” And Kihyun— sweet, angelic, non-obsessive Kihyun simply nods in understanding. He doesn’t push you, doesn’t ask more questions about it or look at you differently and you’re grateful. His voice is nice as he changes the topic altogether, filling you in on the last office drama and for a second everything is okay.
You sit and gossip, work a little then gossip some more. He touches you sometimes and they linger, as if testing the soft tension between you. Just his presence soothes you so you’re sad when he invites you to drinks afterwards with him and the other office members and you decline.
“I just don’t think I’m in the right headspace right now, maybe later?” He looks a bit dejected and it makes your chest hurt—rushing to add,
“Just the two of us?”
His head snaps up, smiling almost blindingly as he nods. It’s cute.
After a while, you decide you’re done for the day. Shutting down your computer while Kihyun tidies the area and helps you get your things. Walking out the building together, he’s so close your shoulders touch, rambling about places you two should go to. Your heart flutters but it doesn’t pound and maybe that’s for the best.
The others come out a few minutes later but going the opposite direction and you two share a look.
“Looks like that’s your cue. You wouldn’t hold your liver back on my account, right?” His smile is heart stopping as he looks at you, shaking his head.
“Never.”
Then he does the pleasantly unsuspected. Leaning towards you, you get a whiff of his cologne when he presses a tender kiss to your cheek. Warmth blooms from your chest up to your cheeks, ears burning while your heartbeat quickens. A soft gasp spills from your lips and his breath tickles your ear when he huffs a gentle laugh.
“I hope we’ll go out soon.”
Pulling away, he watches you nod, pleased at how he’s visibly flustered you before heading off with the others as the sun begins to set. You have no idea how long you stand there. Jittery nerves, racing heart, and the crushing realization that you don’t know what to do.
So, you do the only thing you can do for now.
Go home.
The air is warm and it’s peacefully quiet, none of the cold terror that’s been following you day and night. Your thoughts drift as you walk, humming softly when your cheek still tingles. It’s so ridiculous, being this brightened by a kiss on the cheek from a guy you’re fond of but it feels so nice you can’t bring yourself to care, giggling quietly to yourself.
“Is he funnier than me?”
Before you can turn, a hand claps over your mouth, dragging you into the narrow alleyway, off the street. Your heart falls to your ass as you struggle, feeling a hard body press tight to yours, keeping you against the wall. Blood pounds in your ear drums while the worse scenarios run through your mind.
Each more terrifying than the last— you slam your eyes closed to block out the images, tears starting to flow. That’s then the hand leaves your mouth to cup your cheek, the one Kihyun kissed, softly shushing you until you force yourself to quiet.
“Shhh, you’re okay baby…”, your eyes snap open at the sound of his voice.”
“It’s just me.” If anything, the panic comes back with a vengeance, making your voice shake when you say his name.
“Niki?”
He hums, looking at your tear streaked face with an expression you can’t name. It terrifies you all the same. He looks good because of course he does and for a second you wished he was normal because you’d like him then. If he wasn’t fucking crazy he’d have a guarantee of being your boyfriend instead of the one night stand from hell.
When Riki finally speaks, his voice is deceptively soft.
“Who was that?”
The blood drains from your body so fast it leaves you weak as you start to tremble. He means Kihyun. For some reason, you don’t want to tell him his name. It could be you being paranoid but you know if you do, you’d be putting him in danger. Taking a deep breath, you ask who.
“That guy. He was all over you— like you belonged to him and not me.”
He sneers before leaning in to trace your jaw with his lips, tongue falling out to lap at your racing pulse. Your heart skips a beat and against every instinct you know, your cunt throbs. It’s humiliating and more frightening than you can stand but you stay quiet and that just won’t do.
Letting go of your face, his hand lowers to wrap around your throat. Fear seizes you as you go completely still. His hand is so big it spans your neck completely, fingers tightening slightly.
“Say it.”
You hesitate.
“I-I—“, Riki’s expression hardens, pushing you more against the wall.
