Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)
Chapter 9
A/N: IT‘S FINALLY OUT!! no real interactions between batfam and y/n in this one butttt there are some revelations and thoughts 👀 I can‘t promise when I will publish the next chapter though🩷 as I said I’m a bit busy rn!! But when I’m back I will start the work 🥰 I will write Drabble though!! Also tell me your thoughts about this chapter!! I love reading all your reactions and comments 🥹 - poppy
The apartment smelled like damp walls and mildew that never quite left, no matter how many windows she opened or how much lemon cleaner she used. The floor creaked when she moved, and the pipes rattled every time the neighbor above her flushed their toilet—but it was hers.
Hers, in the loosest, most fragile sense of the word.
Rent was due in two days. She had $7 in her wallet. Her breakfast had been an expired protein bar she found in the bottom of her backpack, and dinner would probably be the rest of the rice she cooked yesterday.
But she was alive.
And most importantly—she was free.
The tiny kitchen was quiet as she knelt by the potted plants that lined the inside of her single window. They weren’t thriving, but they were trying—just like her. She sprayed their leaves with a light mist, humming softly under her breath, careful not to wake the baby next door or Gary upstairs.
Gary was the landlord. The one that gave her this place.
Old, grouchy, mostly harmless. He paid her to care for the flowers he sold in his rundown shop two blocks away. It wasn’t enough to live off of, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t ask questions either. Not about her name, age or family. Not about why she paid in cash. Not about why she always kept the hood of her coat pulled low when she ran errands.
It had been thirty-two days since she left the manor.
Thirty-two days since she’d lied to Alfred’s face.
Since she’d walked past the gates with her bag and never looked back.
Since she’d become someone else. Or at least tried to.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the tiny case on her desk.
The contact lenses were cheap, but they worked. A flat, soft brown that covered the bright, unnatural green of her mother’s legacy. She blinked slowly as she put them in, fingers steady despite how often her stomach cramped from hunger or how the floor still spun when she stood too fast.
She had to blend in.
Be no one.
Be small.
Still, some nights—especially when the sun fell too fast or the wrong person looked at her too long—the fear returned. Heavy and loud in her chest. That someone had seen her. That someone had recognised her. That he had finally found out she was gone.
She didn’t know why she kept expecting the family to knock on her door. They hadn’t cared then. Why would they care now?
The apartment was still cold when the morning light slipped through the cracked blinds.
Y/N rubbed her arms and breathed into her palms, waiting for the kettle to hum. The gas burner made a clicking noise before catching. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake the baby next door. The walls were thin—like the ones in her memories.
She glanced toward her plants lining the windowsill. They were her secret. Hydrangeas blooming out of season. Tiny wildflowers that hadn’t existed in this hemisphere in decades. The old roses that Gary had given up on now sprawled over their pot, heavy and full of color.
“I must have a green thumb,” she’d said once, and Gary had barked a laugh and said, “Kid, if that’s a thumb, I want a whole hand of yours.”
She’d smiled.
She always smiled.
Even when it was thin. Even when it was shaking.
⸻
The fake ID in her wallet said Emilia Forenzi, age 18, born in Venice. She’d forged the name, the history, the accent. She wasn’t very good at faking the accent, but people didn’t really listen to it in this part of Gotham.
They saw a pretty girl with sweet eyes and perfect manners.
Not a Wayne.
Not Poison Ivy’s daughter.
Just her.
She tried to get a job last week at a diner near the outskirts. The man behind the counter said she looked too soft for waitressing in Gotham, but she’d promised to learn quickly. He hadn’t called her back.
Still, she kept looking.
She only made just enough with Gary’s shop and the flowers in the nearby park he quietly “claimed” as his own. He was gruff, but he gave her an extra five dollars the other day when he saw her feeding a stray cat half her dinner.
“Don’t starve for that flea-ball,” he’d said.
She had smiled, then handed the cat the last bit of her rice anyway.
____
The nightmares came every other night.
She didn’t scream anymore. She learned to bite her lip in the Manor. But her pillow was often damp by morning.
They weren’t always the same—sometimes it was the manor again, the long corridors and cold dinners and the silence when she tried to speak. Sometimes it was the moment it happened. When they looked too late. When they reached too slowly. When they mourned too little.
But more recently … more often… she dreamt of her mother.
It had been so long since she’d let herself remember Pamela Isley. Ivy.
Green eyes like hers. A lullaby voice. Warm hands and flowery perfume.
She hadn’t thought about her in years—not really. Not since Bruce took her in and no one ever said her name again. Not since she learned that “Poison Ivy is a criminal, not a mother.”
But now, alone in her silence, in her little room with its stolen furniture and secondhand blankets, Y/N wondered.
Where was she?
Was she still in Arkham?
Did she know that her daughter was dead once? That she lived again?
A part of her felt guilty for not trying to reach out.
Another part of her was too afraid.
Because even her mother might not want her.
_________________
Y/N’s POV
Y/N had no working television, but the city didn’t need one to scream at her.
It screamed through the streets. Through the rising hum of sirens. Through the headlines splattered across cracked newspaper boxes she passed on her walks.
“Vigilante Brutality Increases in Crime Alley.”
“Masked Assault in the Narrows: Third Criminal Hospitalized This Week.”
“Batarangs Found at Scene.”
Some nights, she swore she recognized the marks.
A broken window too clean. A blood trail that vanished before it reached the curb. A body left in the perfect shape of Jason’s rage. A rooftop cracked in the exact angle Dick once used to land his kicks. A cigarette packet crushed under a boot with too much calculation—Tim.
And the shadow that never missed a target—Bruce.
They were out there. All of them.
Stalking the night harder than they had in years.
And she still told herself:
It’s not for me.
It couldn’t be.
Because if it was, what would that even mean?
⸻
Gary had warned her. Again and again.
That the streets weren’t safe. That something was shifting in Gotham—something darker, tighter, more personal.
“Stay in after dusk,” he’d told her tonight, setting a paper bag of groceries on the table. “These days, Gotham’s bleeding from the inside out.”
She nodded sweetly. Smiled, even.
Then locked the door the second he left.
But she wasn’t afraid of the men in alleyways.
Not the thieves. Not the dealers. Not the hungry strangers who eyed her when she passed by.
She was afraid of the people whom she used to see as brothers.
Because if she ever saw them again—if she ever looked into those familiar eyes and saw that distant, practiced guilt or the too-late affection…
She didn’t trust herself not to cry.
Not to break.
Not to forgive them too easily.
And she couldn’t.
Not after everything.
Not again.
Damian’s POV
It had been twenty-nine days and eleven hours since Damian had last seen his sister.
Not that he was counting.
Not that he had a tally scratched into the underside of his desk.
Not that he stared at the empty seat beside him in every class like it was mocking him.
But he knew.
And it infuriated him.
The others said she’d vanished.
The others said she’d slipped past them all.
But she hadn’t slipped past him.
Not really.
She’d looked him in the eye that morning—after their fight.
After he’d grabbed her. Cornered her. Called her a liar.
“It’s nothing that will matter to you soon anyway.”
He hadn’t understood it then.
He did now.
She’d meant goodbye.
At school, her name still came up.
Y/N Wayne.
The girl who suddenly “returned to Italy.”
Back to her “supermodel mother”—at least, that’s what her friends claimed. It’s what she had told them.
They all bought it.
They called it romantic. Mysterious.
Like she’d left for a glamorous life.
But Damian knew better.
The softness in her eyes before she left wasn’t joy.
It was resignation.
He had tried—quietly at first.
Digging behind the scenes. Asking questions without being obvious.
Then, after a week, subtlety died.
He skipped class.
He hacked into school servers, city cameras, bus routes.
He threatened. Intimidated. Pressured.
He found Silas. Beat him within an inch of expulsion. Again.
And when the school didn’t act fast enough, he made them.
Silas was gone the next morning.
But it didn’t satisfy him, because Y/N wasn’t anywhere.
At night, Robin bled through Gotham.
Damian stalked rooftops not for criminals—but for a slip of movement that might be her.
He shattered kneecaps for a name. Broke ribs for a whisper.
Even the villains noticed.
“Robin’s gotten… personal again,” Harley had murmured after escaping a busted safehouse.
But nothing helped.
Each time he paused, high above the city in the bitter dark, he swore he could feel her.
Somewhere below.
Somewhere lonely.
And not calling for him.
He hated her for that.
He hated himself more.
She belonged to them. To him.
To the family. To the house. To his routine. His mornings. His world.
And now she was gone.
_____
Dick’s POV
He hadn’t been back to Bludhaven in three weeks.
The people were worried.
The criminals were thrilled.
But Dick didn’t care.
He told Bruce he wasn’t capable of “handling other lives” until he found the one life that actually mattered.
And no one argued.
Not anymore.
At first, he’d tried to believe it was all temporary.
That she had just… run off to prove a point.
That she’d come back, pouty but forgiving, with that innocent little laugh and into his arms held open like a truce.
But one month later—there were no illusions left.
His little flower was gone.
And something in him had gone cold.
The smile?
Gone.
The charm?
Buried.
Even Jason said it once—gruff and to the point:
“You look more like Bruce every damn day.”
And Dick hadn’t answered.
Because Dick wasn’t Bruce.
Bruce had forgotten her.
He had abandoned her.
But Dick had known. He’d seen.
He just didn’t act.
She used to leave notes.
Little drawings tucked into his gear bag when he’d visit.
He’d find doodles of himself and her—with giant goofy smiles—under his glove cases.
He hadn’t kept a single one.
He told himself he was busy.
She was a kid.
She’d grow out of it.
But now?
Now he was in her room every other day—just sitting, just looking.
Searching every inch of that now-empty drawer like it was a crime scene.
And maybe it was.
Because something had died in that room.
He’d found the old plush once.
The elephant one.
Alfred said she took it with her—so the one he found was a decoy.
“She knew someone would check,” Tim had whispered.
“She planned this.”
And that shattered Dick in a way fists never had.
She didn’t even trust them to miss her.
He walked the alleys at night.
Not as Nightwing.
Just as someone looking for a ghost in a little green sweater.
The one she wore all the time when she was younger—the one that matched the flowers she grew.
He used to call her his little flower.
She used to love that.
She even wrote it in one of those diary entries he found—buried in the box of discarded drawings they’d all ignored:
“I wish he would call me little flower again. I think I’d feel like he loves me if he did.”
Dick never cried. Not even when his parents died.
But when he read that—he’d just sat down right on the floor and shook.
“You were the soft one,” Jason had thrown at him last week.
“Where the hell were you when she needed you?”
He didn’t answer then either.
Because the truth was brutal:
He’d been smiling for everyone else.
Just not her.
Now he didn’t smile at all.
And when he caught anyone slacking on patrol, skipping a corner, missing a lead—he snapped.
“We are finding her.”
It wasn’t just a command.
It was a vow.
A curse.
And every night, when he sat in the shadows of her room, that vow echoed again and again like a prayer to a flower-shaped ghost:
“I’m gonna find you, Y/N”
“I don’t care what it takes.”
_____
Jason was never good at guilt.
He could shoot it in the face, bury it in the ground, drink it away.
But not this.
Not when the guilt had a name.
A voice.
A laugh.
A heartbeat he couldn’t find anymore.
Y/N.
Red Hood didn’t patrol anymore. He hunted.
He tore through the underworld like a rabid dog, taking names, putting bodies in the ER, slamming faces into pavement hard enough to shatter teeth. Criminals whispered about it. That something had snapped in the Red Hood. That he’d gone fully off-leash.
They were right.
Because she was gone.
And someone had to pay for it.
He blamed Bruce, obviously. Jason always blamed Bruce. For being cold. For being blind. For never knowing what to do with someone soft. For burying himself in work while she withered upstairs. How the hell do you forget your own daughter?
But blame was easy.
What wasn’t easy was looking at himself.
He remembered the first time she came up to him. Little thing. Barely past toddler years, wide-eyed and sticky with jam, calling him “Jayshu” in that babbling baby voice.
He didn’t say anything back.
He remembered her knocking on his door when he returned after dying — begging him to come down for cookies she made.
He told her to leave him the hell alone.
He remembered yelling. Something about Poison Ivy. Something about how she was just a seed of villainy waiting to sprout.
She cried.
And he did nothing.
She never stopped being sweet after that. She just stopped hoping.
God.
She’d always tried.
And now she was gone — not kidnapped, not taken. She left.
She left them.
Left him.
She was somewhere out there in Gotham. Cold, starving, maybe scared, and trying to make a life for herself with whatever pieces she thought she could carry.
Because they’d convinced her — all of them — that the mansion didn’t have room for her. That she was a footnote in her own damn home.
Jason swore if she was dead—
No.
She wasn’t dead.
She couldn’t be.
He refused to believe that.
He was going to find her.
If he had to burn down every alley, question every creep, put a bullet in every bastard that even looked at a girl wrong—
He was going to find his baby sister.
And this time, he wasn’t letting her go.
Not until she knew what she meant to him.
Even if he had to drag her home, kicking and crying and hating him.
Because hate was better than fear.
Hate meant she was alive.
And he could live with that.
—————— TIm’s POV
Tim hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours. His fingers trembled faintly over the keyboard, dark half-moons carved under bloodshot eyes, the whites gone dull with insomnia and stimulants. The walls of his room were drowned in screens, all reflecting her face — what little he could still find of it.
Her school file. Old pictures. Surveillance footage from Gotham Academy — months old. The last known digital remnants of Y/N Eloise Wayne.
But it wasn’t enough.
He’d run every facial match algorithm. Every public transport log. Hacked through every ID registration, health record, housing file under her legal name. And she was gone.
“She’s too smart,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. “She lied. She planned. She’s not Y/N Eloise Wayne anymore.”
The revelation haunted him. It burned, rotted somewhere behind his ribs. She had vanished under his nose, wearing a false name like a cloak — and he hadn’t seen it coming.
He had gone through every file they owned on her. Every school note, every doctor visit, every written scrawl from her elementary notebooks. He replayed her school performance clips over and over, like decoding a cipher. Her smile made his chest cave in. The applause that followed felt like mockery now.
He didn’t even know her.
He thought he did.
Now, even the way she looked at him — polite, soft, cautious — seemed like a stranger’s ghost haunting his memory.
It was always her that tried. She came to him, not the other way around. He’d been too cold. Too preoccupied. Too… utilitarian. And now she was gone.
______
Bruce
Wayne Manor was silent.
It had been a tomb since the day she left.
Bruce sat in the cave beneath it, not the man in the suit but the shell. His cowl sat on the table beside a half-finished bottle of bourbon, the second one tonight. Or maybe the third. He didn’t count anymore. What was the point?
He hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t stepped into the office in days. Lucius had called. He didn’t answer. No one in the company knew why Bruce Wayne had vanished. But Gotham still had Batman.
Only, he wasn’t Batman anymore. He was something else now. Something starving.
At night he stalked the rooftops with animal focus. Interrogated criminals with bone-breaking efficiency. Asked questions. Searched every corner of the city. Every district. Every shadow. He didn’t rest. He didn’t breathe unless it was with her name in his mind.
His daughter. His daughter.
It repeated like a pulse in his ears.
It burned behind his eyes.
She was all he had left of Ivy — that mistake, that moment — but she had been more than that. From the instant he saw her, frail and bright-eyed, he knew. She wasn’t like any of them.
She was good.
And he’d abandoned her. Buried her behind patrol logs and briefing reports and other children. The guilt made him flinch from his own reflection. He wasn’t fit to be her father.
But he would bring her back. He would. He would find her, cradle her against his chest, and keep her. Lock the doors. Watch over her like a warden, not a parent. If that’s what it took.
Because the world wasn’t safe. And neither was he.
⸻
None of them spoke about the dreams.
Not Dick. Not Tim. Not Bruce. Not even Damien, who barely slept at all.
But each night they saw her.
Not the girl who vanished. Not the child who used to smile at them and draw them flowers.
No, in their dreams, she was older. Just a little. Sixteen, seventeen, maybe eighteen — and dying.
Sometimes she was bloodied. Sometimes drowned. Sometimes strangled. Her eyes always wide, always shocked, always alone.
They woke up breathless. Sometimes screaming. Always cold. Always guilty.
None of them could explain it.
She hadn’t died. Had she?
They told themselves it was the mind, punishing them for failing her. But something deeper twisted in their stomachs, something that whispered:
You weren’t just too late.
You were never there at all.
______
Tim
Tim hadn’t slept in forty-three hours.
His coffee was cold.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His hands trembled at the keyboard.
But he wasn’t stopping.
The Batcave was silent except for the hum of outdated servers and the sharp clack of his fingers moving too fast. The screens were filled with dead ends. Burned leads. Traffic cams from the docks. Street-side black markets. Pawn shop ledgers. None of them led to her.
Y/N Wayne.
Y/N Eloise Wayne.
Y/N Eloise Isley.
All versions. Dead files.
He stared at the access logs of the encrypted folder Alfred once backed up manually. The old section of the system not even connected to the current grid. Half of it was still mirrored from the pre-reset servers Bruce had shut down after the Joker War.
Tim was about to close it.
But then his cursor hovered over something.
CASE FILE_413-A — DECEASED: WAYNE, Y/N E.
He froze.
Click.
His breath caught.
The screen flickered to life with a full-color dossier.
A Bat-file.
Compiled. Stamped. Finalized.
Tim’s pupils dilated as the first image loaded.
It was a crime scene photo.
A girl — slender frame, (Y/S) skin, long tangled hair matted in blood — lay crumpled in a side alley.
Her body was twisted. There were vines curled around her hands like she had tried, in the end, to summon something. The file dated her death at age eighteen. The location: Gotham Lower East.
Another picture followed.
A toe tag. Her name.
Y/N Eloise Wayne.
Tim recoiled in the chair, the metal frame screeching against the floor.
He clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The blood in his veins ran ice cold.
“No…”
The file was real.
Old. Buried.
Made by them.
There was Bruce’s signature. His own encrypted seal. A medical report from Leslie. Postmortem autopsy. She’d been stabbed. Multiple times. Lungs collapsed. Defensive wounds.
Motive listed: “Targeted for her parentage. Daughter of Poison Ivy. Daughter of Bruce Wayne.”
She died alone.
Tim’s stomach turned. Images blurred behind his lashes as his heart pounded in his throat. Then — faint, like an echo —
a memory.
her voice.
“It’s okay, Tim… I know you’re busy. Maybe next time…”
His hand clenched.
It made sense now. Her withdrawn smile. Her evasiveness. The way she flinched when someone used her name too sweetly. The edge of fear under her fake smiles. The lies about school. About friends.
She remembered.
“She knew,” he whispered. “Oh my god… she knew.”
Tim’s eyes scanned through the final page of the report.
A line written in someone’s hand. His own, maybe.
“We were too late.”
“She died thinking she wasn’t loved.”
“We never made it in time.”
He stood up fast, the chair clattering behind him.
No one else had seen this yet.
They didn’t know.
They couldn’t know.
But they would.
Tonight.
“They have to know,” Tim said, eyes still locked on the glowing screen. “We all failed her once. We don’t get to fail her again.”
____
The group chat pinged three times.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
❝ Everyone get to the Cave. Now. ❞
❝ I found something. ❞
❝ It’s about her. ❞
No one responded at first.
Damian left him on “Read.”
Dick ignored it.
Jason sent back a single skull emoji.
He should have expected these reactions since he has been sending the same sentence every day for the past few days.
So Tim lied.
❝ I know where she is. ❞
Within minutes, the Cave roared to life with engines and boots slamming against concrete.
Jason was the first to storm in, eyes bloodshot and helmet still on.
Damian followed, jaw clenched, already starting to bark—
“Where is she, Drake?! Where is my sister—”
Tim stood near the console, arms crossed.
“I lied.”
Jason lunged.
Fist in Tim’s collar. Slam. Back against the wall.
“You what—?!”
“I lied,” Tim repeated, voice low. “Because I had to get you all here. Because I found something.”
Bruce’s silhouette broke through the Cave entrance — suit half-on, stubble dark along his jaw, shadows under his eyes like bruises.
Perpetrator: Unidentified rogue faction. Targeted for her parentage.
The room went still.
“What the hell is this,” Dick asked, already stepping closer.
Bruce’s breath hitched. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Jason froze.
“A fake?” Dick suggested.
Tim shook his head.
“Timestamped. Five years from now. This is from before. A different timeline.”
