🪫•Low-Battery•🪫

•19•Never charged•Follow if you want ig•

[sboochi]

I think that anon + other people hid cocaine in their asks/tags/comments because what do you mean I'm still thinking about the Berk Isekai au

(After the lab explosion Tadashi wakes up on the shore of Berk, and apparently something similar happened to Jack, who doesn’t remember his past life, except for the very last moments. Set after httyd2, Hiccup is the chief and suddenly there's these two guys with memory loss on his island. Are the gods playing games with him or something.)

[3artho]

The beach episode 🌅

[lovehazard]

Save me Robert Robertson III from Dispatch (2025)

[st4r1ightzz]

[sincerelyyoursz]

𝜗𝜚⋆ Mask off PT II | Authors Note! hi!! this fic is a little chaotic, a little soft, and a lot of tension finally snapping so… enjoy the ride 😭 this is just for fun, don’t take anything too seriously, and thank you for reading <3

pairing : mcu peter parker x blackcat! reader

genre : fluff, smut 18+ mdni

warnings : explicit smut, strong language, mild violence, identity reveal, suggestive themes, public intimacy, mild violence

word count : 4443K words

summary : You and Peter can’t ignore the tension between you at school, and when you meet again as Black Cat and Spider-Man, everything finally clicks into place.

The lab smelled like formaldehyde and cheap lemon disinfectant, the kind that never actually cleaned anything but convinced the school board the budget was being spent. A Bunsen burner hissed two tables over where Jason Ionello was trying to light a gummy bear on fire while Mr. Harrington's back was turned. Someone's phone buzzed against a textbook. The fluorescent tubes overhead gave everything a sickly, flat pallor, the color of gas station milk.

Peter Parker sat on the stool beside you and smelled like drugstore deodorant and pencil graphite, with something else underneath, something clean and warm, like dryer sheets left too long in the sun. His hair was a disaster, brown curls crushed flat on one side like he'd slept on his arm during fourth period, which, knowing him, he absolutely had. Dark circles sat under his eyes, purple as bruises against skin that hadn't seen proper sunlight in weeks.

She smells like, okay, focus. Stoichiometry. Moles. Avogadro's number. Not whatever that vanilla-and-something scent is. Not her.

"You're doing the conversion wrong," you said, pulling his notebook toward you without asking. Your handwriting was sharp, angular, nothing like the looping cursive you used in other contexts, other lives. You scratched the correction into the margin with his own pen, your knuckle brushing his thumb.

Peter yanked his hand back like you'd burned him. "I, yeah, no, I knew that. I was testing you."

"Mhm." You didn't look up. You could feel him staring at the side of your face, that fidgety, almost distressed attention he always gave, like you were a word problem he couldn't parse. Your hair fell forward, and the silver ring on your index finger caught the overhead light. Peter's gaze dropped to it. Stayed.

Two rows back, Ned Leeds leaned toward MJ without lowering his voice at all. "Dude, he's doing the thing again. The staring thing."

MJ didn't look up from her book. "He does it every Friday."

"It's painful."

It's nothing, Peter told himself, dragging his eyes back to the beaker. She's just, she's in my class. She sits next to me. That's the whole thing. That is the entire thing.

But his fingers kept flexing under the table, and when you leaned close enough that your shoulder grazed his, something at the base of his skull hummed, a low, electric whisper that he'd learned years ago to never ignore. Spider-sense. Faint, not danger-faint. Recognition-faint.

He ignored it anyway.

The bell split the air at 2:15. You were gone before he'd even capped his pen, backpack slung over one shoulder, silver ring catching light as you pushed through the door and dissolved into the hallway current of three hundred bodies smelling like Axe and anxiety.

Peter watched you go. His pencil was broken clean in half inside his fist.

October in New York bit with teeth. The wind came off the Hudson carrying diesel, brine, and the grease-sweet rot of the Meatpacking District two blocks south. The skyline was a jaw of lit windows, and the rooftop under your boots was old tar paper gone soft and tacky from the day's weak sun, now cold and gritty beneath the balls of your feet.

You crouched on the ledge in a suit that fit like a second pulse, matte black Kevlar-weave, articulated at every joint, with a neckline that plunged to a silver zipper resting just below your sternum. The mask covered your eyes and cheekbones, leaving your mouth bare, your lips painted a shade of plum so dark it looked black in the sodium-vapor light. Your hair was loose, platinum-white, whipping across your jaw in the crosswind. The claws on your gloves were real, titanium-carbide tips that could open a Brink's safe or a man's throat with equal disinterest.

Below you, the Galerie Lefèvre had just closed its doors. Inside: a Fabergé egg worth four-point-two million dollars, insured for six, guarded by a system you'd already mapped, memorized, and mentally dismantled during a gallery walk last Tuesday in a sundress and borrowed glasses.

You stretched your fingers. The claws caught moonlight.

"You know," said a voice from directly behind you, too close, too casual, "most people just buy stuff from the gift shop."

You didn't flinch. You never flinched. Instead you turned your head slowly, letting the motion pull your hair across your throat, and there he was.

Spider-Man. Perched on the water tower's rusted strut like a gargoyle who'd been redesigned by someone with a sense of humor. The suit was the red-and-blue Stark-tech number, nanofiber, lensed eyes that whirred and refocused like camera apertures, every line of it vacuum-sealed to a body that had no business being that well-built under spandex. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, thighs like a sprinter's, the suit leaving exactly nothing to imagination and offering zero apologies about it. He was crouched with his forearms on his knees, head tilted, the mask's eyes squinted in what you'd learned to read as his version of a grin.

God, she's already here. She's always already here. How is she always already here? And why does she always sit like that, like she's posing for a painting no one commissioned?

"Gift shop's closed, Spider," you said. Your voice through the mask was lower than your daytime register, something you did on purpose, a contralto purr that you knew, from documented evidence, made his web-shooters misfire. "And I don't buy what I can take."

"See, that's the thing." He dropped from the strut, landing on the tar paper with a sound like a palm slapping a desk, thwap, and straightened to his full height. Five-eleven, maybe six feet in the suit. He rolled his shoulders, and the nanofiber rippled. "Every time you say something like that, I have to do the whole 'I can't let you do this' speech, and honestly? It's getting kind of,"

"Boring?"

"I was gonna say repetitive, but sure."

The wind gusted. You caught the scent of him beneath the October cold, something mechanical and clean, like ozone and polymers, but under that, buried: warm skin, boy-sweat, and whatever bodywash he used that you could swear you'd smelled somewhere before. Somewhere with fluorescent lights and formaldehyde.

You shoved the thought away.

"Then don't do the speech." You rose from the crouch, unfolding to full height on the ledge. The suit creaked faintly, leather and Kevlar whispering against each other. You were close enough now that you could see his chest move with his breathing. Faster than it should've been. "Let me work. Go save a cat from a tree. We both go home happy."

"Can't do that either." He took a step closer. The lenses on his mask dilated. "You know I can't."

Her mouth. I'm staring at her mouth again. Stop staring at her mouth. She's a criminal. A literal criminal. Who steals things. With those hands. Those very specific hands that, STOP.

"Then what," you murmured, tilting your chin down so you were looking at him through your lashes, through the mask's cutout, the plum-dark lips parting just enough, "are you going to do with me?"

The air between you tasted like diesel and something electric, ozone from his suit, maybe, or just the static that always built when you got this close. Your clawed finger came up and traced the spider emblem on his chest, the titanium tip dragging a faint shhhhk across the nanofiber. Beneath it, you felt his heartbeat. Jackrabbiting.

Peter's hand caught your wrist. Fast, spider-fast, five fingers wrapping around the Kevlar with a grip that wasn't playing. His thumb settled over your pulse point, pressing hard enough that you knew he could feel yours racing right back.

"You do this every time," he said, and his voice had dropped too, gone rough at the edges, the quippy bravado bleeding out of it like air from a tire. "You get close and you, you make it."

"Make it what?"

"Impossible." He let out a breath that fogged between you. "You make it impossible to do my job."

"Maybe your job's overrated." You stepped off the ledge, toward him, not away, your body a blade's width from his. The height difference meant your mouth was level with his jaw, and you could see the tension in it, the clench and release. Your free hand landed flat on his chest, claws retracted, just your palm against the nano-suit's warmth. "Maybe you want something else tonight, Spider."

Yes. No. Absolutely not. She's, this is a trap. This is always a trap. A really, really well-designed trap that smells like vanilla and wears a catsuit.

He kissed you.

No preamble. No warning. He yanked his mask up to his nose with one hand, you caught a flash of jaw, the faintest shadow of stubble, lips bitten red from the cold, and then his mouth was on yours, hard and graceless and tasting like cheap mint gum and desperation. His hand was still around your wrist, and his other arm locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him so that your breasts compressed against the spider emblem, your hips slotting against the V of his, and the sound you made, "mmnh", was swallowed right off your tongue.

He kissed like he fought: all instinct, no restraint. His teeth caught your lower lip, nnh, tugging, and when your lips parted he licked into your mouth with a groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours. The mint mixed with the plum of your lipstick, and beneath it the taste of him was warm, salt-sweet, human. His arm tightened. Your spine arched. The city noise, sirens, distant bass, a car alarm cycling through its tantrum,all of it dropped to static.

Your clawed hand slid up the back of his neck and found skin where the mask had ridden up, hot, damp at the nape, the short hairs there bristling under your fingertips. He shuddered so hard his whole frame jerked, and the sound he made against your mouth "fffuck"was barely a word.

You pulled back half an inch. Your lips were swollen. His were smeared plum.

"For someone who can't let me do this," you breathed, "you're doing a lot of this."

"Shut up." His fingers dug into your waist. "Please, for once, just.. "

He kissed you again, and this time there was nothing graceless about it. Slow. Devastating. His tongue traced the seam of your lips like he was memorizing the shape, and when you opened for him the sound between you was wet, obscene, mmlh, slck, his hips pressing forward so you felt exactly what the suit couldn't hide. Hard. Thick enough that the pressure against your lower belly made your breath hitch, your thighs tighten. The nano-suit was thin. Cruelly thin. You could feel the heat of him through it, the rigid line of his cock straining against the material, pressed between your bodies with nowhere to go.

"Spider—"

"Peter."

It slipped out of him like a secret he'd been choking on. His whole body went rigid. You felt his heartbeat spike under your palm, a wild, arrhythmic stutter.

