#smallest drone

[xxkazuna14]

J: Thanks for opening my message and not responding. Uzi: All good bro, any time. J: Fuck you. V: That's my job.

[shinraapologist]

city of [redacted] called to complain about the WEEDS growing around my CONDEMNED MOLD FILLED FOUNDATION FAILED FLOOD DESTROYED HOUSE

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I'LL SAY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ S. REID

SUMMARY ৎ୭ falling in love with spencer reid was never a question, only an inevitability. it was in the way he remembered things you barely remembered saying, the way he defied probability just to make you smile, the way he learned you like you were his favorite subject. four times he surprised you—quietly, sweetly, in ways only he could. and then, when it was your turn, you made sure to give him a surprise worth remembering

WARNINGS ಇ. excessive fluff, spencer reid being the most thoughtful man alive, reader being absolutely whipped, the bau being the ultimate group of enablers, and just an overwhelming amount of love A/N ಇ. my first 4 + 1 fic for spencer, and i had to make it disgustingly sweet. this man was made for the softest love. i wrote this with heart eyes the entire time. hope you love it as much as i do ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 2,524

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The first time Spencer surprised you, it wasn’t with some grand romantic gesture or an intricately thought-out plan—it was with a single sentence, delivered so casually you almost missed it.

You were at the BAU, perched on the edge of Spencer’s desk, absently flipping through a book he’d left open while he and Derek were mid-conversation about something you weren’t entirely following. The buzz of the bullpen droned around you, keys clacking, phones ringing—nothing unusual. You had half a mind to start daydreaming when you caught the tail end of Spencer’s words, his tone as effortless as if he were reciting a grocery list.

“—kind of like the 1972 edition of The Last Unicorn, you know, the one with the misprint where the dedication is in the wrong place. That’s her favorite edition. She mentioned it once, so if you ever see a copy, let me know.”

You blinked.

Your favorite edition? The one with the misprint? The edition you had rambled about once—once—over takeout months ago? The conversation had been a passing thought, a fleeting mention between bites of lo mein, something you’d figured was lost to the ether.

But no. Of course, Spencer remembered.

Derek smirked, a slow, knowing expression creeping across his face as he shifted his gaze to you. “Damn, pretty boy. You writing a dissertation on your girl or something?”

Heat surged up your neck so quickly it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. “Spencer—”

“What?” Spencer blinked at you, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. “You said it was important to you. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Because I said it once. Months ago. In passing.”

He frowned, as if the very concept of forgetting something you loved was utterly foreign to him. “You love it. That makes it important.”

Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth pooling low in your stomach. You weren’t sure what to do with the way he looked at you, all soft certainty and quiet devotion, as if remembering the smallest details of your happiness was second nature to him.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

Spencer barely acknowledged him, tilting his head at you. “Did I say something wrong?”

You exhaled a laugh, light and breathless. “No, Spence. Not at all.”

You were still flustered. Still shocked. But more than anything, you were his. And that made all the difference.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The second time Spencer surprised you was at the carnival. The lights flickered like a thousand fireflies overhead, washing the fairgrounds in a kaleidoscope of color. Laughter and music tangled in the air, mixing with the scent of popcorn and fried dough. You were walking past a row of game booths with Penelope, your fingers wrapped around a half-melted cotton candy, when your eyes landed on it.

A stuffed bear, slightly lopsided but endearingly so, with soft brown fur and a tiny pink bow.

“Oh, that’s cute,” you said absentmindedly, taking another bite of your sugary treat.

The game itself was one of those—the kind designed to be unwinnable. A cluster of milk bottles, stacked in a pyramid, just heavy enough and just angled enough that knocking them over with a weighted ball was statistically improbable, if not impossible.

Penelope gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, sugarplum, but those are rigged to hell and back. The guy running the booth said no one’s won that all night.”

You sighed, a little disappointed but not surprised. “Figures.”

With that, you let it go, continuing forward with Penelope while Spencer lingered behind. You didn’t think much of it—he probably got distracted by something, as he often did.

It wasn’t until you were waiting in line for the Ferris wheel that you felt something tap your shoulder.

You turned, and there stood Spencer, glasses slightly askew, his cardigan sleeves pushed up, holding the stuffed bear against his chest like it was some sort of peace offering.

Your mouth parted in shock. “Spence. No.”

Spencer, looking far too pleased with himself, simply shrugged. “Yes.”

You blinked. “How—?”

“It’s all physics.” He adjusted his glasses with one hand, shifting the bear to his other arm. “The way the bottles are stacked, they create a deceptive center of gravity. Most people aim for the middle, but if you hit the base bottle at the exact right angle—”

“You’re telling me you mathed the carnival?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Technically, I scienced it.”

Penelope let out an outrageously loud gasp. “Boy Wonder, did you just hack the universe for love?”

Spencer, deadpan, said, “Would you rather I hacked it for evil?”

You didn’t respond, mostly because you were still too busy gaping at him. The keeper had said the game was impossible, and yet, here he was, holding the proof in his hands.

Spencer held the bear out toward you with a small, shy smile. “You liked it.”

You took it, warmth blooming in your chest so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, voice full of wonder, “you are ridiculous.”

His expression faltered. “But in a good way?”

You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“Yes,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “In the best way.”

And as if he hadn’t already ruined you completely, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and murmured, “Good.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It started as a habit you barely noticed—something instinctive, something you never really thought about. When emotions ran too high, whether in frustration, excitement, or joy, you’d slip into your native language. A muttered curse when you stubbed your toe, rapid-fire exclamations when you got good news, whispered endearments when Spencer did something particularly sweet.

And Spencer, for all his genius, would just stare at you, brow furrowed, lips pressed together in frustration.

“I hate not knowing what you’re saying,” he admitted once, after you’d spent two minutes ranting under your breath about something someone had said. “It’s like…watching the best scene in a movie, but without subtitles.”

You had laughed, ruffled his hair, and moved on.

You didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it.

But, of course, this was Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t until months later, in the middle of a particularly heated argument over whose turn it was to do laundry, that you realized something had changed.

“Spencer,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I literally did it last week, and I swear to God—”

You stopped mid-sentence, your frustration boiling over into a string of words in your native tongue, too sharp and fast for him to possibly understand.

Or so you thought.

Because instead of his usual confused frown, Spencer just…sighed. “I know, sweetheart,” he said, voice annoyingly soft. “You feel like you’re always the one keeping things in order, and it’s frustrating when I get caught up in my work and don’t notice.”

You froze.

Your brain froze.

Your soul left your body.

“Did you just—?”

Spencer shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his cardigan pockets like he hadn’t just rocked your entire world. “I learned.”

“You learned?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just casually admitted to learning an entire language for you. “You use it when you’re overwhelmed. When you’re really happy. When you’re really upset. I wanted to be able to—” He hesitated, then sighed. “I wanted to understand you. All of you.”

You were reeling.

Your Spencer, the man who got overwhelmed by new foods and wore mismatched socks on purpose, had sat down and taught himself a whole language just to keep up with you.

The worst part? He wasn’t even bragging about it.

He was just looking at you with those big, earnest eyes, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Say something else,” you breathed, stepping closer, heart hammering in your chest.

Spencer’s lips quirked. He took your hand, lifted it to his lips, and murmured something in your language—something soft, warm, achingly tender.

You didn’t need a translation. You felt it.

And that was the moment you realized that if this man ever proposed, you wouldn’t even need a ring to say yes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The BAU wasn’t exactly known for throwing extravagant parties, but every once in a while—when the cases weren’t weighing too heavy, when the team needed to breathe—someone would organize a gathering. Tonight, it was at a cozy, dimly lit bar, where laughter hummed in the air, and glasses clinked together in celebration of nothing and everything all at once.

You were nursing a drink, swaying absently in your seat to the upbeat music thrumming through the speakers, when a hand ghosted over yours.

Spencer.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” you teased, raising a brow.

“I don’t,” he said. “Or, well—I told you I don’t.”

Before you could question him, he was tugging you to your feet, guiding you toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room.

“Spencer,” you laughed, trying to plant your feet. “What are you—?”

And then he spun you.

Spun you.

Not clumsily, not awkwardly—gracefully, like he’d been doing this for years, like he’d memorized the movements as easily as he memorized case files. His fingers found yours effortlessly, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, pulling you close in a way that sent warmth flooding through you.

Your breath caught.

“You lied,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Spencer had the audacity to smirk. “I omitted.”

You wanted to be annoyed—really, you did—but it was impossible when he was guiding you so effortlessly, his steps steady and sure, his touch sending sparks along your skin. The rest of the room faded, the music folding around the two of you like something made for this moment.

And then, over the music, someone yelled—loud, clear, amused.

"Put a ring on her, Reid!"

The team laughed, Penelope whooped, and Spencer—adorably, unbelievably—went scarlet.

But you?

You just smiled, pressing closer to him, because the thought had already taken root in your mind.

And if he kept surprising you like this, you had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You should’ve known things wouldn’t go exactly to plan.

But in your defense, you did the math.

And for a while, everything was going perfectly.

The entire BAU was in on it—except Hotch, who you had strategically placed on Spencer distraction duty. You needed someone with a natural air of authority to make sure Spencer didn’t suddenly wander back early, and Hotch, bless him, had agreed with only a single, unimpressed sigh.

Now, with Spencer successfully occupied, you had an entire team of federal agents setting up the most intricate, heartfelt surprise proposal the world had ever seen.

“Derek, the ribbons don’t loop like that,” you huffed, pointing accusingly at the offensive display of tulle bows on the ceiling. “They’re supposed to be elegant and flowy, not—” you gestured wildly at the mess he’d made, “—that.”

Derek scoffed. “Princess, I think we’re getting a little dramatic over some bows.”

“You’re dramatic over football games,” you shot back. “Let me have this.”

JJ and Emily were arranging candles while Penelope fussed over the lights, making sure everything had the perfect warm, golden glow. Even Rossi was involved, setting up the champagne and shaking his head fondly at your borderline-manic attention to detail.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything was perfect.

And then, the door opened.

At first, no one reacted. You were too busy adjusting the placement of the table centerpiece to notice. But then the silence hit you—thick, unnatural, the kind that only meant something had gone terribly wrong.

And that’s when you turned.

And saw Spencer.

Standing in the doorway.

Everyone. Froze.

Your heart plummeted.

“NO, NO, NO—” You lurched forward, waving your arms as if that would physically undo the moment. “YOU CAN’T BE HERE YET! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE UNTIL 7:05, I DID THE MATH. IT WOULD TAKE YOU APPROXIMATELY ONE HOUR TO GET HERE AND THREE MINUTES TO COLLECT YOUR THINGS FROM THE CA—”

Spencer blinked. “You… did math?”

“That’s not the point!”

Spencer looked around, taking in the flickering candles, the flowers, the absolute chaos of the team caught mid-action like deer in headlights.

“Hotch was supposed to distract you,” you accused, glaring at the universe itself.

Spencer shrugged. “Yeah, after about ten minutes of his ‘So, Reid, how’s work lately?’ routine, I figured I should leave him alone.”

You groaned. “Dammit.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had planned this for weeks, accounted for everything, down to the minute, and yet here you were—standing in the middle of a half-finished proposal setup, Spencer staring at you like you were an anomaly he couldn’t quite solve.

But then he smiled.

Soft. Warm. Curious.

And you realized—it didn’t matter.

The plan had never mattered. Only he did.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Okay, well, this wasn’t supposed to go like this, but—” You turned, grabbed the velvet box from the table, and without any further hesitation, dropped to one knee.

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“Oh.”

And suddenly, words were spilling out of you, tumbling past your lips faster than your brain could catch up.

“Spencer, I have never met anyone like you,” you started, voice thick with emotion. “You remember every little thing I say, even if I say it once. You math carnivals just because I looked at a stuffed animal. You learned a whole language just to understand me better. You do all of these things not because you have to, but because that’s just who you are. You love me so much that it’s written into every detail of your life, and I—I just—”

Your voice broke.

Your vision blurred.

Tears streamed freely down your face, and you knew you were a mess—sniffling, shaking, soaked in emotions that should’ve been poetic but were just loud.