Damian scoffed. “You’re saying she died in the future?”
“She did die,” Tim said. “We all just forgot.”
They stared.
He opened the rest of the file. Images, recordings. Surveillance. Her body. Blood pooled in the alley. The report showed Bruce petitioned Zatanna and Constantine. There was a time ritual. Risky. Forbidden.
“You risked time to bring her back?” Jason muttered.
Bruce didn’t answer.
Tim’s voice cut in. Cold.
“We failed her once. She died alone. We didn’t protect her. Not any of us.”
Jason turned toward the screen. The photo flickered —
her eyes still open.
blood across her temple.
dirt under her nails like she fought to crawl away.
Damian took a step back. “No…”
“She knew,” Tim said. “That’s why she looked at us like that. Why she avoided us. She came back. And she remembered.”
No one moved.
The room was silent, suffocating beneath the cold glare of the screen where Y/N’s death flickered like an echo. The air clung to their lungs like ash — thick, bitter, and impossible to swallow. Damian had dropped to the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself, his head bowed low as if sheer will could reverse time. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering her name over and over, as if it was a prayer. As if saying it enough times would call her back.
Jason stood with his jaw clenched so tight it cracked. His eyes — wild and bloodshot — stayed locked on the image of her body. He didn’t look away, not even once. The blood. The dirt. The way she had died like a stranger in the street. He saw it every night in his head now, but nothing compared to seeing it in full color. The walls around his heart — already thin when it came to her — collapsed completely.
Dick had turned away. Not from shame, but from grief so raw it left his hands shaking. He dug his nails into his palms to stop the trembling. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the Cave apart and rebuild it out of something softer, something warmer — something that had room for little girls with flowers in their hands and letters in their drawers that he never read.
Tim stood with arms crossed, but his composure was an illusion. His voice was hollow. His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of knowing. He had chased every digital ghost in Gotham trying to find her — but this file was not just a clue. It was a memory clawing its way back. A record of a crime they all committed through silence, through neglect, through absence.
And Bruce… he hadn’t spoken since the image loaded. His breath had gone still. He looked at his daughter’s face on the screen — the girl he had summoned back into this world with rituals and desperation — and he saw her dying again. Just like before. All over again. She had called him “Daddy” in her last breath. He heard it in his sleep now.
They didn’t speak. Not for a long time. Each of them lost in the torment of the realization that this wasn’t just about a runaway child. It was about the daughter they failed — a second time. About the signs they missed. The eyes that begged them to remember.
They had dismissed her heartbreak. They had questioned her distance. They had shrugged off her quiet smiles as teenage moodiness. But now the pieces came together with devastating clarity.
She remembered. That’s why she changed. That’s why she ran. She remembered dying alone while they forgot her.
No one needed to say it out loud.
The mission had changed. This wasn’t about finding her anymore.
This was about getting her back before Gotham swallowed her whole again.
SUMMARY: You have the perfect boyfriend, he's everything you have ever wanted and wished for, he's the man of your dreams. You're also the woman of his dreams, he always makes sure to let you know that and how much he loves you, just that his dreams are different from yours.
CONTENT WARNING: yandere boyfriend : possesive & obsessive behaviour : unreliable narrator : thoughts of non con : controlling behaviour : emotional manipulation : dark thoughts and themes : dead dove; do not eat
You felt his thumb brush past the corner of your mouth, the pad of his thumb wiping away the little crumbs of the avocado toast you were eating, made by him.
You were talking about something and you stopped mid sentence, to give him a huge beaming, radiating smile, your mouth still fully stuffed with the delicious breakfast he had made for you after you returned from the gym.
“So, yeah that's why she won't be coming anymore” you continued swallowing. “Like, that's so scary. Her ex is always waiting for her near the gym, it's for her own good if she changes it, but honestly I am gonna miss her. We had gotten really close the past few days.”
You continued to talk more about that situation as he listened to you, nodding at the things you said. You took the last bite of the toast thanking him for it, it was really delicious and exactly how you liked it.
Since you had moved in with him he always made you breakfast, even on the days he had work, not like you didn't want to do the same for him but he just completely refused, always flirting around the topic when you brought it up and saying stuff like how you can always return the favour in bed only for you to slap his arm.
He smiled, looking at you fondly, his eyes following you as you stood up picking up your plate grinning at him and turned around to put in the sink.
It had only been a couple of months since you had started going to gym. The reason you had given was that you needed to be stronger, what if some bad guys followed you or someone tried to kidnap you and stuff, these days alot of women went missing.
“Babe, I need to be physically stronger plus it's not like it's a bad thing you know?” You had said with puppy eyes, full of hope which you knew always worked on him. Your chin resting on his chest, as you looked up at him waiting for him to say yes, just because you knew he would, he never said no to you.
He had just looked down at you, with a slight smile on his face, his fingers brushing through your hair, “Ofcourse you can baby, you do know that you don't need to ask me right?” He had said with a soft and gentle voice as his fingers combed through your hair, your heart had given a flutter because the way he had looked at you, his eyes full of love. He made you feel so safe and comfortable, so loved and cherished.
Wasn't he just so perfect, a dream boyfriend. He was everything you had ever dreamt for and wanted in a man. You had gotten on your tip toes to give him a quick peck on his lips which had only made him chuckle, fully embracing you, his large arms surrounding you, as he had said something like how he was not going to let you go off the hook that easily, peppering your face with kisses and smooches as you giggled.
He knew you would bring this topic some day or the other, he knew before you had even thought about it, just because he knew you so well.
These days you would always bring up this topic about women safety, and how news was full of them now and then. So, he already knew what was cooking inside your subconscious, he was just waiting for you to finally talk to him about it.
And you were right, women did go missing, a lot of bad things happened to them and that was the reason why he always dropped or picked you up from somewhere, chaperoning you always.
And when he was not he always made sure you were sharing your live location with him.
He smiled at you again, amused at how your brain worked that any of it would help you in protecting yourself, the only thing or more to say a person who was yours could protect you was him.
“Does it hurt anywhere else?” He asked as he massaged your calves as you scrolled through your phone, legs draped over his lap on the couch.
“Nah, that's enough” you murmured feeling drowsy as the ache from the morning excercise had reduced, thanks to him. “Now I feel really sleepy,” you said, putting down your phone on the side.
“Then take a nap” he said, not stopping the massage even when you stretched your arms overhead with a little groan. Following that you stretched your legs too, your calves flexing under his hands.
Slowly you got up into the sitting position and curled up to his side as he lifted up his arm so you could tuck yourself against his chest, and the moment you did, he wrapped it around you pulling your body closer to his.
You pressed your cheeks against his chest, feeling his heartbeat in your ears, his free hand giving short firm press to your aching shoulders as you felt the pain there reducing as his hands worked.
He did so many things without you asking him too, sometimes even you didn't know you needed something but he would have already done it for you. He really was the perfect boyfriend.
You nuzzled against his chest murmuring a soft ‘I love you’ as you heard him say it back, with a kiss on the top of your head.
You hugged him closer, feeling so safe and secure in his arms, that nothing bad could happen to you or even come to you because he was with you. His arms were your safe place, no matter how bad the outside world was inside of these four walls with him none of it mattered or scared you because he was with you, for always and forever.
He saw you lulling into sleep, your eye lashes fluttering, breath slow and even, your body melting into his perfectly, fingers still loosely clutching to his tshirt like even in sleep you wanted him close. So trusting and perfect.
He tucked a loose strand of your hair back to your bun, his hands grazing against the soft skin of your neck.
You were so sweet and so fucking stupid, thinking that getting stronger would be of any help that if you gained a little bit of muscles you could fight back, especially against a man like him, who was twice your size, the kind of man who could pin you down without breaking a sweat if he ever chose to.
He loves you so much, he loves how you trust him, seeing no wrong in him. He wants to see your reaction when he would stop playing this part, the part of your perfect boyfriend.
There would be a day when he would get tired of playing this role eventually and would show his real side, his real face to you. Will you get scared? Will you try to fight him back or worse leave him?
The thought of you trying to fight back one day, using all your strength against him, made him smile for real this time.
It would be so adorable and completely useless.
Though he would protect you, he's your boyfriend afterall, your perfect boyfriend.
He would protect you from the outside world which was full of monsters, monsters like him, the one you lived with inside the safety of your home.
He would protect you from everyone else, just not from himself.
leading a normal life was supposed to keep you hidden from the fiendish and mythical creatures that haunted your childhood. but when an old friend suddenly re-enters your life, you have no choice but to confront the enchanted parts of yourself that you tried so hard to ignore.
ao3
status: wip
pairing: sylus x reader x zayne
tags: modern fantasy au, minor violence, witchcraft, occult, eventual smut, vampire sylus, werewolf zayne, mind manipulation/control, implied character death, grief/mourning, character turned into vampire, werewolf turning, werewolf mate, references to knotting, breeding kink, temporary character death
Caleb's Birthday Countdown Event- 7 fics (2026)
Valko: Till he comes back <3 - 5 drabbles
ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠ ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ <3
Tight fit (Apple, Fish, Snow, Star)
Tight fit (Crow)
Tight fit(Wolf)
Woof (applewolf)
Tag team (applewolf)
Makeup sex (Apple)
Frat Brothers!Caleb & Valko x Virgin!Reader (AppleWolf)
You find Caleb's p0rn collection (Apple)
Roommate! Valko’s heightened senses leave you no privacy. (Wolf)
Caleb takes his stress out on you (Apple)
Sylus can see into your dreams (Crow)
Lads men when they get puppies! (all)
Zayne's little assistant (Snow)
0.9k words // Nsfw (ish) // gets caught // takes pictures and videos without reader knowing // angsttt // crying // reader is flabbergasted // Yan just wants a hug // :‹
He’s shy.
God, he’s so shy.
He lurks in the shadows, always in the back, always tucked away somewhere dark where no one ever has to look at him.
Moping. Frowning. Whining.
Drowning in some pathetic pool of self-pity because he’s never strong enough to speak up, never brave enough to be seen.
The tears that fall at night, soaking into his pillow.
The red, angry marks on his palms from clenching his fists too hard all day just to stay silent.
The dark, heavy circles under his dulling eyes, carved there from hours and hours staring into camera lenses instead of facing the real world.
The sick, pale skin from hiding inside all the time, too scared to breathe the same air as everyone else.
The only time anyone notices him is through the college paper. His photos.
They always say he has a good eye for beauty.
Funny.
Because there’s only one thing he actually thinks is beautiful.
You.
You’re the only thing he’s ever had eyes for.
And thankfully, he’s good at hiding, because it lets him watch you all day.
Trailing behind you, camera always in hand like it’s his lifeline.
Snapping pictures of you when you smile, when you frown, when you just exist.
The things he does in secret
Sneaking into your dorm just to collapse on your bed, face buried in your pillow, greedy for the scent you leave behind.
Stealing your shirts when you’re not looking, clutching them to his chest and wearing them in the secret privacy of his own room- where every wall is completely covered in different pictures of you. He wants to be completely surrounded by you.
The tiny cameras he’s hidden in your pencil sharpener, your toothbrush charger, unnoticeable desperate pieces of himself clinging to you.
He sees everything.
Every soft moment when you think no one’s looking.
Every time you let your guard down.
Every inch of your beautiful, ethereal, breathtaking body.
And each time, it makes him ache. Makes him starve for you.
You are his sanctuary.
You are the only place that feels right.
You just don’t know it yet.
He wants so badly for you to look at him.
To want him.
To pull him into your arms and never, ever let go.
But you don’t see him.
You never do.
And he’s too much of a coward to step into the light.
He knows it.
He hates it.
Still, he wishes anyway.
Wishes on everything he can find. Full moons, four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, coins tossed into wishing wells, begging the universe for you to notice him.
To need him.
Until then, he’ll stay hidden.
Just him, his camera, and his stupid, pathetic, breaking heart.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Watching you.
“Please come to me, my light,” he whispers into your pillow, voice cracking as he sobs.
“Please.”
“What are you doing in my room?…”
He stiffens, heart dropping,“I-” His voice dies in his throat.
You’re staring at him like you don’t even recognize him.
Like he’s something wrong.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” your voice cracks with something between confusion and fear.
You take a step back, away from him.
And it cuts him deep.
He launches forward without thinking, still clutching your shirt, still smelling like you, desperation pouring off him in waves.
“Please- please don’t, don’t look at me like that,” he stammers, reaching out like he could pull you back to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I swear! I just- I just love you!” He cries.
You shake your head, overwhelmed, confused.
You feel sick.
You remember the missing clothes, the little things that had been moved, the uneasy feeling of being watched, followed…
The pieces click into place like a knife twisting in your gut.
“You…”
You can barely breathe.
“You’ve been stalking me?”
He whimpers at the word.
Like it physically hurt him.
“N-no not like that-” he pleads, voice breaking. “I was just- watching over you, I was not stalking you, I swear!”
You step back again, faster this time.
Your stomach turns.
You can’t think straight.
“I don’t even know you,” you choke out, anger sparking through your fear. “You- you’re sick!”
The words hit him hard.
He collapses to his knees, crawling after you without thinking, grabbing onto the hem of your pants with shaking hands.
“No, please, please don’t say that,” he sobs, tears pouring freely now. “I’m not sick, I know you! I’m yours- I’m yours, I’ll do anything!”
You try to pry him off, but he clings harder, wrapping his arms around your legs, burying his face against you like a terrified child.
He’s trembling so violently you can barely keep your balance.
“I need you,” he gasps out. “I need you. Please don’t push me away! Please don’t hate me! Please!-“
His fingers dig into you, like if he just holds tight enough, you won’t be able to fight him off.
You’re frozen. You don’t know what to do. You’re furious. You’re scared.
But he’s clinging to you like a lifeline.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he whimpers. “I just wanted to be close to you, I just wanted- I just wanted you to see me!”
His voice breaks into a raw, guttural sob.
“Please don’t push me away,” he cries. “Please. Please. I’ll die without you-“
You shove at him weaker than before, but he just clutches harder, like he’s trying to melt into you, like letting go would make you vanish.
“Let go of me!” you finally shout, voice hoarse and eyebrows pinched anger and confusion.
But he doesn’t.
He just cries harder.
Mumbling apologies into your tear-stained pants, swearing he’d be good, he’ll do better, he’ll fix this, he’ll do anything, anything, just don’t let go of him.
A/N: This is a lil different than my usual Yan I write. I wanted to try something from the horny violent obsession that I typically write for Yan’s. Hope you like it :D
Imagine an AU where you have an evol that is a form of energy manipulation… but it’s you giving your own energy to heal wounds. That’s how you use it anyways. You’ve never tried to take before.
Now imagine being stubborn enough to eke out your own little existence in one of the calmer parts of the N109 Zone. Just like any other human settlement, there will be animals abandoned and mistreated. You took it upon yourself to be the only animal shelter in the whole city. At least you were the only one willing to declare your claimed territory as such.
You didn’t take in just dogs and cats, though that was the majority of the population. No- you took in even the most bizarre of animals and if you couldn’t (such as the random tiger here and there) you’ve built enough connections to get such animals to someplace safer. Better.
You’ve saved animals on the brink of death from wounds delivered by cruel hands with your evol. Frantic children would bring you half dead pets hit by speeding cars and you’d willingly sacrifice your energy to see fearful tears become elated ones. You’ve even stitched up the occasional person who got into a knife fight or grazed by a bullet. Everyone in the area subtly aided in keeping your place less dangerous than other parts. Still, you kept modded OTTO bots as minor security and the various genetically modified (for pit fighting) dogs that have accepted you as pack and home keep lowly thieves at bay.
You remember going through your morning chores one day (despite it always being perpetually dark) and tilting your head when your local murder had a new head among them. One of the crows that you saved by healing his shattered wings bounced over to you, croaking as you cooed back. You couched down to hold out the little buffet of choices on your tray. The other crows were quick to join, everyone picking over things for their favorite treats. You stared at the odd one and the clear mechanical alterations it possessed.
“You probably don’t like the different nuts and fruits, huh…” you were no mechanical expert, but you knew enough to keep things running and repair your OTTOs. This bird didn’t look damaged in the slightest.
“You don’t look hurt either. You takin’ in the sights then? Thats alright. Just don’t steal anything. If you bring me something you want, I can tell you if you’re allowed to take it or not.”
You figured a mechanical crow had a human master. That meant it would likely understand you even better than the flesh and blood crows that were still picking over breakfast.
You didn’t pay the crow any mind after that as it seemed to be content perching with the rest of the flock. Tending to each of your charges was an exercise of devotion. This gave you purpose and peace. You belonged in this world because you were the one that didn’t give up on anyone. Animal or person.
Little did you know that that strange crow left the moment you opened your door to a pair of masked strangers, one supporting the other, as blood was quickly pooling on the floor beneath them.
There were no words that needed to be said as you ushered the boys in, subtly directing the bots to patrol more strictly around the front. The masked individuals didn’t identify themselves, but you could recognize Onychinus general uniform dress when you saw it.
“How many bullets?” You asked, voice cool and clinical as you tore the fabric away from the wound weeping in the upper abdomen. Possible perforated organ, you noted to yourself.
“Three.” the uninjured Onychinus answered.
“Will this bring trouble to me?” You ask a bit more softly. Standing, you grab your basic surgical equipment and bring it over to the boy laid across your coffee table.
“No.” The same mask answered.
“Alright. Here. This is leather you can bite down on. I don’t have anesthetics.” A shaky hand took the strip of leather and slipped it under the mask.
Gripping your forceps you got a nod from the injured one and go to work fishing out the bullets. You weren’t incredibly shocked that the injured Onychinus didn’t make a sound. The tension in his body betrayed his pain though. You worked quickly in plucking the material from flesh, setting them in a steel tray. Those weren’t normal bullets. They looked more like rubber ball rounds, but the tech suggested something far more dangerous.
Whatever.
The less you knew, the better.
As if thinking the same thing, the uninjured Onychinus swept the three bullets up and disappeared them onto his person.
“They said you got a healing evol.” He said quietly.
“People say a lot of things. I just fished out some bullets at I’m applying some deep sutures, yeah?”
Another quiet nod and you got to work carefully pooling your energy. You had to visualize it like a thread. A thread of blood and gold. You did just tie sutures deep into the wounds… only those sutures healed the flesh moments after. Over 20 were created and mended into flesh. Far more than would be expected in your experience. Your vision was already swimming, nose dripping with blood as you finished. All that remained of the wounds was the spilled blood. Everything else was fresh, pink skin.
You tasted blood on your tongue and fell back onto your ass as the ability to stay upright fled you. You stifled a groan as your closed your eyes to stop the room spinning.
“Don’t… uhh… don’t over exert for a few days… risk of internal tearing and bleeding if you- if… you…”
Your body went limp as your ability to stay conscious failed. The two masked figures shifted, unsure if they should act or to leave you be and just disappear.
A large dog lumbered in, padding over to you and squirming his massive frame under your head. A fluffy white muzzle turned towards the twinned masks, letting out an almost exasperated bruff.
Next came a raccoon, a water bottle clutched in its little paws, and waddle over to you while chittering softly. The bottle was set beside you and then those little paws patted at your flushed cheeks.
Several more animals came to your side from a lanky cat to a pair of pigeons that perched on your hip.
“Oh my god.” Amazement came from the injured mask, standing as if he’d never been hurt in the first place. “We need to take a pic.”
“You know boss would be mad- takin’ pics of an unconscious lady. That’s what creeps do.”
“Fuck… we should probably just leave then. Looks like she’s in good hands- er- paws… claws?”
Synopsis: A collection capturing the biggest lie ever told in the bedroom.
CW: MDNI, dubcon undertones, alternate universes, rough sex, public risk/exposure, size kink, tip play/denial, oral sex, creampie, dacryphilia, Xavier is a soft-spoken menace, biting/blood play, supernatural elements, voyeurism, degradation, possession/ownership themes, tip-warming?
A/n: typed this with one hand btw.
Crossposted on AO3.
When the chase gets too close, your protector proves that restraint is the first thing to go.
The click of shutters was a firing squad behind you, white-hot bursts of light chasing every step down the alley. Voices called your name like someone ringing a bell– relentless, stupid, hungry for a glimpse of the pop princess they sell and never own. He kept a hand at the small of your back; you didn’t slow. He didn’t either.
“Left. Now.” His tone was the one that cut everything down to order.