I just, I told her. I told her my name. What the fuck. What the FUCK. Why did I, she was, and I just.

You didn't move. The wind howled. Somewhere below, a taxi laid on its horn, a long, bleating BWAAAHHHH that echoed off the brownstones.

"Peter," you repeated, and the name felt like a key turning in a lock you hadn't known was there. Your voice was barely audible. Your hand slid from his chest to the edge of his mask. "Can I"

"Yeah." He swallowed. You watched his throat work. "Yeah."

You peeled the mask up. Slowly. Past his chin, squared, a small mole beneath the left corner of his jaw. Past his mouth, red, wrecked, smeared dark with your lipstick. Past his nose.

Brown eyes. Enormous, wet, terrified, burning. Lashes so dark they looked lined. Curls matted flat from the mask, the same curls that had been crushed from sleep that afternoon in chemistry, the same face, the same boy who sat beside you and smelled like drugstore deodorant and graphite and your stomach dropped through the roof.

Oh.

Peter Parker stared at you with every defense he'd ever built crumbling visibly behind his eyes, and his hand came up to the edge of your mask, trembling.

"Fair's fair," he whispered.

You let him pull it off.

The recognition hit him like a truck. You watched it happen,the dilation of his pupils swallowing the brown, the parting of his lips, the way the air punched out of him in a single syllable: "You."

"Me," you said. And despite everything, you smiled.

His hands cupped your face, both of them, the mask dangling from his fingers, forgotten, and his thumbs traced your cheekbones, the real ones, unmistakable, the same ones he'd stared at over a graduated cylinder eight hours ago.

It was her. It was always her. The spider-sense, the ring, the way she moves, the, oh god, I've been jerking off thinking about my lab partner in a catsuit and she IS my lab partner in a catsuit.

"Every Friday," he said, his voice cracking. "You, every Friday you sit next to me and you knew?"

"I didn't." Your hands were on his wrists, holding him there. The wind was pulling your platinum hair across both your faces. "Not until right now. Not until you said your name and I." Your throat closed. You swallowed past it. "Peter. I had no idea."

"But the spider-sense, I felt it, around you, I always,"

"Maybe it was trying to tell you something that wasn't danger."

He stared at you. The city hummed below. His thumbs kept moving on your skin, a compulsive back-and-forth, like if he stopped touching you you'd disappear.

Then he laughed. A broken, gorgeous, completely unhinged laugh that echoed off the water tower and startled a pigeon from the ledge. His forehead dropped against yours, and you felt the laugh in his whole body, every vibration.

"I am," he managed, "so incredibly stupid."

"Yeah." You kissed the corner of his mouth. Tasted mint and plum. "But you're pretty, so it evens out."

"Oh my god."

His mouth found yours again, and this time there was no pretense. His hands slid from your face down the column of your neck, over your shoulders, down the zipper line of your suit with deliberate, mapping slowness, like he was reconciling the body he'd pressed against in the dark with the girl who corrected his stoichiometry. His fingers found the zipper pull between your breasts and stopped.

"Can I," he breathed into your mouth.

"Peter, if you don't, I'm going to claw this suit off you, and Stark tech is expensive."

He laughed again, shorter, darker, and pulled the zipper down.

The sound of it was obscene in the quiet: a long, metallic zzzzzzip that split the night air. The suit parted beneath it, and the October cold hit your sternum, the valley between your breasts, your stomach. You weren't wearing anything underneath. His eyes tracked the opening like a man reading scripture.

"Jesus," he said, barely voiced.

Your skin prickled, cold and want in equal measure. Your breasts were bare in the city light, nipples drawn tight from the wind, and when his hand came up and cupped the left one, his palm was furnace-hot from the suit's thermal lining. The contrast made you gasp,a sharp, bitten-off "ah—" that you felt in your cunt, a sudden wet pulse.

She's, there's nothing under the, she's been sitting in class with nothing under, no. Focus. She's here. She's real. She's letting me.

His thumb dragged across your nipple. Slow. Deliberate. You arched into it and his other arm tightened around the small of your back, pulling your hips against his again, and this time with the suit half-open the sensation was sharper, his cock pressed against your lower belly through the nano-suit, twitching at the contact.

"How do I." He glanced down at himself, frustrated. "The suit doesn't exactly have a—"

You pressed your palm flat against his chest and pushed. Not hard just enough. "Nanotech, right? Think it off."

He blinked. Then closed his eyes. The suit rippled, retracted from the waist down like liquid mercury pulling back into a vial, and then he was bare from the hips to mid-thigh—, he suit reconstituting as a kind of truncated top, red-and-blue ending at his navel. Beneath: skin. Pale, goosebumped, a thin trail of dark hair running from below his navel.

You looked down.

His cock stood hard against his stomach, flushed dark at the head, thick enough that the sight of it sent a visceral clench through your abdomen. Curved slightly left, a prominent vein running the underside, the tip wet and shining in the ambient city glow. His balls were drawn up tight, and he was trembling, not from cold.

"Don't," He was red to his ears. "Don't just look at it like"

You wrapped your hand around him. No preamble. Your bare fingers, claws retracted, just skin, closed around the shaft and his hips bucked involuntarily, a choked "nngh" punching out of his throat. He was hot in your grip, the skin silk-smooth over rigid hardness, and when you stroked once, base to tip, thumb sweeping the leaking slit, his hand shot out and grabbed the water tower strut behind you hard enough to dent the metal.

"Hah, fuck, your hands, your, you have no idea how many times I, " He bit his lip bloody. "In class. Your hands."

"I know." You stroked him again, slower, twisting at the head, and his cock jerked in your fist, a bead of pre-come spilling over your thumb, slick and warm. "I always know when you're staring, Peter."

"God."

You shoved the suit off your shoulders. It peeled down your arms, your waist, your hips, puddling around your heeled boots in a heap of black Kevlar. The wind hit every inch of you and you didn't care, because Peter's eyes were running down your body with an expression caught somewhere between reverence and ruin. Your waist, the flare of your hips, the trimmed strip of hair between your thighs, the muscle definition in your legs from years of acrobatic theft.

He pulled you against him and spun you so your back hit the water tower, the metal was freezing and you hissed, but then his mouth was on your neck, open and hot, sucking a bruise into the tendon while his hands ran down your sides with a desperation that made his fingers shake. His cock pressed against your inner thigh, smearing wet, and you wrapped one leg around his hip and pulled him closer.

"Mmmh, Peter, I need,"

"Tell me." His mouth moved to your collarbone, teeth scraping. His right hand slid between your thighs and his fingers found your cunt, slick, swollen, embarrassingly wet. The sound his fingers made parting your folds was a soft, slick schlck that made you both groan. He pressed two fingers in without hesitation and you clenched around them, your head falling back against the metal with a thunk.

"Aahhn, fuck, right there, right."

He curled his fingers. Spider-enhanced dexterity meant he found the spot on the first try, the textured patch of your front wall, and pressed with a precision that bordered on cruel. Your thighs shook. Your claw-tipped hand found his shoulder and gripped hard enough to leave marks through the remaining suit.

She's so wet. She's dripping on my hand. Is it always, has she been, when she sits next to me, does she, oh god I'm not going to survive this.

"Inside me," you managed, barely coherent, your hips rolling against his hand. "Peter, I swear to god, if you don't—"

He pulled his fingers out, shlkk, glistening, and brought them to his mouth. Tasted you. His eyes closed and the sound he made was guttural, animal, a bass "mmmnnh" that you felt in your bones.

Then he gripped your thighs, lifted you, effortlessly, stupidly, one-handed-stopping-a-bus effortlessly, and pinned you against the water tower with your legs around his waist. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick sliding against slick, and he paused there, forehead against yours, panting.

"You're sure." Not a question. A confirmation. His arms were trembling with restraint, every muscle in his abdomen taut.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, I have wanted this since the first time you webbed me to a fire escape in SoHo."

He thrust in.

The stretch was immediate, thick, insistent, splitting you open around him inch by inch while the city screamed below. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry that found its voice halfway through, "aaahh, oh f-fuck", and your nails raked down the suit fabric on his back, leaving long white lines. He bottomed out with his hips flush against yours, his pubic bone grinding your clit, and the fullness was overwhelming, you could feel his cock twitch inside you, could feel every ridge and vein.

"Hhh, you're so, you feel," Peter's jaw was clenched, tendons standing out in his neck, his eyes screwed shut. He was shaking with the effort of not moving. "Tight. You're so fucking tight, I can't,"

"Move."

He pulled back and slammed in. Your spine scraped the water tower and you didn't care, the thrust punched a sound out of you that wasn't a moan, wasn't a word, was something between, a raw "UNH" that echoed off the adjacent building. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into the muscle, and his hips set a rhythm that was devastating, deep, grinding, each stroke bottoming out with a wet slap of skin on skin that cut through the ambient noise of the city.

"Ah, ah, Peter, oh my gah, ah, ah"

His mouth found the junction of your neck and shoulder and he bit down, not gently, and the pain-pleasure of it arced through you like current, your cunt clenching around him so hard he groaned against your skin, a vibrating "fffuck, do that again"

You clenched on purpose. He whimpered. The sound was devastating, this boy who stopped trains and caught falling cranes, whimpering into your throat because you squeezed around his cock.

The position shifted, he adjusted his grip, lifted you higher, changed the angle so the next thrust hit something deep and electric and your vision whited at the edges. Your mouth was open against his temple, breathing ragged, tasting salt-sweat on his skin, and every exhale was a sound,"mmnhh, nnhh, ah, ah, ah" a rhythm matching his.

"Wanted this" he panted between thrusts, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips, "every time, ugh, on the rooftops, haa, when you'd,nnhget close and I could smell you and I"

"Me too." You pulled his face up and kissed him, all tongue and teeth, tasting yourself on his lips. "Mmmlh, every time, Peter, I'd go home and touch myself thinking about"

"Don't, if you say that I'm going to," His rhythm stuttered, hips jerking, and you felt his cock swell inside you, the throb of it, the urgency. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with that same terrifying precision, and he rubbed in tight, fast circles while he fucked up into you, and the dual sensation was..