“There’s a reason girls don’t do this,” you hiccuped, rubbing at your eyes, utterly failing at keeping yourself together.

Spencer let out a soft, breathless laugh.

You swallowed, gripping the ring box so tight your knuckles went white. “But I figured you’d appreciate an unexpected variable for once.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then Spencer dropped to his knees too, hands framing your face with a reverence that made your breath stutter.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, and you were about to apologize, about to start rambling again, when he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “And I love you so much it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, deep, sure. Like an answer. Like a promise.

Somewhere in the background, you dimly registered Penelope sobbing, Derek muttering, “Damn, pretty boy really does have it bad,” and Rossi popping open the champagne with a satisfied sigh.

But none of it mattered.

"Will you marry me, Spencer Reid?"

Spencer pulled back just enough to whisper, “Yes. Of course, yes,” and you knew—down to your bones—that this was the best equation you had ever solved.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[hashembadr]

Please don't skip ‼️

My Testimony About What Happened at the American Aid Distribution Point

That day, I went out with one hope ، to bring back food for my starving family. But what happened there felt like the Day of Judgment.

As we stood in line waiting for humanitarian aid, we were suddenly met with a hail of bullets. We were shot at by Israeli snipers, attacked by quadcopter drones, and even assaulted by looters supported by the Israeli army. We were completely unarmed, simply trying to get food ، but the bullets of betrayal spared no one.

I was shot in the leg a minor injury ، but my phone was destroyed after being hit directly. I had no way to contact anyone. I’m now using a borrowed phone, just to write these words… hoping they reach someone who cares.

I saw bodies fall all around me… more than 70 people were killed, including children, women, and elderly men. Moments earlier, they were standing beside me, simply waiting for aid. They were not a threat to anyone ، just hungry human beings.

I went out in search of food for my family of 26 people, including a young girl who was injured in the war and urgently needs special care and surgery. I came back wounded, devastated, empty-handed, and without a phone.

We are not living ، we are slowly dying. The occupation has turned us into zombies… starving, sick, hopeless.

Please, do not forget us.

Speak about us. Share our story. Be our voice.

We desperately need donations from kind hearts to buy food, provide urgent medical care for our injured child, and support the family under this brutal siege.

Even the smallest donation can make a real difference.

Help us stay alive.

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #102 )

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[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume four — eternal life

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: listened to a ton of jeff buckley and novo amor writing this. hope you guys enjoy <3. again, check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss.

✦ ── word count: 4.6k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume five

art by outdmilk on twt

“Didn’t ask for a maid, still don’t need one. Not gonna get on my knees and thank you neither.”

In the bathroom, your knee bobbed up and down, a fiery rage still swirling a tempest storm within you. You had to bite your lip to cease your incessant huffs that began to bubble over like a whistling kettle, nearly tasting copper from the pressure, eyes watering at your embarrassment.

You flexed your fingers open and closed, trying desperately to slow your breathing, but to no avail. 

Besides your snarky personality, you’d been nothing but kind to Sukuna—save for the incident in the woods, but that was when you were in intense pain. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You’d made him breakfast and cleaned up his place, and though you weren’t expecting a ‘thanks,’ you would appreciate him at least treating you like a person. You even groomed his dog for God’s sake.

You didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted you here—so he could cut the act of you being some pesky girl hovering around him like a mosquito and sucking him of his livelihood.

How much longer would you have to endure such an easily riled man no matter what you did?

The cruel familiarity of his words were no comfort either—only cracking open a wound you’d scabbed over long ago. 

But what managed to piss you off the most was that the sole reason you’d come to the woods was now somehow tainted with everything you’d been trying to escape.

The bathroom door creaked, a shadow shuffling below the crack. You could hear the huffs of Sukuna’s breath, quiet and steady, though you could tell he was deep in thought. Or at least you hoped he was after whatever the hell that was outside.

He settled to the ground, back against the bathroom door, eyes dialed in on his bedroom before him. His eyes studied the medullary rays across the wooden frame, small pathways branching out and clawing the across to the end.

You didn’t jaw a peep. If anything, you were steadily holding your breath, Sukuna having you cooling your heels.

He called your name out, gruff and irritated. 

You kept your mouth shut.

He sighed, knocking his head back against the wood and squinting his eyes, trying to decipher the emotions coursing through him. “You gonna live in there forever?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “If it means I don’t have to deal with you.” 

He doesn’t understand why hearing your voice felt like the smallest bit of consolation. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna work.”

“You’re an asshole,” you blurted, worrying your lip between your teeth, peeling the skin and feeling your skin flare in heat. 

“I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, the hum of the bathroom fan coming to a quiet drone in the back of your mind. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated this time. “You’re a dick, too.”

He grunted, tossing his arms over his knees. “Shut up and come out. I, uh. I wanna show you something.”

You scowled, cracking your knuckles as you heard the wooden planks shift below Sukuna’s weight as he came to a stand. 

His shadow remained still in that little sliver, and you could feel your mood sharply sour when you’d realized he’d stomped inside with his boots still on.

You came to a stand, flinging the door open and already releasing a slew of curses. “You’re fucking unbelievable, I just mopped the—.”

Your voice was immediately muffled as he stuffed… fabric (?) into your face.

Pawing him off of you, you pulled whatever he’d shoved at you into your hands just to see he’d handed you those ugly jorts from earlier and a graphic t-shirt.

He just stood there, eyeing you casually, though you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes searched yours charily.

Clenching your teeth, you dropped your hands to your sides. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

He pushed air from his nose before walking away. “Nah. Get changed and c’mere.”

𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You’d put the outfit on—not without huffing and cursing under your breath in his bathroom—after peeling Sukuna’s massive attire off, forgetting how it felt to wear clothes that actually decently fit you. 

The top he’d handed you was clearly from some grunge store, thick lettering across the front with flames and guns and skulls, and the words METALLICA in bold.

Hopping your way out of the bathroom, you peered around the kitchen and living room to find it empty, but just past the open drapes you could see Sukuna tossing a bone, Uraume wagging their tail and chasing after it.

“What do you want?” You shot with venom on your tongue, waddling down the steps you’d come to know, spots where your weight would cause squeaks and to avoid protruding nails.

Sukuna folded his arms over his chest, watching you nearly snag your bandaged foot just to see the wrap come loose. He grunted, brushing past you and into his house in a mere few strides.

Your eyes dialed in on the ground before you, eyes narrowed in a focused reverie to avoid tripping and embarrassing yourself further.

Within seconds, Sukuna came back out with the first aid box and his hat, and wrapped a beefy arm around your midsection.

Your eyes flew wide, the world flipped upside down as your maw hung agape. Your vision met his back, effectively tossed over his shoulder in one fell swoop to have your stomach heaving. 

You brought a hand down to smack his back, legs flailing as you desperately tried to pry yourself free. “Put me down, you oaf!” You shrieked, writhing in his grasp.

“Pipe down,” he growled, one bulging arm wrapped around the backs of your knees and the other carrying the first aid kit, effectively dwarfed in his meaty hand.

“No! I said put me—” You felt yourself begin to fall backwards, Sukuna’s hand cradling the back of your head as he laid you down on a patch of grass. 

Blood drained from your face as you actualized the proximity.

One large arm was still cradled along your waist, his face mere inches from yours as his hand pressed into your scalp, draining any sense of rationality from your short-circuiting brain through his finger tips. 

He then slid his hand from your head and allowed himself to steady upright by placing it beside your face in the greenery.

He smelled like Marlboro Reds.

Time felt still for a moment, eyes following the flow of the sooty work permanently decorating his face. You foolishly wondered if it hurt for him to get them—if he’d huff and grunt and blink back the tears while the artist endured whatever curses he spewed at them. 

And in a rash and senseless motion, your finger reached up and skimmed the edge of his cheek, following the inky trail in nothing but mesmerization and keenness. His skin was unexpectedly soft.

You could feel Sukuna stiffen, his muscles tensing as an annoyed growl left his lips.

And then you couldn’t feel him anymore.

He sat up, mumbling something about how you needed to be placed into an insane asylum while he shuffled through the box in his grasp to pull out bandaids.

All you could do was stare up at the sky, wondering why your finger tip was cold.

His hands were cradling your calf, eyeing your wound suspiciously after he’d stripped it of the dressing. “You said you changed it.”

“I did.”

“So not only are you irritating, but you’re a liar, too,” he scoffed.

You couldn’t help the giggle you let out at that, not able to defend yourself as you’d kept forgetting to check the bandage.

His hands worked to clean your wound, not without you wincing and twitching in his hold, but he held firmly. The ointment was cool and sharp like ice, your hands digging into the dirt behind you as you watched him work.

Venerated, your eyes followed the trails of the wide ink markings across his arm that matched his face, curiously tilting your head as your mind worked. Reasons unbeknownst to you, wonder was stitched into every seam of your making.

Every here and there, he’d find your stare and cast you with a look that sent piercing daggers, to which you’d bite your cheek and peer away.

Still, you weren’t sure if you had much of a place to ask. 

You’d fix your wide orbs on spots around you—watching as summer slipped into solstice arms, the world cast in a golden charm, a sweet and gentle surrender.

“It should only take a few more days before you can properly walk on it,” he stated, placing your leg on the grass once he’d finished. He averted his gaze from you, mindlessly staring at his front door, voice now lower. “You’re welcome to stay until then.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in return, eyes dancing across his stern side profile before your lip tugged upwards curiously. “Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

He scoffed, casting his cheek to you before laying on the ground beside you, a hand over his midsection as he pulled his hat over his face. “You talk too much.”

Wiggling your foot, you squinted your eyes as you eyed his careful patchwork. “You don’t talk enough.”

The next few minutes were silent, not stifling but easy. Like midsummer air.

You leaned back on your elbows, mere feet from Sukuna who’s breaths were slow and heavy. He must’ve fallen asleep.

It’d make sense. He’d had quite the day—you could only assume as a guy who chopped wood in his free time. 

The skyline past the pine trees was spun orange hues melting into an auburn red, and you think that right between them could’ve matched Sukuna’s stark hair. It seemed well-kept, which was surprising for a man living on his own in the forest.

The brush tickled your arm, and most people would’ve found it uncomfortable to be splayed out on itchy grass but you found an odd warmth in it. It smelled of honeysuckle and damp moss.

You couldn’t see the sun past his house, but you assumed it was falling and kissing the skies farewell for now. Praying to see another day as the stars would soon glitter the horizon.

You dropped your head, a few twigs prodding your scalp, but you didn’t move. 

You didn’t know how badly you’d needed quiet all this time.

Back home, you’d fall asleep to the bustling of late traffic and night owls, and awake to the early birds starting their day before they’d have their coffee and honk at each other like territorial mockingjays.

But now, all you could hear were the quiet chirps of canaries, the ticking of cicadas, and the steady breaths of the oaf beside you.

You glanced over, his hat covering his enter face, arms folded over his chest that lifted up and down rhythmically.

He was the kind of guy who’d have no issue falling asleep outside.

Uraume seemed to have given up on playing catch, calling it a night and pawing over to their dogshed.

It felt like you were the only person alive right now.

In your own little bubble, you were the only one to watch time patter on, not a single other pair of orbs to witness it.

Sun marked your bare calves, a soft burn that had every hair standing on edge as your  brain dazed into a summer night's musing. 

Your hand lifted over to the edge of his hat, carefully lifting it to take a peak.

Curling your fingertips against it, your slow deliberation worked in your advantage, earning a glance at Sukuna’s resting profile.

Those deeply marked creases that had been carved into him over time seemed to have come to rest, smoothing out his complexion into something gentler.

His jaw didn’t look clenched like it did whenever he was around you.

You wonder what he must be dreaming about. If he was dreaming.

However, your curious train of thought was quickly broken as you felt a pair of fingers wrap firmly around your wrist.

You let out a stifled yelp, flinching as your gaze followed Sukuna’s incredibly quick hand.

“What are you doing?” He grunted, expression hardening though he had yet to open his eyes.