You ducked under the fire escape, breath snapping at the base of your throat. For one terrible, electric second the cameras flooded the alley mouth, lenses like teeth. Zayne shoved you through the nearest door and slammed it, shoulder against the frame until the noise thinned to a distant roar.
The closet was cramped, smelling of bleach, damp cardboard, and stale mop water. It swallowed you both. He pinned you there– chest to back, forearm jammed across the door like a second lock. His heat filled the space behind you, steady and impossibly close.
You felt him first in your hip– a hard line pressing into your ass, the press of a cock that hadn’t been touched enough. You shifted on reflex, grinding once, twice, the seam of your skirt rubbing that ridge through fabric. He made a low, dangerous sound in your ear.
“That’s not your holster,” you teased, breath hot.
His jaw tightened. “Behave,” was the warning, but his voice trembled with something else.
You hooked your fingers into the hem of your skirt and dragged it up, fabric shredding the tension between you. “Come on, Zayne. Just the tip. Please. No one will know.” The cotton at the seam rubbed the swollen head through his zipper and you felt him suck in a breath like a man holding a storm back.
For a heartbeat he was stone– muscles coiled, hands clenched. Then his fingers were in your skirt, ripping it up so fast the cool air slapped your thighs. He shoved your panties aside with one hard thumb; the slick between your legs met his touch, and the world narrowed to the feel of him, slick and heavy, precum beading on the crown.
He ground his length along you, the blunt head smearing your wetness, and whispered, “Just the tip,” like an invocation. The crown eased in at the edge of you– alarming, hot, impossibly wide. You cried out, the sound raw and bright.
You were already soaking for him; your cunt clenched reflexively, wanting to swallow, wanton. He held back only a second before he snapped forward, wrecking restraint in one brutal, perfect thrust that buried him to the hilt. Your scream– sharp, animal– filled the tiny room.
His hands fisted at your elbows and wrenched them behind you, bending you forward so his cock met you deeper and harder. The closet quivered as his hips pistoned, each pull reaming you hollow. The mops in the corner clacked; a bucket tipped with a dull thump; the air stank of bleach and sweat and something copper-bright from your wetness and his effort.
Every thrust was punctuation– hard, loud, precise. His mouth claimed your shoulder, teeth scraping just enough to make your skin flinch, then kissed along your neck, lips rough and urgent between nips. He bit once, hard enough to sting, and you tasted blood on your lips from your own bite as he growled into your ear. “Don’t beg,” he rasped, voice gone rough, but you couldn’t help it– your voice was little and broken and all for him.
He whispered filthy things as he fucked: the pet names he never said in interviews, the ways he’d keep you when the flashes were a lifetime away. “You think they’ll ever have you?” he murmured, thrusting. “They can stare until dawn– no one will touch you like this.”
You tried to grab his face, to pull him down to kiss him between bruising thrusts, but he kept the pace– merciless, controlled, punishing you with possession. Your slick leaked down his shaft with each retreat, warm and sticky, the smell of your arousal thick in the small room.
The clutch in your belly built like thunder. Your thighs trembled as he drove, nails scoring his shoulders, breath a broken rhythm against the back of your neck. You clenched on a backward stroke– hard– and he cursed, stuttering as his control unravelled. He filled you with a groan; his hips rut, pulsing in a tremor, and then his release hit: hot, thick, searing inside you. It spilled deep, flooding and pulsing until you felt every heavy pulse of him in your belly.
He didn’t pull out. He rode every aftershock and let his cum throb there, heavy and sticky, each pulse a slow drum against your insides. His breath came ragged; his forehead pressed into the back of your head as if anchoring himself to your scent.
After a long moment, he loosened his grip but didn’t let go– one hand still cupped your hip, the other threaded in your hair with an almost tender tug. He pressed the hollow of his mouth to your ear, voice wet and possessive. “Next time,” he chided, cock inside you still pulsing, “don’t make promises you don’t want me to keep.”
You let out a laugh that was part sob, part satisfied ruin, and leaned back into him– skirt bunched up, panties ruined, thighs still quaking. The closet smelled like bleach and sweat and him, hot and intimate and obscene. For a second you were simply his: sticky, dizzy, filled with him, and the world outside the door could burn.
Discipline and rhythm falter when the drummer makes you his instrument.
The studio smelled like sweat, strings, and stale coffee. Caleb was tucked away in the booth, sticks twirling, snare cracking in crisp bursts through the monitor. He should’ve been focused. He wasn’t.
Because you were on the other side of the glass.
You leaned into the window, sucking lazily on your finger, breasts pressed to the pane, eyes locked on him like a dare. His rhythm faltered. One stick clattered to the floor. You grinned slow, wicked.
He ripped the headset down, jaw clenched. Through the mic his voice rasped low and sharp: “Get in here. Now.”
The booth door slammed behind you. Before you could speak, Caleb had you caged on his lap, the stool squeaking under his weight. He unzipped, shoved your panties aside, and pressed the blunt head of his cock inside you in one practiced thrust. Just the crown– just enough to make your cunt stretch, to ache with denial.
You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. His hands clamped down on your hips, holding you in place. “Stay. You move, I pull out. Got it?”
You nodded, throat tight.
And then the waiting began.
The headset slipped back on, sticks lifted, and he drummed like you weren’t shaking apart on his lap. Every snap of the snare jolted through his thighs, through the thick head of his cock seated just inside you. The shallow stretch burned, a tease of fullness that never delivered.
Minutes dragged. Sweat trickled down your back. Your cunt clenched around the tip again and again, leaking down his shaft until his jeans grew damp beneath you. He hummed along with his rhythm, casual, as if he wasn’t splitting you open by inches and denying you the rest.
When you whimpered, he only grinned, teeth flashing under the booth light. “Easy. Stay still for me. I want you twitching on my cock while I work. Can you do that? Be a good girl and let me finish my set?”
Your thighs trembled. Another whimper slipped out, louder this time. Caleb’s free hand slid to your spine, stroking in lazy circles that made you arch against him. “That’s it. Breathe. You’re doing so well. Just the tip, sweetheart. That’s all you get.”
The shallow pressure grew unbearable. You tried to rock, but his grip on your hips cinched you tighter, dragging a hiss out of him when your slick spilled hotter around him. He chuckled low, shaking his head as he snapped another roll on the snare. “God, listen to you. So wet, and I haven’t even given you an inch. You really can’t take this, can you?”
It was torture. His cock sat heavy inside you, just the tip filling you shallow, throbbing every time he flexed his grip on the sticks. You clenched helplessly, slick already running down the seam of your ass, soaking his jeans.
“God, you’re dripping,” Caleb muttered between beats, teeth bared in a grin. He slid the crown just barely out, then pushed it back in, shallow as a tease. You whimpered, thighs trembling, and he chuckled low. “That bad, huh? Just the tip not doing it for you?”
You tried to grind down, but his grip was iron. His free hand slid up your back, fingers stroking tenderly as if to soothe. “Shh, don’t pout. You said you wanted my attention, sweetheart. Well, here it is. I’m right here. Just not all of me.”
Every shallow thrust drove you closer to breaking. The crown kissed your walls but denied you the depth you ached for. Your clit throbbed, untouched, pressed tight against the hard line of his stomach as you writhed. Tears pricked your eyes.
He leaned in, voice low against your ear: “So needy. All I’m giving you is the head, and look at you– shaking, soaking, clenching around nothing. You sound like you’re about to cry.”
You were. A sob broke loose as you whined, pleading, hips twitching against his grip. He kissed your temple like a lover, cruel and sweet at once. “Almost done, baby. Be patient for me. Let me finish this set.”
The rhythm faltered as you lost control. Slick gushed out of you, drooling down his cock, making every shallow slide wetter, noisier. You couldn’t take it anymore. You broke, sliding down despite his grip, your body swallowing him inch by inch.
Your gasp tore the air, sharp and broken, and Caleb groaned, sticks clattering from his hands. “Fuck– ” His restraint shattered. He grabbed your hips and slammed you down to the base, forehead pressed to yours as his cock pulsed inside you.
The stool squeaked under the force of his thrusts, his rhythm gone to ruin as he fucked you deep, every stroke punishing you for breaking his rule. “So greedy,” he groaned, hips snapping up hard. “But God, you feel so fucking good. Let me hear it, baby. Let me hear how bad you needed this.”
Your cries filled the booth, echoing off soundproof walls. You clenched hard around him, trembling as your orgasm ripped through you, soaking him in wet heat. That was all it took– Caleb’s thrusts faltered, his groan broke, and he spilled deep, pulsing inside you until you were both wrecked.
After, you sagged against his chest, both of you breathless. He nuzzled into your hair, laughing raggedly. “Supposed to be practice, huh? Guess I found a better rhythm.”
Haunting a man comes easy– surviving his touch does not.
You’ve lived in this house longer than he has. Long before he brought in sleek furniture and warm lamps to chase the dark, you learned his rhythms the way most ghosts learn draft routes– coffee at seven, shower at eight, the soft clink of glass when insomnia gets bored.
You’ve made yourself known in small mercies: a bulb that flickers back to life when he’s fumbling, a window left cracked so the jasmine will find him. Nothing violent. Just enough to let him know there’s a presence that likes him.
Tonight you watch him like a thief. He’s on the bed, shirt tossed somewhere on the floor, one knee bent, jaw slack. His hand moves slow and private, thumb dragging the head of his cock in long, knowing strokes. The sight curls you inward– the feathered breath, the way his hip gives a rhythm only he can hear. You hover at the mattress edge, close enough to taste the salt of his skin on the air.
And then the thing you’ve never let happen does: you focus so hard on him your form forgets shadow and becomes flesh. One blink and you’re kneeling at his hip, watching him fist himself like a man with a secret he shouldn’t enjoy.
He freezes, hand yanking back. Eyes wide in the dark. “The fuck– ”
You throw your hands up, voice a scatter of apology and need. “I’m not here to hurt you. I– God, I like you, Xavier. I’ve been here since before you moved in. I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you off.”
He stares, chest heaving, sweat catching the lamplight. “You’re a– ”
“Ghost,” you finish for him, and your smile is small and nervous. “A… helpful one. Please– let me help.”
His cock stutters under his hand, slick with his drying spit and precum, hard despite the shock. You edge forward, hunger raw and obvious. “Just the tip,” you breathe, and your fingers brush the warm crown like an offering.
He laughs, low and dangerous– the kind of laugh that makes your knees throb. “Just the tip?” His grip snaps to your waist; in one fluid motion he flips you on your back, pinning you to the mattress. Cool skin presses against hot flesh. “You really don’t know what you’re asking for.”
The blunt head nudges in– a delicious pinch– then slides back. He pulls out. You try to follow, to sink down, but his hand clamps around the base of his cock like a lock. He pushes shallow, just the crown, then pulls free, again and again. The motion is surgical: slide, withdraw; teeth-grit control; the palace of pleasure held captive by his palm.
Every shallow slide is torture. The head kisses at the place you ache for, slipping and teasing, the friction of his knuckles focusing into a point until your body forgets language. You mewl, nails scoring his shoulders, hips trying to obey your animal, to ride him down, to have the rest. He thumbs the base with a practiced restraint and watches you unravel with a sort of clinical hunger.
“Greedy,” he says, voice flat, like mentioning the weather. “You said just the tip. So I’ll give you just the tip.” He watches the wet bead trail down your inner thigh, watches your mouth open on little, helpless noises. He kisses your temple– gentle, mockingly tender– and says, softer, “Look at this mess. You’re making me want to ruin you.”
You’re leaking for him: slick soaking the mattress, warmth pooling where his cock teases you. Tears spill because the denial is exquisite– sharp as glass and twice as pretty. Your knuckles ache from clutching at his biceps; your breath comes in helpless gasps that sound small in his room.
His restraint lasts until it doesn’t. The sight of you, the sound of your whimper, the way you tremble and try to take him despite his hand– it becomes too much. He releases. He pulls the base free from his grip and then drives forward in one brutal, hungry motion, burying himself to the hilt.
The shove knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, a sound raw and too loud, something between a plea and a prayer. He ruts into you with a staccato ferocity, hips pistoning, each thrust clean and deep, opening you with no mercy saved. The mattress creaks; the lamp throws the room into a strobing glow of shadow and heat.
He doesn’t hold back in the aftermath– his hands are everywhere: one splayed across the small of your back, the other mapping the underside of your jaw until you lift your face to his. When his mouth meets yours it’s hot and furious, teeth grazed and tasting of salt and desire. The kiss grounds you, drags you back from the brink while his cock punishes your cunt with relentless rhythm.
You break first, a white-hot collapse that pulls stars behind your eyes. Your body clenches and rides every last pulse as your orgasm shreds through you, limbs folding in on themselves. You feel him following– a curse, a raw groan, the heavy spatter of his release filling you as he buries himself deeper and rides the tremor out.
When he stills inside you, he keeps you pinned; there’s no gentleness yet, only ownership that hums through his limbs. He breathes hot against your ear, slow and certain: “If you’re mine to haunt, you’re mine to keep. No more hiding.” His words are the sort that buckle knees and claim rooms.
You laugh, a wet little sound, exhausted and shaky in his arms. He doesn’t smile. His dark eyes study you, ruthless and soft in the weirdest duet. You’re his error and his choice now– ghost, body, whatever you are– and he intends to keep you at his side, close enough to watch and close enough to ruin.
In the prince’s bathhouse, curiosity is rewarded and punished in equal measure.
The royal bathhouse was meant for him alone. Its marble halls glittered with gold inlay, mosaics depicting gods and conquests, braziers spilling steam into a haze of molten light. It was a sanctuary, decadent and forbidden– one you had no business entering.
But curiosity was a sickness. And Prince Rafayel was the cure you couldn’t stop craving.
He reclined in the main pool like a god carved of stone, violet hair slicked back, water sheeting down the hard planes of his chest. Rings gleamed even here, catching the glow of firelight as he draped an arm lazily across the edge. His cock lay thick and proud against his thigh, shameless, as though he knew any who saw would drop to their knees.
You lingered in the shadows, breath caught, thighs pressing tight together. Watching. Wanting. Pretending you weren’t trembling.
He noticed.
“How quaint.” His voice cut through the steam, velvet laid over steel. His gaze found you easily, speared you where you stood, a smirk curving his lips. “A little peeper in my bathhouse.”
Before you could flee, he rose. Water sluiced down every sculpted inch, cock heavy and bouncing against his abs as he crossed the pool. He seized your wrist and dragged you into the open, steam curling around you like a curtain drawn back.
“Since you enjoy watching,” he murmured, hauling you against him, heat radiating from wet skin, “you may be of use. Wash me.” He placed something in your seized palm.
Trembling, you obeyed. Cloth dragged over the hard swell of his chest, down his arms, across the ridges of his thighs. Each stroke made your mouth water, your pulse thunder. His cock bobbed in the water, swollen now, impossible not to stare at.
“Come.”
He guided you to the edge, lowering himself onto a marble bench carved directly into the pool, half-submerged so the water lapped at his hips. It was throne-like, made for gods rather than men, and Rafayel filled it effortlessly. Water dripped down his torso, pooling at his abs before trailing lower. His cock lay flushed and slick across his belly, heavy veins standing out, a monarch’s weapon presented for worship.
His hand tangled in your hair, tugging lazily. “Since you’ve been staring, continue.”
You couldn’t hide your eager smile as you waded closer, sinking into the water between his spread thighs, palms steadying against the cool marble bench he ruled from. You kissed the thick shaft slowly, reverently, tongue tracing a bead of water clinging to the swollen head. His breath hitched. You pressed your lips to the crown and then took it in, hollowing your cheeks, gagging lightly as he stretched your jaw. Salty, hot, intoxicating. Humming softly, pleased.
The obscene symphony of moans, spit and suction echoed off vaulted ceilings. His cock throbbed on your tongue, his nails digging sharp when he tugged your hair tighter. His voice was low, mocking, even as his chest rose harder. “Listen to yourself. My little voyeur turned cocksleeve.”
When you pulled off, strands of spit glistened between you. “Will you return the favor?” you asked, dazed, desperate.
He scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement. “My mouth is for commands, not service for the help.”
You leaned in, kissing the flushed tip, letting your tongue circle it in one last filthy plea. “Then… just the tip. Please.”
For a moment, silence. His jaw clenched. A curse slid between his teeth. Then he guided you forward.
You straddled him on the marble bench, heat of his cock searing even through the water. Lowering slow, inch by inch, you let the crown breach your soaked cunt. The stretch was exquisite– burning, dragging every nerve awake. You rocked shallowly, breasts in your hands, fucking yourself on only the swollen head. Every glide left your walls fluttering, every slip of the crown made you wetter, needier.
His grip on your waist tightened to bruises. His lips curled back, teeth bared. “Look at you,” he growled, watching your slick drip into the water. “Rubbing yourself raw on the head like some cheap harlot. Is that all it takes to make you whine?”
You moaned louder, arching, milking the head like it was enough, clenching so hard your vision blurred. The sight made him falter– his throat worked, his cock twitched, his composure fractured.
“Damn you,” he snarled. He yanked you down in one brutal thrust, spearing you to the hilt. You screamed, cunt stretched wide around him, the sound swallowed by steam. Water exploded over the pool’s edge, rippling against marble.
Then he fucked you like vengeance. Each snap of his hips was a merciless claim, slapping skin on skin, water splashing with every rut. His grip held you captive, dragging you onto his cock over and over until your body shook.
Your orgasm tore through you like lightning, walls clenching hard enough to milk him. He bit off a curse, thrusts stuttering, and then he spilled deep, hot, thick, groaning like a beast.
His cum spilled hot inside you, only to be claimed by the pool below– white mixing with steam and water, desecrating his private sanctuary with every pulse.
You sagged against his chest, breathless, trembling. He brushed damp hair from your face with rings still gleaming, lips curving into a cruel smirk. “Just the tip, mon trésor?” His thumb pressed over your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Next time, you’ll beg me properly.”
Beneath a thin moon, you learn how little your pleas matter to something that’s been waiting centuries.
You learned the rhythm of his footsteps long before you learned his face. He came like a shadow made habit– late and silent– mapping the city by rooftops and alleys. Some nights a window was cracked for him, a balcony light left burning; he always answered, patient and hollow-eyed on the stone ledge while you breathed into the dark.
Tonight the moon is a narrow slit. The city below is sodium-sugar; your silk slip clings to your skin. You step onto the balcony knowing exactly where he will be: perched two roofs over like a gargoyle, eyes glittering. Up close, he smells of rain and iron and something older, a cold scent that makes your pulse quicken.
You hold the railing and let him drink you in. He drops from his perch without a sound, landing beside you as if gravity itself bent for him. His hand finds your collarbone– light as a trespass, heavy as a claim.
“Been watching me?” you tease, rolling your hips the smallest, most deliberate inch. He inhales, a low animal sound.
“How could I not?” he murmurs; his voice is a silk-edged blade. His fingers trail down your sternum to the waist of your slip. “You tempt like someone casting a net.”
You slip a hand into the loose fabric and tug, bunching it at your hips. “Then come learn the rest,” you say, voice wet with mischief.
He smiles– slow, hungry– and before protest can get a toe in, he steps forward and presses you back until cold stone kisses your spine. The slip rides up; his palm slides between your legs, thumb finding you with the maddening patience of someone who’s watched a thousand nights and learned which small motions unravel a person.
“Up,” he says at last– one word, a command that lands like an order and a benediction. He hoists you against the cold wall, your legs locking tight around his waist as the city sprawls dizzy and bright below. His body pins yours in place, strength caging you steady while his cock presses hot and heavy at your entrance. The swollen head nudges in, deliberate and cruel, the promise of more hovering just out of reach.
“Just the tip,” you whisper– not a taunt but a soft bargain. Your nails bite into his shoulders, voice breaking on the plea. “Please– I can’t take all of you.”
He hums, low and sure, like a man humoring a prayer he already knows won’t be answered. “One touch,” he promises, steady as stone. Whether it’s mercy or warning, you can’t tell– but the certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt.
The crown slips in like a whisper. First frost, then impossible heat: cold drilling your edges, then the volcanic stretch of him pressing where you swore you couldn’t bear it. You cling tighter, rocking shallow, trying to savor that inch, trying to convince yourself it’s enough.