"Aah, AAH, I'm, ngaa, Peter, I'm gonna"

"Yeah, yeah, come on, let me feel it, I want to,"

You came with a sound like breaking, a full-throated "AAHHN" that you bit down on his shoulder, your entire body seizing, cunt spasming around him in waves that pulled him deeper. Your thighs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and you could feel yourself gushing around him, wet and obscene, dripping down his cock and his thighs and onto the tar paper below.

Peter lasted exactly three more thrusts. His hips stuttered, slammed deep, and held, and the sound he made as he came was wrecked, a shattered "*nnNHH, ah, oh god, oh fuck" his cock pulsing inside you, spilling hot and thick, each throb accompanied by a full-body shudder that rattled the water tower strut his hand was braced against.

The city was loud below. The wind was cold. Neither of you moved.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breathing like he'd run a marathon, his heart hammering against your bare chest. Your fingers were in his hair, the curls damp, impossibly soft, and you were shaking too, aftershocks clenching around him in diminishing waves that made him twitch and hiss through his teeth each time.

"Peter," you murmured into his hair.

"Mm."

"You're still inside me."

"Aware."

"My back is freezing."

"…Also aware."

He lifted his head. His face was flushed, lips swollen and stained plum, eyes glassy and half-lidded with a dopamine-drunk softness that made your chest ache. A strand of your platinum hair was stuck to his cheek. He peeled it off with clumsy fingers.

I just had sex with Black Cat on a rooftop in Chelsea and she's my chemistry partner and I think I'm in love with her and my legs are shaking and I can't feel my feet. This is either the best or worst night of my life. Both. Definitely both.

"So," he said. His voice was hoarse. "Monday. Chemistry. Are we gonna"

"You're going to sit next to me," you said, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, "and you're going to stop breaking your pencils every time I lean over."

"No promises." He turned his head and kissed your palm, lips warm against the center of it. "I broke a lot of pencils over you."

His laugh was quiet this time, just breath, pressed into your skin. He pulled out carefully, you both winced at the loss, the slick slide of it, the mess of it, and eased you down until your boots hit the tar paper. His hands stayed on your waist. Your forehead rested against his collarbone.

Below, a siren wound through the streets and faded. The Hudson lapped somewhere unseen, tidal and constant. The rooftop smelled like sex and city air and the ghost of cheap mint gum, and Peter Parker pressed his mouth to the crown of your head and held it there, breathing you in, his hands pulling you tighter against the warmth of his ridiculous half-suit while October carved its cold teeth along every inch of exposed skin between you.

You reached down and laced your fingers through his, his knuckles still faintly trembling, and squeezed once, a promise shaped like a fist.

| Authors Note! and that’s it!! hope you had as much fun reading as i did writing this because they are actually insane 😭 feel free to scream about it, i will be right there with you <3

[multi-fandom-imagine]

💐🌷.•*¨`*•.¸🐰..🐰¸.•*¨`*•.🌷💐

╔═════════ ೋღღೋ═════════╗

ೋ ೋ 🌸 My Bunny Wife 🌸 ೋ ೋ

╚═════════ ೋღღೋ═════════╝

💐🌷.•*¨`*•.¸🐰..🐰¸.•*¨`*•.💐🌷

🐰:One Ride

You get a ride from Sonar, Robert nearly has an heart attack.

🐰: Bunny Wife Smut

You're in heat, and you want your husband.

🐰:Not one Step.

You bring the kids to see Robert, Chad nearly loses it

🐰: Meet My Wife.

Robert shows off his wife...no one thought she was real

🐰: Snow Pile

The kids burrow / Robert has a panic attack.

🐰: Christmas Picture

Family picture time.

🐰: How I met your mother.

Robert tells the kids how he met his wife.

🐰: Have you met my brother

Reader introduces Chad to her brother.

🐰: Trophy Husband.

Robert is your trophy husband.

🐰:Thanksgiving Chaos

It's Thanksgiving, chaos insues.

🐰: Serotonin

Roberts best method on relaxation.

The Bunny babies

🐰: His last Loney Halloween.

The day Robert fell in love.

🐰: It's Valentines Day. { Smut )

Robert loves his bunny wife very much.

🐰: The great snow incident.

Or how the bunnies burrowed.

🐰:Not again.

The baby buns burrow again.

🐰: Robert = Dad supremacy.

🐰: Mandy's Intervention.

🐰:

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Master List of Writings.

✨: Avatar: The Last Airbender Master List.

✨: Cured { Leon Kennedy mini series }

✨: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖪𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇 { Ser Dunk mini series }

✨: The Green apple & The Rose { Raymun Fossoway mini series }

✨: The Lord and The Handmaiden { Lyonel Baratheon mini series }

✨:𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗵’𝘀 𝗗𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 The 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲

✨: Game Of Thrones Master List.

✨:DC Master List.

✨: Bunny Wife Mini Series ( Robert Robertson )

✨:🦇 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬🦇

✨:Fantastic Four Master List.

✨:Marvel Master List.

✨: Halloween Dads.

✨:Final Destination Master List.

✨:Pretty In Pink || Erik Campbell Mini Series ||

✨:Supernatural Master List.

✨:Stranger Things Master List.

✨:Stranger Things Master List Pt2.

✨:Resident Evil Master List.

✨:The Last Of Us Master List

✨:Video Game One-Shots and Drabbles Master List.

✨:A Christmas Carol Master List.

✨:Call Of Duty Master List.

✨:Bridgerton Master List.

✨:Supermassive Master List.

✨:Tis The Season Master List.

✨:Kinktober Master List 2023.

✨:Blue Eye Samurai Master List.

✨:Tis The Season 2023

✨:Jujutsu Kaisen Master List

✨:Hazbin Hotel Master List.

✨: Hazbin Hotel Master List part 2

✨:Lackadaisy Master List

✨:Gravity Falls Master List

✨: Kinktober 2024.

✨: House MD Master List.

✨:Tis the season 2024.

✨:Harry Potter Master List.

✨:Anime Master List.

✨:Greek Mythology (Epic the musical) Master list

✨:Disney Master List.

✨:Star Wars Master list

My name is Chelsea, I am 34 year's old and I work full time, I love to write and make anyone happy. This blog is a safe space, hate will never be tolerated so If you are a nasty person please get fucked and off my page!

I loove animals,my favorites are Seal's white tigers, Beluga whales and wolves. I love playing video games, to read and collect things that I fan over.

I will not write incest.

I will not write Proship things ( you will never see a child x Adult fic )

Smut fics are between 3 consenting Adults.

I do not / will not ever write Canon x Canon fics so please stop asking.

Certain kinks I will not write for ( I am pretty vanilla, the furthest I will go is bdsm )

I will not write a reader / character is a cheater fic, if you want a cheating sub plot then pick the character who is the cheater and someone else for the reader to get with because I will never write a fic where cheaters are forgiven.

[maybemaleksentmeasakindness]

Aaric: *staring at Xaden through awkward silence*

Xaden: *staring at Aaric through awkward silence*

Aaric: *nodding towards Violet* She'd make a good duchess, you know.

Xaden: *slight nod of head* Yes she would. Y/N would make a good monarch.

[l0w-b4ttery]

This but with Xaden’s little sister (OC) born out of an unplanned pregnancy with their parents, who was more ready to rule Aretia than Xaden, though she was the younger by two years.

Nyrix Riorson, the woman whom–had formed a bond with the largest known blue dragon in Navarre–happened upon an unlikely entanglement with the second prince in the kingdom. Though their relation stated rocky as his father ordered the execution of her father, their bond grew evermore invasive in their lives as it did with affection.

(I hope to write something with this idea)

[batsovergotham-deactivated20250]

THE EMPEROR'S FAVORITE

FULL MASTERLIST + DRABBLES & HCS!

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+. smut starts early. reader grew up in an ancient sword worshipping honor cult and has no clue what a crush is. expect minor misunderstandings, post sex emotional turmoil, and sporadic background war crimes.

chapter 1 part 1 / part 2: you agreed to spar and now you’ve basically dry humped in front of the royal guard he flipped you. you flipped him. something flipped. definitely not your feelings. nope.

chapter 2 part 1 / part 2: so you slept with him. once. respectfully. it was a political alliance. with benefits. shut up.

chapter 3 part 1 / part 2 / part 3: you called it “a one-time thing” and then did it again immediately you would like to go back in time. or die. either works.

chapter 4 part 1 / part 2: he touched your back and now you’re in love maybe?? he said “you’re safe now.” what the fuck are you supposed to do with that.

chapter 5: he tucked your hair behind your ear like he wasn’t balls deep yesterday you want to scream into a sword rack. you settle for a bath and a panic nap.

chapter 6: everyone knows. literally everyone. one of the guards winked at you. another said “congratulations.” you might die.

chapter 7: he called you “his” in front of your royal family, and now you’re vibrating out of your body you said “that’s just cultural.” no one believed you. especially not him.

chapter 8: you wore his cape once and now he’s feeding you fruit like you’re married he said “open.” you almost proposed.

chapter 9: you were supposed to leave. now you’re curled up in his bed talking about names for hypothetical children. it’s fine. everything is fine. you’ll just… stay a little longer.

DRABBLES

late night debrief, but it’s mostly making out you come to his room to discuss battle strategy. you leave wearing his cape.

you get injured and try to hide it. mark finds out. he does not take it well he’s the emperor of restraint. until it’s you bleeding.

requests open!

HEADCANONS

how you say “i love you” without actually saying it you fix his cape. he calls you first when terra gets sick. no one says anything. everyone knows.

things you do that make the him feral (and he thinks no one notices) that one costume. the wrist wrap thing. calling him “sir” in public. the sword. always the sword.

terra walks in on something she should not have seen. you both rethink your lives she just wanted juice. now you’re hiding in the hallway and mark is giving her an awkward lecture about knocking.

requests open!

[batsovergotham-deactivated20250]

UNSHAKEN MASTERLIST. (COMPLETE)

“Why is it that others try to define me by something I had no choice in? Our world never taught to see the soul beneath the surface, but only the flesh that conceived us.”

Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

Total W/C: 211k

Warnings: Non-Canon Compliant, Violence, Smut (Later Chapters), Brief Mentions of Child Abuse, Angst

Summary.

You were never intended to be free, only regulated, contained, and used. A lethal weapon that has been conditioned by a lifetime of orders. When the Variants launch their ruthless attack, Cecil makes the decision to send you into battle for the first time, giving you a taste of the freedom you always desired. Everything shifts when you meet Mark Grayson. You begin to understand what it means to choose. To fight for yourself, for something beyond orders. But freedom comes with consequences, and some choices leave scars that never fade.