“I- Uh—,” your heart thrummed in your chest, netted in the act of prodding once again to a man who forbade it so fervently. You needed to think quick. “You said you were going to show me something,” you whispered, voice mousy as you emphasized each word, confidence unraveling like caught thread.

He opened his eyes, casting his gaze over you. His arrant crimson irises flickered with something akin to fostered suspicion, before he loosened his firm grip and tugged his hat off. “Uh, yeah.”

You shivered, dropping your hand. 

You ignored the scars you saw littering his knuckles. 

Thankfully, his grip wasn’t tight or anything, just unmoving enough to make you jittery. 

Rule of thumb: Don’t touch Sukuna. Got it.

You dropped your head back onto the grass, your heart thumping along with the calls of the crickets as your trepidation came to a slow halt.

“You said you’re from the city, right?” He dragged a hand across his face, then tossed it behind his head to rest against.

“Oh, yeah. Lived in Yokohama all my life.”

He was quiet for a few moments, sight fixed on the sky blankly, before he spoke up. “You ever sky gazed before?”

You rested your hands against your stomach, peering over at him with a curious and pure gleam coloring you like a child had just been introduced to dinosaurs. “I’ve never had the chance to. Light pollution and all…” you trailed off, looking back at the sky with wonder. “Can you see stars from here?”

He hummed. “But not until the sun is down.”

And so the two of you waited. 

You’re not sure how long you did, lost in a quiet spell like you'd been placed in a doorway between reality and a tender dream.

All warm light drained, day sky devoured and replaced by a mix of blue and purple auroras to color the black canvas. Twinkling stars kissed midnight in white gleams.

Your lashes felt heavy, but your eyes were still full of intrigue and thrill.

For the first time since you could remember, you didn’t feel like the world was caving in on you. Like the world was just waiting for you to finally give in and be swallowed whole.

“I was invited to a wedding,” you blurted out, all sense of silence tucked beneath your tongue.

You couldn’t tell if Sukuna reacted, your eyes fixed on the flicker of a star.

Nevertheless, he stayed quiet.

“The invitation I received… it was from my ex-husband.” You breathed out, feeling your rigid shoulders droop.

A sinner perched in a confessional, misplaced and bitter and bruised. The only cold comfort was the moon tethered to the skies. 

”Ex-husband, huh?” He queried, voice a distant whisper.

“Yeah. Divorced last year.”

And this time, Sukuna stirred—turning his head in his palm to fix you with an incredulous stare you couldn’t see but feel burning you. “Yer kidding.”

You chuckled, though it was nothing short of dry and pitiful. “Seems he found himself a proper wife. Weddings’ not too long from now.”

Sukuna eyes bore into you, heavy and thick with judgement. “Okay, then. So what?”

Your eyes met his, shoulders caging up once more. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

He broke your stare, lazily shrugging his shoulders as he looked back up, eyes registering nothing between him as the cogs in his mind spun. “Why’s it matter what he does?”

You opened your mouth, defenses already loading themselves, before you paused. 

Why does it matter?

You found yourself staring at his side profile, fixed in nothing but displeasure despite his incredibly softening words.

You shouldn’t care—you could barely tolerate your ex-husband. And he clearly couldn’t tolerate you either. 

Sukuna didn’t push. He didn’t need to know your story before stumbling upon you in the forest. He only sees what he has to deal with before you’re healed and out the door.

It was true, it shouldn’t matter. But you couldn’t shake that off as easily. You lived it.

Regrettably, the life of a wife was still engraved into every fiber you were composed of, bleeding into each sorry part and staining it for everyone to witness. 

Or at least you thought. You wondered if everyone could see the chipped and cracked edges of you.

The grief had been so heavy, you had nowhere to place it—clung to you like a thick coat you couldn’t shed.

The years spent in a disgustingly loveless marriage to a sleazebag that looked at you like property, accused you and your womb of things no woman should hear. 

The proud look on your parents faces when they saw that you were finally settling down, done with the prancing around as an unmarried woman of your age.

And to a man with such status, they couldn’t believe it to be true. 

Neither could you. Not until you’d bore witness to his dull, true colors previously brightened with rose-tinted lenses.

You’d rushed into it—a rich, and dashingly charming man with dyed blonde hair. You’d been attracted to his arrogance, assuming it’d be tall enough to build the both of you up.

You were woefully wrong.

“So what’s your story?” You found yourself inquiring, worrying your lip between your teeth.

He scowled, nose scrunching as if he’d just smelled something putrid. “Not everyone’s got a sob story.”

You giggled, leaning on your palm as you watched him reject your entire being in real time. “You saying that is making me think you’ve got one,” you pushed with a grin, leaning closer.

His molars grinded against each other, wishing he could head inside and feed you to the wolves but it seemed the jagged edges of his common logic were frayed. “I ain’t got nothing to tell,” he growled, placing a hand against your looming face and shoving you away.

You gasped, but then began to paw off his claws with giggles, knowing you’d gotten under his skin. “How long have you lived here?” You started. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than you if anything, so it couldn’t have been too long.

“Long as I can remember,” he curtly replied.

Wow. “Alright, don’t have to go and tell me your whole life story,” you dryly and sarcastically taunted, itching your scalp in an attempt to ward off your irritation.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You rolled your eyes, but still you were desperate for some conversation. “You get into a lot of fights?”

“Huh?”

You pointed at his knuckles, not even caring about your bluntness, to which he moved away as if you’d somehow burned him. “Your scars.”

He waited a beat before replying. “Something like that.”

You shrugged off his deflection with a ‘whatever,’ gaze lingering back towards the sky.

And like a magnet drawn to another, Sukuna felt oddly compelled to begin speaking. Yet, you beat him to the bush.

“I don’t think anyone noticed I got lost in the woods,” you whispered, hoping your quiet admission would disappear with the night.

Sukuna huffed indignantly, but you didn’t know what to make of it.

You brought a limp forearm to your face and casted it over your eyes lazily. “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to notice.”

Your tone was dry, but anyone could make out how defeated you sounded.

Sukuna’s mouth went dry, eyes dancing across the black canvas desperately. “Open your eyes.”

You groaned, tugging your arm off and glancing over at him. 

He lifted an arm, pointing at the sky. “Over there.”

You followed his direction, pointer finger directed at a cluster of stars hung gracefully. “What am I looking at?”

He huffed. “You're not the smartest cookie in the jar. It’s a constellation.”

You beamed at the information, brushing over how he’d just insulted you. “Wait, wait! Where?” You sat up on your elbows, eyes fixed on the spot he pointed out.

“Follow my finger,” he mumbled, fingertip drawing out the constellation before your eyes.

And you did, eyes dragging with his, a childlike wonder twinkling in your irises.

“That constellation is-“

“Lupus.” You interrupted in awe, mouth hanging open slightly as you cocked your head, able to make out the creature's shape.

Sukuna’s eyebrow arched, surprised at your knowledge.

You gazed down at his sudden silence, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on your features, a soft simper on your lips. “Not the smartest but definitely close.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, irked at your sarcasm despite every nerve in his body betraying him. “Not that close.”

You shrugged, facing the sky again and hugging your knees. 

Sukuna stared at your back, pulling his cigarette box from his pockets. He placed it between deft fingers, pulling it to his mouth before fumbling for his lighter and sliding his thumb against the spark wheel.

Within moments, the scent of smoke you easily could associate with Sukuna or the back alleys of Yokohama at night, wafted into your nostrils, making you scrunch your nose instinctively.

He hummed, the smoke billowing from his pursed lips.

“Give me one.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “City girl wants a smoker?”

You pushed air from your nose, unimpressed. “I just said that.”

He hesitated. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You remained quiet, shuffling uncomfortably.

Sukuna chuckled, low, enough to send goosebumps dancing across your bare skin that had nothing to do with a soft night chill. “Here.”

He sat up, shoving a hand into his pockets to dig out the box and handed you a cigarette. You held it awkwardly between your thumb and forefinger, eyeing it suspiciously and suddenly regretting your burst of confidence.

“It’s not gonna eat’cha,” he gruffed, jutting his chin at you.

You frowned, placing it between your lips.

“Cup your hands.”

You obeyed, curling them around the cigarette to avoid the breeze snuffing out the blaze.

He held the lit lighter against the butt, just for a few seconds. Enough for it to burn, sending smoke into your mouth and down your lungs.

You jerked away, coughing up a fit as it seared your insides, clinging to the lining of your esophagus and singeing the hairs in your nostrils.

Sukuna found an odd sense of humor in your distress. He took the cigarette from you and crushed it before tossing it somewhere, placing an arm behind your back on the grass and laughing to himself as his head lolled. “Not so bad, right?”

“The hell do you mean ‘not so bad?’” You retorted with a hoarse voice, wanting to dip yourself into a lake and clean yourself from the prints of smoking. “I feel like I just inhaled fumes.”

Sukuna cocked his head in thought, an uncharacteristic grin on his sharp features. “You technically kinda did.”

You glared up at him, the barely-there buzz from one hit tickling the edges of your psyche. 

Sukuna peered down at you, the distance between you suddenly shortened.

He hollowed out his cheeks, his cigarette hanging between his middle and forefinger, before he inhaled it sharply through his mouth and out of his nose.

His expression was unreadable, as if wheels were turning in his mind, possibly trying to understand you.

Your eyes swam with skepticism, just 24 hours with this man and you couldn’t understand him. “Why’d you let me stay with you?”

He didn’t falter, just blinked at you for a moment, before looking away. “Dunno.”

You frowned at his reticence, but nonetheless bit your lip. Most people would’ve just given you directions and sent you off with thoughts and prayers, not bothering to take you in the way he did.

If you hadn’t run into Sukuna, who’s to tell you wouldn’t be dinner to a pack of wolves for the next few days, a forgotten corpse turned into nothing but a bag of bones.

You couldn’t help but question what kind of person he was.

“Gets quiet out here,” he started up again, pulling his knees up just to toss his arms over them. “Just me and that mutt.”

You stared wide-eyed at his large form beside you, an odd ache in your chest at his admission. 

Who knows the last time he’d had a proper conversation with someone that wasn’t small talk at the work?

He peered over at you, his scowl flinching before he flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Fuck you makin’ that face for,” he grumbled.

You hadn’t even noticed the watery orbs you’d been giving him, shaking your head and wiping the backs of your hands on your eyes. “Shut up. I’m an empath.”

He snorted at that, wanting to shove your face again when he heard you sniffling. “You hungry?”

You nodded quickly, to which he rolled his eyes at.

He stood up, rising to his feet and dusting off his jeans. He grabbed his hat and jacket and strode back inside, you on his tail.

Shutting and locking the door behind you, you watched Sukuna’s form pace around the kitchen. Wandering over to the kitchen table, you plopped down and watched him work.

He’d grabbed his toaster from a cabinet, popping in a couple of chocolate chip Eggos from the freezer and searching for the pan you had used earlier that morning.

Your eyes felt heavy, the quiet clinking and clattering of Sukuna nearly lulling you to sleep, chin bobbing against your chest.

“Oi. Keep those eyes open, I’m not eating two servings,” he grunted, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan.

You adjusted in your seat, rubbing your eyes and yawning. When did it get so late?

Standing up, you wobbled over to the couch and laid down, nearly resigned to your exhaustion from cleaning all day. 

Sukuna peered over at you skeptically, not even realizing he had been quickening his movements as your eyes threatened to shut.

But it was inevitable, your lashes fluttering and your breath steadying.

Sukuna grumbled something, placing both full plates on the coffee table minutes later and looming over you with a chagrined expression.

Within moments, he was snapping his meaty fingers in front of your face, breaking you from your slumber.

You flinched, sitting up and feeling your head spinning. Grumbling, you rubbed your eyes and leaned your head against the back of the couch.

Sukuna plopped down beside you, shoving a plate of waffles and eggs into your hands as if the two of you hadn’t eaten pancakes that same morning.

You were too tired to complain.

With low lids, you brought the fork to your lips and began eating in slow and heavy movements, like your limbs were caught in black tar.

Sukuna eyed you warily, afraid that you’d fall asleep into your plate and you’d somehow stab your eye.