“You said it then—screamed it too. I want you to say it again now”, his tone leaves no room for argument, discussion or sane thinking, overwhelming you.
“Tell me you’re mine, baby.”
What if you say it just to get him off your case? You stop yourself before you can because he’s the type to take an inch out of a mile and he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to do it. Spreading your fingers, Riki’s chest is firm under your trembling hands and before you can even think of pushing him away—
“Don’t run, you’ll only make me chase you.”
It’s both a threat and a promise, one you can’t break ever. A sob breaks from your chest, devastated and hopeless. Riki comforts you, kissing your face and whispering gently like he’s not the cause of your misery but at the same time your heart swells at how sweetly he consoles you.
“Just need to hear it, sweets, then I’ll make it better.”
He lets you cry it out, patiently and soothingly. Truth be told, he’s hard right now because the only other time he remembers you crying was in his bed, covered in his marks. You were so lovely but especially when you cried.
The hug tightens, comforting and suffocating.
“W-what”, you want to ask what he wants from you but you already know. Asking would only make him think you’re giving it to him. But how long could you realistically hold out? You can’t avoid him forever— can’t avoid the things you push out when you see him forever either. It’s late, you’re tired.
This round will just have to go to him.
“I-“, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I want you to stop following me everywhere.”
It goes silent before he pulls back to look at you. A dark smile creeps across his face.
“No. I want to be wherever you are.” Frustration bubbles up inside you and you snap, all your emotions explode at their breaking point.
“Why?! It was one night— what don’t you get!”
He doesn’t yell back, simply shakes his head like you’re the one who doesn’t get it, before murmuring.
“It’s not my fault”,
“You are mine. You’re the reason I’m like this—the way you make me feel I don’t want any guy feeling like that about you and you aren’t allowed to feel that way about them either.”
You scoff in disbelief. Not allowed? He really is nuts.
“Today is proof. I leave you alone for a second —“, bullshit because you know he never left. “And they all come running to try and take you away from me, like that guy.”
Kihyun— but you won’t dare say another man’s name now.
Riki huffs, dropping his head to where your neck meets your shoulder, inhaling deeply as he calms down. It’s like your scent soothes him, grip loosening as he messily starts to suckle the skin there and a switch flips.
“I missed you.”
His kisses move across your neck after fingers wind in to pull your head back, exposing your throat to his hungry mouth, tongue licking up the expanse until he reaches your lips. Your head spins, confused, scared, guilty too because underneath the fact that you know you need to be as far away from Riki as possible— you want him.
A shiver licks up your spine at his tongue in your mouth, wet lips sliding together, cunt giving a painful throb when he groans in your throat. You tried so hard not to think about that night but she remembered, craving him ever since. So maybe that’s why when he pulls away, licking the string of spit away, your mouth moves before you can stop it.
“I missed you too…”
Riki’s eyes light up, this is the first time you said it back.
Your eyes are red and glossy, pretty face tired and miserable but you mean it. He’s always around but it paled to the attention he gave you when he was close. It’s dangerous this way, letting him pull you in just so you push deep and fall back into him anyways.
What’s worse is that you can’t even explain it. The pull. Yes, he’s attractive and you like his voice and the way he laughs and his single minded affection for you but what else. Why is it so hard for you not to give in?
Your head already hurts, just think about it later.
Hands find your waist as lifts you against the wall, your fingers running through his hair as he kisses you until his air becomes yours. Body temperatures rising, Riki moves his lips harder against yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, growling when he feels your tongue swipe across his teeth.
He pulls away panting, forehead to yours when he pleads,
“Please, baby…”, your resolve shatters at the soft kiss to the swell of your cheek.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
And you do.
Riki swarms you seconds after, high off of how you give in.
His hands and lips are everywhere, kissing your face and hands, neck all the way down your stomach as he drops to his knees. Heat plummets to your core when he pushes your skirt up to bury his face in your pussy, huffing your scent like an addict, a heady moan spills through his lips.
“Fuck, you smell so good...”
Biting your lip to hold back your noises, acutely aware that even though it’s dark out now, you’re still in public.