Prologue: Weapon Unleashed

Chapter 1 Part 1: The Grayson Home Incident

Chapter 1 Part 2: The Grayson Home Incident

Chapter 2 Part 1: In the Shadows of Perception 

Chapter 2 Part 2: In the Shadows of Perception

Chapter 3 Part 1: A Whisper of Freedom

Chapter 3 Part 2: A Whisper of Freedom

Chapter 4 Part 1: A Dance on Divided Ground

Chapter 4 Part 2: A Dance on Divided Ground

Chapter 4 Part 3: A Dance on Divided Ground

Chapter 4 Part 4: A Dance on Divided Ground

Chapter 5: Popcorn and Promises

Chapter 6 Part 1: A Father's Return and a Tiny Arrival

Chapter 6 Part 2: A Father's Return and a Tiny Arrival

Chapter 7 Part 1: Lost to the Unknown

Chapter 7 Part 2: Lost to the Unknown

Chapter 8 Part 1: Two Lines, One Choice

Chapter 8 Part 2: Two Lines, One Choice

Chapter 9: Echoes of Heartbreak: The Final Goodbye Approaches

Chapter 10 Part 1: Inevitable Ends

Chapter 10 Part 2: Inevitable Ends

Chapter 10 Part 3: Inevitable Ends

[multi-fandom-imagine]

ROBERT AND HIS BUNNY WIFE SMUT PLEASE I BEG

A/n: I got you boo.

Your heat hits hard this time.

It’s the kind that makes your thighs tremble just from thinking about him, your tail twitching and your long floppy ears drooping, flicking, and sensitive as your body ran hot. You’ve paced the bedroom three times, whimpered into a pillow, even tried distracting yourself ...nothing worked.

Because every part of you aches for Robert.

And when he finally walks into the room after a long shift — sleeves rolled up, shirt half-untucked, freckles dusted over his tired face — you practically pounce.

He doesn’t even get a chance to set his keys down before you’re on him, lips on his neck, thighs rubbing together desperately.

“Jesus—” Robert stiffens, hands automatically catching your hips. “What’s gotten into you?”

You whine, grinding yourself against his thigh.“…Heat,” you breathe, shameless and needy. “Hurts. Need you.” Your teeth grazed his neck.

He freezes.

Then sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows relaxation is not happening tonight.

“Of course,” he mutters, voice dry but warm as his hands slide down your ass, squeezing the plush softness of it “Right when I thought I could sit down for two minutes.”

Your tail flutters, ears twitching as you grind harder as you batted your eye lashes up at him.

His eyes darken instantly.“Alright, sweetheart. C’mere.”

He pulls you toward the bed, but the second he sits on the edge of the mattress, you push him back and straddle him. Your soft thighs spread over his lap, your weight settling on him in a way that makes his breath catch.

You’re already rolling your hips over the bulge in his pants.

Robert looks up at you through half-lidded eyes — exhausted, horny, helplessly in love.

“…Can I just lie down while you ride me?” he asks at last, rubbing his face with both hands like a man accepting defeat. “Please. I’m begging you.”

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear, your fluffy tail wiggling behind you.

“No...you need to put in some effort Robert."

Robert’s hands drop from his face as you grind down onto him harder.

“Fuck—”

Your hips are moving on instinct now, heat slick and desperate as you grab fistfuls of his shirt and rut against him. Your breath is hot against his jaw, ears brushing his cheek.

“You’re not relaxing,” you whisper, voice shaking with need. “Not tonight.”

Your scent — sweet, dizzying, he's not sure if it is your perfume, shampoo but it's driving him insane as he felt his heart pound in his chest.

Robert goes from tired to rock hard in seconds and maybe a little too eager to be fucked by his wife as a low groan tears from his throat as he grips your hips, pulling you tighter against him.

“Okay,” he pants. “Okay, fine...ride me. Just, fuck— slow down..."

But you don’t. Of course you don't.

You grind harder, faster, whimpering as your ears flick and flatten and your thighs tremble. You feel him through the fabric, thick and hot and exactly what your body is screaming for.

“Get these off,” you beg, fumbling at his belt, a small growl leaving your lips.

Robert curses under his breath and reaches down to help, hands steady even while his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths.

The moment his cock is free, thick and flushed and already leaking, your breath stutters.

Your heat pulses. Your tail twitches. Your ears stand straight up.

Robert notices all of it.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs, guiding you above him. “That’s what I thought. You’re not waiting at all, are you?”

You shake your head desperately.

He lines himself up.

You sink down in one needy, shaking motion.

The sound you make , half gasp, half moan, has Robert’s eyes rolling back.

“Fuck. sweetheart.slow—”

But you’re already moving.

Already bouncing.

Already clinging to him with your soft hands pressed against his chest, your ears flopping forward and brushing his face every time you slam down onto him.

Your heat is ruthless.

Every thrust makes you wetter, tighter, hotter around him.

Your thighs clap against his.

Your tail flicks wildly.

Robert’s hands clamp onto your hips, trying and failing to control your rhythm.

“You’re—so—fucking—needy—” he groans between thrusts, his head falling back as you ride him with desperate, messy abandon.

Your heat makes you honest, breathless.“Want...your cock,” you whine, bouncing harder. “Need you..need to feel you...fill me—”

Robert chokes.His hips buck up instinctively.

Your ears fall over your face as you moan, riding him harder, wetter, your whole body trembling in overstimulated pleasure.

He tries to sit up —

You push him back down.

“No relaxing,” you pant, nails dragging lightly along his chest as you take him to the hilt. “Not until I’m done.”

Robert is breathless now, sweating, gripping your plump hips so hard he’ll leave handprints.

“I’m— I’m not going to last if you— fuck— ride like that—”

“Good.”Your heat pulses again, clenching around him.

“Sweetheart— fuck—” He arches up into you, helpless beneath you, eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce, on your ears flicking wildly, on your needy hips slamming down again and again.

You leant forward, nuzzling into his neck as your orgasm hits like lightning as you cried his name out, your nails digging into his chest as your whole body seizes around him, tight and hot and pulsing, your ears trembling as you clamp down hard around him.

Robert loses it.

He thrusts up with a sharp, broken groan, spilling into you, gripping your waist like a lifeline.

Your thighs shake around him.

Your breath hitches.

And you keep moving, hands firmly on his chest.Robert’s eyes widen in pure panic as you bite into his shoulder, muffling a whimper. Fluffy tail twitching.

Heat demands more.

Robert’s head drops back on the pillow.“Fuck,” he groans weakly. “I’m never getting to lie down again, am I?”

No.

No he is not.

[nyraeafterdark]

2 A.M. Inside You

Prompt: He doesn’t want to wake you up for such an unnecessary thing, but his dick making it impossible for him to be able to sleep. He has work tomorrow for fucks sake.

Pairing: Robert Robertson (Mecha Man) x reader

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, consensual somnophilia, dirty talk, praising, vaginal sex, creampie, this man just needed a good nut

A/N: first time writing for this munch, might be a bit ooc, this scenario has been swimming on my mind for the past couple of days, don’t judge me too hard 😭😭

Masterlist

He drags a palm over his chest, then back down his stomach, like he’s trying to manually reboot his entire reproductive system. Nothing. His dick is still there, still throbbing like it’s trying to send an SOS signal through the sheets. At this point he’s convinced the universe is laughing at him.

He tries the responsible adult thing: deep breaths, unclenching his jaw, thinking about taxes, spreadsheets, that one coworker who microwaves fish at lunch. Nothing helps. In fact, he somehow gets harder, which should be physically illegal.

Robert presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing his brain to shut up and his dick to give up. No dice. The damn thing twitches in his boxers like it’s mocking him.

He grits out a sigh that feels like it’s shaved five years off his life.

“For the love of—go. down.”

His cock remains in full rebellion mode.

He stares over at you again. Peaceful. Cozy. Curled into the blankets like some mythical sleep creature who doesn’t suffer from nighttime biohazards. You look so soft. So warm. So absolutely not something he should be waking up for this bullshit.

But the longer he looks, the worse the problem gets. His body is basically going, Oh, look, comfort and love and safety? Cool, let’s funnel all blood resources to the dick immediately. Idiot.

Robert drops back against the pillow with another pathetic groan. His eyes are half-lidded, exhausted, begging for mercy. “You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to the ceiling, which does nothing but stare back like it’s judging him.

It doesn’t help that his hips keep trying to move. Little, desperate shifts like he’s subconsciously grinding for friction. It’s humiliating. He feels like he’s trapped in some low-budget late-night infomercial titled Man Fights God for Right to Sleep, Loses.

He grunts through his teeth, fed up but not beaten, and drags a shaky hand down his stomach. He’s so wrung out he can barely keep his eyes open, but he wraps his fingers around his cock anyway, desperate enough to try again even though he already knows how this ends.

He should’ve asked his therapist for those insomnia meds. Should’ve swallowed his pride and admitted he can’t sleep for shit. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be lying here at two-something in the damn morning with a hard-on that refuses to clock out.

His grip tightens as he pumps his cock, slow at first, then faster when his hips start twitching up to meet his hand on their own. He groans low, biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t wake you. Precum slicks his palm instantly, letting him stroke up and down without resistance. The wet slide only makes him shiver harder.

Please, he thinks, almost praying at this point. Please just work. I’m begging you.

His muscles tighten. Heat coils low in his stomach again, creeping up his spine like a fuse burning fast. He pants quietly, breath stuttering with every upward jerk of his hips. He can feel it—his high gathering, swelling, seconds from breaking.

It’s right there. Right there.

Why can’t he just fall over the edge?

His thighs tense. His balls pull tight. His back arches off the mattress.

Then his body seizes up.

The pleasure spikes—then stalls. Locks. Refuses.

He chokes on a groan, frustration tearing through him like fire.

“Fuck!” he snarls under his breath, voice raw, letting go of his twitching length because touching it hurts now. “Fuck…”

His dick jerks against his stomach, angry, swollen, and absolutely no closer to giving him the one thing he needs to sleep.

He’s exhausted. He’s furious. And he’s no closer to relief than when he started.

He closes his eyes, just for a second, letting exhaustion drag through him like static. When he turns toward you, it’s instinct, gravity, something primal pulling him in. His arm slips around your waist, and the moment his skin meets yours—warm, bare, soft in all the places he’s craving—his whole body prickles with goosebumps.