“Aye. City girl. Finish your food.” He cracked open a beer with one hand, tossing it back in just a few gulps. You studied the way his Adam’s apple bobbed while he guzzled it down.

Shuddering, you tossed him a sleepy scowl. “I’m full.”

He passed you a glass of water, grabbing your plate with his and heading towards the kitchen to set it down. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

You let out a small burp after a sip, quickly covering your mouth and tossing him an awkward glance before shuffling in your seat. “I’m going to need a refresher.”

You didn’t actually need one.

Sukuna inhaled sharply at your feigned ignorance, hands placed beside the sink as he stared down, before pushing off and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll let you help out. Don’t need to wire me nothin’ when you get back.”

You chuckled, grabbing a shopping bag to pull out some pajamas he’d bought for you. A grey satin set that probably cost far too much but you didn’t complain, it’d definitely keep you warm. “Okay. Thanks for this, Sukuna.”

“Whatever.”

[b1asho]

I swear I'm not a wof blog I swear. Anyway, here's the bugs and a plant for some reason

Transcribed notes and other info on these guys:

the little doodles are just scribbles about where and their special glands are (which are colored yellow) amd how they work. From the top down and left to right, they say

'wrist spinneret with starter, mouth gland with proteins, combining them causes a chemical reaction makes a lot of quick-hardening silk.'

'Venom (soldier or Queen)

Worker-similar to silkwing silk

Drone-nothing in wrist'

'Extended periods of inactive sun time helps store energy' slightly to the left is 'like a leaf', slightly below is 'ambush attacks'

'No acid or venom, but secretes poisonous mucus and saliva' then to the right is 'very scary-looking because they have skin with bones under it instead of am exoskeleton'

Next to beetlewing head says 'acid spitting glands' below that says 'spinnerets on tail for building and subduing prey'

Some other general info:

silkwings are the smallest pantalan tribe amd they're omnivores, primarily eating plants but opportunistically scavenging when possible. they have a long tongue and a set of spinners in their mouth, the tongue being their to access the flowers,bugs, and fruit from the giant plants on the continent. the spinnarets from both their mouth and wrist have to be mixed to create the strong substance they use for building and defense (there is a ratio they can mix it at that causes it to combust when exposed to air and slung at enemies) the scakes on their wings are a bit poisonous but otherwise they have few defenses beyond this, they're also slow clumsy fliers. they have an exoskeleton but they also have an active respiratory system (so they actually breathe in and out unlike a real butterfly i think) unlike hivewings, they're not eusocial but they have been forced into those roles by the hivewing occupation. they're what's left of the beetlewings, having changed drastically in appearance over the years due to a lot of different pressures.

hivewings are large and omnivorous, but primarily eat meat to help fuel their flight. they're bipedal when on the ground, standing in a weird splayed fashion but able to run at fairly high speeds. when in flight, just like silkwings, they use both their leg wings and chest wings. hivewings can buzz them both at extremely high speeds and therefore fly much quicker and with more agility. also like silkwings, they have an exoskeleton and lungs, and their ither organs are stored in their abdomen tail thing to keep them away from the massive internal muscles needed to twitch their wings that fast. they are eusocial, and have several different classes. soldiers, workers, and queens are all female, and while they're larger than drones the queen is the largest (laying all the eggs in the colony. there are several dozen queens and hives on the continent, but they all answer to one). workers have a setup similar to silkwings where they can mix substances from their mouth and wrist to help them build the hive and trap prey. soldiers can't do this, and only have venom in their mouth and tail like a queen. drones are only there for the queen and don't do much else, having very little political or social power. hivewings are another offshoot from beetlewings that was mixed with some nightwings (which is why their faces, horns, and spines look a bit nightwing-ish and where their black coloring and sparkles of white dots on their wings came from)

leagwings are the only vertebrates, and look very scary to the others with their transparent skin,large eyes, and bones. they spend most of the day immobile somewhere in the sun,only occasionally moving to get water or ambush prey. their many frills help maximize surface area to photosynthesize with. they're entirely carnivorous when not getting energy from the sun. they're much more active at night, using the battery of energy they got from the day before returning to somewhere high and exposed to the sin so that when morning comes they can start to recharge. their main defenses are their teeth and claws, but they can also secrete a poisonous substance from their mouth and skin to deter others. it's mainly disorienting, but in a high enough dose it will kill. their long frog like kegs are for jumping from tree to tree and gor climbing because it's harder for them to work up the energy for takeoff from the ground. some of them are also magic and can control plants (magic is also how the One Queen can control all hivewings, but they also have their own natural pheremone signals) they have largely been wipes out thanks to outcompetition, habitat loss, and deliberate extermination on sight, but pockets of them are still around. they may have been from the same place as rainwings and share some of their features, but have changed drastically from those roots.

no one really knows a lot about beetlewongs because the version I drew is now extinct, but they were likely omnivores with both acidic spit and spinnerets, along with heavy armor. unlike their descendents they're still built more like a dragon from phyrria (idk if I spelled that right) with their big wing limbs being in front with the little arms being behind them instead of the other way around.

I decided to keep them all hexopods even though I think the hive and silk officially have another smaller pair of wing things (bringing them closer to being 8 legged in my version of things)

[heliosunny]

Hello, I am obsessed with how you write Mydei and I wanted to request Mydei with a skittish Neko reader, like will jump over the smallest noise with ears and tail standing on end kind of skittish, if you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I hope you have a good day/night 😊

Yandere!Mydei x Neko!Reader

The merchant’s voice droned on, a tedious exchange of goods and gold that should have been routine. But Duke Mydei’s attention was elsewhere. Amid the scent of aged parchment and exotic spices, something sweeter lingered in the air. A presence—delicate, trembling, and utterly fascinating.

He turned his gaze, slow and deliberate, toward the one who stood just behind the merchant. A pair of feline ears twitched atop their head, betraying their unease. Their tail, sleek and furred, flicked anxiously from side to side. Every subtle movement spoke of nervous energy, as if they might dart away at the slightest provocation.

Intriguing.

The merchant’s assistant, he presumed—though the word ‘assistant’ seemed far too generous. The way they shifted behind their master, hands clutching the fabric of their too-thin cloak, suggested something else entirely. Something more akin to property than partnership.

The merchant followed Mydei’s gaze and, with a greedy glint in his eye, chuckled. “Ah, you’ve taken notice of my little pet?”

Mydei did not reply immediately. Instead, he observed. Your ears had gone rigid. Fear—pure, unfiltered fear. Yet you could not run.

“…How much?” Mydei asked at last.

The merchant blinked before a wide grin split his face. “Oh, Your grace, you jest.”

“I do not.”

Gold exchanged hands with an ease that sickened Mydei. He had purchased fine silks with more effort than this. You did not protest, did not speak, merely stood frozen as your former master took his pay and left without a backward glance.

“You belong to me now” Mydei said, stepping closer. He took in the way your pupils dilated, the way your ears twitched at his voice.

“Come.” His tone was gentle, coaxing, as if he were speaking to a frightened bird. “You must be cold.”

He offered his hand. You hesitated. Then, slowly, you placed your trembling fingers in his.

The ride back to his estate was silent, save for the steady clatter of horse hooves against cobblestone. Mydei sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, gloved fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his carriage. Across from him, his newly acquired companion sat stiffly, hands curled into their lap, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow that never came.

You refused to meet his gaze.

What a shame, he would have liked to see your eyes again.

Every time the carriage jostled, your ears twitched, your tail puffing slightly before you forced it back down.

How easily startled.

“You needn’t be so tense. You are safe with me.”

Your ears pressed flat against your head. He could see your nails digging into your palms, the faintest tremor in your fingers. You didn’t believe him.

Not yet.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand estate, its towering silhouette standing stark against the night sky. Mydei stepped out first, turning to offer his hand.

“Come. Don't make me wait”

He led you up the steps of his home.

The doors shut behind you. The warmth of the grand hall should have been comforting after the cold air outside, but you only looked more tense. Your wide eyes darted around, as if mapping out the exits, gauging your chances.

Thinking of an escape already?

“You will be staying in the east wing” he said, releasing your hand. He reached for the ribbon at his collar, undoing it. “Your chambers will be well-kept, and you will have anything you require.”

“Why…?”

Mydei smiled. “Because you belong to me now.”

The way you flinched sent a spark of satisfaction through him. He reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin. You jerked slightly but didn’t pull away entirely.

“You will learn” he said, voice as gentle as it was unyielding. “There is nowhere safer than at my side.”

“Rest,” he commanded. “We have much to discuss tomorrow.”

He turned and walked away, confident that you wouldn’t dare disobey.

The night passed restlessly. Sleep did not come easily, not with the unfamiliar silk sheets wrapped around you, nor with the knowledge that you now belonged to someone who could do with you as he pleased. Yet, morning arrived all the same, ushered in by the soft chime of bells echoing through the grand estate.

The knock at their door was polite, yet firm.

“It is time to wake”

You hesitated before slipping out of bed, ears twitching at the sounds of movement outside. Slowly, you approached the door, heart hammering. When you opened it, Mydei stood there, dressed immaculately as always, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

“Good morning” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you sleep well?”

You didn’t answer, simply looking down at the floor.

His fingers came up to tilt your chin up,“You should at least pretend, pet.” His tone was playful, but the grip on their chin was firm. “It would be rude to ignore me.”

You finally nodded.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He chuckled before stepping back, allowing you space. “Come. I had breakfast prepared.”

—---

The dining hall was grand, its ceilings adorned with chandeliers, the morning light streaming through vast windows. A lavish breakfast had been prepared—freshly baked bread, delicate pastries, fruits laid out in a careful arrangement.

Yet, despite the warmth of the food, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat much.

“What’s wrong? Afraid I’ve poisoned your meal?”

His laughter rang through the hall. “Oh, I do enjoy how easily rattled you are.” His fork clinked against his plate as he leaned forward. “I assure you, if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t do it through something so dull as food.”

That wasn’t particularly comforting.

“Eat,” he instructed. “You’ll need your strength.”

You hesitated but took a small bite.

“Good,” he murmured, watching you intently. “See? You’re already learning.”

—---

The next few days passed in much the same way. Mydei was always near, though never forcefully so. He would simply be there—at meals, in the corridors, seated beside you in the grand study. If you flinched at a sudden sound or tensed under his gaze, he would only smile, amused.

And he loved to tease.

“You startle so easily, pet. Should I keep a bell on you?”

“You look like a frightened rabbit when you do that. It’s adorable.”

“My, my, you do blush rather prettily, don’t you?”

Every time you reacted—ears twitching, tail puffing, eyes widening—he drank it in like fine wine.

Yet, in small, unspoken ways, he was… gentle.

He never raised his voice. Never forced you into conversation. If you grew overwhelmed, he would grant you space—though never too much. If you grew cold, a thick blanket would appear without a word. If you struggled with silverware during meals, his hands would guide yours—his touch firm, yet patient.

One evening, after a particularly quiet dinner, you felt something drape over their shoulders.

A thick, warm coat—his coat.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“You’re trembling.”

“…Thank you.”

“Oh? You do have a voice after all.”

Your ears flattened in embarrassment.

He chuckled, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear. “I’ll have to get you to use it more often, then.”

—---

The next day started peacefully enough. Mydei had left early to handle estate matters, leaving you alone in the grand halls. You took cautious steps through the corridors, tail flicking as you tried to memorize the layout.

Then, the peace shattered.

A woman stormed into the estate, her heeled boots clicking sharply against the floor. She was beautiful, elegant, but the moment her eyes landed on you, they burned with pure hatred.

His fiancée.

“You” she hissed, closing the distance between you in an instant.

You barely had time to react before she grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked. Pain shot through your scalp as you let out a panicked yelp, your ears flattening in terror.

“What spell did you cast on him, you filthy thing?!” she seethed. “How dare you take what’s mine?!”

You trembled violently, your heart pounding. You didn’t understand—you hadn’t done anything! But her grip only tightened, nails digging into your scalp.

Then, the temperature in the room dropped.

“Mydei…” she started, her voice faltering.

He stood at the entrance, his golden eyes like ice, his presence suddenly suffocating.

“Let Y/n go.”