But he watches too closely. Watches your trembling thighs, the helpless clutch of your cunt, the way every whimper begs for what your mouth denied. His patience fractures. His hands seize your hips and he yanks you down, your back scraping rough stone as his cock splits you open to the hilt. The breathless cry that tears from you proves him right– you can take all of him, because he’ll make you.
When he moves, it’s with the hunger of centuries denied– hips snapping forward, cock slamming into you so deep your vision stutters. Each thrust is a brand, a claim, a brutal drag of his thickness against every aching inch inside you. The stone wall grates at your back, his weight cages you, and still he drives harder, like your body is the only altar left to him.
His mouth clamps at your throat, fangs grazing the frantic pulse he’s hunted for nights. “May I?” he rasps, velvet torn raw against your skin.
Your answer is a strangled yes, and then he sinks in. The bite is lightning– sharp pain flaring, then molten heat flooding through every vein, each pull at your neck matched to the violent thrusts pounding your cunt. You’re split, stuffed, taken, the sting of teeth and the stretch of him weaving into one unbearable ecstasy.
Your nails rake his shoulders, your voice shattering into cries that echo against the night air. Wet sounds slap between you, his cock plunging again and again, the base grinding your clit until your body snaps. You convulse around him, clenching like a vise, milking him with desperate spasms as your orgasm rips through you in violent, tearing waves.
His eyes soften for only a heartbeat as he feels you seize on him, and then he breaks– groaning low, cock jerking deep, hot spend flooding you in heavy pulses. He fucks it into you with ragged thrusts, making sure every drop spills inside, each convulsion proving what he knew all along: you swore you couldn’t take him, but now you’re ruined by every brutal inch.
He stays pressed to you, forehead against yours, breath ragged, lips smeared with your taste. His laugh is low, satisfied, the sound of inevitability. “Couldn’t take me,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your jaw. His cock twitches still inside you, a final proof. “And yet– here you are. Split to the hilt. Marked. Mine.”
His thumb brushes the mark he left, lingering over the slick bite as though cataloguing his work. His hands skin your waist with soft ownership. “Keep away from the window,” he says after a beat, almost casual. “Do not open yourself for others. You are…useful.”
“Useful?” you echo, half-breath, half-smirk.
“Useful,” he repeats, mouth ghosting across your temple, the word carrying the weight of promise and threat. “And mine, when the moon is thin.”
Then he kisses you– no flourish, no ceremony– just the solid, claiming press of lips that anchors you like the weight of a secret. You kiss back, hungry, and for the first time since the night became your home, the darkness feels warm.
Rule #1 of surviving second year med school: Never use mind numbing sex as a cure for pre semester burnout. Rule #2: Pray the stranger who kept you up until dawn isn't your new Cardiovascular Pathology professor.
New professor, Dr. Li, thinks you planned your night together just to manipulate your grades, making him your harshest critic and coldest nightmare.
CW: P in V. Smut 🔞MDNI 🔞
4:30am
He still hadn't stopped.
Your wrists were pinned above your head, both of them caught easily in one of his hands, and the morning light coming through the blinds was doing you no favors because you could see his face clearly and his face was the best face you had ever seen on a man.
"You're being loud again" he murmured, his mouth at your ear "Someone is going to hear you"
"Fuck—" You tried to move your hips and his free hand pressed flat against them and held.
"Look at me."
Dark eyes, completely steady, watching your face with focused attention, like he had been doing it all night and had not yet found it boring.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked
"Nonono, don't stop," you begged"Please don't—"
He drove into you slowly and whatever you were going to say next didn't happen.
He had looked so different last night.
Five hours ago you were sitting at a bar nursing a lime soda, trying to remember what your own name was.
Four days of cardiovascular pathology pre reading. Four days of arterial diagrams and a highlighter that had run out on day two but you'd kept using anyway out of spite, leaving faint colorless streaks across pages you were probably going to have to re read again. Your shoulders were practically locked in a perpetual knot and your brain probably had the texture of wet cement.
You just needed one hour. One hour of not being a medical student.
The bar was quiet, three blocks off campus, a place that played jazz badly enough that nobody stayed for too long. You'd ordered a lime soda because you had an eight AM class tomorrow and because the last time you'd had gin on a weeknight you'd shown up to pharmacology smelling like a bad decision and your study partner had not let it go.
You were two sips in and staring at nothing when someone sat down two stools over.
Dark coat, slightly too nice for the bar. Hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. He ordered a neat scotch, barely touching it, staring straight ahead like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He looked reserved, painfully polite when the bartender handed him his glass.
The jazz got worse.
"They really committed to the trumpet," you said, to the space between you. "I'll give them that."
He looked over. Startled, like he'd forgotten the bar had other people in it. Then something relaxed in his face and the corner of his mouth moved.
"The commitment is admirable," he agreed. "The execution is another matter."
His voice was a little rough at the edges, like it hadn't been used much today.
"First time here?" you asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You ordered the scotch and their scotch is really bad. Regulars know not to order it."
He looked down at his glass and then yours. "You're drinking lime soda."
"I have class at eight tomorrow."
"So do I."
"Then you're also going to regret the scotch."
"Probably." He didn't drink it. Just turned the glass slightly on the bar. "Is the lime soda better?"
"It's better than you'd expect for this price.” You held out your glass. "Try it."
He looked at the glass. Looked at you.
"Just a sip." You held it closer. "I'm not contagious."
He took the glass. Tried it. "That's better than I expected."
You took the glass back. "The jazz is awful but some drinks are good."
He almost smiled. Properly this time.
An hour later you'd discovered he was also in medicine and wouldn't say more than that. He wasn't shy exactly, more like someone who'd gotten used to not being asked.
You'd ordered another lime soda. He'd switched to water.
An hour later, outside, the night air felt cold, you stood on the sidewalk and looked up at him and the reasonable thing would have been to say well, nice talking to you and go home to get eight hours of sleep before the first day of a very important class.
"My apartment is two blocks from here"
He looked at you for a moment. "Okay"
The quiet reserved man who'd looked startled when you spoke to him lasted approximately as long as it took your front door to click shut behind you.
After that he was something else entirely.
He had your back against the hallway wall before you'd turned the light on, his hands finding your waist like he knew where they were supposed to go, mouth coming down on yours with a deliberateness that had nothing shy about it. He took his time. He was methodical in a way you hadn't been expecting and couldn't have prepared for, working through every response, adjusting, applying what he learned.
He kept you up until early morning. Multiple times. Your voice was gone by three AM, your thighs were shaking by four, and by five you'd stopped being surprised by anything he did.
By six you'd finally fallen asleep, briefly, against his shoulder.
--------
7:15am
"Zayne! Zayne, stop."
"Mmmm"
"I have class at eight. I cannot be late."
"You still have time"
His hips keep a slow rhythm, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes are dark and heavy lidded, completely unbothered by the time.
"I have forty five minutes and I need to shower and find my notes and eat something and I haven't peed since like three AM and I'm not getting an UTI because of you—"
"Just a little more," he whispers, lips brushing against your throat.
"I'm serious," you whine, though your body betrays you, arching up against him instinctively as his grip on your hips tightens. "I can't miss this. It's my first day of —"
"Shh," he cuts you off softly, leaning down to capture your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp before his mouth slides down to your collarbone. "Five more minutes. You're fine. It feels too good to stop now."
"Zay—"
"Look at how wet you still are" he shifts his angle, hitting the exact spot that makes your brain turn to mush.
He rolls you over, pulling you back against his chest, his hand sliding down between your thighs while he fucks you from behind. The friction feels dirty and intoxicating. You bury your face in your pillow to stifle a scream when he fucks you harder, his breath heavy against the back of your neck. He holds you so tight against him that you can feel every single beat of his racing heart against your spine.
Twenty minutes. He ruins you for another twenty minutes, bringing you to a shattering, body shaking orgasm that leaves you breathless and tangled in the damp sheets. When he finally cums, he buries his face in your hair, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress as he lets out a ragged exhale.
Then, he lazily rolls over to his side, reaching for his watch.
7:42 am
He freezes.
You turn your head slowly, watching as his brow furrows, eyes staring at the watch face. He blinks once. Twice.
"What time is it?" you ask, voice cracked and hoarse.
"It's 7:42"
"Holy shit!" You sit up too fast and immediately regret every single decision you'd made in the last eight hours. You rip the covers off, almost falling out of bed as you scramble across the floor. "I'm going to be late! I'm going to be so fucking late!"
Zayne sits up rapidly "Where is my shirt?"
"I don't know." you are already across the room, yanking the closet open, pulling out the first things your hands touch. Jeans. Fine. Sweater. Fine. Socks, where were your socks? you had socks last night!
"Bathroom?" he asks.
"Through there, use whatever you need, just—" you are hopping on one foot getting into your jeans. "Don't use my toothbrush."
A pause from the direction of the bathroom. "I'm not going to use your toothbrush."
You grab your tote bag and start throwing things in. Notebook. Textbook —heavy, unnecessarily heavy, why were medical textbooks built like weapons?. Laptop. Charger. Pen. Another pen because you always lost the first one. Your student ID.
Zayne comes out of the bathroom, his clothes back on and his hair slightly damp. He lookes unfairly composed for someone who had approximately the same amount of sleep as you.
He opens his mouth.
"I have to run," you say, grabbing your keys. "Pull the door shut when you leave, it locks automatically. Don't let anyone in if they knock. Don't—" you pause, calculating, "—actually if anyone knocks just don't answer, my neighbor borrows things and never returns them"
He is watching you with an expression you don't have time to interpret. "Wait—"
"I'm sorry, I have to—bye, thank you, the door—"
You are already in the hallway.
The stairs take thirty seconds. The cold air outside hits you and you break into a run, bag bouncing against your hip, five blocks to the medical campus, the textbook inside the bag apparently made of fucking concrete.
Your thighs stage a formal protest around block two but you ignore them.
You hit the glass doors of the medical building at 7:58 and make it to Lecture Hall 3B with enough time to collapse into a seat in the middle row.
The clock ticks to 8:00.
You look up at the front of the room.
The podium is empty.
Other students are settling in, opening laptops, existing normally, having presumably slept normal amounts and done normal things last night. You push your hair back. Catch your breath. Tell your body to behave itself.
You pull out the textbook. Open it to chapter one. Anatomy and Hemodynamics of the Cardiac Muscle.
The door at the front of the lecture hall opens.
Quiet footsteps on the floor, the kind that don't rush. The room goes silent and a tall figure in a dark coat crosses to the podium and looks out at the room.
"Good morning."
You stop breathing.
That voice. You know that voice. It's the exact voice that called you good girl thirty minutes ago.
You lift your head from your textbook very slowly.
Dark hair, white shirt, perfectly buttoned, every button in the right place, no evidence of the last eight hours anywhere on him.
He reaches up and adjusts his glasses.
His eyes move across the room, row by row, and when they reach the middle section they find you immediately.
You watch him breathe.
Just once. Just a short arrested thing, his eyes stopping briefly on your face, your very flushed, still slightly out of breath face.
He clears his throat once.
"I'm Dr. Li," he says, and his voice comes out perfectly even, not a single crack in it "And I will be your professor for Cardiovascular Pathology."
You are so fucked.
Idea inspired by this 👇🏻🩷🩷. Will there be a scene like this? Yeah🤭
I know, I already have too many wips but I couldn't help it😭
Summary: Kakashi's father tells his son the clan's secret when Kakashi is at the mere age of six years old. They're able to identify their soulmate when they're able to read their mind. And it just so happens that Kakashi would meet his after 20 years of learning the clan secret.
Oranges, bananas, apples ….
The kids in front of Kakashi kept weaving around the crowd, excited to get to Ichiraku. Kakashi almost forgot about the farmer’s market big sale. They had brought merchants from various lands, giving the villagers an opportunity to buy rare foods and items.
Oh! This will make a nice kale salad!
Kakashi’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes flickering off the book to see who was talking so loudly. Their voice basically sounded like as if they were next to his ear.
There were many voices floating around them, but this one seemed particularly loud, and a small echo followed it.
Wow! Look at those peaches! They’re huge!
Kakashi turned to the peaches stand, a whole bunch of people surrounding it as it was a rare fruit out of season. He didn’t see anybody making any wild movements and the voices he tried to match with moving lips didn’t sound like the earlier one.
“Kakashi-sensei! Come on, slow poke!”
Kakashi’s head twisted forward again, Naruto waving an arm in the air with the two others behind him walking away. He sighed, rubbing the exposed part of his forehead before trucking forward again.
Maybe they’ll have chocolates from Yugakure!
That’s oddly specific, Kakashi thought, but he ignored the booming voice as he caught up with his students.
Those people can deal with the loudmouth themselves.
Kakashi melted into the crowd, unbeknownst he missed the opportunity to see that the person he heard never moved their lips at all.
・┈・┈・
Kakashi barely remembered what his mom was like.
He had vague memories of a woman standing at the kitchen sink, humming softly, as she washed dishes or washing off the dirt on the vegetables she would use for later.
Memories of a lilting laugh, the soft warmth of a body holding him to fall asleep, the smell of home cooked meals. Blurry images of his father laughing at the dinner table, of shared, loving looks between two parents, and the happy barking of dogs.
Visions of a woman who ruffled his hair, who told him how much she loved him, who would sing him and their dogs to sleep, and his father kissing the side of her head.
Then, one day, she was just gone.
He did vividly remember the vacant look on his father’s face, the way his sunny personality suddenly turned cold, and the red-rimmed eyes after a sleepless night. Kakashi did recall hearing his father sob many nights when he thought Kakashi was fast asleep, the whines of the pups, and the devastating realization that he would never see his mother again.
Then, when Obito once told him a secret that he knew Rin was “The One,” Kakashi decided to turn to the person who knew everything.
So at dinnertime, with the ninken scattered around them after eating their own dinner, Kakashi spoke up.
“Dad, how did you know Mama was ‘The One’?”
Sakumo froze, chopsticks in mid-air as he registered his son’s words. Kakashi just shoved more food in his mouth as he waited. Then, a laugh spouted out of his dad’s mouth. “My, what brought this on? Have a crush of your own?” Sakumo reached over with his chopsticks for a piece of beef.
“No, Obito said that Rin was The One today.”
Sakumo chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “Wow, kind of young for that thing, no?”
Kakashi shrugged his shoulders.
His dad smiled gently at him as he set his chopstick down. “Well, maybe it’s time to tell you the clan’s secret.”
Kakashi’s eyes widened as he immediately sat up straight. “We have a clan secret?”
Sakumo winked at his son, a finger to his lips. “The best secret.” A sad smile sat on his lips. “Want to hear it?”
Kakashi set aside his chopsticks and nodded eagerly. “This will have to do with Mama?”
Sakumo nodded his head. “Yup. And maybe for your future partner too.”
“Partner?” Kakashi’s head tilted, his hair flopping just so.
His father only laughed heartily. “Definitely too young to think about it for you. But I’ll tell you me and your mom’s story. And the clan secret.”
Kakashi sat up on his knees, fists on his thighs as he got ready for what seemed like the most important conversation ever.
Sakumo looked out the window briefly, noting the Sakura petals falling gently. “It was on a day like this. I was walking down the farmer’s market when I heard….”
Kakashi’s eyes shone as Sakumo recounted his father and mother’s first meeting. He gripped onto the story like his life depended on it, putting it away for safekeeping, along with the clan’s secret, so he could come back to it and revisit a pleasant memory. A hopeful story.
Even if it ended abruptly, he knew his father and mother were happy together. Surrounding each other like orbits, the sun and a planet, the moon and the ocean waves.
Because they were made for each other.
And the concept of soulmates was introduced to Kakashi at the mere age of six, not knowing that exactly twenty years later, he would meet his own.
・┈・┈・
They were being summoned for a mission.
Kakashi guided his genin towards the Hokage Tower, already recognizing the signs of Naruto’s restlessness and Sasuke’s shoulders tightening from annoyance. Sakura thankfully ignored the two boys, walking in between them to act as a barrier so they wouldn’t go at it before the mission even started.
“I hope it’s a super cool mission and not one like pulling weeds like last time!” Naruto said, punching his fist in the air as he skipped forward.
“It would be nice to have a bit of a challenge, I suppose,” Sakura said.
Kakashi let them drone on as his eyes stayed on the pages of his book, following behind them with his free hand in his pocket. He didn’t look up until Asuma called out for him.
Kakashi looked up as Asuma approached him to clasp a hand on his shoulder. Kakashi chuckled as Asuma said his greeting. He could see Team 10 up ahead catching up with his own team, goofing around as Sakura and Ino hung back to talk to each other.
“Going on a mission?” Asuma said, dropping his hand to grab a cigarette from his packet, lighting it up.
Kakashi nodded, putting his book away. “Yeah, we’re being summoned right now.”
Asuma nodded, puffing air out of the corner of his mouth, cigarette dangling on the edge of his lip as he put his lighter away. He chuckled, taking the stick out of his mouth. “Maybe you’ll get to meet the old man’s new secretary. My recommendation.”
The sound of their footsteps and the kids’ laughter up ahead distracted Kakshi for a second before his brain caught up. “Wait, a new secretary?” He couldn’t remember the last time the Third had one of those.
Asuma smiled crookedly as he nodded. “Yes, today’s her first day. I met her when I was in the Guardian Ninja. We ended up in her village for a while and became quite close after. She’s a bit reserved and demure so please be nice to her.”
“Oh?” Kakashi tilted his head to the side, smirking underneath his mask.
Asuma rolled his eyes. “No trolling, Kakashi.”
He chuckled. “Of course not. We don’t want to scare her away. Where she from?”
“Yugakure.”
Kakashi rose an eyebrow. “They’re … pretty passive.” Asuma nodded. “And she wanted to work here? One of the biggest shinobi villages?” Skepticism washed over his face.
Asuma laughed. “She wanted to see the world. I told her it would be good for her.” Smoke billowed out his mouth as he took his cigarette out of his mouth. “She should know what it’s like out in the real world. They’re quite sheltered there to be honest.”
“And it’s her first day?”
“Yup.”
“And she has no idea what she’s getting into?”
“Nope.”
“You’re an ass,” Kakashi said.
Asuma barked out a laugh, not denying his words even a little bit.
・┈・┈・
Kakashi didn’t know what to expect from the Third’s new secretary, but it certainly wasn’t this.
When they first entered the Hokage’s office, Kakashi noticed a woman standing by the Third’s desk, a clipboard in hand and a soft smile. Unassuming, gorgeous, and quiet.
Then, he heard her.
Aw, they’re so cute! I can’t believe I was nervous in the first place!
Kakashi nearly tripped on his two feet as they stopped in front of the Hokage. Did he really hear that? He glanced at his genin out of the corner of his eye, and they made no indication that they heard what she said.
Okay ... Maybe he needed to get more sleep then.
As the Hokage spoke, Kakashi kept glancing over at the woman. Hiruzen introduced her as his new secretary, and Kakashi was proud of his genin when they bowed respectfully towards her, even if Sakura did have to elbow Naruto into doing it. The young woman giggled, and that stirred something within Kakashi that he couldn’t quite explain.
Then the Third moved on as if Kakashi wasn’t intrigued to learn more after his auditory hallucination.
The mission was simple. Thieves and bandits were targeting a tiny village up north, and the village head had requested Konohagakure for help. The thieves would be dangerous, but they weren’t shinobi, so Kakashi wasn’t that concerned. The kids seemed excited for something new, and Kakashi had faith in his team to handle this.
Wait, the Hokage is seriously going to send kids on this mission?! What kind of job did I sign up for?!
Kakashi glanced at the Third’s secretary, blinking as her lips stayed sealed and a serene smile graced her lips, eyes curved in half-moons.
Wait, there it was again! Was he going crazy?
Lightning zapped through him, an epiphany finally lighting up, and he straightened up even further.
Was she—?
No!
He didn’t even want to think about it right now. He didn’t know what to do. This couldn’t be real.
Kakashi bowed to the Hokage, accepting the request.
Ugh, and their sensei doesn’t even question it? Does he even care?!
Kakashi stood up fast, eye widened at the implication. She scribbled in her small clipboard, her face betraying nothing.
Of course he did!
This was just … normal to them. He took a deep breath. He remembered where Asuma said she was from, and he had to remind himself that of course she would think a lowly ranked mission like this was troubling.
Besides, the mission wasn’t that dangerous. At least it was nothing compared to the missions he was given when he was their age.