“Niki—what if s-someone sees?”
He shakes his head, ripping your pantyhose right at the middle so he can do the same to your underwear. Mouth watering when he sees your pussy again, wasting no time as he drags the flat of his tongue through your wet folds. Oh, how he missed your taste.
“If anyone sees, I’ll kill them.”
You freeze but he keeps going, sucking and biting, he whines when you try to push him back, nipping your clit in retaliation.
The pleasure is debilitating as he laps into you again, his tongue dipping shallowly into your soaked hole before flicking the underside of your clit. You gasp, chest tipping forward at his mouth suctioning over the nub, grinding his tongue against it as he sucks hard making you scream, high and desperate.
Wet smacks and slurps with pussydrunk groans from Riki vibrate your cunt—bringing you even closer as you shake, pulling his hair while he palms his dick through his pants before pulling it out altogether.
It’s debased— the way he goes at it. Sucking you off on his knees while messily stroking his fat cock all because you told him you’re his and that you missed him. At the same time, it’s also kinda poetic; how only you can make him this pathetic.
Broken moans burst from your chest when you’re cumming, grinding your pussy back and forth on his tongue. It’s bright and consuming, washing away everything but bliss and the man who dies to have you.
Riki’s mouth down to his neck are soaked in your cum as he sloppily licks you clean, jaw working hypnotically as he cums seconds later off your taste and you’re just as bad because you watch. Even after he’s done, resting his head on your leg, you don’t leave him— no you let him stay on his knees at your feet like you’re the only thing worth breathing for.
You’re scared but for a different reason entirely this time when you ask so softly the wind almost catches it,
“Would you seriously kill over me?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The monster before is nothing compared the monster you’ve created now.
X
O
X
O
From then on, things began to spiral.
You only leave the house when you absolutely have to and you keep your relationships close as possible starting with Amu. After what happened between you and Riki the last time you ran into him, you can’t put it past him to not harm people he felt would take you away.
When you got home that night, she practically flew into your arms, worried out of her mind as she cried. The sound of her sobs broke your heart as you held her.
“And it just got later and later and you weren’t picking up the phone and your office hadn’t seen you either and I thought—“,
You know. She knows.
All the times you called her losing your mind when you’d see him and she’d come speeding to get you, witnessing firsthand the unnerving compulsion Riki had towards you. It’s also when you make the decision to not tell her everything that happened or your conversation, telling her some but not all since you were still coming to grips with it yourself.
That as much as you want Riki gone, you need him close which is dangerous; even more than him.
In short, you become a ghost. Work, home and that’s it. You leave before anyone else at work especially before Kihyun.
You don’t hit the club or go shopping, if you need something, you have it delivered and frequent check ins with Amu when she’s not home. For the sake of both your sanities, the humongous bouquets of flowers Jungwon regularly sends stay outside until someone takes them and absolutely no picking up calls from anyone not in the contacts.
Anytime you even think of the name starting with R or a face with too full lips, you run to the shower. Standing under an ice cold spray and physically washing him off you. You don’t care if it’s crazy, it’ll never be as insane as him so it’ll have to do.
Today you’re at work but half the usual office is gone since today marks the first day of the internship program they do.
Only a handful of workers who have been longer than a year are allowed to stay and work with them which you qualify for. They’re nice, shaking hands and speaking carefully, overly polite in the way you are when you’re new somewhere.
It’s a nice change of pace, calm even.
They have lunch together, nerves and smiles as you decide to pull in for the day, knowing your other senior peers can handle it. You’re walking out the building when another intern is just now walking back in.
He’s unfortunately, ridiculously cute. Your mouth drops for a second before you remember to be professional. His hair is the kind of blond that’s almost white, a pretty nose, not just tall but broad too and when he smiles you could swoon. The tag on his shirt that’s given to interns reads, ‘H. Kai’. He smiles and you’re smiling too as you pass, greeting him sweetly.
“Hi.”
A soft pink blushes his cheeks when he nods at you, saying it back softly as you go.
When you turn the corner, you freeze. It’s Riki and he doesn’t look happy.