She hesitated for only a second before scoffing, shoving you back as if you were nothing more than filth. You barely caught yourself, hands trembling.

Mydei approached slowly, he reached down and helped you stand, his gloved hand steady against yours.

Then, he turned to her.

“We are no longer engaged.”

She paled. “W-What?”

“I will not repeat myself.”

She looked between you and him, disbelief turning into fury. But she knew better than to argue. With a final glare, she stormed out, the doors slamming behind her.

You felt Mydei’s fingers brush against your hair, straightening the strands she had yanked.

“…You’re shaking” he murmured.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you bit your lip. You had never been more terrified in your life.

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you “No one will ever harm you again,” he whispered, “I will make sure of it.”

After that day, everything changed.

The maids, who once looked down on you with disdain, now treated you with careful respect. Whispers of Mydei’s canceled engagement spread through the estate like wildfire, and with it came an unspoken understanding—you were the one he favored now.

It was strange, being treated so differently. No more dismissive glances, no more hushed snickers behind your back. Instead, you were addressed properly, your presence acknowledged.

But the most significant change was Mydei himself.

Where before he had been playful in his torment, teasing you for every little reaction, now there was something… more.

A certain attentiveness. A sharper edge to his protectiveness.

And so, for the first time, you were granted the privilege of staying by his side.

—---

One evening, as Mydei reviewed documents in his study, you sat nearby, tail curling idly as you observed the delicate way he handled each page. The flickering candlelight made his golden eyes glow as he read, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against his desk.

A crease formed between his brows. Something was wrong. You peeked over, ears twitching as you scanned the document. It was a trade agreement, filled with dense wording and numbers.

Then you spotted it.

“This number is wrong” you murmured before you could stop yourself.

Mydei paused. Slowly, his gaze lifted to meet yours, amusement flickering behind his eyes.

“Oh?” He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand. “Do enlighten me, pet.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. But his expression was patient, expectant.

Tentatively, you pointed at the figures. “Here… The numbers don’t add up properly. If you sign this, you’ll be losing a significant portion of the expected profits.”

“Well, well…” Mydei mused, tilting his head. “A sharp eye. I wonder, what else can you do?”

As it turned out, you were quite useful to him.

Your ears, sensitive as they were, allowed you to pick up hushed conversations from maids, guards, even nobles who visited the estate. You never meant to eavesdrop, but sometimes you would hear things—things Mydei found… interesting.

“So the noble’s son has been gambling away his family’s fortune?” Mydei hummed as he idly twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers. “How very unfortunate. Perhaps I should extend a kind offer before his father notices.”

Your keen instincts also came in handy. You could tell when someone was lying, the way their heartbeat quickened, the subtle shift in their scent.

One afternoon, during a business meeting, a merchant attempted to deceive Mydei with false reports. You, standing beside his chair, stiffened ever so slightly.

“Lying to me? How bold.”

The merchant turned pale. You remained still, suppressing a shudder at the way Mydei’s fingers traced slow circles against the back of your hand—silent praise for your perceptiveness.

And then, there was your agility.

One evening, as you walked through the estate, a vase teetered off a shelf. Without thinking, you leapt, catching it mid-air with practiced ease. Your tail bristled from the sudden movement, ears standing on end.

A slow clap echoed through the hall.

You turned to find Mydei lounging against the doorway, lips curled into a smirk.

“How graceful,” he mused, his gaze trailing over you. “I wonder… would you be this quick if I were to chase you?”

Your tail puffed up instantly.

His laughter rang through the corridor, rich and amused.

It became a game between you.

He would test you, push you, always watching how you reacted. A teasing remark here, a fleeting touch there. Each time you startled, each time you hesitated, he would smirk as if memorizing every little detail about you.

But he also valued you.

You weren’t just a pet to him anymore.

You were his sharp-eyed, quick-footed, ever-loyal companion.

And oh, how he adored that.

Mydei had left early that morning, dressed in his usual pristine attire, a smirk playing on his lips as he bid you farewell.

“Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone, pet,” he had teased, his fingers brushing against your ear just to see you flinch. “I’d hate to return and find you missing.”

At the time, you had rolled your eyes, tail flicking in mild irritation.

You should have known better.

The estate was quieter without him. You had spent the morning wandering the halls, occasionally chatting with the maids—though they were still somewhat wary around you. Then, as the afternoon sun cast golden streaks across the courtyard, you had settled near the garden, enjoying the warmth.

Your tail swayed lazily as you basked in the peaceful moment, eyes half-lidded.

Pain.

A sharp yank at the base of your tail sent a jolt of agony up your spine. You barely had time to yelp before rough hands clamped over your mouth, muffling your cry. Panic surged through you as multiple figures surrounded you, their grips firm, unrelenting.

“Gotcha,” one of them sneered, his breath rancid against your skin. “Damn thing moves fast, but you let your guard down.”

You thrashed, ears flattened in distress, but they were prepared. Thick ropes bound your wrists before you could claw at them, and a cloth was stuffed between your lips to keep you from calling for help.

“Careful with this one,” another muttered. “The lady wants them unharmed—well, mostly.”

Lady?

Realization struck like ice in your veins.

His ex-fiancée.

They were going to take you. Sell you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, terror clouding your thoughts as they dragged you toward a carriage waiting beyond the estate walls. The guards—where were the guards?! Had they been bribed?

You struggled, kicking wildly, but a harsh slap across your cheek left your vision spinning.

“Behave,” one of them snapped. “You’re valuable merchandise. Don’t make us damage you too much before the sale.”

You were on your own.

The days in captivity blurred together.

Cold iron shackles bound your wrists, the dim candlelight of the underground auction hall casting eerie shadows against the damp stone walls. You weren’t the only one locked away—other unfortunate souls huddled in their cells, whispering prayers or sobbing softly.

Your ears twitched at every sound, tail curled tightly around yourself as you sat in the corner. Fear clawed at your chest, but you refused to break.

Mydei will come for me.

You repeated it over and over like a mantra, clinging to the hope that the man who claimed you as his own wouldn’t let you disappear into the hands of strangers.

Three days passed.

Then, the auction began.

You stood on the platform, bound and displayed like an object, your tail bristling in humiliation as greedy eyes roamed over you.

The auctioneer’s voice boomed through the hall.

“A rare specimen! Keen senses, remarkable agility—an exquisite addition to any collection! We’ll start the bidding at—”

The doors to the hall slammed open.

A hush fell over the room as a tall, imposing figure stepped inside, flanked by a dozen men in dark coats. His golden eyes gleamed with fury, his presence suffocating.

“I’ll pay ten times the highest bid.” His voice was calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The auctioneer sputtered, momentarily at a loss. No one would dare challenge such an outrageous sum—not when it came from him.

The gavel struck.

“Sold—to the Duke.”

Before anyone could react, Mydei moved, his gloved hands ripping away the shackles that bound you. You barely had time to register his warmth before he pulled you into his arms, his grip tightening as if to assure himself that you were real.

“Y-You’re late” you mumbled, your voice trembling.

“Forgive me”

The carriage ride home was quiet.

You sat beside him, still shaken, your tail curled around yourself as you tried to process everything.

Mydei’s fingers brushed over your wrist—where the iron cuffs had left bruises.

“They will all suffer for this. Every single one of them.”

You believed him.

But before either of you could speak further, the carriage suddenly lurched to a violent stop.

The horses neighed in distress. The driver shouted something—before his voice was abruptly cut off.

“Stay behind me.”

The door was kicked open. Figures clad in black swarmed in, blades glinting in the moonlight.

Assassins.

You barely had time to react before Mydei drew his weapon, slashing through the first attacker with terrifying precision. Blood splattered against the seats, but more came, their strikes ruthless, aimed to kill.

You fought back as best you could, claws unsheathing, instincts kicking in—but there were too many. Mydei cut through them mercilessly, but even he couldn’t deflect every blow.

You saw it too late.

A dagger, aimed directly at your heart.

Before you could move, a strong force shoved you aside.

The blade sank into flesh—but not yours.

Mydei.

The world slowed. His golden eyes widened slightly as the dagger lodged deep into his neck, crimson spilling down his pristine coat.

“No—”

Adrenaline surged through your veins as you lunged, your claws sinking into the assassin’s throat, tearing through flesh. Blood sprayed, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t think.

The bodies of the assassins fell one by one, but none of it mattered.

He collapsed.

You caught him before he hit the ground, panic clawing at your chest as you pressed against his wound. His breath was shallow, his pulse weakening beneath your fingers.

“No, no, no…” Your vision blurred. His blood soaked into your hands, warm and thick.

He looked at you, eyes half-lidded, lips curling into the faintest smirk.

“Why do you… look so worried, pet?” His voice was weak, teasing even now. “I… won, didn’t I?”

He was dying.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Not to him.

You had never spoken of it before, never revealed what set you apart from others of your kind. The ability to sacrifice one of your lives to save another.

A price only you could pay.

Your hands trembled as you made your choice.

Without hesitation, you pressed your forehead against his, your energy surging forward, giving itself to him.

Pain lanced through you—a sharp, searing agony, like something vital being ripped away. You gasped, body convulsing, but you didn’t stop.

The wound at his neck closed.

His breathing steadied.

His fingers twitched—then tightened around yours.

And then, he laughed.

“You foolish, foolish pet” he murmured, his grip unrelenting. “You think you can sacrifice yourself for me?”

“I won’t allow it.”

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of everything finally crashed down on you. The fear, the pain, the relief—it all spilled over, and you trembled in his arms, gripping his coat as if letting go would make him disappear.

Your voice cracked as you sobbed into him. “You almost died! I thought—I thought—”

Mydei let out a low chuckle, his fingers trailing lazily through your hair. “Oh? So you do care about me, pet.”

You pulled back just enough to glare at him through your tears. “Of course I care! You saved me, you got hurt because of me—”

“Then you should take responsibility.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ve decided, pet. You’ll marry me.”

Your ears stood straight up, your tail fluffed in sheer panic.

“Nope” you blurted out, voice cracking. “That’s not happening.”

His smirk widened, clearly entertained by your horror. “Oh? And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Your fight-or-flight instincts screamed at you. Flight. Definitely flight.

You turned, bolting.

Or at least, you tried to.

A firm grip snatched your tail before you could take a single step.

A high-pitched yelp escaped you as your entire body froze. Your tail stood straight up, your ears twitching wildly as a shiver ran down your spine.

“Ah, so that’s how to keep you still” Mydei mused, his voice far too pleased with himself.

“L-Let go—!”

“Not until you admit you’re mine.”

Before you could argue, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the clearing.

“My lord!” Mydei’s men rushed forward, eyes widening at the bloodied scene around them. “Are you hurt?!”

Mydei finally released your tail, letting you stumble forward as he straightened up. His usual smirk returned, his injuries practically forgotten.

“Nothing I can’t handle” he said smoothly, then glanced at you.

You, on the other hand, were still recovering from the absolute horror of what just happened.

One of the knights frowned. “Shall we return, my lord?”

Mydei hummed, stepping beside you before leaning in close, his lips nearly brushing your ear.

“Don’t think this conversation is over, pet.”

Your tail bristled. Oh no.

[brokenpieces-72]

Hi, I was thinking how cool it would be for the team to have a 3-4 foot nothing mouse as an infiltrator and informant. who can sneak in by squishing themselves flat like real mice through the smallest cracks, steal information and not get caught. Thanks, and I love your work ^^.

Omg I adore this idea it is adorable! Yes! I'm just imagining the reader, squishing themselves against the ground but their legs are just kicking up the dirt behind them as they wedge themselves under a door that should not even fit their skull, lol. Also, this takes place before Spirit's time or a different time all together. I couldn't think of a way to include her in it.

Click

TW: past trauma, mentions of prison, mentions of ruining people's lives, shitty bosses, criminal history, let me know if any changes are needed.

"Is this contract negotiable?" You asked, sitting across from Laswell. She'd slid the contract over to you for a job, promising you the basic amenities and a hefty cash reward for your participation in an infiltration mission. You would be a key player in an infiltration mission to collect data from a cartel, something you were very good at. The information was pretty basic stuff like bio-chemical research files, shipping manifests, buyer lists, etc.