He gave a side glance to his genin, watching as Naruto picked his nose, Sasuke scowled off to the side, and Sakura twirled a piece of her hair around her finger as she snuck glances at Sasuke.
On second thought, maybe a cat rescue mission should’ve been better suited …
Still, even after her troubling thoughts, she wished them all good luck. “Be careful and come back safely!” she said, lifting a hand as she said her goodbyes.
The kids waved at her, but Kakashi paused. When was the last time someone said something like that to him? She tilted her head in question as he just stared back at her. Then, he gave his famous close-eyed smile and shut the door behind him.
What an odd man, he heard.
Kakashi sighed internally.
Yeah, he deserved that.
・┈・┈・
When they came back from their successful mission, Kakashi couldn’t wait to run into the Third’s secretary again.
He wondered if she had adjusted more in the last two weeks they had been gone. He just needed to confirm that he hadn’t gone insane and hadn’t hallucinated the entire thing.
It’s times like this he wished his father was alive.
Was that clan secret his father told him so long ago really true? He had almost forgotten about it until that woman came into his life. Even then, it was hard to believe he hadn’t dreamt up the whole thing. As he perched on the roof across the Hokage Tower, he watched through the windows for an opportunity to make his debut.
As the Hokage left the office, he watched amusedly as the young woman fluttered about the office. She pulled at her hair when she saw the mountain of paperwork that the Third had neglected, cleaned up his desk for him, and kicked at the desk in frustration when she dropped a pile of loose paper. A chuckle escaped his lips, and then he jumped over.
It was but a murmur mere moments ago, but now the voice came through clear, as if his head had broken above water after listening to everything muffled for so long. Stupid Hokage always making a mess of things! And I know he said I didn’t have to but look at all this! Someone has to look after him! And Asuma said this would be easy, that bastard!
Kakashi eased the window open before jumping in. She gasped loudly and turned around, eyes widened in fear as she gripped some of the papers to her chest.
“Yo!” he said, a hand up as his eye squinted into a smile.
Oh. It’s that guy, she thought in a deadpanned voice.
Kakashi blinked his eye open, surprised to see a serene smile on her face. She composed herself rather quickly.
“Good afternoon. Did you have an appointment with the Hokage?”
Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really, but I had a report to submit.”
She looked at him with even eyes, her lips still tilted upwards. “What rank was the mission?”
“C …”
He saw her eye slightly twitch, but that same smile stayed planted on her lips. “Did he personally ask you to submit it in person?” I swear all that is holy if he didn’t ...
Kakashi shrank a bit, hunching over as his hands went into his pockets. “Well, no …”
“I was informed that mission reports ranked B to D can be submitted to the Mission Assignment Desk on the second floor.” She pointed her pen towards the ground to indicate a lower level. Seriously?! How much rude can you be to just barge into the Hokage’s office?! Does he think he’s special?
Kakashi shifted on one foot. “I mean, since I’m here …”
She inhaled deeply, clearly trying to calm herself down, and ran a hand through her hair. “If the Hokage doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, then okay. But please follow procedure for the next time unless he specifically asked you to report in person.” She rose an eyebrow at him. “Got it?” She placed the pile of paper she had grabbed earlier and set it at the corner of the Hokage’s desk.
Kakashi stood at attention, his face feeling all hot. He swallowed. “Got it.”
She smirked, turning away.
Good, so he can follow orders, she thought, and for some reason, that zapped lightning down his back. As she opened the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, and next time, please use the door like a normal person.”
Kakashi couldn’t help the grin forming under his mask.
・┈・┈・
He relaxed his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets, as he casually strolled along.
Was this stalking?
No, he was just researching.
Investigating.
This could be his …
He hesitated at the last word.
Kakashi couldn’t believe that the clan secret was real. There was no denying it now. He had hung out with her, who he now dubbed as Peaches, plenty of times with his friend group within the last month. Just being within her orbit helped him learn a lot about her.
Her favorite snack was peaches. He would always see one in her hand when she was running around, or when she would sit down for a break and enjoy the cool breeze outside. He heard her amusing snarky remarks in her mind whenever they were around friends, especially towards Ebisu. She disliked how the village treated Naruto and would try her best to be a positive adult in his life. She sometimes wondered if the Hokage even knew what he was doing with the kid.
Kakashi tried really hard not to pry too much, but sometimes he would catch her thinking about her family. Something must have happened with her younger brother since she grieved a lot about him whenever she saw Naruto. She always thought how he reminded her of her little brother.
Whenever those thoughts arose, Kakashi would find an excuse to leave the friend group so he could respect her privacy as much as he could.
Even if he didn’t know exactly what happened, he had a feeling he could relate. After all, he still blamed himself for his friends’ deaths.
And she seemed so bright and hopeful, the opposite of him, and wondered how could this person really be his other half? Did he even deserve this? What if he wasn’t good enough for her?
Did a person like him really deserved something so meaningful like love?
He came back to reality when he heard her again.
Hmm … bananas, chocolate, eggs, spinach, ramen … oooh! Some pork and tofu to make something special for Friday?
Friday? What’s happening on Friday?
Kakashi turned to glance at a fruit stand, keeping an eye out on the young woman.
And maybe some wine! Yes! Then I can finally finish Make-Out Paradise!
Kakashi nearly tripped on his next step as soon as he heard that thought. Catching himself, his cheeks heated at the thought of her reading any of that. Curiosity licked at his heels as he found himself drawing closer to her.
Before he knew it, he was standing before her after she had paid the merchants, blinking up at him with those cute wide eyes. “Yo, Peaches! Let me get those bags for you.”
That little signature scowl of hers took over her features as she huffed, “That is not my name! How many times do I have to tell you?”
Kakashi only grinned as he took her bags away, and she easily let him do it.
This was almost a routine for them. He had teased her about the nickname ever since he caught her with a few peaches at one of his favorite reading spots in the park, peach juice dripping off her chin as she tried to quickly clean herself up when she noticed him.
Peaches claimed she didn’t like the nickname, but once while tipsy at a bar, she thought sadly how he hadn’t called her it all night. That thought brought a fire to his heart he didn’t know he had, feeling more alive that day as it was technically her first confession that she liked something he did for her and her only. Now he was determined to always call her that, wanting to see that cute little pout of hers whenever he said it.
Peaches now walked beside him as they treaded back to her house. “Thank you for the help,” she said, a small smile on her lips.
Kakashi shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
As they walked in comfortable silence, kids yelling in the distance caught their attention. They turned to see Ino, Choji, and Shikamaru hanging with Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto. They laughed loudly at something Naruto did, and Kakashi was surprised to see a small smile on Sasuke’s face.
“You know, I see the way you favor him over the others,” she said, tilting her chin up and frowning.
Kakashi blinked and turned his attention back to Peaches. “Uh ... who?”
She scowled up at him. “Sasuke, obviously!” She shook her head. The kids’ voices faded the more they walked, turning a left on the trail. The summer breeze brushed against their cheeks, the sun hanging below the horizon, and the sky turning into a blend of beautiful colors. Peaches smiled, looking ahead. “They all have crazy potential. Don’t forget that you can focus on more than one student, okay?”
Kakashi’s cheeks heated in shame. “Do I really favor Sasuke that much?”
She laughed. “I’m not a shinobi, but even I see it. I hear about it too.” She gave him a side-eye, then put a finger up to her lips, a smile forming underneath it. He wondered if her lips were as soft as he imagined. “But I’m no snitch.”
“Noted,” he said, smiling back down at her.
She grinned up at him. “I just want you to think more about the students in your care. I know you have that Sharingan and all, but your skills are beyond that. You have the ability to really make those children flourish.”
Kakashi nudged her shoulder. “Thought you were against all this shinobi stuff.”
She sighed. “I am. But if they’re going to be out there, they might as well be trained as well as they could be.”
When they finally approached her house, she reached her hands out for her bags. Kakashi gave them to her, their fingers brushing, making his skin prickle with excitement. “Thank you again, Kakashi.” She met his eyes, smiling softly.
He reached over to pinch her nose. “Anytime, Peaches.”
She pouted for a second before giggling.
He’s silly ... but it’s kind of cute.
Kakashi rode that high for the rest of the evening.
・┈・┈・
It was becoming addicting.
Coming back and learning more about her. Even if it counted as a cheat code, he didn’t care. Her thoughts consumed his whole being, feeling closer to her than ever before.
His eyes fluttered shut when he heard her, the sound alone calming his anxieties and worries.
Weeks flew by and Peaches began integrating into the village more easily. She was closest to Asuma, but they acted more like siblings than anything else. Plus, everyone knew that he was secretly dating Kurenai. Peaches was second closest to her.
Kakashi wondered plenty of times when he should try to cross that line of becoming more than friends. Although, they were always bickering in public, their friends sometimes making fun of them, he wanted to turn the tables.
Luckily, that opportunity fell into his lap one night at a party hosted by Asuma.
When Kakashi arrived, he didn’t expect some of his comrades to already be tipsy. He supposed he could’ve come earlier.
Peaches stood by the kitchen counter, holding a red cup as Gemma laughed next to her, his shoulders jostling as she hid a small smile behind her drink.
Kakashi almost instinctively rolled his eyes. That was a new development he didn’t really like. Ever since Genma became more comfortable around Peaches, he had been trying to flirt with her mercilessly. She always seemed uneasy about it, laughing it off. Not because she thought he came off as creepy, but in her thoughts, “This must be some type of joke since there are way prettier girls that he could get.”
He didn’t really understand that mindset, but at least he knew that Peaches wasn’t really reciprocating Genma’s advances.
Kakashi walked over to Anko, who was currently glaring at Asuma and Kurenai. “What’s up your butt, Anko?” he said, running his hand through his hair.
Anko pouted, taking a sip out of her drink. “I’m not sure. Me and Kurenai got into it earlier.”
Kakashi rose an eyebrow. “About ...?”
Anko’s face flushed and she looked away, picking invisible lint off her sleeve, holding her cup steady. “Nothing, forget it.”
Kakashi let it go for now, although he had always wondered about Kurenai and Anko before Asuma came into the picture. No one really talked about it, but he supposed that no one really thought about it after Asuma started taking interest in Kurenai and she in turn.
An hour after everyone had arrived, Genma had proposed a drinking game. Peaches excitedly sat down on one of the zen pillows when everyone made a circle. The game was Never Have I Ever. The game was going smoothly, the questions varying from mild to risky, until all hell broke loose.
It almost seemed like Kurenai and Anko were going back and forth between questions that were obviously pointed toward each other. Asuma’s eyes widened as he finally realized what was happening. Guy scratched his head, unsure of the events unfolding before them, and Ebisu coughed awkwardly into his arm. The questions just kept getting bolder than the next.
Anko glared at Kurenai, determined to get her back. “Well, never have I ever had sex in the supplies closet at the Hokage Tower!”
Guy’s eyes bugged out as Genma spit out his drink.
Kurenai’s face went red, and Asuma suddenly became fascinated with his cup. “Th-That’s too specific!”
“That’s the point, dummy!”
“Whoa, whoa!” Genma finally interjected, his hands up with one hand still wrapped around his red cup. “How about you guys just shorten to ‘never have I ever had sex.’”
Anko glowered from the floor. “Fine. Never have I ever had sex.”
Genma nodded and stood back, satisfied he dismantled a bomb.
Kakashi noticed Peaches sat there, looking like a deer frozen after hearing a noise. Even if he tried his hardest to figure out how to give her privacy, he couldn’t tune out her thoughts, and he greedily took it in.
Oh, gods, what do I do?! Everyone is taking a sip!
Kakashi had his lips already at the rim of his cup, unfazed by the question. But when he heard her next thought, he almost spit out his drink.
I’ve never had sex with anyone! I mean, does oral count?!
Kakashi’s cheeks flushed, not realizing he would be privy to these kind of thoughts. The questions before, while dirty, didn’t arise this reaction out of her. He avoided her gaze, coughing slightly as he tried to keep his composure.
Even Guy is drinking! I’m going to look like a weirdo if I don’t …!
His eyes flitted to Guy, who happily took a huge gulp.
Kakashi supposed this confirmed that the blind date he set Guy up on a few years ago must’ve been a success. Guy had refused to “kiss and tell.”
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and noticed Kurenai watching Peaches. She smiled back, although it was off, and brought her cup to her lips.
Oh, please let oral count. I don’t think I can handle this embarrassment!
She slammed her eyes shut and took a swig, her hand propping her up from the floor closing into a fist. Kurenai looked away and scowled at Anko, who promptly stuck her tongue out.
Hope they bought it …
Kakashi tried not to think about what he heard. The excitement that shot through his body made him feel gross and he shook away the dirty thoughts as she sat up on her knees on the zen pillow.
“Not to be a party pooper, but can we be done with this game?” Kurenai asked, putting her empty cup down.
“Why? Because you—”
Ebisu covered Anko’s mouth from behind, smiling. “Let’s move on to the next game then!”
Tension released from Peaches’s shoulders and she put her own cup down, shaking her hands. Thank the gods …
“Seven minutes in heaven!” called Kotetsu, grinning as he finally came over from the kitchen with an empty glass bottle. He put the beer bottle in the middle of the circle, laughing like a cartoon villain.
“Uh, excuse me, some of us might not even want to—”
Peaches perked up, tilting her head. “What’s this game about?”
“You’re about to find out!” Kotetsu said cheerily, spinning the bottle.
Kakashi held his breath as it slowed around his girl—his girl? he thought—and let out a sigh of relief when it landed on Izumo.
“Shocker,” Anko said in a flat voice before snickering into her cup.
“Cool,” Kotetsu said, pulling up his friend and taking him over to a supply closet in the small hallway.
She looked around, blinking. “Wait, what are they doing?”
“Timer starts now!” called Anko as she looked at the clock on the wall.
Asuma turned to her, smirking. “Seven minutes in heaven is when two people go in a closet and make out for seven minutes.”
Her eyes grew as big as the full moon outside. “M-Make-out?”
Kurenai nodded. “Yup!” she said, popping the ‘p’ at the end.
Her face went completely scarlet as she looked down. “That’s so … I mean …” She looked up and hunched down a little as if she were telling a secret, eyebrows drawn up. “… in front of everyone?” she whispered.
Guy laughed, clapping her on the back and she jolted forward with the action. She about spilled her drink before she caught it, glaring at Guy over her shoulder.
“Little lotus, you are too innocent sometimes.”
“Sheltered,” she corrected, her cheeks dusting with a pink color. She scowled. “I’m not as inexperienced as you think!”
“Oho, really now?” Genma said, a teasing lilt in his voice that Kakashi did not like. His grip tightened on his cup as Genma came to take the empty spot next to her. “What if we end up going in together then?”
Anko laughed out loud, slapping her thigh as she looked at Genma. “You can’t be serious! You’ll destroy her!”
“What?!” she squeaked out, her face as red as a tomato now. “What does that even mean?!”
Kakashi inwardly groaned, rubbing his forehead as he tried to take calm breaths.
I can’t go in with Genma! He’ll laugh at me! She sat up and her eyes swung around the room until they found Kakashi’s.
He blinked, staring back at her. Her face took over a pleading look and he wondered what she was trying to communicate. Kakashi! He’s the only one I would feel comfortable going in there with! Can he tell?
His eye softened and he was about to smile when she finished her thought.
I could knee him in the balls if he tried anything!
Kakashi had to cough just to cover up his laugh. Ah, maybe he’s starting to understand why she didn’t go for Genma. He thought that maybe Genma intimidated her. But was that a good or a bad thing that she felt she could knee him in the balls?
After Anko yelled at the boys to come out, they started the spinning again. Anko’s turn was next, and it landed on Kurenai. Kurenai looked like she was about to blow up, but Anko only told her to hurry up to get it over with. Peaches looked after them curiously, and then Genma suggested that she spun next so the next couple would be ready to go.
Peaches spun the bottle, and it seemed like time slowed down as it kept swinging around and around.
Until the unthinkable happened.
The bottle spun and spun until it slowed to a stop in front of Kakashi.
Her jaw dropped for a quick second before she collected herself.
“Shame,” Genma said as she stood up, dusting herself off.
She glared down at him as he smirked up at her. “Ha ha, very funny.”
Kakashi lifted himself off the ground, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea or not. Of course he wasn’t going to make her do this if she didn’t want to, but being boxed in would not help with the temptation.
Okay, you can DO this! You can tell him off that nothing will happen! Everyone knows we don’t get along!
Kakashi frowned, happy to have the mask cover his reaction at the thought. Was his assumption that they playfully bickered wrong all along? Now he was second guessing all their interactions. Just because she seemed to have a misconception about him didn’t mean they didn’t get along … right? Well, now he’s going to have to work on that aspect too.
Anko came back with a flushed Kurenai, smiling smugly at Asuma, who only rolled his eyes. When she caught sight of who was next, she perked up. “Oooh~ Enemies to lovers, huh?”
“Not really enemies,” Kakashi murmured.
“It’s not like that! It’s a game!” she huffed, her cheeks flushed red as she walked past Kakashi in a rush.
Anko rose her eyebrows and then looked back at the group as they all whooped and hollered. Kakashi rolled his eyes and shook them off as he followed the young woman to the supply closet. He let her enter first, and Anko wiggled her eyebrows excitedly as Peaches turned to look at her from the inside of the supplies closet. Kakashi tilted his head, wondering what that look was about.
They watched Anko slowly close the door, the ray of light that the gap provided diminishing second by second.
Until the door clicked close.
And there they stood.
In complete darkness.
Why am I so nervous? Do I actually want him to kiss me? she thought. No! I shouldn’t think like that! He probably doesn’t even think of me that way. I’m like a little sister to him. Besides, who cares?! He reads Make-Out Paradise in public! What kind of person reads those in public unless they want to be called a pervert?!
Kakashi almost chuckled at her inner dialogue. Oh? Does his Peaches have a slight crush on him? Could this be the moment he had been waiting for? He heard her shuffle in the dark.
Kakashi’s fingers lifted, and he slowly rolled down his mask. Her thoughts only deepened his confidence in his actions.
Oh, gods, why does he have to smell so good?!
He smirked at that, using it to his advantage as he crowded closer to her. “Peaches,” he said softly, his voice having a slight rasp.
“Don’t call me that!” she hissed, hands clenching behind her as she felt him near her. “I have a name, you know!”
But seriously, why is his voice so sexy? This is ridiculous! It’s Kakashi!
Kakashi’s hands reached out, finding her arms. She sucked in a breath as his fingers followed up her arm and then down until he moved to grab her waist. She let out a cute, little squeak when he pushed her back against the wall, coats rustling and hangers clanging against each other as they bumped into them.
He leaned in, his lips barely grazing her ear. Her eyes widened when she realized his lips were naked. He took his mask down! For her? No, no way.
She found purchase on his arms, gripping tightly and feeling his hard muscles underneath his shirt. Her knees weakened as he whispered his next words.
“Do I make you nervous?”
Her eyes fluttered closed as goosebumps erupted across her flesh, shivering at the way his lips grazed against her skin. Her hands tightened even further around his arms. His nose ran down the column of her neck, and she moved it to the side to give him more room. “Fuck, you smell good,” he said huskily.
A tiny whimper escaped her mouth, and that about undid all his self-restraint. “Peaches, you gotta push me away if you don’t want me to kiss you.”
Kiss me, kiss me, goddamnit I want him to kiss me!
Before he could act on it, he felt two of her palms slide to his chest, hands clenching the fabric of his shirt into her fists. He stilled, waiting for her to do the next move. Her stance poised as if she could push him away or pull him in.
Oh, gods, what do I do? Would it be awkward if we ended up kissing? I want him to kiss me, does he really want that? Or is this part of the game?! Are we just drunk?
Her fists pressed further into his chest, and he wondered if this was her way of saying no. He almost helped to take a step back, but then—
Ah, fuck it!
As she pulled him down towards her, his hands planting themselves against the wall beside her head, the door flung open.
“TIME’S UP!” Anko shouted, a giddiness lacing through her laughter.
Peaches jumped in her skin and shoved him away. He scrambled to pull his mask up before she started to yell at her friends for making her sit in a closet with the village pervert!
“Hey, now!” he called out as he exited the closet.
He noted how her cheeks flushed red and the way she avoided his gaze. “Oh, shut up, we all see what you’re reading! It’s not like you try to hide it!”
“The romance is very sweet!”
“As if you only read it for that! It’s written by Jiraiya for Pete’s sake!”