A cold, still rage darkens his face and you have to tackle the urge to run.
“Ni—“,
“Who’s that guy you just said hi to?”
Your mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out, heart beginning to race as he stares you down.
“Why were you smiling at him like that?”
Backing up, you try to create at least a little distance but he’s right there, gaze endless and seething. Of all the times he’s accosted you, you’ve only seen him angry when it comes to other men. You don’t know why it took you so long to connect the dots.
“You’re jealous.”
The look he gives you could chill hell into an ice age, grabbing you by your wrist as he pulls you with him. Panic burns through your chest as he stays silent and no matter how hard you pull or claw at his fingers, you can’t break free. Riki doesn’t stop until you’re somewhere he deems secluded enough, grabbing your face to pull you into a rough kiss.
When you try to move your head away, he just follows you, moving to hold the back of your head so you have no other choice but to accept his kiss. Between the initial burst of fear and anxiety paired with your thrumming heart, you run out of air fast. Lungs burning while Riki kisses you even deeper.
Opening your mouth to try and breathe, Riki covers it with his before sliding his tongue in, petting the roof of your mouth as your ears begin to ring— heart hammering. You can’t breathe. Not when he’s blocking it like this. Dizziness starts to overtake you as a minute goes by then another and another.
You’re limp against him, black spots dancing in your darkening vision. He supports you, holds your body up while you start to lose consciousness, licking into your open mouth like he’s trying to get the last bits of honey out of a jar.
Only after does he pull away, licking his lips contently.
Now, you come with him.
X
O
X
O
The first thing that comes to you is that you have terrible taste in men.
If you picked the safer choice instead of the hotter one, you wouldn’t be waking up in the bed of your one night stand who turned out to be a complete psychopath but here you are. Riki watches you come to consciousness laying next to you, eyes soft as you blink drowsily. Has he been watching you sleep this whole time?
“W-what—“ your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton when you talk. “What’s going on? We’re…?”
He gets up to pass you a drink off the bedside table, holding the straw between your lips as you start to drink a bit but stop as you look at him.
“It’s okay, I didnt do anything weird to it.” To prove it, he takes a few sips before bringing it back to your lips. It’s unsettling, the way he watches you drink the chilled liquid with utter adoration in his eyes. When you’ve had enough, you pull away and he puts it back on the nightstand as you slowly sit up as you remember.
“You made me pass out.”
Sensing the distance you’re trying to put between you, Riki gently guides you back down on the bed, staying on top of you to keep you where he wants you. He doesn’t deny it, merely nodding as if it’s something that’s okay to do.
“I did”, nosing along your jaw, you shiver when you feel his breath.
“But it’s not my fault”, you have to close your eyes as his tongue curl around your pulse, smacking a wet kiss to it.
“It’s because of you.”
Heat begins to lap at your skin and you try to push him away. It doesn’t do anything but make him grab your hands, moving them to the nape of his neck when he brings his head under your shirt.
This was the worst possible day to go without a bra because the first lick has you saying fuck it as you throw caution to the wind. Riki can feel the pounding of your heart as he kisses over your breasts, first your left then your right. Your body begins to tingle as his kisses grow wetter around your nipples, moaning breathily. You watch his head move beneath your shirt, grinding down against your pussy whenever you jolt at a particularly hard bite.
Licking the flat of his tongue against the swollen buds, Riki goes nice and slow so you can really feel it before his teeth close over it, sending electricity up your spine as you cry out—fingers digging into his neck. The leftover ache stings, blooming pain that makes you so wet when he slides your nipples from between his teeth to soothe them with generous wet laps of tongue.
Your eyes glaze over as he repeats the ministrations, moaning his name and it’s euphoric to him. Capturing a nipple between his teeth, he tugs, making you scream before releasing it, watching it jiggle back into place as he laps at it in apology. Large hands under your lower back push your body up flush to his so when he rolls his hips into you, you feel everything.