"What are you asking for?" Kate asked.

"Reduced sentence." You said, sliding the contract back to her. Kate took it back, glancing at you. "I've served 10 years already, for following orders. I want to walk around freely after this."

Laswell didn't show it but she was surprised by your statement. You'd plead guilty during your trial, and chose your words carefully when you spoke. If you wanted your freedom she could arrange it. You would be tracked for a while, but you knew that already. In a place like this, your size was weakness, something plenty of other inmates could take advantage of.

"I'll see to it personally." Kate told you, gathering her things. You gave her a curt nod.

You didn't need basic training, but the overgrown lizard with the missing wing wanted to give you an assessment. You didn't argue, you could give him attitude once you'd warmed up to the others. Your contract required compliance on your end. While you didn't have to like it, you weren't about to start drama. Just get your work done, complete the contract, and get your tracking bracelet. Thankfully you passed the assessment with little issues. You returned to Price for your orders and then you see Alejandro. Fuck.

You have to dig your nails into your palms when you see the spots on his arms. You know those spots, and try to avoid them. And of course the colonel noticed your discomfort with his presence. Didn't comment on it though. Price dismissed you to shower, and settle in. A laptop had been put in your room for you to look over what information they had so far for the mission. You knew what you were going to do with the laptop right away.

Holy shit, you forgot how much you missed warm water and privacy like this. It felt so good to get all of your dirt and sweat off, scratching at your scalp to get out all the grime and grease that had built up. You had to brush your hair out in the shower because of how knotted it was, but it was worth it. If anyone had an opinion on how long your shower was, they kept it to themselves. Coming back to your room in a warm hoodie and wet hair was marvellous feeling. You felt much more refreshed. When you saw the laptop, you put your date with your bed on hold. The sooner the job was done, the sooner you could shower as much as you want.

The cartel location was pretty simple set up. There were blueprints of the building along with edits for renovations. Everything you'd requested for the mission was available, including any reciepts they could get a hold of for the renovations. Tech was higher end but not exactly the most secure, it would take time to make an attack plan for it. You'd want to get a drone out so you could see how many guards were on security at a time, especially if there is an event going on, because security would be tighter. There were some aerial photos that you could get closer looks at, eyeing the vehicles that weren't military make. Odds were mods had been added, like bullet-proof glass or compartments for weapons.

Everything you could find or didn't find was scratched into a notebook. The advantage with writing things down instead of typing, was how easy it was to keep it to yourself and destroy it if you needed to. You probably spent a better portion of the day working on your notes and plans. By the time you had most of your wrok done, your lip was a little numb from chewing at it. Your eyes watered from staring at the screen, realizing just how dark it had gotten in your room. What time was it? Evening at least. Shit, you hoped there was still some food for you at the messhall.

You left your room, yawning, wishing you had taken a nap before getting to work. After poking your head into the hall, you quietly slipped out of your room to find the mess hall. When you turned the first corner though you nearly had a heart attack. Kyle unintantionally scared the shit out of you. You had to cover your mouth so you didn't yell in surprise. Did you hear someone coming? Yes. But not someone with big wings.

"You good?" He askeed. You nodded needing a minute for your heart to settle.

"Yeah... sorry." You said. "Was looking for the mess hall."

"I'm on my way there, I can show you." Kyle told you, waiting for you to give him the okay to show you. You nodded and gestured for him to lead on.

"So what do we call you? The Cap'n gave us your name but I figured you had a nickname or something." Kyle said, walking with you. Great, he likely knew you had a record as well. Certainly didn't seem bothered by it though.

"Mouse. Or Click." You answered. "Super original I know."

Kyle told you about the other nicknames of the team. You couldn't help but notice he seemed fairly casual with you, while keeping to himself. As soon as you figured out what he was doing you cracked a small smile. Kyle noticed.

"Did I say something?" He asked. Oh shit, he saw that. Awkward.

"No no, just... old training kicking in." You admitted.

"How so?" Kyle asked. You were hoping "old training" wouldn't come with follow ups. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable, if you wanted any mission to go right you needed trust from both sides. Kyle was taking the first steps, and you wanted to catch up. If you kept it to yourself it could make him uneasy, or dig into your file deeper. If you told him it could make him more cautious.

"I learned speech patterns to go with my informant training." You explained.

"Figured." Kyle said. "So what have I given away?"

The question is phrased in a way that sounds lighthearted, but you get the feeling he's both testing you and wishing he'd been more careful about talking to you. The more open and forward you are the better it would be later on. "How much of a dressing down do you want?"

Kyle shrugged. May as well give him the fullset. "You told me everyone's name and nickname, while giving me one thing to focus on for each of them in terms of appearance. Instead of telling me what hybrid they are you described their more human aspects. You're attempting to make me feel comfortable with them by providing me with friendlier terms to refer to them. Instead of focusing on what makes them different you mention the things they have the most in common which is their humanity. In summary you're sizing me up - no pun intended - while wanting me to be more relaxed and comfortable with the rest of you."

"Yep." Kyle said simply. You gave him a double take. Was that a test?! Kyle just shook his head smirking. Not the usual response but you appreciated how he took it.

"Can I be informal about this meeting?" You asked Price.

"You have the floor use it as you see fit." Price said. Oh boy, this would be a trip.

"Okay, first and foremost, there is more than one target. You have a server room that I'm not even sure could be called that, and there's a main office holding both written files and a computer. Second, this place has gone through more renovations than I can count. There are plenty of ways in, but each one has something either blocking it or guarding it, which will take more than a smile to get in."

"More than lockpicking as well?" Rudy asked.

"Or breaking down the door, not saying brute force and ignorance isn't an option, but I don't recommend the latter." You added. Simon was looking over the map you had spread out.

"Where are the targets?" He requested. You marked them and they were some distance apart. The server room was in the general center, with the main office being further from the entrance. "You have a main one?"

"I was going to ask about that." You said. "How much data do you want?"

"All of it." Price answered simply. You thought so.

"Server would get you plenty of files but they'll likely be encrypted, office would get you their main computer which could also be locked pretty tight, and the option of hard copies, but that's if they have hard copies." You explained quickly. Getting everything would be an option it was more how much they wanted to break stuff.

"All of it." Price repeated.

"Okay," You sighed. "If you look at the papers there's maps and times for the guard's rotations, which aren't the most consistent, but are close enough, during events and meetings they put in the effort to cover up a bit more. Their vehicles are no exception, those illegal tints are probably hiding radios, and hidden compartments."

"The van is modded too?" Kyle asked, looking at the photos you'd gotten from the drone. Sketchy white van parked out front.

"Spoilers." You told him. "But yes... and no. The cartel gets businesses to come in and work on their stuff under the table, all of it is done in cash and off record, but it's not always the same person. Before Kyle said anything that would be the first way in but that would get civilians involved."

The team didn't want to get innocent people involved, even if they were doing sketchy business. The team examined the work you'd put together. There were plenty of scribbled notes, photos, and maps to go over but Price could see through all your work.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" He asked you.

"Sadly, no. I wasn't exactly the planner when it came to these things. One thing I can tell you that is close to a suggestion, is that the place's security system is like a smart home. System sends a signal anytime someone interacts with it. If someone is taken off or put on the system, ping. Door unlocked or locked, ping. Car leaves the premises, ping."

"Windows?" Soap asked.

"It's a way in, but a way to be seen as well. I get most of your guys are bulletproof to a degree, but I'm not." You explained. They could cover you, that wasn't a massive issue.

"Could we take out the guards, replace them?" Alejandro asked.

"Theoretically yes, it would require them to leave the premises and a car jacking." You explained. Less violence required, and you were starting to map some more things out in your head.

"That will work, but then how do we reach the targets?" Price asked. Ghsot and Rodolfo could get through easily enough and unlock the doors from the other side. Price and Gaz would be able to hide among the guards as easily with their wings, so they could provide recon and a distraction while the rest broke in. Meanwhile you would get into the computer and servers directly, retrieving the target. There was one problem though. How would you get in? Your ears could be stuffed into a ski mask with some discomfort and your tail could go around your midsection under your clothes, but...

"One problem... I'm a little short for stormtrooper." You mentioned. You didn't like it, but they found a way.

Night before the mission you were curled up in the rec room with your notebook. You were journaling. It was the one thing you could do when you were incarcerated, and your therapist recommended it. One mission and you would be able to walk outside again. Felt good to write about it. Your ears twitched hearing someone walk in.

"Looks like there's a creature stirring." Soap said, joining you. You rolled your eyes, but gave him a friendly enough smile. You sat in silence for a moment before Soap decided now was a perfect time to get personal with you. "What were you in for?"

"It's in my file." You answered.

"Didn't bother reading it. I prefer the source, more accurate." He replied. You looked over your journal and tucked up knees at him. It wasn't to catch you off guard, or anything, he wanted to hear your side.

"Hacked into National Security." You said, finishing the sentence you were on before closing your journal.

"That all?" He asked.

"I was... ordered to. I broke in, obtained files on suspoected war criminals, my commanding officer gave me the okay, said he'd gotten a warrant and everything. Tried arguing with him, and... he convinced me it was for the best. We were catching criminals, terrorists. Well he never got the warrant, and the next thing I know I'm on trial, hearing how many people I hurt through my actions." You said.

"What about your superior?" Soap asked. You felt something boiling inside of you. The night he'd come to see you to warn you about the trial, you thought he would defend you. You retold your side to him, despite him knowing it. His final words to you stung. In the end it was your hand on the trigger.

"Haven't seen him." You said, shrugging. "Got plenty of tats in prison though."

"Really?" Soap asked, giving in to the subject change. He'd only seen the one star on your neck. YOu set you journal aside, and pulled up your hoodie and shirt to show your ribs and some beautiful inked works. "Is that recent?"

"The snake is yeah." You said. You're pretty sure the reason the hybrids were more comfortable around you was because of your small size. As a mouse you're less of a threat, but you have a criminal record. Soap wasn't put off by it, none of them were. You'd heard things about the 141, some of the skeletons they might have in their closet. You assumed there was little room to throw stones in the glass house. "Tomorrow is gonna suck."

"Why? The plan is solid." Soap said. Yeah for him maybe, not for you. Maybe that was why he was being friendly, so you wouldn't get back at him for roughing you up. You gave him a look, and he failed to hide his grin. "It's a solid plan."

Oh yeah yeah, solid FUCKing plan Soap. Laugh it up. He was snickering about it when everything was being planned out too. Were you laughing about it too? Yes, but it was a bit of reluctant laugh, like when you know you've lost a bet and have to get drenched by a water balloon.

"Permission to speak freely?" You asked Alejandro who was ziptying your hands behind your back. Something about him having to kneel down to do so was forcing Soap to hide his face. God he was a fucking child sometimes. Kyle was doing the same, but it was more towards Soap and his childish humour.

"Always." Alejandro said.

"Thanks." You said. "Hey Soap? Fuck off."

"Aye. Remember who's dragging in you in there." Soap said.

"Aye, remember who can make you sketchy dating profiles." You reminded him. Soap put his hands up in surrender. Alejandro was nice enough to help you get on the edge of the open truck before applying zipties to legs. "The leg ones necessary?"

"Yep." Alejandro said simply. He finished up and stood up straight. Rudy put the bag over your head, as you got yourself to awkwardly roll into the trunk. Before shutting the door you heard Ghost.

"Comfortable?" He asked. Not really, you were stuck laying on your arms but being on your stomach wouldn't be any better. You were able to nod under the hood, and give out a muffled, good. Then the trunk closed.

Didn't take long for you to figure out why they put leg ties on you. As soon as they arrived, and pulled you out of the trunk, you got hoisted on to a shoulder. You don't know who it was but they maintained the cover, with no signs of laughter.

You kept quiet, letting them carry you inside. You heard Alejandro talking to someone. You couldn't make out the words, he was speaking Spanish. There was some back and forth and you think you hear the word ninos. Other guy probably thought you were a kid. You started moving again, and held back a sigh of relief.