Genma laughed as he got in between them, his hands stretched outwards as if to tell both of them to cool it. “All right, all right, we get it. You two hate each other and not even a little game could make you get along.”
“I resent that!” Kakashi said, plopping down next to Guy. He snuck a drink in before pulling his mask back up quickly. “I don’t hate Peaches!”
She let out a frustrated sound, throwing her hands up as she walked off to the other side of his house. “That’s not my name, pervert!”
“OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod! I almost kissed THE Kakashi Hatake! What is wrong with me?! When did he get so hot?!
Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he could take this before he snapped.
adult women aren’t inherently creepy for being in fandom and having hobbies apart from raising babies and doing taxes
the vast majority of people pushing back against the worrying trend of instigating harassment over fictional characters and relationships aren’t incest supporters or pedophiles, actually
liking a m/f ship doesn’t make someone a dirty heterosexual invading your space
preferring gay ships doesn’t make you ‘’woke’’ and good
no one owes you a disclaimer that they are a good person who recognizes that their favorite fictional villain’s actions are evil and that they don’t condone those actions irl
liking a fictional villain is in no way comparable to advocating abuse/murder/genocide/etc and you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that
just because a woman is attracted to a fictional villain doesn’t mean she’s promoting toxic relationships or going to end up in a toxic relationship. assuming women can’t tell fiction and reality apart stinks of internalized misogyny
some rando’s a/b/o fanfics have none of the level of influence that popular tv shows and movies spreading propaganda have
no one owes you a detailed description of their traumas and mental health problems
abusive relationships are not the same as enemies to lovers ships
y’all need to chill the fuck out over people, relationships, actions and events that don’t actually exist and learn how to enjoy and discuss them like normal people
genuinely I'm so sick of people wanting all fiction to be ethical. can we all just get a little gross with it. the point of fiction is that it's not real. we can be unethical in fiction; same goes with being perverted with fiction, being unrealistic with fiction, and being grotesque with fiction. not all fiction has to be ethical, not every character has to be ethical, and that's okay. can we stop with the puritanism. be gross. be unrealistic. be whatever. if I don't like it it's not my business as long as we're all clear that its fictional.
via ered.bsky.social, the only kinds of unethical fiction:
people in the replies are going "what about books glorifying unethical things" and "what if it's propaganda" and you, my friends, are who this comic was made for
hii its my first time doing a anon ask and you’re my fav writer!! A little body specific but im curious how you think the boys would enjoy a reader who is more bottom heavy. Like small boobs but big thighs, perfect chubbiness and plump ass? I Love the way you write btw!! You deserve all the love!! 💕
omg HI ANON FRIEND!!! thank u sm for the kind words and lovely ask!!
first time, hm? ;-) i'm so honored, i hope to make it worth ur while <3 (snowcrowapple only + light pseudocest/dubcon, but if ur here i sure hope already saw that coming LOL)
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how zayne, sylus, + caleb would enjoy a small-chested/bottom-heavy reader...
zayne — don't you even think about trying to hide your chest from zayne. mm, none of that. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, teasing circles with his fingertips around one nipple, then the other. try to hide this perfect body of yours from me one more time and you'll learn exactly why you shouldn't. you squirm against his grip anyway, eager to meet the consequences, and he flips you onto your stomach so fast you gasp. smack. zayne spanks you until you take his praise like you mean it, until he forgets why he started—too enamored by the way your plush ass gives under his palm, by the imprint of his hand blooming across your upper thigh. the spanking turns into soothing, the soothing turns into something more heated, and the moment you arch your perfect ass up higher in offering, zayne’s last thread of restraint is cut clean off. he fucks into you without warning, chest flush against your back, pinning your hips to the mattress in a relentless rhythm that says this isn't for your pleasure, not tonight. he pulls out just as you're about to break, turning you flat on your back with a command to grab onto the headboard above you. tilting your chin up with two fingers, he makes sure you don't miss the way he fists his cock to the sight of your body presented to him like a gift, cum spilling hot across your breasts with a raw, broken sound. he runs his thumb through his release, dragging the slick warmth across your nipple with a kiss to your sweat-damp forehead. there. that's it. was that really so difficult, letting me look?
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sylus — if sylus has any say in the matter, you’re dressed in a gown with a slit so high it’ll cause a scandal, and he’s provoking you until you want to strangle him. cold, sweetie? he smirks, openly admiring the way your tight nipples are visible through the satin. very cold, apparently. come here before you catch something. i've been told i run warm, and i'm feeling generous enough to let you use me just this once. you shove him onto the couch, straddle his lap, hands around his throat—but the bastard is grinning up at you like a kid in a candy store. from this angle, his mouth has perfect access to your chest, and he wastes no time, nudging the fabric aside with his nose to take your nipple between his teeth and tug. he knows what makes you moan, arch into him, roll your hips into his, and doesn't stop until he gets you there—until your dress is bunched at the waist, both hands palming your ass as if he’s on a mission to grab as much of it as he can with two hands, savoring the way you make a mess of where his erection is fighting against his slacks. his fingers dig hungrily into your soft skin, dragging you deeper into his lap, grinding you hard against his cock as his greedy mouth works to lavish each breast with equal attention. he sucks and bites and kisses until every inch of skin he can reach is warm from his mouth; tearing the slit of your dress higher to get a fuller view of the impressions his heavy rings leave against the give of your thick thighs and...yeah, you’re not making it to that gala tonight. or was there ever even a gala to begin with…?
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caleb — your big brother is obsessed with every bit of you, but especially your smaller breasts. he notices the way your tiny shirts fit a little tighter across your chest when your period’s coming, filled with a primal satisfaction when he’s able to tell you’re early before you can. he doesn't warn you, though. lets you wake up in his bed, cheeks flaming when you realized your body's betrayed you. he bands a heavy forearm across your waist when you try to run off—s'nothing to be ashamed of, meimei. let me take care of you. you relax into his touch, both of you gasping when your ass unintentionally presses back against his hard, aching cock—though neither of you dares to speak of it, desperate to stay trapped inside the perfect, forbidden bubble of the morning a little longer. you feel him reach between your bodies, pulling his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, positioning his cock between your full, sleep-warm thighs, right against the fabric of your underwear. you squeeze your legs tighter together and he groans, rocking forward so slowly its almost nothing. though to caleb it's everything, the feel of his sister’s soft curves warming his needy cock enough to undo him. his hand at your waist drifts under your shirt as his pace grows more erratic, knuckles brushing the underside of your tender breast, and when you guide his hand to cup you fully and squeeze it's not long before there's an entirely different mess between your thighs...
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(idk if this gets at the ask sry anon i kinda got carried away and freestyled 😭 ily ❤️)
"原神 ✶ SYNOPSIS," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ the nod krai men find out their girlfriend is a virgin, obviously not for long. ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: here reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 3.7k ⁀ ˳ ⟡ masterlist <3
ꗃ .. FEATURING ꒰ flins, varka, dottore, lohen ꒱
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ nsfw fem!reader smut squirting p i v sex spitting gentle sex you do the hair pulling fae's have biiiig dicks cunnilingus they go raw oral sex (f receive) fingering nip play tummy bulges overstimulation teasing drooling gentle giant varka getting pinned down varka is gigantic medicinal play / consensual drugging dottore treats sex like some experiment pussy slapping lohen is mean orgasm denial ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) plz send thirsts fill up my inbox like how flins fills my puthy up, also header inspired by cumironi mwah divider credits
ɞ⠀.⠀FLINS ﹗ ໒꒱۪
Flins was a gentleman, of course he was. He needed to be one anyways, he didn't need you squirming and sobbing and pushing him away if he went too rough with his size. You were a human after all.
"E-eeh.. s-slowly.." you whimpered, naked and nervously sweating underneath him, hands braced on his chest while he was gently spreading your legs open.
"I'll be as gentle as I can be, darling," he whispered softly, leaning over and pecking your cheek, before moving his lips over to your forehead, and finally your lips. His lips were soft, but cold against your warm ones. Your eyes had fluttered to a close, while he was moving his thumbs to rub at your sticky folds and soften you up.
"Niiiice, right?" He hummed, while you were beginning to squirm from the new sensation, his fingers curling up before pushing inside and stretching you out for his cock.
You whimpered and nodded shakily, much to his delight.
His smile got wider, like a Cheshire Cat, before he kissed you again and thrusted his fingers further, going just slightly more rougher to hear you moan and whine against his lips. Your nails beginning to dig and scratch at his shoulders, legs twitching and falling apart.
He pulled back suddenly, leaving you gasping and dazed, taking his fingers out and holding his hand out teasingly. Your essence dripping from his long, elegant fingers.
"Look here, you're already doing so well. So ready for me," he purred before leaning over again and nuzzling into the crook of your neck, kissing to distract you.
"Shhh, just breathe," he whispered.
You gasped and let out a strangled whimper when feeling the thick head of his cock rub against your pussy and begin to push inside. Your hands quickly reach out against his slender arms and scratched your way to his back, breath quickening and hitching.
"N-nghh.. f-flinssss.." you whined for him, while he slowly eased inside, before sighing against your neck and relaxing. "Shhh, I've got you, just relax, I swear it'll all feel better," he peppered your face with slow, soft kisses.
"C-can I pull..?" You mumbled softly, half lidded eyes looking up into his darkened ones. One of your hands were moving up, gently tangling into the long, luscious hair of his.
He didn't hesitate, nodding and smiling down at you sweetly.
Darkened, lustful eyes of his were glued to your tummy, watching the bulge from his thick cock grown and shrink as he thrusted in and out. He loved the feeling of being inside you, and got harder at the look of you squirming beneath him, and twitched inside you at your sweet little whimpers and moans.
As your hand pulled at his hair, his teeth bit into his bottom lip, the bed beginning to creak, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room.
His hips pulled back, before slowly easing inside again, and continuing those slow, sensual movements. Thrusting back and forth, just gently enough so that it wouldn't hurt. his eyes flickered up from your neck, watching your expression begin to relax and get comfortable with his slow, steady thrusts.
He pulled back, before sharply thrusting in one last time, making you squeak and whine, pouting up at him confused.
Your pout was met with a chaste kiss, "I'm sorry.. I couldn't resist. I'll go slow from now on, okay?" He pulled his hips back slowly, his thumb finding the little bud of your clit and rubbing it slowly.
"Just cum for me, alright, darling?"
ɞ⠀.⠀VARKA ﹗ ໒꒱۪
Varka was messy, and had no shame about it.
Slobbering and eating you out all messily, face buried in between your thighs, slurping loudly. Very much enjoying his meal. Groaning and moaning, while you were squirming, whining and covering your mouth shyly. You had expected him to be this big macho man and be all rough, to just make you take it.
Yet there he was, happiest when tasting and giving you pleasure, happiest when watching you cum on his face. His tongue eagerly licking up when you squirted out.
"So good, so good," he muttered and licked your pussy a few more times before pulling away with a sigh and wiping his dripping mouth. Your essence still dribbling down his chin and soaked into the bedsheets below, his tired eyes gazing into yours lovingly. "You ready?"
Your shaky nod didn't convince him, as you were still hiccuping and breathing heavily from your last orgasm. "I need a yes or a no, use your words," he said quietly, hand taking a grasp of your chin, gently making you face up at him properly.
"..yes.. yes please. I need you," you nodded and gasped, whining and already reaching out your hands for him.
He smiled happily before quickly covering your body with his much larger, muscular, scarred one. Completely overpowering you but making sure you had enough room to squirm and move, his lips meeting yours lovingly.
Those large hands of his pushed your thighs apart, before hooking your legs over his hips. Keeping you spread wide open beneath him, naked, sweaty, ready for him.
"You'll be okay, alright?" He nodded, noticing your nerves and shaky breathing, kissing your forehead. "It'll be just a small pop of pain, and then a world of pleasure.. just tap my shoulder and I'll slow down, or use the word and I'll pull out, okay?" He nodded, before furrowing his brows when you only nodded.
"Use your words."
"..I'll tap on your shoulder when it hurts and say the safe word when I can't take it anymore," you nodded to him, before sighing and smiling again when he kissed your forehead. "Good girl."
His head buried into the crook of your neck, kissing and finding your sensitive spots. Sucking hickeys and kissing down your jawline, while his hands were moving to spread your folds apart and stroke his thick cock. The base of his blond pubic hair tickles your inner thighs, before you felt it.
The large, demanding pressure began to build inside you when you felt the tip of it slide in. You had expected it to be big, but this big? You were already beginning to plan out your funeral, thighs twitching and squirming.
"Shh, shh, I'll be slow, just relax, I promise," he kissed down your jaw and trailed down the valley on your breasts, suckling a nipple into his mouth. Trying to get you to focus on the pleasure.
His cock was demanding your attention. Your brain couldn't focus on anything else, as much as you squeezed your eyes shut, whined, and squirmed underneath him. Your nails began to rake on his muscular back, adding to the scars with red lines of passion. It was so big, so thick, stretching you to the core
You were already so slick and drooling around him, drooling from both lips, before mumbling, "I-it's big.."
"I'm—… I'm not even halfway in," he muttered, pursing his lips and pausing for just a second before beginning to try and push in as far as he could, in a quick, painless manner. Not even halfway? You were already feeling his cock splitting you in two, what did he mean "not even halfway"?
It felt like something you had never known, finally clicked inside your head when he pushed in the last inch and grinned up at you, popping free of your nipple. "See! Nothing to it," he hummed happily, while you were drooling and cumming around him from just the size. Your tummy having such a lewd bulge from his cock.
"D-does it get any smaller…?" You drooled, whimpering and squeezing so tightly. You were definitely going to be spending majority of the time squirting and squirming on his dick.
“Smaller?” He scoffed and smiled, before kissing your forehead and then the tip of your nose. “Obviously not, silly. It can get bigger though,” he tilted his head to the side, all goofy.
Oh my archons, he was going to split you in two.
ɞ⠀.⠀DOTTORE ﹗ ໒꒱۪
"Oh come on, miss patient, you're not seriously backing out already?" Dottore pouted and mocked you, holding an empty syringe in his hands. The one he had promised would help you enjoy your first time with him infinitely more and not feel an ounce of paint whatsoever.
"Z-zandik—" you whimpered, eyes beginning to haze over, sitting naked on his experimental table. The light flicking above you both in the empty, cold room.
"Uh-uh, not Zandik, it's Doctor now, okay?" He smirked and pinched your cheek.
The air wasn't biting at your skin anymore, the fluids beginning to seep through your veins in what felt like a fiery fever. The blue haired menace's eyes were narrowing, watching your expression change, your eyes glaze over and pussy begin to glisten and seep uncontrollably.
"..doctor 'tore.." you mumbled, looking up at him, and pulling him closer by his shoulders. Eyeing his shirtless body up and down.
He smirked and cupped your cheek again, testing to see how much the medicine had stripped away your shyness and pain. "Tell me, how much do you want me? Where do you want me?" He purred, already moving his hands to the buckle of his pants, stripping eagerly.
You hesitated and thought, before laying back on the table and spewing your legs. "…need you a lotttt.." you mumbled, watching him crawl over you quickly and plant feverish kisses to your neck.
"Need you here.." you mumbled, moving one of your hands down shakily, and using your fingers to spreading your folds apart. Glistening and soaking wet, dripping onto the table below, ready and waiting for his experiment.
He hummed, smirking down at you and glanced down at your pussy, before kissing your forehead. "See? I told you the medicine would work so well with this untouched body of yours… didn't expect this much… fluid production, although," he hummed and was already mentally noting to edit the formula so that it wouldn't harm your body's natural production.
"You're alright to continue, miss patient?" He whispered down at you, before smirking at your confident nod.
"You're so filthy," he scoffed, smirking and spreading your legs wide apart, before slipping his fingers into your depths to test the waters. "They slide in so easily, tsk, you're so wet already," he huffed before brushing your hair out of your face. "Do you want me to move onto the next step in the method of this experiment?"
"P-pleaseeee.. d-doctor 'tore," you moaned, closing your eyes in pleasure as he fingered you, before gasping and pouting when he slid his fingers out again.
"If you're begging that much, you deserve something bigger, something harder," he darkly suggested, before smirking down at your dead face. The next thing you felt in your daze was the thick tip of his cock rubbing over your clit, collecting the slick, before it began to push inside your tight passage.
The feeling was numbing, more than painful. A small whimper escaping your lips, just clenching your fists, waiting for the initial stretch to wash over.
Only to open your eyes, half lidded, when you heard him snort. "Miss patient.. are you sleeping in the middle of my experiment?" He pouted and flicked your forehead.
It took you a second to realise he was teasing you, before you began to whine and argue back with him. "I wasn't sleeping! It just felt so numbing and c-cold—" you were arguing with him, before gasping and moaning, eyes rolling back for a split second.
That bastard had thrusted while you were talking, riling you up just to see you lose it in the middle of a sentence.
"You were saying?"
"Y-you're evil—" you were whining before quickly fading your arguments into needy moans and whimpers, arching your back and holding onto the shaky table as he began to rut into you. Fucking you at that steady pace, hips slapping against your ass. Balls heavy and waiting to spill inside you, to carry out another experiment inside you.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
It filled the room, while you began to drool. His breath finally hitching and adjusting, growing heavy from trying to not bust on the spot while you were squeezing him so tightly.
"Fuck.. you're so right. I should've made that fuckin' erection chewing gum too," he scoffed, eyes narrowing on your breasts.
ɞ⠀.⠀LOHEN ﹗ ໒꒱۪
"Pfft, look at you," lohen smirked, "not even name calling now?" He teased.
You were sitting on his lap. Naked, pouting and slowly rubbing your pussy back on his erect cock. His eyes half lidded, biting his bottom lip, watching you with lustful eyes. His hands resting on your hips, thumbs rubbing back and forth.
"You said you'd help me and be sweetttt!" You whined and grumbled down at him, before smacking his shoulder.
He groaned and pretended to be hurt, before pouting up at you playfully. "I am being sweeeet," he mimicked your whine, before smirking and pinching your hip. "I wanna see you ride me, it'll be fun, and I promise to help you get on," he nodded with a mock-serious expression.
You huffed, unconvinced before lifting your hips and scooting back just an inch, letting out a soft whimper when he grabbed the base of his cock, stroking it and guiding it to the entrance of your tight hole. "That's ittt, just slowly sit down," he mumbled, shifting on the bed slightly and guiding your hips down.
"H-haah.. s-slowlyyy.." you whined, easing your hips down, feeling his hard, thick dick begin to slide inside. The feeling of it twitching made you squirm and look more flustered, while his expression began to change from agonising pleasure to mischievous smirking.
His hands were slowly helping your hips down, as you relied on him to guide you, before he pulled them away quickly, making you squeak and plop down quickly. Gasping and whimpering, impaled on every thick, girthy inch of his cock.
A moan escaped your lips, tears pricking the corner of your eyes from the sudden, intense pleasure and pain mix. The room was filled whining and as you were smacking his shoulders repeatedly, "y-you're horrible! A terrible boyfriend! You pushed me down!"
"I did?" He pouted and played innocent, hands moving to wipe the small dotted tears at the corners of your eyes. "I think I'm a lovely boyfriend," he frowned, before genuinely asking, "you're okay though, right? Tell me if you want to stop, I'll stop, no teasing," he nodded to you.
You sniffled, before nodding and leaning over to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. "I w-wanna keep going.." a small mumble by his neck.
He smiled, turning his head to peck your hair, before thrusting up into you gently. "You're the one who's supposed to be riding me, doll," he huffed and played with your hair, tilting his head to the side to lick the shell of your ear.
The lick made you shiver, before trying to slowly wriggle your hips up and bring them down. "I-I'm tryingggg! Be patient," you huffed.
His teasing smirk began to fade as the bed was quietly creaking, only your soft little moans being the sounds of pleasure in the quiet bedroom. "E-ehh.. nnh.. mmh…" you whimpered softly, learning how to slowly pleasure yourself on his dick. His eyes half lidded, viewing you with a cold, cynical look, before smiling again and thrusting up quickly into your soft, wet pussy.
"L-lohennnn.. this is too much work," you huffed, giving up and laying limp on top of him.
He hummed, before kissing the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you tightly, quickly rolling you both over so that you were flustered, naked, and underneath him. "E-eh..?" You muttered confused, while his hands were already spreading your legs.