Your naked body molded against him is torture. Sweet, perfect torture.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder and breathes in, shaking. The soft kiss he places there is barely a kiss at all, more like a plea disguised as affection. You shift in your sleep, barely conscious, instinctively pressing your body back into his like you’re made to fit there.

Your ass brushes his cock.

He hisses like he’s been burned, hips jerking forward before he can stop himself.

“Babe…” he whispers, voice cracking as he tries to keep it quiet. He’s out of options. Out of sanity. “Fuck, baby, I need you…”

You let out a soft, sleepy sound, something warm and unintelligible. His heart slams into his ribs.

“Baby,” he tries again, breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, can I fuck you?” The desperation bleeds through every word. He’s begging, actually begging.

You sigh, eyes barely fluttering, and give a slow, easy nod before melting right back into sleep, like he just asked you to pass the salt instead of ruin him.

“Shit…” The apology dies on his tongue as his hand moves on its own. He grips your thigh, warm and soft, and lifts it up, opening you for him. Your legs fall into place with the kind of trust that makes his chest ache.

And there you are.

Wet. Glowing in the low light. Ready for him without even waking up.

“Thank you…” he whispers against your shoulder, stunned, reverent, starving. You’re already drifting in dreamland again, completely unaware of how close he is to breaking apart.

He lines himself up, breath hitching as the head of his cock presses against your heat. Then slowly—so slowly it kills him—he pushes in.

Your warmth wraps around him like a blessing. Like salvation. Like every answer he’s been denied for the past hour.

He shudders, eyes rolling back.

Thanking every star in the sky for this. For you. For the relief hitting him like a wave as he finally—finally—sinks into you.

He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. Not when you’re wrapped around him like this—tight, warm, soft in a way that makes every nerve in his body light up. He holds himself there, buried deep, jaw locked as he forces his breathing to stay quiet so he doesn’t wake you.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid to lose the feeling of your heat around him. Then he pushes back in, just as slowly, letting his hips settle into a rhythm that gives him friction without disturbing your sleep.

It’s heaven. It’s torture. It’s exactly what he needed.

His mind starts to haze over, his thoughts dissolving into the steady pulse of your body clenching around him. Words start spilling from his lips before he even realizes he’s saying them.

“Shit… so pretty…” he pants quietly, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet. “Taking me so pretty… so wet.”

Another slow, deep thrust. The kind that makes his thighs tremble.

“Just drooling all over me, yeah?” he whispers, breath hitching as your warmth sucks him in again.

His tip grazes your cervix. You tighten around him on instinct, a sleepy, unconscious reaction that nearly sends him collapsing.

“Ugh—fuck…” he chokes out, shivering. “You trynna break me apart, ain’t you, pretty?”

His voice drops lower, rougher, words slurring as they tumble out. He keeps thrusting into you with that same slow, needy rhythm, each push dragging more filth out of him.

“You feel unreal.”

“Fuck, baby, you’re hugging me so tight…”

“So warm… so wet… fuck…”

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind…”

“You’re perfect—god, you’re perfect…”

“Gonna make me fill you up if you keep squeezing me like that…”

He doesn’t even know if he’s talking to you or your pussy anymore. Probably both. Definitely both. The filth gets worse the longer he moves inside you, his voice soft and broken, like he’s confessing every dirty thought he’s ever had straight into your skin.

And you’re just sleeping through it, gripping him like you were built for him.

It’s driving him insane.

He grunts low in his throat when that familiar burn coils tight in his gut again, hotter this time, sharper, like his body finally decided to cooperate. He forces his eyes open. He needs to see it—his hips snapping gently against yours, the soft bounce of your ass meeting every thrust. It’s almost hypnotic, the way you take him without even waking up.

“So close…” he mumbles, voice ragged. “Gonna make a right mess outta you, girly… want you dripping…”

He bites back a moan as he picks up the pace—still quiet, still controlled, but deeper, more desperate. Each thrust sinks him a little harder into your warmth, each push dragging another pulse out of you. Your pussy keeps clenching around him, little fluttering squeezes that make his head spin… until one sudden, tight grip nearly knocks the breath out of him.

His hips stutter. His heartbeat jumps.

“Hah… fuck…” he pants, thrusting through it, barely holding on. “Made you feel good, yeah?” His voice breaks at the end. “Made you cum all over my dick?”

He can’t keep the rhythm anymore. His thrusts go sloppy, shaky, frantic—his whole body trembling as the pressure snaps inside him with a violent rush.

He stills, buried flush against you, and spills into you hard.

Hot. Deep. Endless.

“Fuck…” he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder as release rips through him. “Take it all, pretty… drink in my cum…”

More filth follows, unfiltered and breathless, tumbling out between shaky exhales.

“Shit… so thirsty for it…”

“That’s it… that’s my girl… milking me so good…”

“Fuck, you’re perfect… perfect…”

His cock twitches inside you, pushing the last few pulses of cum into your already-full cunt. When the high finally begins to ebb, he slumps against you, boneless and bliss-struck, panting quietly against your skin.

He buries himself deeper, like he wants to seal his cum inside you. Then he wraps his arm around your waist again, pulling you close, tucking himself against your back like you’re the world’s softest pillow.

His breathing evens out.

He’s out cold within minutes.

Finally—finally—ready for the best damn sleep of his life before he has to drag himself out of bed tomorrow and pretend he’s a fully functional adult.

[lovee-potions]

HR VIOLATION

PAIRING(S) — robert robertson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS — you distract him while he’s on a call…

CONTENT — 18+ minors dni | reader is a tease, (semi) public sex, brief hand job, blow job, slight face fucking, sort of orgasm denial, cum eating? let me know if i’ve missed anything!

WC — 2.7k

NOTE — i’m so tempted to write for blonde blazer, invisigal & malevola too…

MASTERLIST

The hum of computers was the only sound left in the bullpen. Most of the dispatchers had long gone home, leaving the overhead lights to cast long, lonely shadows across the cubicles.

Robert was still at his desk, sleeves rolled up, sorting through mission logs. His jacket hung on the back of his chair—the ever-neat, ever-disciplined Mecha Man reduced to wiping crumbs off his keyboard.

You leaned lazily against the side of his cubicle, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.

“Didn’t think the Robert Robertson stayed late to clean. Should I be impressed or worried?”

Without looking up, he replied dryly, “Should be impressed. I’m a man of many talents—fighting crime, managing chaos, and apparently disinfecting my own desk.”

You tilted your head. “Heroic. Truly. The city sleeps soundly knowing their champion is armed with a bottle of surface cleaner.”

That earned a faint chuckle. “Someone’s got to keep this place from turning into a biohazard zone. Not all of us can just… loiter.” He finally glanced up at you, eyes catching the soft blue glow of the monitor.

“Oh, I’m not loitering,” you said, tapping your finger against the cubicle wall. “I’m supervising.”

Robert leaned back in his chair, a smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. “Supervising, huh? Are you planning to write me up if I forget to alphabetise my mission reports?”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning closer. “Depends. How persuasive are you feeling tonight, Mecha Man?”

“Careful,” he murmured. “I’m feeling persuasive enough but if you keep teasing me, I might start thinking you stayed late for me.”

You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Who says I didn’t?”

The words hang there—not playful, not serious, just dangerous enough to make his hand still on the edge of his desk. The two of you have danced this dance before: banter, tension, pretending it meant nothing. Pretending you didn’t already cross that line once, twice, maybe three times too many.

Robert straightened up and you could see it—the flicker of conflict in his eyes, the familiar pull of something neither of you ever found the courage to name. Your fingers traced the edge of his desk, brushing past a mug of half drunken coffee. 

“You really should head home,” he said quietly. “Before someone gets the wrong idea.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Someone like you?”

He exhaled, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Especially me.”

Robert stayed still for just a beat too long. Then he shook his head, grabbing a stack of papers as though the motion could hide the slight flush creeping up his neck.

You caught it anyway. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now. You weren’t exactly shy last time—”

“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no real heat in it.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Touchy subject?”

He exhaled, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

You paused, glancing around his cubicle. “Where’s your dog?”

“Huh?” Robert blinked, clearly thrown off guard by the sudden change in subject. “Oh, Beef? Chase took him home for the night… said something about wanting to scare a neighbour or something…”

You chuckled. “Ah, so your emotional support menace is gone. That explains the brooding.”

“Brooding is my default state,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, crossing your arms. “And here I thought it was denial.”

That earned you a look—one part warning, one part weary amusement. You grinned wider.

“You really shouldn’t make it so easy,” you murmured, lowering your voice.

Robert looked up, brows furrowing slightly, the flicker of confusion in his eyes betraying the steadiness in his tone. “Make what easy?”

You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail over him—the rolled sleeves, the faint smudge of grease on his wrist, the tight set of his jaw as if he already regretted asking. A slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips.

“Teasing you,” you replied softly, your voice threaded with laughter. “You get that little crease between your eyebrows every time I do it. It’s practically an invitation.”

His frown deepened—exactly the reaction you were aiming for—but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching with the faintest, unwilling smirk.

Before you could push further, the shrill buzz of his phone ringing cut through the quiet. He sighed and fished it from his pocket, the faint blue light reflecting on his face.

You leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms folding across your chest as you watched him glance at the screen. The name flashing there made your grin sharpen.

“Blonde Blazer?” you said, whistling low under your breath. “Didn’t know you two were on after-hours terms.”

Robert rolled his eyes, thumb hovering over the answer button. “It’s work.”

“Maybe you should take that,” you teased. “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

Robert let out a dry laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally answering the call. “Yeah, this is Robertson.” His voice had shifted instantly—clipped, professional—though his eyes flicked to you once, warning, half-amused.

You only smiled, mouthing, “I’ll be quiet” before pushing off the desk and taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. The faint scrape of your shoes against the floor seemed too loud in the stillness of the office.

Robert’s brows knitted together, half wary, half curious—though he didn’t move as you came closer. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the residual warmth radiating off his body. Your hands found his chest—solid, warm beneath the fabric of his shirt—and you pressed gently, coaxing him back down into his seat.

He let out a small, involuntary huff as he sank into the chair, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mix of confusion and something else. You could feel his breath, shallow and uneven, the faint warmth of it brushing against your wrist where your hand still lingered near his collarbone.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Then a voice crackled faintly through his phone, still clutched in his hand.