It’s impossible to get over how big he is, you think. Your head is all floaty, high off the intoxicating mix of pain with pleasure. Starry eyes flutter back because it feels like you’re being eaten alive in the best ways possible. Riki’s mouth is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as watery cries spill from your throat.
You hips twitch up, clothes adding friction as his cock catches on your clit. The reaction is instantaneous— your back arches while your thighs tremble, squeezing his hips.
“Riki—!”
His rhythm doesn’t falter at your out of pace hips, rocking with you until your voice pitches, lapping and biting your chest as your orgasm slams through you. Mouth dropping in a shrill moan, your nipples burning even as he licks them, the buds puffy and stiff from his overwhelming attention.
He reappears from under your shirt to watch your face as you cum because of him. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glossy and unfocused while you cry so so prettily for him. Almost feral, Riki rips your shirt open.
The air is cool against your stinging oversensitive nipples, pussy throbbing in the aftershock. It’s hot and his shirt is the next to go, whipping it off to reveal his toned torso before dropping down to kiss you.
Unlike his other kisses, this one screams possession—that you’re his and his alone.
No saying hi to any guys that aren’t him.
No smiling at any guys that aren’t him.
He’ll kill them and keep you.
Your skirt is next, followed by your wet panties. Sliding the fabric off, he doesn’t toss them, instead he holds them to his face as your cheeks burn when he inhales— groaning rough and ruined in his chest. A shaky breath pushes from your lungs, eyes wide as he strips out of his pants and boxers to stand in front of you naked.
Everything suddenly feels more real.
The fact that you shouldn’t be here with him like this because he’s obsessed, Amu is probably blowing your phone up, but most importantly he’s dangerous. Nothing good can possibly come from a relationship with him, right?
Fingers wrap around your ankles while you’re lost in thought, letting out a startled shriek when he yanks you to him. You open your mouth to protest but Riki cuts you off with another melty kiss, toned arms trapping you in. He pulls away rub the tips of your noses together, the way he almost stares into you shakes everything about the way you thought you felt.
“Don’t say no…”
You can’t.
Not when you feel the way you do, pulling him down for a kiss instead, whining into his mouth as he hooks your legs over his shoulders. The head of his cock meets your entrance but he doesn’t push in immediately.
“I like you so much, pretty…”, you feel your eyes start to water as you nod, emotions swirling.
“I’ve never been this out of my mind until I met you”, he kisses you again, sweetly as he rocks his hips forward. The pressure pops, leaving just the tip inside as you moan in unison, holding onto him through the burn of the stretch.
You shiver, that sweltering heat back with a new kind of force, making your walls pulsate around him as if begging him for more. Riki doesn’t yet, holding back as he tells you again,
“I like you.”
Sniffling wetly, you nod at him, dazed and so torn as you stare into his face.
“I know.”
He pushes in more, hissing at how your soaked pussy hugs tight around him. This might be the worst decision of your life but you can’t take it anymore. The running, the hiding, the constant fear of looking over your shoulder and pretending like your heart doesn’t flutter even before it drops when you see him.
Everything’s so overwhelming, you feel full and empty at the same time as you cling to him. Riki is big so he has to force himself in a bit, moaning when you flutter around him. The sound is pained and wrecked by how badly he’d been needing this—needing you and now you’re here, right where you should be.
“Like me back”, he whines, pelvis flush to yours before he pulls out to slam his hips forward, hitting that spot that makes you sob and the sound makes him lose it.
You’re so fucking wet, strings of your slick drip off his cock every time he pulls out, wetting him up as he fucks you with deep, smooth strokes. The drag of his cock is intense, turning your brain to mush when it pulls against your snug walls in dizzying fullness.
“So tight— nobody else, baby?”
Gritting out the question through tight teeth as he bullies his cock in, making it fit with every brutal thrust. You’re completely delirious, already on the brink of another soul ending orgasm but much to his delight you shake your head, panting.
“N- ngh! No…jus’ you—!” Or better translated, you haven’t let anyone touch you since the night you spent with him and his eyes flash.
“Ohhh, good girl”, he breaths, eyes rolling when your pussy spurts more slick at the petname. “My good fuckin’ girl, yeah?” You sob, overwhelmed with pleasure.