"Just take it, okay? You know the word to say if you want me to stop," he smiled at you. Nervousness breeding inside your gut, already gripping the sheets to prepare yourself.
Written as a part of the AO3 collection: LADSSummerFest being run by @/mayweholdhands and @/miaissleepy. Please check out the other artists and writers who participated, including the three artists I was blessed to work with:
@simplymeghana
@/hexmoondrop
@azmodeusart
The full collection of fics for all SIX LIs on AO3 can be found here.
Prompt words: icy treat, staying cool
8.9k
Tags: established relationship, slice of life beach day, beach vacation, sexy sunscreen application, Sylus shows a bit of his draconic tendencies, nesting, marking, temperature play, cunnilingus, blow job, face-sitting, mating press, switch!Sylus & switch!MC/reader
Full fic below the cut or you can take the link to AO3 here.
Sylus's head was a welcome weight in her lap. One of her hands carded through his hair, his eyes closed in blissful repose. A quiet song played from the record player in the corner, and Mephisto sat on a perch nearby, his little head tucked beneath a wing. She yawned widely. It was a shockingly quiet afternoon for Onychinus, something it seemed they all needed based on their various states of tranquility.
The magazine resting against the armrest of the couch crinkled lightly as she turned the pages with the hand she still had free. Images of a long, white sand beach covered a centerfold with a small caption identifying the location. Pinching the corner of the page, she folded it down, rubbing her thumb over the crease to keep it in place.
She couldn't remember when she had started to do it, but it had become a habit to dog-ear pages in magazines Sylus left laying around. Recipes, vacation spots, artwork and weapons she was interested in or liked all got a little fold.
Sylus shifted in her lap and his head pressed against her stomach as he readjusted. She made a little sound of discomfort and he opened his eyes to look up at her.
"Are you alright, kitten?"
She nodded. "Yeah, you were just pushing against my bladder."
With a little smirk, he turned his head and pushed his nose into her stomach again. With a shriek, she dropped the magazine and dug both hands into his hair, pulling at his head. The periodical fell to the ground, and Mephisto's head popped up as he let out a disappointed "caw." Sylus locked his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into her stomach.
A brief scuffle ensued, both of them locked against each other's force until her arms gave out. Sylus laughed against her stomach before pulling back to look up at her.
She sighed before smiling down at him again, glancing down past him to the floor to find where her magazine had fallen. He followed her gaze and smirked. Leaning forward, his face was caught against her chest, her hands stretching to catch the edge of a page. Sylus laughed again, his head squashed sideways, watching as she struggled to reach it.
With a huff, she sat back and pointed to the item. "Since you insist on making my life difficult, would you mind grabbing that and returning it to me?"
"So demanding. You didn't even say 'please.'"
Her mouth turned down in a frown and she had the brief mental image of her hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing until those crimson eyes bugged out of his head. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, grit her teeth, and gave him what he wanted. "Please."
He raised a single eyebrow in amusement, then reached down and picked the magazine up from the floor. Rather than giving it back to her though, he turned it to the side and began to open to each of her folded pages. He made little hums of interest on a few, but stopped, just as she had, at the extended image of the beach.
"It's been a while since we went anywhere new," he remarked lightly, finger rubbing against the picture as if he could feel the sand against his skin.
"My next set of vacation days starts next week. I don't think we have enough time to plan a whole island getaway." Her heart ached slightly at the thought. Sun, sand, surf, and Sylus sounded like a perfect combination.
Sylus scoffed. "You underestimate me, sweetie." He sat up and turned to face her. "Have your bag packed and ready to go the morning your time off starts. I'll take care of the rest."
He reached out and smoothed the furrow her brows had made when they came together.
"You trust me, don't you?"
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him with a mock serious expression. He chuckled and leaned back. Dropping the sassy attitude, she nodded. "I do. I'll be ready." She poked him in the chest. "I'll even pack extra sunscreen so you don't burn that pale, nightwalker skin of yours, boss-man."
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Standing on the curb outside of her apartment, she fiddled with the little ribbon she'd tied to the top of her baggage. A sleek, black, vintage muscle car pulled up in front of her and Sylus stepped out, walking around to open the trunk. He took her suitcase and placed it in the compartment before opening her door for her and kissing her hand as she sank into the passenger seat.
They talked quietly on the way to the airstrip, his plane waiting for them on the tarmac and casting heated waves into the surrounding air as they approached.
The leather interior was cool, the glasses of water perspiring on the small table between them. Sylus put a foot on either side of hers and gave her a wink as she pulled out her laptop and began to type. He made several phone calls during the flight before closing her laptop over her fingers and directing her gaze to the scenery outside of the small porthole windows.
A sea of fluffy, white clouds rolled like waves outside, the sun surfing above them and creating dappled pockets in the curves of the vapors. Small holes gave glimpses of a deep blue ocean below, the surface appearing glassy from their height.
He looked at his watch and murmured, "We should be landing in 20 minutes."
The first buzz of excitement began to well up in her chest as the reality of their vacation set in, and she reached out to place her hand in his. Palms pressed together, her fingers curved against his wrist, his mirroring hers, and she flashed him a smile.
He had been sparse with the details of their trip. To prepare, he had only given her ideas of what kinds of clothes and shoes to pack, what time he would be there to pick her up, and some ambiguous "non-essentials" that might be useful to have on hand. The part of her brain that liked to know things was at war with the part that enjoyed a good surprise, and in her experience, Sylus would have some kind of plan, regardless of her knowing any of the parts.
As soon as the wheels touched down on the runway, Sylus was on the move. He led her to a vintage, cherry red convertible and they were off.
The island air was muggy, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to stick to her nape with sweat within minutes. Seeming to know where he was going without needing a map, Sylus drove until they reached a secluded resort.
The small resort sat on a cliff face, balconies dotting the exterior edge and facing the ocean, which she could hear breaking against the rocks faintly below. Wild trees and plants filled the space around it in an untamed jungle of foliage. A salt-water tinged breeze wafted loose hairs into her face, and she dragged it into her lungs, savoring the scent. Her arms rested, crossed over each other, just under her chest, as Sylus, passing their bags off to a flustered-looking bellman, walked to stand beside her. The wind swept between them, little eddies brushing the fabric of her sundress against the backs of her knees and thighs and creating a pleasurable shiver of sensation.
"So? What do you think?"
She tilted her head and looked at him with a saccharine smile. "I think the location is perfect. The rest is yet to be seen." His lips pulled in an amused smile at her teasing tone.
"Don't worry, sweetie. It's going to be our best vacation yet."
She turned toward the entrance of the lobby, his hand finding her back and applying gentle pressure. She leaned into him as they walked, threading her arm behind his back so they were pressed side to side.
Their room was on the top floor; a spacious suite with a kitchen, living room, and large bedroom, boasting two ocean-facing balconies and cream colored fabrics with pops of sea foam green and baby blue. Island trees grew along the edges of the balconies, providing privacy from the sides, but leaving the view of the ocean beyond unimpeded. According to the staff member who had shown them to their room, they were the only guests staying there, the resort only holding four suites total. It briefly crossed her mind that such a minimal guest accommodation retreat must cost a pretty penny to stay in, but she pushed the thought away as Sylus's lips brushed her hairline while they stood along the wrought iron railing and took in the view.
They spent the afternoon settling in before ordering room service and watching the sunset from their living room balcony table, an expensive local wine shared between them.
Sipping, she swirled the glass and tipped it toward him. "While the location is gorgeous, I can't help but notice the lack of beach we have access to here."
Sylus reached his glass toward hers and clinked the rims together. "All in good time. You'll get your beach, kitten, don't worry." He winked as he took a long pull and looked back out to sea.
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Despite a lack of beach access, there was no shortage of activities they could engage in.
They scuba dived off the coast, following little schools of brightly colored fish and watching sea turtles lazily float through the water. Her interest in a beautiful purple fish created a lively debate between her and Sylus about whether or not the fish was "available for purchase," to which their poor, local boat captain had shrugged helplessly.
"I don't need a rare fish, Sylus. Where would I even put it?"
He shrugged. "You act like acquiring a fish tank would be difficult. We have plenty of room at the base to create an entire aquarium for them if you'd like."
She threw her hands up in exasperation before sitting along the railing, saluting the two men - one bewildered, the other laughing in that stupid rich man way that she both loved and hated - and dropped herself over the edge and back into the water.
The next day they spent zip-lining from one cliff to the next over the water, seeing whales breach and hunt in the distance.
Standing along one of the platforms, his arms tucked around her waist and his head nuzzling into her hair, she savored the casual intimacy they shared. She didn't even mind the stickiness of their skin where it pressed together from the heat.
Each evening, he booked them a spa treatment package: seaweed wraps and hot stones, long, deep massages and charcoal face masks, and honey hydration body scrubs followed by relaxing inside of a sauna. They dined on fresh seafood and local vegetables, watching the sunset from one of their balconies, cuddled up in the softest robes she had ever worn in her life.
By the time the third day rolled around, she longed for the sand between her toes. She woke slowly, the heat of Sylus's body already gone, and the smell of fresh coffee wafting into her nose.
She padded out to the kitchen, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm and blinking blearily at his bare back. She smiled to herself at the small crease lines from their blankets that still marred his otherwise flawless skin, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her nose against his spine.
He chuckled and placed a cup of fresh coffee to his right side. "Good morning." His voice was still thick with sleep, hoarse and low. She shivered against him before placing a light kiss to his back and extricating herself to reach for the tantalizing scent of caffeine. The first sip spread over her tongue and she hummed with satisfaction.
"Just the way I like it," she mumbled, looking up at him.
He smirked and sipped his own, tucking a stray hair behind her ear that was trying to invade her mouth.
They drank in silence for a few minutes. She leaned against him, closing her eyes between sips as the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed into her.
"Are you hungry?" He reached for the fridge door, pulling it open to showcase the array of fresh fruits and eggs they could use.
She leaned past him and grabbed the container of pineapple, setting her mug down and popping off the lid, setting it down on the counter next to them. Taking and chewing a few pieces slowly, she turned to face him again.
"If I remember correctly, you made me promises of a beach," she said, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He laughed, plucking a piece of fruit from her fingers and eating it. She made a little noise of protest.
"I did," he retorted amusedly. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Am I to guess that is what you'd like to do today?"
Mouth full, she nodded vigorously. He chuckled again.
"I did promise." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, peering down at her.
"Sylus…" Her arms crossed and she narrowed her eyes.
He ruffled her hair and turned her around, pushing her lightly back toward the bedroom. "I have a couple of things to take care of quickly this morning, but why don't you go get your swimsuit and some walking shoes, and we'll make that our adventure for the day?"
She beamed at him over her shoulder before heading to change. Anticipatory butterflies pervaded her stomach as she washed her face and donned her swimsuit, picking out a new one she'd bought just for this trip. She covered it with shorts and a tank top, unsure why he specified "walking shoes" before lacing up and heading back into the living room.
Sylus looked her over approvingly before disappearing into the bedroom himself, coming back short minutes later changed into his own outfit with a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.
He took his time covering her with the protective cream, his hands lingering along her skin for longer than was necessary and sending a multitude of minute shivers along her nerves, before directing her to the door. She was so distracted by his hands, she had forgotten to put sunscreen on him too.
Climbing into the car, he handed her a pair of sunglasses and drove them 20 minutes from the resort, nothing but the wind and rumbling purr of the engine between them.
----------------------------------------------
A bead of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades as she hiked up the side of the seaside mountain. Ahead of her, Sylus peeked back at her with a little grin and chuckle, his sunglasses glinting in the now mid-day sun.
"Just another 15 minutes," he said, smirking as she stopped to glare at him.
"You've said that three times in the last two hours, Sylus." Hands on her hips, she raised her arm and wiped her forehead, blocking the sun for a moment to give her eyes some relief.
"Yes, but I actually mean it this time."
She groaned in frustration.
Her calves were burning. She felt sticky and wet, and the strings of her swimsuit, nestled beneath her clothes, rubbed against her skin; she scratched at them absently.
He turned back toward the trail and she forced her legs into motion.
Five more minutes of climbing and he led her to a valley tucked between two peaks.
"Don't tell me we climbed all the way up here just to go all the way back down…"
Instead of answering her, he held out his hand and led her into the ravine. She grumbled to herself under her breath until what appeared to be a cave came into view ahead of them.
Curiosity fueled her forward, and she stepped around Sylus, ignoring his pleased grin, to move ahead and explore.
The "cave" was slightly sunken below the threshold of the slope, rocks creating a natural step down into the dim light of the space. Soft grass bedded the bottom of it, little white island flowers stretching toward the sunlight at the entrance. The walls scraped against her hand as she dragged it along the surface, the rock cool and somewhat jagged. It curved slightly, and as she followed it around the little bend, the light increased. Grass turned to sand, and a bright, white sand beach stretched out ahead of her. It hadn't been a cave, but a natural tunnel: a tunnel to one of the most pristine, beautiful beaches she had ever seen.
She paused, her mouth popping open in delighted surprise. She looked back at Sylus; he chuckled and waved her forward.
Kicking her shoes off and peeling her socks from her feet, she tossed them behind her and took off across the sand. She whooped and spun, all traces of exhaustion from their climb gone. Her toes dug into the waterline and she let out a pleasured sigh as the cold water and sand spread between them.
Sylus sauntered up slowly, her shoes hooked over his fingers, his own feet bare. He extended a hand and she ran to him, slamming into his body and wrapping her arms tightly around his back. He laughed and brushed some of her windswept hair from her face. She nuzzled into his chest, the light sweat bared through the 'V' of his shirt transferring to her skin. He stepped backwards and she peeled away from him, the faint beat of his heart still echoing in her ears.
He gestured down the beach and she squinted into the sunlight, noting a basket and blanket tucked under an umbrella.
"Sylus! When did you… how did you do this?" She pulled him forward faster, and he allowed himself to be led. "We took two hours to get here and you weren't carrying anything except for a water bottle and some sunscreen!"
"You wound me, kitten. Don't you know by now that I can make things happen whenever and wherever I want them to?"
"So… you made Mephisto and the twins come out here and set this up for us?" She looked at him over her shoulder and he shrugged.
"What else were they supposed to do when they decided to tag along on our romantic island vacation? This is our trip, but they could still be useful."
She laughed, full and carefree. "Who cares. This is incredible. Thank you." Her soft eyes and grateful tone brought a gentle smile to his face.
"Anything for you, sweetie." They sat beneath the umbrella's shade on the blanket and she eagerly opened the picnic basket tucked into the shadows. The scent of fresh fruit and hard cheeses wafted upward and her stomach answered with a growl. Sunglasses removed, she crossed her legs and brought a block of cheese to her nose, inhaling loudly.
Sylus chuckled beside her and helped her pull everything out, arranging it between them. He cut slices of the cheese and pulled crackers from a sleeve to sit alongside. Containers of fresh purple grapes, watermelon, mango, pineapple, and dragonfruit came out next, the lids removed and set aside. Finally, a bottle of Riesling appeared, two tulip glasses right behind it. As he uncorked the wine and poured them each a serving, she popped grapes into her mouth, the satisfying crunch and burst of juice helping to quench her parched throat.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, feeding each other fruit and cheese and giggling around sips of wine.
Bellies full and sufficiently cooled, they repacked the basket, tucking the wine safely in the shaded sand nearby.
"We should reapply our sunscreen. I wouldn't want the big, bad boss-man to go home looking like a lobster." She peered over at him, squinting slightly. "Though it would match your eyes."
He scoffed and shook his head. "You say that as if you aren't just as susceptible to the sun's rays."
"At least I get out and actually see the sun," she teased. "How are your eyes doing, by the way?"
He slid the sunglasses down his nose slightly and squinted at her over the top before pushing them back into place. "Fine so long as I keep these on. They're specially made for higher UV regions."
She nodded, grabbing the sunscreen. "In that case, shirt off. Let's maintain that vampire-like skin."
"So eager to get me out of my clothes, hm? If you want me naked, kitten, just say so," he teased, smirking over at her.
She scoffed and waved her hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, less talking, more stripping."
He laughed before pulling his shirt over his head, baring his sculpted shoulders, chest, and back. Surprising her, he pulled his shorts off as well, exposing his white, linen swim trunks. Her eyes caught on the material and noted how thin it looked.
If it got wet, would it show his…?
She dragged her eyes up his stomach and downed the rest of her wine. A fuzzy warmth gathered at the edge of her brain, making her feel loose and relaxed. She crawled over the blanket and settled between his legs, taking the bottle of sunscreen from his hands and ignoring the subtle tension that rose at their proximity.
He hissed as she squirted cold sunscreen directly onto his stomach. She smiled up at him, biting her lip slightly before she began to spread it over his skin, her fingers catching in the ridges of his abdomen and swiping along his adonis belt, dipping just below the waistband of his trunks. She swiped back and forth through the small smattering of silvery hair that trailed from his belly button down to his pubic bone. His chest rose and fell more quickly, and she giggled lightly, knowing her touching him there was a tease for both of them.
Skipping her fingers along the outer seam of his trunks to his thighs, she added a squirt of sunscreen to each and directed her hands toward one at a time, rubbing it in and savoring the indents she left behind in his powerful muscles. Her fingertips brushed up his inner thighs and just below the hem, feeling the flex of him holding himself still, noting the twitch in his hands and the tightening of his jaw.
She straddled his legs and moved back up his body to spread the cream over his shoulders and across his back. Pushing up onto her knees, she bent forward and slid her hands over his arms, tilting her head and unconsciously baring her neck to him.
"Kitten…" His hands landed on her hips and held. She nipped his earlobe and hummed in question. "You seem to be laboring under the impression that I have a large amount of self-restraint when it comes to you."
She perched her chin on his shoulder and reached her arms beneath his to cover his mid and lower back with sunscreen. "I don't know what you're talking about." She skimmed below the waistband and brushed the top of his buttocks with her fingertips.
A rumbling growl vibrated against her chest and she smiled against his clavicle. Between her legs, she could feel a steady pressure building as he grew against her. A thrill of smug self-satisfaction trickled along her skin like a mist of ocean spray at how easily she could affect him.
Sitting back, she gave him a thumbs up and stood. "All done!"
As she moved to step away from him, he snatched her hand and held her in place. "Now, now, sweetie. You need to reapply sun protection as well, and with how well you covered me, it's only fair that I return the favor." He gestured to her shirt and shorts with his free hand.
Eyes flicking back down to the bulge that was now very visible, she unbuttoned her shorts and slid them down her legs slowly, taking her time to drag them over her skin. She pulled her shirt off over her head in a similar fashion, taking hold of the hem and baring each inch of skin with a taunting smile. She kicked them to the side in a pile and he gestured to the space between his thighs, spreading them farther apart, lips tilted in an indulgent smile, as if her little show had done nothing but amuse him. She readjusted the cups of her bikini top over her breasts, shifting the criss-crossing strings over her stomach into equal increments of distance before pulling her bottoms up and checking the ties on either side. Without meaning to, she had managed to match him, her white bikini an almost perfect compliment to his swim trunks.
She tucked herself between his legs and heard the telltale squelch of sunscreen being dispensed. A large hand brushed her hair over her shoulder in several short glides before both landed on her shoulder blades and started to press the sunscreen into her back. Long minutes passed, his hands digging in and massaging her as he moved across her back and underneath each string.
Thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts, leaving no exposed skin uncovered, shivers creating goosebumps over her skin, despite the heat of the day. His hot breaths puffed against her neck, teeth pressing lightly while his hands traversed her stomach and moved beneath each criss-crossed section of her bikini top. He spread the sunscreen between her breasts and tipped his pinkies just under the cups, "In case it shifts around while you're in the sun," he'd murmured into her ear before wrapping his hands around her neck and under the strap that sat against her nape.
By the time he finished with her, her body was a languid puddle of bliss. At some point, she had relaxed into his chest, her head cradled in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. His hands redirected to brush up and down her arms, and she savored the little tingles that emanated from the trail of his fingertips. She dozed lightly, waking only when he nudged her cheek with his nose and the heat of his body and hers had created a film of sweat that made the skin between them slick and slippery.
"Water," she mumbled groggily. "Need to get into the water."