A door was opened, and two things were put in your hands as you were laid on the floor. You were given a pat down, the equipment under your hoodie was ignored. The door was closed and locked. Your shoulder was starting to feel sore again, only having short relief from the car ride. You continued to wait patiently. You've waited ten years to see the world again, what was a few more minutes? You felt something nudge you and you knew it was go time.

You sat up, and carefully opened the blade. You got the zipties on your wrists cut and then moved to your leg-SHIT! That fucking smarts... okay legs ties were off. Should've shaken the bag off first. You checked the damage real quick. You'd cut your hand, enough to cause bleeding but not deep enough to warrant stitches. You looked at the thing that nudged you, a cadejo, who showed some concern for your injury.

"Go, I'll be fine." You ordered quietly. then you put the ear piece in. Immediately Rudy asked if you were okay, and if you needed anything. You assured them you were okay but would need an extra minute. The hood was the best option, so you cut some pieces of it of with the knife. They were tucked against the wound, and then you got your gloves on. It was going to hurt as you looked up at the vent shaft above you. They'd put you in a storage closet, classy. Thankfully the vent grate wasn't bolted. You could hear the team going over other parts of the plan while you focused on your own.

One hop up, and you were able to get the ve-dang it. Okay come on. Come on! Get the right gri-there you go! You got the grate off and set it aside. For anyone else your size, the shaft would be tight. You were a mouse hybrid. You could squeeze into plenty of small places. The vent was no exception. You got low to ground, shifting your feet for the right stance, and then sprung upwards.

You got your hands into the shaft and on to the edge of the tunnel. With some small swinging of your legs, you hoisted yourself further inside, getting the rest of your body in. As you shuffled along, poking your head around to check for any risks you continued to listen to the team. They were making their way to finding the security cameras, intending to watch over you so no one would suspect anything. Ghost was making his way to the server room where you were headed while Rudy was lingering by the main office.

Thankfully there weren't many issues, once you got to the server room, but your hand was starting to sting. Shit, you could feel the blood sticking to your glove. Once you reached the server room you tried testing your hand, applying some pressure. Yeah you were going to need some help getting down, otherwise you might just hurt yourself more. You touched your earpiece.

"Ghost I'm at the server room, what's your location?" You asked, keeping your voice down.

"On my way still. Security cams have been secured, you're clear to engage." Ghost informed you.

"I'm gonna need you inside." You admitted.

"Need medical?" He asked.

"I might." You said. Ghost picked up his pace a little, keeping an eye out for anyone else. Once he reached the server room, he stood, doing a scan of the hall and ensuring he wouldn't be noticed befor slipping inside, through his own shadow. You were still waiting above the room, carefully removing the grate and pulling it up into the shaft with you.

"Where are you?" Ghost asked. You saw a figure moving below you.

"Still in the shaft." You admitted. The figure looked up and saw you.

"Stop fucking around and get down." Ghost hissed at you.

"Needed a spotter." You told him, cautious slipping down and dangling by your good hand. Something wrapped around your leg, and you realize Ghost is keeping a grip on you with some shadow manipulation. Once your feet were on the ground, you got to work while Ghost got a first aid kit that was thankfully hanging on the wall. You started typing away on your laptop, after retrieving it from the bag under your hoodie. You had a program put together already that would duplicate items, making identical replicas of the files as if they were never accessed or touched.

Once you got the right cords hooked up to your laptop, you let the program play out. Thankfully you could get quite a few files from the servers alone. It meant some impatient waiting, but Ghost had a way to pass the time. Cleaning your wound properly and getting some proper bandages. You set your laptop aside while Ghost set himself on the floor. You held out your hand for him and hissed at the stinging of the alcohol.

"Do me a favour when you get back." Ghost said, wrapping the guaze around your hand. Simon was surprisingly gentle when it came to patch ups. "The coward that put you in jail, make sure he pays up."

"Laswell told me she was looking into it. Don't worry." You assured him. Ghost had his commanding officer fuck him over too, but he'd had it a lot worse. You flexed your hand a bit to test the wrappings before Ghost applied tape.

"Soap to Ghost." Soap was heard in both your ear pieces. Ghost packed the kit up quickly, getting Soap to continue. "There's a guard approaching, west side."

"Company?" He asked.

"Find cover." Soap said confirming. You looked at the program still running. Unplugging it would mess up the files, you know that. Ghost could hide no problems there, but you were a different story. Seeing your panic, Ghost ordered you to get on top of the server towers. You looked at your laptop, but he hissed for you to leave it. Yep you weren't going to argue with him. Ghost instead hid beside the tower closest to the door, while you waited on the tower. You kept glancing down to see if the program had finished yet. Almost. Come on, come on, come o-the door opened and you pressed yourself against the top of the tower as much as you could.

The guard walked in casually, likely a routine check-up, make sure no one was fucking around on duty, literally and figuratively. The door slowly closed behind the guard while you held your breath. You know Ghost isn't gonna kill em, if he does it will raise alarms if anyone finds him. Knocked out, it could be from anything. Ghost readies himself, shifting his weight to go in for a headlock. Then the guard stops and starts patting his pockets. Holy shit there was no fucking way. The guard turned and freaking left?!

"Click, where are we at with the files." Ghost asked as soon as the door shut behind the guard. You glanced down again.

"Done." You whispered with excitement. Okay, one down, one more to go.

"The guard is leaving, you need to move." You heard Alejandro say. Didn't need to tell you twice. You hopped down from the tower, and unplugged your laptop, stashing it away quickly. Ghost left the room the same way he came in. Once you had you gloves back on you got back to vent. You moved quickly knowing it the guard could return again, even with Ghost out there lingering. The office was a much longer way to go, with plenty more vents along the way. You overheard some muffled conversations, casual stuff from guards and other cartel members.

"Click hold up." You heard over the comms. You stopped, looking through the vent grate. You had a tracker pinging your location through the shafts, so the team knew where you were for each room. You noticed a group of people chatting, all masked. Your small size, meant less weight so no issue with making too much noise. You could hear Soap's irritation over comms.

"Soap, status?" Ghost requested.

"There's someone else in the office, talking to the leader. They're chatting and friendly by the looks of it."

"You need a distraction?" Gaz offered. He and Price had been pretty quiet throughout the mission thus far.

"Alejandro?" Soap asked.

"In position." He said. After a confirmation from Price you start to hear a loud ruckus. The men below look around confused, unsure of what they were hearing. Then you hear Alejandro barking orders at them in Spanish and they start moving. You needed to move to. Rudy would have to make himself scarce, so you would only have Soap as your eyes through the walls. You're a little ways from the main office when you hear a noise in your earpiece followed by Soap cursing again.

"Soap status?" Ghost asked, more concern in his voice.

"Shift change." He said quietly. Okay now you had to move faster and you scurried through to office, overhearing a commotion from Soap, likely dealing with his shift change. Get in and get out, the commotion will pull the leader away. Rudy confirmed it. Except the leader's guest was still in there, with Rudy guarding the door. You saw them once you reached the office, and saw him sitting casually at the desk, as if he were just waiting for his boss to return so they could keep up their friendly chat.

You kept an eye on him, waiting for the commotion on Soap's end to finish. The extra occupant was an unplanned variable. There was no back-up plan aside from the distraction. Damn it this made things more complicated. "We have a John Smith in the office."

Soap stopped whatever he was doing with the guard and returned to cameras. He saw the extra variable. You had to wait for orders, and heard him talking to Simon about what they could do to get rid of the guy. Killing him would be the easiest but it's harder to cover up as opposed to a quiet infiltration. Your ears flattened, as you let yourself relax in the tight space for a moment. You arms were getting sore from holding yourself up. Mad props to the soldiers who could do it under long stretches of dirt and mud.

John Smith got up from his chair and started to walk around the room. You reported it, and heard Soap, Ghost and now Alejandro debating what they could do. Then the stranger turned, letting you get a good look at his face. Your ees widen, and you cover your mouth to keep yourself from gasping. No, there was.... no. That fucking bastard.

"I don't recognize him." Alejandro said.

"I... I do." You said, trying to control your emotions. The soft white noise of the comms was deafening as you remembered the night at your apartment, when he came to see you. You thought he came to be friendly, but you were naive. Thinking you were doing the right thing.

"Click, we need a name." Ghost said, having to repeat himself. You gave his name and his rank. The team realized your connection to him immediately.

"Permission to engage?" You asked. Price needed a moment to think about it.

"Can you keep control?" He asked.

"Affirm."

"Engage, you do not have execute authority." Price ordered.

That's all you needed, as you got the vent grate off. You waited for him to come into view, being sure he could hear the noise. As soon as he was in view, the grate was angled and aimed. You forced it down as hard as you could and hit him in the head, making him stumble back and fall against the desk. You didn't know it but the noise form outside the office caused Rudy whip around. He'd heard the order but didn't know what you'd done.

You dropped down with ease, landing in a crouch while your old boss groaned. When you stand you keep an eye on him, pulling up your face mask. You heard Rudy ask if you wanted help. No you could handle this. Once again you plugged in your laptop to the main computer and ran the program. While that was running, you went back to your boss, who was slowly getting back up, and hit him in the stomach, getting him keel over. That was a mistake.

Your former boss is bigger than you, by a couple of feet. Keeling over he was able to grab you, and drag you with him to ground, pinning you down on your stomach. "Hey there mouse. Long time no see."

Of course he recognized you. You had been the shortest on your old team, and the only hybrid. He thought it would disarm you, but you freed your arm and elbowed him in the face, hard. Once he rolled off of you, you were much faster, climbing on top of him. His mistake was not wearing any armour. Jail time taught you some tactics as well. A quick comm to Rudy and you grabbed between your former boss's legs. You grabbed hard, fingers curved in. The look on hos face was so worth it.

Did he try to knock you off? Yep, but any attempts vanished when Rudy sent in the cadejos at your request. Both stood over him growling. When he tried to cry out, you covered his mouth. His pained muffled groans however would have left plenty of questions if there weren't visuals to back it up.

"Anybody have some questions for this guy? He's an informant working with a cartel after all. Not undercover either." You asked. They didn't admit it, but anyone seeing you on the cameras was wincing a little at yur methods.

"Is he a client of the cartel?" Price asked, unable to see what exactly was going on.

"Are you a client?" You asked him, uncovering his mouth.

"You're a rat bitch." He said. You squeezed, and admittedly, enjoyed his pained expression.

"Yeah I am, but that's not the fucking question." You told him. "Are you a client? Yes or no?"

"N-no." He managed. You loosened your grip.

"Why are you here then? Serve them with a warrant to check their liquor cabinet?" You asked, jerking your head towards the glass of alcohol on the desk.

"To keep your ass in check." He said. You squeezed again.

"You never needed to keep my ass in check. Try again!" You said.

"A business deal." He said quickly. You loosened and he sighed with some relief.

"See it'll hurt less if you do answer me nicely. Also keep in mind, we're in the very room containing documents that can easily disprove your statements." You said.

"Information... for product." He said. "Get off of me."

You stayed on top of him, because you wanted to do so much worse to him. In this moment you had the high ground, both physically and morally. You wanted to twist.

"Click, how long until you have the data?" Rudy asked. By now he'd probably seen what was going on. You needed to focus. Besides, now you had proof of his guilt and an extra reason to walk free after. You twisted your body and made out only a few seconds left on the screen. Your former boss tried to take advantage of your vulnerable state, but you were faster, punching him in the throat. Then you put your hands together into a fist and slammed down on his stomach, lifting your legs to bring more momentum with your weight. Yeah he wasn't going to get up any time soon.

Once you got off of him, you got to the other side of the desk, turning your laptop around to face you. Data completed. "Just need some hard copies."

"We're out of time Click, take what you have." Price said. Damn it, you got caught up in your personal drama. The cadejos vanished, returning to their vessel. As you watched them leave, your attention attached itself to some papers on the desk. A contract, with signatures. You took out your phone and started taking photos, as many as you could in between a rushed packing job. You even opened a desk drawer and took photos of the inside before putting the laptop in it's bag. Okay now it was time to go.

"I need an evac." You said.