“Robert? Robert, are you still there?” Blonde Blazer’s tone was impatient through the speaker.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Robert replied, voice low but steady, his eyes following you as you slowly sunk to your knees before him. 

Roberts grip tightened on his phone, knuckles pale as he tilted his head to the ceiling—trying to avoid your gaze. He tried to focus on the conversation with Blonde Blazer, but your touch was distracting, your fingertips light and teasing on his thigh.

That caught his attention. His gaze snapped back down onto you, narrowing his eyes and mouthing, “Don’t start.”

You smiled sweetly in response, mouthing back, “Too late.”

He shifted in his chair, attempting to subtly move out of your reach, but you followed him, your hand gently wandering a little higher to his belt.

He was doing his best to sound unaffected, but you could see the small betrayals—the way his jaw flexed, the twitch in his fingers, the brief flicker of his gaze toward you when he thought you weren’t watching.

He muttered a sharp curse under his breath, his free hand clenching the armrest of his chair so tightly the plastic creaked in protest. You grinned to yourself, slowly moving your hands up to unbuckle his belt. 

The simple action suddenly felt far more significant than it had any right to. Robert tried to mask his reaction, his voice still steady and professional as he continued his conversation over the phone.

Once his belt was unbuckled, you popped the button of his work trousers and oh-so-slowly pulled his zipper down. Roberts grip on his phone was bordering on painful, his knuckles straining to the point of turning white.

“Lift your hips for me,” you mouthed, tugging at his trousers. 

He froze completely for a moment, the order sending a jolt through him. His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. Despite his best efforts to resist, his body reacted, his hips lifting obediently without hesitation. 

“Good boy,” you teased, pulling his trousers down so they pooled around his ankles. 

A sharp exhale escaped him at your words, his entire body tensing in response. The way you said it—so casually, so deliberately—hit him like a live wire. His fingers flexed around the phone like he was considering hanging up.

He didn’t move to stop you though; instead, he let out a low growl under his breath as you left him exposed in nothing but boxers now half-tugged down from the force of your teasing hands.

His voice came out strained when Blonde Blazer asked for confirmation on some detail—too rough-edged for normal professionalism. "Yeah.” He cleared his throat immediately after realising how that sounded over speakerphone and tried again with more control: "I said yes."

You bit back a chuckle, tracing your index finger over his growing erection. The second your finger brushed over him, he flinched, his entire body locking up. His breath hitched audibly, and for the first time in this entire exchange—he actually dropped his phone onto the desk with a sharp clatter.

Blonde Blazer’s confused "Robert?" was abruptly cut off as he rambled out some excuse. He sent you a sharp glare but you knew it had no bite so you continued your teasing ministrations, fully palming him now. 

The fabric of his boxers did little to hide the effect you were having on him—his cock strained visibly against the material under your palm as you began to stroke him diligently. He let out a low curse under his breath before remembering he was still on speakerphone and quickly bit it back. 

Blonde Blazer's voice piped up again—an oblivious distraction. "Robertson, are you still there?"

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the guttural response that nearly escaped him. "Mm-hmm," he managed to get out, his voice gravelly, almost hoarse.

He forced himself to focus on the conversation, but it was becoming increasingly hard to think about anything other than you. Your touch, the way you teased him mercilessly, the way he was powerless to stop you right now.

Blonde Blazer chattered on, blissfully ignorant of the tension crackling the air and the barely restrained need between you two.

You smiled, biting your bottom lip as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down in one swift motion. His cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach with a lewd wet sound. He wasn’t huge per say but he definitely wasn’t small. 

His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before snapping open again, locking onto you with intensity. His control was thinning, frayed more and more with each deliberate touch.

You swiped your fingers through the precum glistening at his tip before wiping it up and down his length like some form of lube. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a torturously slow pump. 

His hips move upward to match your movements, desperate to chase the slowly building pleasure inside him. Your mouth skimmed up his shaft, your tongue flicking out and circling the tip as your other hand came up to cup his sac, rolling his balls through your fingers.

Your hands continued their measured pace, stroking and fondling with calculated restraint. It was slow, torturous, and unbelievably good. Despite Roberts' attempt to maintain some semblance of control, his hips instinctively lifted, straining towards you. 

“Impatient,” you tsked, shaking your head and pressing his hips back down with your hand. 

You looked up at him through your lashes as your tongue traced a vein along the underside of his cock before taking him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing. You tried to fit as much of him in your mouth as possible, your hand staying at the base of his cock to stroke what couldn’t. 

All Robert could do was groan, his hips lifting again and trying to find a rhythm. His fingers finally released their grip on the arm of his chair and buried themselves in your hair. You pulled back, catching your breath before your mouth returned to its task. Your teeth grazed his cock, just enough to send a shiver up Robert’s spine, but not enough to hurt. 

His chest rose and fell quickly, his hand in your hair guiding you gently. You moaned around him, the vibrations sending an addictive sensation through his body. He wanted more, needed more. More of your mouth. Of you.

Robert slumped back in his chair slightly, his hips beginning to slowly thrust themselves into your mouth. The chair creaked, and Robert vaguely wondered if it would break. But the thought was quickly lost in a wave of pleasure as you moaned around him, taking him deeper. 

“Oh, fuck!” Robert groaned a little too loudly.

“Er—are you alright, Robert?” Blonde blazer asked, her voice muffled through the phone.

“Yeah, shit, I just stubbed my toe,” Robert lied, trying to hide the strain in his voice as he bucked his hips into your mouth again. 

The sudden movement caught you off guard, your fingers moving to his thighs and digging into the flesh. You moaned around him, tears springing to your eyes as the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat.

Robert's body was wound up so tight, he could feel the tension coiling in his stomach, muscles quivering. The office was filled with lewd, wet sounds as you bobbed your head. Robert’s hips were thrusting desperately into your mouth now, lost to the overwhelming pleasure.

All sense of rhythm was gone, replaced by a primal need to release. He was close, so close, teetering on the edge of his release. His grip in your hair tightened almost painfully. Just when Robert thought he couldn’t take anymore, just as he was about to come undone, you suddenly pulled back off his cock with a wet pop.

He let out a strangled gasp of protest, muttering an excuse to Blonde Blazer as his body yearned for the continuation of that delicious release. He looked down at you, his vision foggy with pleasure and confusion.

Your fingers barely grazed the inside of his thigh causing him to involuntarily buck his hips. Your nails scraped lightly over his balls as you glanced at his cock, seeing it twitch and throb. 

Your hands moved to glide over the expanse of his stomach, fingers lingering at the v of Robert’s hipbones. He knew what you were doing—drawing out the tension, making him wait for what he so desperately craved.

“Please,” Robert mouthed, his grip tightening in your hair.

You grinned, leaning forward and taking him into your mouth again. You went straight to work, your mouth working him eagerly. Robert bit his bottom lip, hips twitching and pushing his cock further into your mouth.

He could feel his orgasm building again, faster this time. You moaned around him, your tongue sliding against the vein on the underside of his cock. Roberts' replies to Blonde Blazer soon became incoherent as he was on the verge of snapping. 

He tried to pull you off his cock as his orgasm approached but you just moaned around his sensitive tip and let him cum into your mouth. Robert’s entire body tensed up, toes curling as waves of pleasure washed over him. 

You pulled back, gasping for air as a string of saliva connected your swollen lips to his tip. You swallowed his release, the warm, salty liquid gliding down your throat smoothly. 

You sat back on your heels, collecting a small dribble of release from the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb and sucking it clean. You kept your eyes locked on Roberts as you stood, brushing yourself down.

For a few moments, you could hear Blond Blazer’s voice still talking through the phone drawing out short, distracted replies from Robert as he kept his focus on you.

Then, silence.

The call ended, but Robert didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at your lips, taking in how they were slightly parted and glistening with his release. 

You tilted your head, watching him. “You realise she hung up, right?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he’d been in. “What?”

“The call,” you said, gesturing to the quiet phone in his hand.

He gave you a flat look, opening his mouth to retort—only for his phone to chime with a new notification. The screen lit up, casting a soft blue glow across his face. A message preview flickered across it:

[ Blonde Blazer ]

We have cameras, dipshit.

[edawgz]

ᯓ★ YARN BALLS

♯┆ [robert robertson x catgirl!fem reader] INCLUDES.ᐟ

⤿ ROBERT ROBERTSON nearly lost his shit when he saw a girl with cat ears was their new recruit. What the hell kind of villain could you be? Well, unfortunately for him, you became the one villain he couldn't keep his eyes off of.

!! fluff. flirty. innuendoes. fem reader. brief fighting scene. girly reader. I LOVED THIS REQUEST. no explicit warnings. i might have to write more with a catgirl reader and robert so buckle up. based on this SCRUMPTIOUS request. ENJOY.

The SDN office was never quiet. Even in the lull between emergencies, the place buzzed with restless energy.. the hum of servers, the clatter of keyboards, the faint hiss of the coffee machine that had been running since dawn. Fluorescent lights cast everything in a sterile light, illuminating the stacks of reports and half empty mugs scattered across desks.

You didn’t fit the picture.

Soft looking, wide eyed, with ears that twitched at every sound and a tail that curled lazily behind you, you looked more like someone who belonged in a boutique cafe than in the middle of a tactical operations hub. Your outfit didn’t help, a pastel dress and a bag with a few pins and jangly keychains dangling off of it. You had the kind of presence that made people underestimate you, and you knew it.

Robert Robertson certainly was underestimating you.

He leaned back in his chair, hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, watching you with a smirk that was equal parts amusement and dismissal. His voice carried across the room, sharp enough to cut through the background noise.

“So this is our new recruit?” he said, pen tapping against his desk in rhythm with some tune only he could hear. “She looks like she should be chasing yarn balls, not criminals.”

A few chuckles rippled through the office. Someone muttered something about “office mascot,” and another snorted into their coffee. You didn’t flinch, instead your ears flicked once, tail curling tighter, but your expression stayed soft, almost innocent.

Robert’s grin widened. “Dispatching her’s gonna be like sending a kitten into a dogfight.”

“Careful,” one of the other dispatchers muttered from behind a stack of files. He didn’t look up, but his tone carried weight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robert raised a brow, leaning back further in his chair. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

Before he could, Chase poked his head over the cubicle divider with an eyebrow raised. “You ever hear the fucking rumors? Some people said she damn near ripped of some fucking heroes fucking dick. You want your fucking dick ripped off? Don't underestimate any of these fucking villains you dumb fuck."