“Ah!—uh huh!”
His smile is too angelic for the devilish way he manipulates your body. Angling your hips up, he settles into a pace that has him knocking into that tender spot nestled inside you with ease. Struggling to even breathe, your warbled moans turn shrill when his pelvis slams against your clit more.
A vulgar, almost inhuman sound forces it’s way from your throat and it makes Riki’s spine tingle. Bending down to catch you in a kiss full of spit and tongue, your eyes roll straight into the back of your head while your stuffed cunt sensitively flutters around him as you cum.
Your orgasm takes you in a way that wipes you clean, turning you into a blank slate— stars dancing in your vision as you drool, falling limp on the sheets.
Riki watches you die and come back alive in real time, a bottomless hunger in his blown pupils as he’s consumed with the need to have you until you’re in his bones, holding back his orgasm off sheer will alone.
You’re a mess— sobbing, screaming, squirting and begging when he starts back up. The steady push and pull of his heavy cock in your pulpy cunt drives you off the cliffs of your sanity as you claw at him. Pain lights across your nervous system when you feel him bite, the same as last time, marking you so viciously you almost bleed before he’s licking the indents.
“You are mine”, he rumbles, voice low and distant. “You belong only to me…”
He fucks you like he’s trying to prove it to you, like there’s no other way of life for him without you in it.
The steady thrusts turn rattling as your greedy cunt swallows him whole. There won’t be anymore confusion after this, you’ll stay his this time but what scares you is that you want it, cumming at just the thought of being kept like this all the time. His and his alone while his rhythm becomes frantic, fueled by desperation as he begs.
“Please”, Riki kisses his marks before kissing your lips, gasping as he fights how he’s unraveling.
“Please like me back”, When he kisses you again, you kiss back just as fervently, lapping at each others tongues between hot moans as you rasp his name and finally stop fighting yourself.
“I do like you—“, a guttural groan shreds his chest apart when he cums, burrowing himself into you as deep as he can when you’re suddenly flooding with warmth.
He’s already too big but now he’s too deep, sending your cunt into a pulsating episode, squeezing down on his cock so violently your screams make your own ears ring. Riki refuses to stop, pumping his hips to ride out the mind-numbing waves of ecstasy as your pussy erupts, spraying his abs in your cum.
Blindly, you smack his arm, trying to make him realize that he needs to pull the fuck out because the pressure on your guts is too much when he rocks forward—sending you into another squirting fit as you become pure static.
“I love you”, he coos, making you take it with hearts in his eyes. “My pretty girl…”
By the time he decides you’re done, the bed is beyond saving and you’re a puff of air away from being comatose while your soul enjoys a round trip out of your body.
Riki is extra soft then, feeling a bit guilty for overdoing it again after you admitted that you like him. You’re so still it makes him nervous but you’re breathing and that’s what counts. Kissing your cheeks, then forehead, down the bridge of your nose to your lips, he nuzzles you one last time.
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna draw a bath for us.”
He watches your breathing even out before he goes, steps light.
X
O
Warm water and gentle lights greet you when you wake up, blinking blearily as you look around the space.
“Feel okay, baby?”
Riki whispers against the back of your shoulder, kissing the skin softly. Strangely, there’s no rush to get away from him, leaning back into his arms among the sweet scented bubbles as you nod.
“Never better.”
Before you can relax too much, you remember something important,
“My phone?”
Riki hums, pressing you closer to enjoy the silky feel of your softness against him before responding.
“Check it after we get out”, you kiss him back when he captures your mouth with a sweltering devotion. Affection strikes through your chest as he moves his lips with yours like he plans for you two to be a while….
An hour later, finally in the bedroom and somewhat clothed, Riki lays his head in your lap as you check your messages—clicking on Amu’s thread.
The latest message was not sent by you but by the man practically purring up a storm in your lap. It’s a picture of him smiling brightly next to your naked sleeping form followed by a flurry of threats from her swearing hell unto the galaxy if you weren’t safe.