He chuckled behind her as she slid away from him, stumbling toward the surf and walking directly into the water, pausing only when it reached her belly button to shiver from the sudden cool against her stomach. She heard Sylus walking in behind her, the subtle splashes of water as he moved those powerful legs into the steadily deepening water painting lewd images in her mind. Brushing off the thoughts, she waded in until her feet lost the gravelly seafloor and she had to kick to keep her head above water. Her body rocked in the waves and she used her arms to turn back toward the shore, looking for where Sylus had ended up.
He stood waist deep, hands scooping up water and sending rivulets over his shoulders and down his chest. She couldn't see his eyes beneath his sunglasses, but knew they were fixed on her, could feel the heavy weight of his gaze like a physical thing. She tracked as he rubbed his wet hand across his pecs and down his abs, grateful for her own sunglasses hiding where she looked.
A wave caught her unaware and filled her mouth with seawater. She spluttered and coughed, spitting it back out and shaking her loose of the daydream that she had been concocting in her head.
She kicked back toward the shoreline, walking up and out of the water. Sylus, seeming to have read her mind, held out a towel for her. She laid it near the edge of the wet sand, laying back on it and savoring the warmth the sun provided against her, once again, cool skin.
Following her lead, he laid his own towel next to hers, but laid on his stomach, keeping his eyes shielded from the harshest rays.
"I've gotta hand it to you, Sylus, you sure know how to deliver," she groaned, relishing the heat soaking through the towel from the sand below and the sun from above. She felt like a warm panini, sandwiched and melting to a perfect temperature.
He chuckled beside her, rumbling out a response from his own toasty bed. "The last thing I would want to do is disappoint you."
A contented sigh was his only answer, the two sinking into a comfortable silence.
She flipped back and forth every few minutes from stomach to back until her suit was dry and her skin felt warm and tight across her bones. She wriggled at the feeling, sweat beginning to rise to the surface and creating an unpleasant dampness.
"Feeling hot again?" His velvety voice slid over her, reawakening her awareness of his proximity.
She turned her head and nodded at him. "Back into the water?"
"If you'd like. Or, I have another solution." He took her silence as curiosity and snapped his fingers. A cooler, once tucked firmly against the shaded rocks appeared in a swirl of red smoke.
She sat up and leaned toward him as he opened the lid and shifted several large blocks of ice, holding out a plastic wrapped, deeply red popsicle to her before grabbing one of his own.
"Sylus! You bastard… you had these the whole time and didn't say anything?"
He laughed. "They're pomegranate flavored, in case you're wondering."
Eagerly, plastic ripped and she pulled the icy fruit pop from its wrapper. She slid it into her mouth and moaned as the sweet acidity spread over her tongue, the icy texture a balm that slid through her veins and sent pleasured shivers skittering over her spine. She suctioned around the popsicle, the heat of her mouth causing it to rapidly melt, and drank down the tart juice.
Sylus, with just the tip of his popsicle in his mouth, smirked at her enthusiasm. In a show of playful raillery, she stuck her tongue out at him, a drip of juice falling from the wooden stick, past her hand, and dropping between her breasts.
She looked down in surprise, moving to wipe it away when Sylus gripped her wrist and she froze. His tongue flicked out against his lips and his posture stiffened. He moved forward, glancing up at her as he neared for her approval. Her mind spun, myriad lewd thoughts swirling back to the forefront. She let him come, watching curiously with bated breath as his mouth opened and met the valley of her breasts, his tongue peeking out to lick up the trail of juice.
Her lungs filled, sudden and sharp, and her heart pounded with the waves against the rocks. "Sy…"
He shifted closer to her, onto his knees, spread wide to let him stay lower, nearer to her. He held his own popsicle out over her skin, watching with predatory stillness as a fat drop formed on the end before splashing down onto her chest. He moved forward again, tongue already out to capture the drip. His hand came down to stabilize him, caging her in on one side. She shook, the icy temperature and his close proximity raising the tiny hairs all over her chest and arms. This is so much better than I was imagining, she thought distantly.
He raised the ice pop again.
"Tell me to stop," his breathy voice mumbled against her.
When she didn't, he lifted his head and brought his popsicle to touch her clavicle. Goosebumps erupted over her and she shivered as he began to drag the treat along her collarbone and over the swells of her breasts.
In direct juxtaposition to the freezing cold of the popsicle, his mouth and tongue were like an inferno as they followed the path he had drawn. He licked and sucked the juice from her skin with ravenous passes of his lips, her body arching into him involuntarily, and ghosts of moans slipping out of her. Her hand was covered in juice, the drips staining the towel and sand where her arm had fallen to the side, forgotten, to make room for him. He was fixated on the way she moved, each swipe drawing sounds and shivers forth from her at his command.
Enamored with her reactions, he drew a new path, holding the ice directly against her sternum and watching as it melted and ran in rivulets to form a pool of deep magenta liquid in her belly button. Her free hand fisted at her side, the urge to wipe it away warring with the need for him to continue uninhibited.
He readjusted and shifted onto his stomach, his head landing at the apex of her thighs, arms threading beneath the peaks of her knees, and chin tilting upward to flatten his tongue below her belly button before suctioning his lips and sucking the juice in with a growled groan. She arched with him, pushing her skin into his mouth, panting and honed in on every greedy sound he made.
Eyes fixated on his movements, she dug her free hand into his hair and tugged lightly, nails scraping over his scalp. The hint of his crimson gaze peeked over the top of his sunglasses and her breath caught at the lust and desire that filled them. He crawled up her body, mouth leading him, pushing her onto her back slowly until his full weight hovered over her. She gasped into the humid air.
He raised the popsicle again and pressed it to her burgundy stained lips, which parted eagerly and took it in, tongue moving around it and against it and swallowing heavily. He pulled it out suddenly, dropping it to the sand beside her head and sealing his lips over hers, his tongue replacing the treat immediately. She dropped her own popsicle and pressed her juice-covered hand to his back, meeting him eagerly.
Sylus pulled his lips away, peppering her jaw and neck with kisses before sucking her earlobe into his mouth and biting it, his voice a rasping whisper in her ear, "You're delicious even without the added flavoring."
She moaned his name and bit down on his shoulder, arching to press their bodies together. She didn't know how she felt anymore. Hot? Cold? Horny? Impatient? Yes, all of those. She dug her nails into him, tugging him forward and mouthing at his neck with hard sucks.
"Such an impatient kitten, aren't you?"
He pulled back, moving to stand, and she let out a whined huff. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"
He gained his feet and grabbed their towels from the sand, causing her to roll off abruptly, marching over to their picnic area and grabbing the blanket as well. He snapped his fingers and the cooler disappeared. His hand extended toward her, and she stood and took it, following him with confusion bubbling through her.
"Away from prying eyes." She looked around them, hunting for whatever he may have seen, and back to the curve of his shoulder, noting the dark crimson handprint on his back from her. Her face flushed slightly and she smiled as possessive glee filled her.
He strode over the sand, bringing them into the tunnel, choosing a shaded curve, and laying down the towels before arranging the blanket over the top of them. She watched him quietly as he arranged the cloth just so, seeming to rethink it every couple of seconds until he was satisfied. He reminded her of a cat, pushing at corners and making little kneads to flatten or fluff the areas he wanted to lay differently before curling up atop it. The only things missing were his ears and tail. She smiled to herself at the thought.
He pulled his sunglasses off and held his hand out for her again.
She moved toward him, stepping onto the sun-warmed blanket and sitting cross-legged in front of his legs. He joined her and she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, her brows creasing as she waited for him to explain.
"The sun is too bright," he said, matter-of-factly. "I want to be greedy with you, see every flicker in your expression as it happens. I can't do that if I'm struggling to open my eyes."
Her heart squeezed at his confession, her happy blush returning. "So you grabbed our stuff, made us a…" She paused and looked at the blanket around them. "Nest? And dragged me in here."
He nodded. She smiled. His hand reached up and slid over her jaw, cupping her ear. "Come here, kitten."
She leaned in, her hands landing on his thighs. Their lips met in a series of small pecks. Slightly sticky hands roamed over shoulders and into hair, light streaks of sweat and juice making abstract impressions of their touches everywhere they landed. Sylus pressed between her legs, moving her to lay back against the blanket again.
He leaned back and looked down at her. "This was the position you were in. Don't move." In the slightly dimmer light, his eyes shone like rubies, his pupils catching the light in such a way that they almost looked slitted, rapacious.
He teased her body with tongue and teeth and hands, lathering her into a squirming mess beneath him until it felt like she was filled with bubbles, effervescing through her chest and between her thighs. The sensations cascaded through her; the roughness of his palms soothed by the smooth warmth of his tongue then sharpened by the scrape of his teeth along her neck and jaw and shoulders. "Sylus, please. I need… more."
He chuckled. "You've already hit your limit? Teasing you is a little too easy." Her eyes closed and she rolled her hips up.
"Says the one who was sporting a hard on when I was putting sunscreen on him," she quipped, gasping as he nipped her lip in reprimand.
The crinkle of plastic made her eyes snap open. A pomegranate popsicle slid into Sylus's mouth and he pulled it free with a pop, her own lips dropping open with his in surprise.
"What are you…" she squeaked out, eyebrows shooting upward.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm about to spice things up," he answered, voice heavier.
"What do you mean?" Her heart was thundering through her body, anticipation rampant as her mind helpfully populated with snapshots of their time on the beach.
"Just watch, sweetie." He extended his tongue and dragged the popsicle against it a few times, his other hand pulling the cup of her bikini top away from her skin and freeing her breast. Cupping her and pulling it toward her sternum, his icy lips wrapped around her nipple and sucked.
She shrieked and dropped her head back before straining upward again to watch. His right eye had begun to glow, the subtle change ratcheting her heart rate even higher. He alternated between the popsicle and her nipple, the red juice staining her skin, bleeding into the white of her swimsuit, and blending with the darker, puckered flesh of her areola.
Despite his consistent licks, juice still dripped onto her skin as the ice pop melted in the heated air. Each drop of icy liquid made her flinch, pleasurable shakes suffusing her.
His covetous hands pulled at the string tied around her middle, releasing it and loosening it until it hung next to her sides, the ends tickling her just enough to make her squirm against them. He pushed the popsicle into her mouth and she sucked on it while he watched, eyes hungry, as he worked to free her from her top.
Her mind spun with a new idea, a vision of him getting a chance to feel the play of heat and ice against his sensitive body, and she pushed a hand against his shoulder, turning to push him onto his back, the popsicle firmly suctioned in her mouth. He rolled with her, chuckling breathlessly as she straddled his hips, his back against the blanket. "Now this is a good position."
She reached down and pinched his nipple, buzzing from the heavy pants and groans he fed her when she lowered her mouth down and licked a long stripe up his chest.
"I think it's time for you to experience this for yourself, Sylus," she teased, holding the popsicle over his chest and watching the drips hit and spread. She dripped juice over his pecs and stomach before locking eyes with him and circling one of his nipples with the icy tip.
His long, drawn out groan brought a massive, prideful smile to her face. His eye was shining brighter, his cheeks and ears carrying the red hue in a long, highlighting stripe over his face. His hands dug into her hips almost painfully, but she loved the bite, knowing she was the reason he was holding on so hard. She circled the other nipple the same way, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth at the way he puckered immediately under the onslaught of cold.
Another thought occurred to her and she grinned deviously, eyes flicking down between her legs to where he strained against the swim trunks. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't move to stop her as she shifted backwards onto his thighs, pushing the popsicle back into her mouth as she moved.
Her hands made quick work of the tie on the front of his swim trunks and she pushed at the waistband, now stained with the purple-red juice. With the pressure of her on his thighs, he maneuvered carefully beneath her, lifting his hips and helping her slide them over his buttocks and down his legs.
She sucked at the ice pop and looked down at him, running fingertips lightly next to his straining erection and loving the way it bobbed from her proximity. Just as affected as I am, she thought smugly.
Sylus panted below her, his eyebrows furrowed as he waited for her next move.
She admired her markings, the juice splatters and drips on his skin as well as the small bursts of rounded suction she had adorned him with. "You're so pretty like this," she teased, pressing the ice pop to his sternum and dragging it down his abs.
He hissed and tensed, his hands clenching back down on her hips. The muscles in his torso rippled as the ice touched them, jumping as if they could avoid the freezing temperature.
"I wonder if you can take it…" she mused aloud, biting her tongue as she watched the ice pop's journey south. Sylus's panting breaths had grown in volume and his eye was shining so brightly that it would be impossible to miss, even in the full sunlight. The popsicle smeared over his belly button and into the trail of hair leading to his cock. Precum leaked from the weeping tip, and she scooted back farther, dropping her chest onto his thighs, nipples prickling as his leg hair slid against them.
"So very sensitive, aren't you?" Her tongue darted out and swiped just beside the tip of him, his breath holding in anticipation before letting out in a growl. "And you say I'm not good at being teased." She laughed and licked the line of his adonis belt, watching his face intently.
"Don't worry, kitten," he retorted, his breaths stuttering out between the words. "You'll reap every seed you sow in due time."
Her tongue swiped over his belly button, her moan accompanying his groan as the flavor of his sweat and the pomegranate blended together. She gripped his cock and shifted it to the side, lapping at his happy trail and denying him friction. He strained against her hand, his hands pushing his hips up to rub himself through the circle of her palm. She tsked in disappointment.
"Be a good boy and stay still, won't you?" He narrowed his eyes and stilled obediently. As a reward, she let his dick move back toward her face, her tongue hitting the flushed head as she continued to clean the pool from his juice-tinted pubic hair. He shook beneath her, a dragon, barely leashed. A powerful feeling of control washed through her as she watched him twitch against her fingers.
She tilted her head to look up at him and pulled back, sucking the remaining bit of popsicle into her mouth and onto her tongue. Then, with a cheeky grin, she pulled the bare stick from her lips and sealed them over the head of his cock.
Sylus groaned, his fists clenching next to his hips and his head tilting back as his eyes closed. She bobbed over him, spreading the cold from tip to base, the scalding heat of his flesh on her tongue filling her senses. He cupped her face in both hands, his eyes barely open enough to see her, pleasure etched in every line of his expression. Her passes were slow, tantalizing, meant to stretch every sensation to its breaking point, but Sylus was not one to be broken easily.
He let her suck, lick, and torture him, embracing the loss of control while she held it, encouraging her with panted phrases of "just like that" and "right there" until he could feel the tension building within him reach its apex. Only then did he pull her from his cock and drag her up his body, pulling at the ties that held her bikini bottoms on with his teeth until they fell from her hips and she was finally bare above him.
She looked down, a queen seated on her throne, and knew he was at his limit. The depth of his eye's glow matched the stained flesh of his tongue, his desire for her so great it tightened her chest. She gave herself over to him willingly, dropping her weight to rest against his chin, his eyes fluttering with pleasure at her willful surrender.
Her folds were slick with arousal, dark and swollen with blood, and he shoved his tongue between them, lapping at her entrance, shifting so his nose brushed her clit with each shift of his head. She moaned wantonly above him, folding inward and grabbing at his hair with barely restrained violence. She rocked against his face and her scent filled his nose. The tunnel echoed with their sounds, catching and reverberating each one against the rock faces and throwing it back at them.
Between his tongue and his nose, she was on the edge in no time, mind blank aside from the desperation for release from the taut rope of pleasure she perched on. With a cry of his name, she found bliss, a rush of liquid coating his face. He noisily drank her down, flipping her onto her back in a quick roll she was unaware was happening until her bare back hit the blanket again. She looked from side to side blearily, trying to reorient to the new position, but he gave her little time.
A brief snap and crunch hit her ears before his mouth was back on her, two fingers spearing inside of her and stretching her walls apart. She shuddered and gasped at the combination of his suddenly icy tongue on her clit and the fullness of his fingers, barely getting a chance to figure out what was happening before he was licking at her and pistoning in and out, building another orgasm at reckless speed. The freezing cold of his tongue shocked her at every pass, adding an ache to each flick that his fingers countered with their steady thrusts against her inner walls.
She forced her head up to look down at him and watched as he pulled a piece of ice to the front of his mouth and then sucked it back along his tongue. He winked at her shocked expression, giving her a single instant to think about what he was doing, that he was pressing ice to her clit, before she was letting her mind slide away and ecstasy take over again. The inkling to protest, to tell him to spit the cube from his mouth and give her a respite, never crossed her mind. She was too far gone.
He forced a second and third orgasm from her in rapid succession, about to go for a fourth when she yanked on his hair and begged him for a reprieve.
His amused chuckle as she pulled him back to her lips belied his happiness at exacting his revenge against her, and she couldn't blame him. Who knew ice would be such a companion to heat on a day like this?
Nuzzling into her neck, Sylus kissed and sucked marks over her skin. His cock, still fully erect and blistering hot against her chilled core, pressed gently against her. "Do you want it, kitten?"
Dizzy with satisfaction, she tried to consider their position. Alone. In paradise. With no interruptions. The greedy, lustful haze he'd spun around them permeated her thoughts. He hadn't even cum yet. Was she really so gluttonous as to refuse him? She nodded into his hold, murmuring her answering into the side of his head. "Yes."
"Say it. Tell me you want me." His whispered breaths into her ear made her shiver, and she ground herself against him, a small moan escaping.
"I need you, Sylus. Please."
He reached down and lined himself up with her entrance, rubbing his tip through the mess of her wetness before pushing in slowly. He lifted his upper body so he was looming above her, then pulled her legs up, bending them until she was almost folded in half beneath his powerful body.
His forearms landed on either side of her head and he kissed her languidly, as if they had all the time in the world. Meanwhile, his cock filled every inch of her until she was stuffed full, molded to the shape of him.
He hissed a drawn out, "Fuuuucccckkkkk," that she answered with a full body shiver, mind fracturing with the totality of his claiming.
His forehead rested against hers and he started to thrust. Slowly, at first, before driving the air from her lungs in short punches in and out, grinding their pelvic bones together as his hips shifted in curved motions that scraped him against the spongy spot within her and made her vision speckle and shift.
She dug her nails into his shoulders, his back, his arms, begging without words for more, faster, harder, there, there, there. Her breaths felt caught in her throat, her mind spinning out and somehow narrowed to the single chant of "mine, mine, mine," that she felt in every one of his movements. He was possessing her without saying so, sealing their souls together again after too much time apart, and a ball of emotion clogged her throat further.
He took his time, tempo increasing in increments, even as his hips pistoned heavily against hers and forced garbled moans from her mouth. She pressed her lips to his, savoring the slide of their tongues and the shared breaths that passed from his mouth to hers as they succumbed to the pleasure.
By the time he was pounding into her at full speed, her head was entirely blank, unintelligible sounds pouring from them both. Bodies sweaty and sliding against each other, mouths slack, eyes locked together, and so close she swore she could see heavenly gates opening before her eyes.
Sylus, ever attentive and fully tuned in to her body, demanded more from her. "…Give it to me. I want it all."
And she had never truly been able to deny him.
She came with a silent scream, his teeth sinking into her shoulder on a muffled groan as she squeezed every last drop from him with the repeated pulses of her cunt, nails digging into his back as she shook beneath him.
He sprinkled gentle kisses along his bite in apology, trailing them up her jaw and over her cheek to her lips, pressing them against hers in small pecks that she attempted to return in her deadened state.
"I can't feel my legs," she sighed, attempting to bend her toes next to his shoulders. She was decidedly relaxed, despite her pretzel-like state.
He cradled her head and kissed her forehead with a smile, looking down between them at the juice stains and cum mixed with sweat that glistened in the dappled light that shifted between the heads of the flowers. He kissed her eyelids and lifted her head so she could see the mess they'd made, tone amused as he asked, "Tell me, is the way I mark my territory effective?"
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, nipping his cheek in retribution before sucking a dark purple mark onto his jaw, lightly biting him over it as he laughed. "We are both sufficiently marked, thank you very much." She pushed her legs down, dropping them heavily to the blanket and huffing as they landed, still spread widely around him. She knew she would be deliciously sore later, but pushed the thought away in favor of nestling deeper into his body.
He rolled to his side, releasing her from the stretch of his hips and tucking her against his arm so they could face each other. His eyes had calmed, back to their usual crimson, and a deep sense of peace blanketed them as she blinked slowly over at him. A breeze rolled through the tunnel and she shivered, the air cooling her heated skin. He reached over her and pulled the blanket from the ground over them, creating a warm, soft cocoon.
She shifted closer, burying her face between his neck and shoulder and breathed him in. Pomegranate, salt, something distinctly "Sylus," and sunscreen filled her nose and she smiled.
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