The room went quiet for a beat.

Robert shook his head, breaking the tension with a laugh that sounded too loud in the silence. “You're serious? Look at her. Puppydog eyes, girly outfit, she has a fucking spongebob keychain. She’s harmless.”

Another voice chimed in, Waterboy, nervous and hesitantly he grasped onto the mop handle. "Actually... she uh-.. she once- once she killed- eliminated someone who was.. allegedly someone who-.. it was her friend's biggest enemy- rival."

Robert rolled his eyes, but his smirk faltered. He glanced back at you, studying the way you stood so relaxed, almost delicate, but with a stillness that felt deliberate. Predatory, if he let himself admit it.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with those soft eyes. “Nice to meet you too, Robert,” you said simply, your glossy lips pulling into a smile that revealed the pointed teeth framing your smile.

The words hung in the air, quiet but heavy.

Robert tapped his pen again, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, nice to meet you,” he muttered.

Around the office, the others exchanged looks — some amused, some wary.

The day went by with no serious threats being called in, until the alert pinged on the screen from the bank.

"Someone help! My husband went into the bank, and then alarms rang and they're locked down and they won't let me in and the police have been setting up-- I don't know what's going on! Just send someone!"

Robert straightened in his chair, headset sliding into place, his voice cutting through the comms with practiced ease. “Alright, team. We’ve got movement downtown. Visi, Mal, and Coupe I need the three of you on it right now. And as for our kitten…” His grin was audible, even through the static. “Maybe we send her to get the cat out of a tree instead.”

You sat up straighter on the park bench you had been lounging on, tail flicking once, ears twitching at the jab. Your lips parted and your phone tucked securely in your jacket pocket, but before you could speak, another voice cut in that was utterly unimpressed.

“Uh, no,” Invisigal said, her tone dripping with authority. “Listen, you know I love to fuck up some assholes any chance I get, but she should be on the robbery cause you've been sending all of us on the heavy calls. And she needs to go alone.”

The comms stilled for once.

Robert let out a heavy and incredulous sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You’re joking. She’ll get eaten alive in there.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Invisigal snapped. “You’ve heard the stories, Robertson. She’s the one you want in that bank.”

Sonar chimed in, nonchalant but entirely unfiltered. “Yeah, Bobby. Don’t underestimate her. I’ve seen what happens when people do.”

Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering. “You’re all insane. She’s new, she’s untested. You don’t throw someone like that into a robbery alone.”

But the comms lit up with agreement, one after another, voices overlapping until the consensus was undeniable. Invisigal’s voice cut through the noise again, firm and final. “Send her. Trust me.”

Robert hesitated, pen tapping against his desk. His eyes flicked to the monitors, to the feed of the bank’s exterior. He sighed, low and reluctant. “Fine. But if she gets scratched, it’s on you.”

He switched feeds, pulling up the bank’s security cameras. His eyes narrowed as he watched you approach the doors, tail swaying, ears twitching with every sound. You looked harmless and almost delicate.. that was, until your lips parted, teeth flashing, and your hand slid beneath your jacket.

Robert froze, leaning forward, pulse hammering.

The marble floors of the downtown bank gleamed under the fluorescent lights, reflecting the chaos of the robbery in progress. Shouts echoed from the lobby, masked men waving weapons, customers huddled in corners with wide eyes.

And then you walked in.

The doors swung open with a cheerful little push, your boots clicking lightly against the polished floor. Tail swaying, ears swiveling at every sound, you looked more like someone arriving for a shopping trip than a tactical takedown.

“Hi!” you chirped, voice bright, almost a singsong. “This looks busy.”

The robbers froze, blinking at the sight of you. One of them barked a laugh. “What the hell is this? Halloween?”

You tilted your head, ears dipping, and lips curling into a playful grin. “Nope! That's actually a little bit rude of you to say.”

Robert’s voice crackled faintly over the comms in your ear, disbelief dripping from every word. “She’s… prancing. She’s actually prancing into a robbery.”

From the SDN office, the team watched through the security feeds. Robert leaned forward, eyes glued to the monitor, pulse hammering. He’d expected nerves, maybe hesitation. Instead, he saw you move with deliberate cheer, every step light, every glance calculated.

One of the robbers stepped forward, gun raised. “Get out before you get hurt, kitty.”

Your tail flicked once, then your smile sharpened.

In a single motion, your hand slid beneath your jacket. The gun gleamed as you whipped it free, claws popping from your fingertips in the same breath. The cheerful bounce in your step vanished, replaced by predatory precision.

The first shots rang out rapidly, disarming the man before he could blink. Your claws slashed across another’s weapon, sending it clattering to the floor. You moved like you were dancing, it was all swift and fluid, every strike punctuated by the swish of your tail or the turn of your ears in the direction of another man.

Screams echoed, papers flew, and within seconds the chaos was reduced to silence. The robbers lay incapacitated (to put it nicely), weapons scattered, the hostages staring in stunned disbelief.

Robert’s voice cracked over the comms, low and breathless. “Holy shit.”

Chase’s laugh followed loudly causing you to grimace. “He’s got a fucking boner. Your fucking dispatcher got a hard on from watching a damn catgirl fuck some motherfuckers up.”

The office erupted in laughter, voices overlapping, teasing Robert mercilessly. He didn’t answer... couldn’t. His eyes stayed locked on the monitor, watching you stand in the wreckage, tail swaying behind you as you offered a hand to some of the hostages like nothing had happened.

You tilted your head toward the nearest camera, lips curling into a sly smile. “Still think I should’ve handled the tree?”

Robert swallowed hard, fumbling for the mic. “…Robbery neutralized. Good work.” His voice cracked, betraying him.

The comms lit up again with laughter, Chase howling loudest of all.

The office was buzzing when you walked back in, the aftermath of the robbery still fresh in everyone’s minds. Papers shuffled, comms clicked, and laughter rippled whenever someone glanced toward Robert, who was still bickering with Chase.

Blonde Blazer was waiting near the entrance, arms crossed, her hair still immaculate despite the late hour. She gave you a once over, eyes lighting up in approval, then nodded. “You handled yourself well for your first day, impressive.”

You smiled sweetly, your head tilting to one side and a bashful look coming to your face. Your ears went airplane mode and your cheeks puffed up in a smile. “Thank you,” your voice was soft, almost girlish. “It wasn’t that hard.”

Robert, from his desk, muttered under his breath. “Not that hard, she says, after dismantling half a fucking crew.”

Blonde Blazer smiled, clearly amused, before turning away to deal with another report. That left you free to drift toward Robert, your steps light, you were nearly skipping, as if you hadn’t just walked through hell and back.

He tried to look busy, pen tapping against a stack of papers, but his eyes flicked up the moment your tail brushed against his leg.

You leaned against his desk, chin resting in your hand, eyes wide and innocent. “You doubted me,” you noted softly, ears tilting toward the side.

Robert’s smirk returned, dry and sharp. “I still do. You look like you should be selling thin mints, not carrying an lmg.”

Your tail curled around his leg, deliberate, playful. “And yet…” You tilted your head, lips curling into a sly smile. “…you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blush like the others had teased. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, smooth as ever, voice low and amused. “Hard not to watch a cat knock over a room full of men twice her size.”

You hummed under your breath, and Robert could've sworn it was more of a purr than anything. But all thoughts left his head when you leaned closer, close enough that your ears brushed his shoulder and your perfume invaded his sense. “Maybe I like being watched, especially by you.”

Robert’s grin sharpened, his wit cutting through the tension. “Then you’re in the right job. Cameras everywhere. And me? I’ve got the best seat in the house.”

Your tail flicked, brushing against him again, and you laughed, light and musical. “Careful, Robertson. You sound like you’re flirting.”

He met your gaze, steady and unshaken. “Sound like? No. I am.”

The office noise faded around you — laughter, comms, chatter, all of it — all blurred into background hum. For a moment, it was just the two of you.. your feigned innocence, his dry wit, the playful tension coiling tighter with every brush of your tail.

← BACK. ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2025.

taglist form!! @lailqll @moviecritc

[arczism]

The things you make me do to him... Full on my [Patreon]

[luxthestrange]

Dispatch Incorrect Quotes#12 Don't anger the healer

When the Bar fight comes

Healer!Y/n*Arriving at the with your medkit, veins popping and roar*WAIT FOR ME BEFORE YOU CHARGE IN YOU FUCKING MOUTH BREATHERS!?!-

Z team+Robert*Stop their fighting and look at you with shiver running down their spines*...

Healer!Y/n: I CAN'T HEAL YOU IF YOU'RE ALREADY FUCKING DEAD!?!

I just think Healer with anger issues is the best... imagine you have recovery girl powers...who wants that?

[burgundysnow]

Yes to crazy ex Luke who just won't let you go emotionally and maybe physically so maybe you just get Stockholm syndrome back and get just as attached

Word count: 2.5k Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Hades child. Piv, fingering, slight breeding. Use of princess and good girl. Unprotected sex. Toxicish!Luke.

The end of summer is approaching, which means all campers are coming home soon. Not you though. With no one to go home to you stay in your dark cabin off to the very corner. 

As a child of hades there’s this huge cabin just for you. Every time you walk inside it’s like a chill run down your own back. Physically feeling the change of degrees in your own room. 

And maybe that’s why Luke liked you so much. Not— because of the cold cabin thing. But because you were one of the big three, or you were an outcast. You have to contemplate all these things by yourself now that he’s gone. 

You’re fairly sure the love you had with him was real. Even if the love wasn’t, the lust was. He had at least some form of attraction to you rather than all the people who pretend you don’t exist. 

You have to wonder if you weren’t one of the big three would Luke pretend like all of them? You were shocked when he asked you to join him. Join Kronos for goodness sakes. You knew better. But now, you almost wish you hadn’t said no. Because it’s been three months without a warm body next to you. 

Three months without any scared gazes looking your way. And you know you shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He’s turned and is evil now. But there was this letter that Luke gave you, and then there was this calling signal with the drachmas— 

It’s all so confusing. You’ve already specified you’re not joining him. And yet he keeps coming back, and you keep wishing for him to come back. 

And maybe that’s why he’s here now. On your bed and kissing up your shoulder. This is bad and wrong, yet you can’t seem to yell for help or for him to go away. 

He even came barring gifts. 

He said when giving it to you. “I want you to have this, from the outside world. Something to remember me by.” 

Before giving you a diamond necklace. A small digital camera. Trivial things that you can’t usually come by at the camps general store. 

And then he talked his way into your pants, because that’s what he’s good at, and you’re just as good at giving it to him. 

He came with a white sweater looking rich with daddy’s money, it was promptly thrown onto the floor when his hands slid up your sides. 

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered against your thigh. His eyes were locked on you with every kiss he planted onto the plush skin. 

It had your breath stuttering. Did he miss you? Or was it just another one of his tricks?

“I want you.” His lips pushed feverishly against yours. Making you dizzy with the fast passion. It was achingly familiar; it was finally nice to know you were safe. Or as safe as you could be with him. “This pussy haunts me.” 

He’s pushing up your shirt and your lips are already open for another kiss when you’re whispering, “it does?” 

“All I can fucking think about princess.” 

Luke’s hands are gentle and slow moving as he unhooks the back of your bra. With every inch that gets revealed he’s kissing the flesh, making your nipples pebble. “Cant get off unless I’m thinking about your pretty face.” 

His words are so specific. Itching that one part of your brain that wants praise but knows better, does he know all your kinks? Or are you really just that see though? He gently pushes at your shoulder and you fall onto the pillow. Everything around you feels airy like it might be a dream, and it very well could be. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dreamed of Luke. 

“So are you gonna let me?” 

“Huh…?” 

It’s like you can already feel your head floating away, brain already going dumb with all the touching of his warm hands on your aching body. 

“Are you gonna let me get off looking at that pretty face?” He’s sliding your panties up over your knees but his dark eyes stare boring into yours. “Make that face you do when you squeeze around me.” 

Luke has this smile. Big and wide, boyish, and pretty. Lips quirk up on one side that can only be described as smug. Mischievous even. And because he’s a Hermes child, you shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Are you?” 

Your legs spread apart so easily and Luke’s hand is on your jaw, making you look directly into his eyes, hard and unbreaking just for you. 

“Are you gonna squeeze around me, like the good little girl I know you are?” 

“Yes— “ 

You breathe in, whisper quickly. He makes you feel a heat in your lower stomach that you haven’t felt in weeks. He makes you feel protected when his hand lingers on any part of your body, like he doesn’t want to let go. He makes you feel. And that’s the scariest thing about him. 

His eyes finally turn down, immediately swiping his thumb up and down your cunt, rubbing slick into your clit. Touch soft like he was touching porcelain. He does this thing with his smile where he clicks his tongue against his teeth and tilts his head. 

“This wet f’me?” 

“I missed you too.” You shouldn’t have let that slip. He can’t know that he’s your weakness. That you’re this close to joining his side, not because of the beliefs or because it’s what you want. But because Luke is there. You think he already knows.

He should respond with some little I know quip or a soft scoff. But he doesn’t, his full-fledged response instead is to stick a finger inside you. You let out a pleasant sigh, waiting for this. 

Luke is genuinely the best. His fingers do that little curling motion that makes your walls feel like they’re closing in on both sides. Deep inside you making your gut feel all hot. 

Right now you’re not focusing on the pleasure, though— that is an added bonus. But no. You’re focused on how close Luke is to you. How warm his body is, how different he smells. 

You tug at his neck and he gets the hint. Pushing his lips to yours. The kiss is Long and deep. You’re trying to psychic send the words don’t go into his scull until he decides to stay with you again. Forever maybe? 

He tilts his head, and you’re pushing up into him. There’s warmth in your stomach building not only because of the kiss. Luke add another finger and the stretch is easy. So slick with want for something you can’t really have. 

He’s pulling away and you whine for him back; you need him close. Need to remember every little part of him now so you won’t take him for granted later. But he doesn’t relent. 

His fingers slip out easily and he sticks them in his mouth, it’s annoying how you can see his tongue roll around the digits and suck them clean. 

“Gonna devour this pussy later okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Later could mean anytime between 5 minutes and 5 months. With how often he sneaks away, and then back into camp. It’s a wonder how he hasn’t gotten caught yet. 

He starts to unzip his jeans and you bite your lip looking up at the ceiling. You’re gonna regret this later because as soon as he leaves you’re gonna be longing for this exact moment. 

The ceiling is marble and fine. Fancy artwork of gods has been painted up on ceiling and you wonder how your own father would think about you, doing this with a Hermes son no less. 

But does it really matter? What the gods wanted is what broke you and Luke apart in the first place. You’re upset that it had to happen this way. But upset at Luke or the gods you don’t know. 

The feeling of Luke’s tip gliding through your folds is what brings you back. Luke’s hand trails warmly up the outside of your thigh and then he’s pushing it forward, up onto his back. Both legs hook around his torso and he’s reaching for your hand. Finger’s sliding in each others and locking like a dead bolt with a key. 

His eyes are on you and that first thrust in is breathtaking. Luke sees the way your face contorts and he smiles. “Shhh—“ he whispers and his lips are close to your ear. “Don’t be loud. Can’t let anyone know I’m here.” 

He shuts you up with a kiss, another tender and sweet. It fuzzies your mind how in training he can be so rough, going all at with all his anger hitting the target till it chipped into pieces. But with you he’s soft. Like he can’t even risk tearing you apart once. 

This thrusts are shallow to start. You feel so full to the point of maximum capacity. Complete like a bundle of roses with baby’s breath. You shouldn’t feel as beautiful as that, comparing yourself to roses, the most romantic flower. But Luke makes you feel like that. He makes you feel pretty. 

Your breath hitches at a particularly hard thrust and eyes flutter close. You feel Luke’s grin near the skin of your neck. 

“That good?” 

“Yes…please.” 

You don’t know what you’re begging for. But you’re pulling your legs around him closer and meeting his thrusts. You both get mixed up into the sway of the rhythm. Minds numbing for only each other while pleasure builds. 

Breathing into each-others mouth like there’s not enough oxygen for the two of you. There is, there’s more than enough but you just like sharing each others, like fighting for it. 

With every thrust that’s harder than the last your hand wrapped around Luke’s tightens. It felt good, it felt normal. There was no Kronos or battle of the gods right now. It was just the two of you getting lost in each others’ minds. 

You feel a coil start to tighten in your belly. one that only Luke can provide for you and It’s rolling down hard and fast; you must be making some kind of face because he’s nodding. 

“There you go, just like that. Squeezed hard ‘round me Kay? Look at that pretty face.” 

You don’t have to try. Your body tenses naturally as your orgasm approaches. Luke’s thumb leaves your hand to rub over your bottom lip. Wet and kiss bitten. You don’t mind him staring, not when he’s looking at you like that. 

You cum violently for such a soft pace. Build up from overtime making it crash down like a fist on a mirror. Head drifting off in pleasure as hormones rank up higher. Together.

Luke groans from above you. It’s pretty and intoxicating. Your walls rapidly tensing around him but send him into a tizzy too, because he’s threatening to pull out. 

“No— nonono.” 

You don’t know what possessed you. But your legs lock tight around him and push up into him. You need him inside. For one last parting gift if you may. 

“Luke please—“ 

“Oh fuck.” 

He shakes his head, hiding a smile. Like he shouldn’t. But you’re his girl. Kinda. He can never deny you anything. And if you want the risk of becoming pregnant even when he wasn’t here, he’d let it slide. 

Luke’s jaw tenses as he cums. You hear the way his teeth grit and the way his jaw shifts. His eyes might roll back but they’re shut tight so you can’t see them. 

The silence is loud after. You don’t move. Your legs don’t even drop and your hands holding tight onto each other don’t soften. Not for a few minutes anyway. 

Luke kisses you again, it might seem like a lot but the truth is you could never get tired of Luke’s kissing, it’s like a drug that you need more of since the first time. But only this time. It’s different. You take the kiss for what it is. A goodbye. Your hands fly up into his hair and tug down. Deepening it. Making your head fill with the woes of him. But it doesn’t matter. Because no matter how much you kiss he breaks away. 

Legs falling open and locked hands have found the key and tossed it into the bushes once unlocked. Luke’s grabbing at his clothes and sliding his boxers back on. 

“You’re leaving?” You sound frightened. “So soon…?” 

Luke’s smile isn’t kind, or polite, or flirty. No. It’s sad just like yours. 

“I got errands to run.” 

You want to yell what the fuck or shove him into the wall. But you can’t, your body physically won’t allow you too. Because Luke is shrugging on that new sweater and then pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. His hand pushes the hair from out of your face. Gentle but in a way a child is gentle trying not to cut itself with safety scissors.  

“Don’t wait up for me alright?” 

Your breath hitches with panic. 

“You’ll be back though right?” What the fuck were you saying? You don’t want him back. Well— of course you want him back. But camp doesn’t. And the people he betrayed definitely don’t.

“Of course silly.” He says it like it’s another Tuesday afternoon. Something domestic. Like there isn’t a bounty on his head to give him up to the gods. 

He presses one last slow lingering kiss to your lips. It’s warm. And makes sadness linger.

“I love you.” 

He whispers. You don’t know if it’s true. You want to ask. do you? But he brought you gifts and then treated you right. But if he really loved you. Wouldn’t he have stayed? Sacrificed his whole empire and recruits just to be with you.

He doesn’t wait for an answer back. Luke’s opening your door and walking outside. Not looking back no matter how hard you want him too. 

The rest of the day your mind is fuzzy. Fuzzy warm one moment and then cold the next, negative, and hateful. Post orgasm realization making you realize things you haven’t before. Everything about your situation is confusing. Making your head hurt. 

Going for a walk you see campers all huddling around the campfire. As far as you’re concerned nothing big was happening today. All the campers that took summer vacation away are supposed to be coming back tomorrow. 

You jog up to the ground, theres murmurs all around but you can’t focus on one thing. “Excuse me..?” You tap a campers shoulder. There face changes when they realize it’s you. a hades child. but they don’t leave. “What happened?” 

“Percy’s here, Annabeth too— they said Luke was here. And he poisoned Thalia’s tree.” 

Your heart stopped. Apparently “errands” now meant trying to hurt camp. Stab more friends in the back and the border that protect us all. 

Luke only came to poison the tree. But he came to you first. Does that not mean anything?