"Rodolfo." Alejandro said. All he needed to say. Rudy came in and you put your hands up in surrender. The same routine as when it started, except he left your legs alone. Your buff went over your eyes and you were led out of the room. Your old boss was still on the ground groaning. Rudy took one look at him before turning and dragging you out of the room. You didn't see much of what happened after that.

Once you returned to base, you thanked Rudy for his help. Too much longer and Rudy might have passed out, you knew it was a risk. His only request was that on the off chance the two of you worked together, you warn him if you do something like that. You could agree to that.

As for the data you collected, it was enough to get the cartel taken down, and put plenty of people behind bars. You contract could also put your old superior away, and reopen the investigation into the crimes you'd committed. Until then you were permitted to remain on base, working through the intel you'd collected. Your assistance had been a great asset.

One day you get pulled into Price's office where he commends you on a job well done, especially when it had been so personal. Unfortunately, that was your one flaw, in your opinion. You made and took things personally. It was why you put on a sarcastic attitude from time to time.

"Yeah well, I had the motive of a hefty paycheck." You told him, cracking your back oulling your knee to your chest and resting your chin on it. It wasn't the real reason, but Price didn't call your bluff. That smug look you gave him was growing on him, ever so slightly.

"About that..." Price started. Your ears flattened, and your body straightened. What the fuck, you signed a contract! You should be getting paid. Price smirked at your insulted expression. "You're still getting paid, and a substantial amount."

"But?" you asked. Yeah there had to be more. No way there wasn't.

"You have a great skillset, you have a strong mentality, your abilities prove that you're a great asset, and you get along well with the rest of the men. That being said, I can't recruit you because of your criminal record. Laswell was adamant."

You fidgeted in the chair, listening intently to what he had to say. The captain slid a piece of paper across his desk. You took it and looked it over. "I could use someone like you on my team though."

Freelance work. The paper was another contract, for Price to have the ability to call on you should he need your services. It was tempting. The risk involved...

"I think I'd be better off giving you my number." You admitted. "I'm sorry Cap. Military and politics aren't the best for me. Learned that some time ago."

Price could've told you everything that was in that contract, how it ensured your immunity if charges were ever laid, the high prices they were willing to pay, and your freedom to turn down work. You'd already been screwed over hard by the system. Would the contract let you do what you did best? Yep. But it forced you to make judgment calls, ones that went wrong in the past. Price understands your concerns.

"Let me know when it changes." He said. You could agree to that.

You reclined in your chair with your headset and your feet on your desk. A video was playing in your ears, while you were gaming with the controller in your lap. After a long day you deserved some time to yourself. Your lamp was on to keep your eyes from watering, while your laptop ran through some programming and codes. You set the controller aside, to take another bite of your take out. You get two notifications on your phone which you check. The first is from your ankle bracelet having an issue. You contact the officer in charge of you, informing him that you're not doing anything and the bracelet is having problems.

The second is from a familiar name. You smiled, and called him. "Hello new phone, who dis?"

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @0wosugarmommymedic0wo @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @lolyouranelf

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SCOTT MONROE's weight pressed you harder into the mattress, hand covering your mouth as his hips kept moving against yours. The cheap bed frame creaked under his rough pace, sound echoing just too loud with your whimpers following

“Keep it down,” he droned, eyes burning into yours, catching every flicker of your desperate expression. “You want my mom to walk in here and see her sweet little boy fucking someone like you?”

Your muffled whimper vibrated against his palm again, fat tears pooling in your eyes as shame loomed your mind for feeling heat bloom deep in your belly. His other hand moved to grip your hip hard enough to leave a bruise, anchoring you as he slammed into you again and again, stretching your hole in a ways that made you want to scream

“Look at you,” he sneered, lips going down to brush against your ear. “Such a fucking mess. You couldn’t wait, could you? Had to come crawling into my bed like the needy little slut you are.”

His words stung, hurt, yet they sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, as bad as it may sound. Your nails scraped along his back, desperate for something to hold onto while he was in the middle of wrecking you, cock hitting that devastating spot with every thrust.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Scott snapped, pulling his hand from your mouth to wrap it around your throat instead. Thumb pressed lightly against the side of your neck, where your pulse was, just enough to make you gasp and your fingers claw at his wrist. “You’d let me do this anywhere, yeah? Against the wall, in Sam's car--hell, maybe even in the fucking living room if I told you to.”

You really tried to respond, do anything, but your words came out as a broken, choked moan from the pressure of his hand and the strength of his movements.

“Pathetic,” he muttered with a grin crossing his lips. His free hand slide down your body to where you were soaked and slick for him; fingers circled your clit with such precision your body arched up to him, a cry escaping your lips before you could even stop it.

And who would have known, that through the smallest gape at Scott's doors, a pair of eyes were watching his twin brother treat you as if you were nothing but the dirtiest slut ever

Scott froze, hand letting out from your throat to, surprisingly, gently smack your thigh “What the fuck did I just say?” voice a harsh whisper. “You want her to hear? Want my mom to know I’ve got you spread out, dripping all over my cock like this?”

Your lips trembled, head shaking as tears slipped down your flushed cheeks. The humiliation, the pleasure--it was way too much, and obviously Scott could see it all screaming over your face. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, a quiet groan slipping free despite trying to hold himself.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping down as his rhythm faltered. The mean, sharp tone in his voice cracked, and he whimpered, dick pulsing around your walls “I hate how fucking good you feel.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his skin as a gasp left his swollen lips “I--hate it--I hate how much I fucking need you.”

His voice broke, low whimper slipping from his lips once more as he buried himself deep one last time, trembling with the force of his upcoming release.

And for a moment, when it was all over, as his lips brushed against yours, soft and shaky, Scott wasn’t mean or cruel. He was just a boy who wanted you to stay.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

[shdysders]

supposed to hate you

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: in which tara can’t stand you—or at least, that’s what she keeps telling herself as her feelings start to betray her.

word count: 4.2k

Tara hated you.

She always had, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. There was no big moment, no obvious reason, just an unshakable irritation that bubbled up whenever you were near.

It was the way you'd slide into a room like you owned it, or that casual grin you wore like it was a personal insult to her bad day.

And, God, did it get under her skin when you'd laugh too loudly, making yourself the center of attention without even trying.

It was as if everything you did was meant to grate on her, whether it was intentional or not.

Even the smallest things—like how you'd hum under your breath or that habit of fidgeting with anything in reach—felt like they were tailored to press every one of her buttons.

And you knew she hated you.

Somehow, Tara was sure you’d caught on long ago, because why else would you keep doing all those little things that drove her up the wall?

The smug smile whenever she entered the room, the way you’d throw playful jabs at her to get a rise out of her, or that habit of smirking at her determination as if it were a joke.

She could swear you were doing it all on purpose.

But somehow, despite all this, the two of you had ended up in the same friend group, circling each other with forced politeness for everyone else's sake. And for some reason, none of them understood the tension between you and Tara.

Yet the two of you never seemed to have a normal conversation; every exchange was a battleground of snarky comebacks and teasing remarks.

You had this way of throwing her little digs back at her, always one step ahead with some sly remark that kept the tension alive. It was like you'd both accepted that bickering was your default, each ready with a retort before the other had even finished talking.

What made it worse was that, for some reason, the rest of the group found your dynamic entertaining.

Mindy, especially, seemed convinced that Tara's irritation ran so deep because, deep down, the two of you were practically the same.

She'd even pointed out once that, with your stubbornness, quick wit, and constant arguments, you were basically Tara's double. But that idea only made Tara's anger simmer hotter.

The thought that anyone could see her in you was something she refused to accept, and it left her even more determined to despise you.

And it was no different now, as Tara sat in the middle of her English class, which was already dragging when the second bell rang.

Mrs. Jenkins was already droning on at the front of the room, her slow voice making it impossible to keep focused.

Mrs. Jenkins was the type of teacher whose voice could lull anyone to sleep within minutes—a slow, monotone drawl that somehow never wavered, no matter the subject.

She was a small, wiry woman with glasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose, always casting a critical gaze over the top of them as if searching for the next pair of students to corral into cooperation.

Tara usually found herself fighting to keep her eyes open, pinching her wrist to keep her focus whenever Mrs. Jenkins launched into another long-winded explanation.

Mrs. Jenkins was also notorious for her obsession with partner projects. For some reason, she'd decided that her students could never be trusted to work alone, and she always seemed to pair people up in the worst possible combinations.

Almost like she thought throwing everyone into random pairs would somehow force them into cooperation or something.

Tara was just settling in, halfway through mindlessly tapping her pen against her notebook, when you pushed open the door.

You strolled in, two minutes late, looking completely unfazed, like walking in after the bell was some kind of statement.

Just seeing you made her want to roll her eyes.

Her eyes drifted to the empty seats around the room, her stomach sinking as she realized the only free one left was right next to her. She clenched her jaw.

Of course that would happen.

Of course Anika had to stay home with the flu. And of course Tara couldn't help but blame nobody but Annika for her luck, not Mrs. Jenkins for not separating the seats.

You looked around, smirked when your gaze landed on her, and started making your way over. She braced herself, already annoyed as you dropped into the seat with a casual grin that somehow felt like it was just for her.

She shot you a look, voice low but sharp enough to make her irritation clear.

"Do you ever show up on time?"

You shot her a sideways grin, unfazed. "Wouldn't want you getting bored without me."

And there it was again—the familiar spark of irritation, mixed with something else she didn't care to admit.

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed.

"Trust me," she shot back, arching an eyebrow with a cool stare that could cut glass. "You're not that interesting." Her voice had that hard edge to it, her words clipped as if she hoped each one would hit its mark.

She felt a flicker of satisfaction at her retort, a sense of determination to get the last word in—just once.

But even as the words left her lips, she knew how this would end. She never got the last word with you; somehow, you always had a comeback ready, some sly remark that kept her on edge, just a half-step behind.

It was infuriating, knowing you'd already won this exchange before she'd even finished talking, and yet, she couldn't seem to stop herself from trying.

So of course, her comeback only made you chuckle softly. You tilted your head, still studying her with that amused glint in your eyes. "You seem to be paying me a lot of attention for someone who's supposedly not interested."

Tara clenched her jaw, already thinking up a response, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Jenkins cleared her throat at the front of the room, pulling everyone's attention.

She held a stack of papers, her voice filling the room as she announced, "Alright, everyone. Today, we're starting partner projects," she announced, eyeing the class as she held up a stack of papers.

"You'll be working in pairs, and since we're short a few people"—her gaze swept over to you and Tara.

And, of course, with Annika out and no one else nearby, it was clear who Tara's partner would be.

"The two of you can work together." She gestured loosely at the two of you with her whole hand, her glasses slipping to the tip of her nose as if she was sealing your fate herself.

Tara's stomach twisted. Just her luck.

Out of all the people in the class, she had to be stuck with you. She could already feel the annoyance creeping up, the certainty that this project would be anything but smooth.

Being around you always felt like walking a tightrope—every word, every look somehow irked her in a way she couldn't quite explain.

She let out a quiet sigh, bracing herself for the inevitable back-and-forth she knew would come with working together.

Mrs. Jenkins continued pairing the rest of the class, her voice droning on as she named off each group.

You seemed to watch each pairing, eyes following her hand as she pointed out partners as if every decision mattered. Of course you were paying attention to all of it, Tara thought, irritated. That was just like you.

Not that she cared who anyone else ended up with. Because right now, all her energy was spent swallowing down the frustration of being paired with you, knowing she was in for a long, drawn-out project full of the exact same tension you'd just exchanged.

Mrs. Jenkins, satisfied with her pairings, stepped back up to the front of the class. She cleared her throat, waiting for the murmur of voices to die down, before adjusting her glasses and lifting the stack of papers in her hand.

She started explaining the assignment, something about analyzing a passage from a novel they'd been studying, breaking it down in pairs to present next week.

Tara tried to focus on the instructions, but she was painfully aware of your presence beside her, the faint tapping of your pen on the desk as you listened with that half-smile still lingering on your face.

She could feel you glancing her way, as if you knew how much this was getting under her skin, and it only made her determination to prove you wrong even stronger.

Once Mrs. Jenkins finished talking and handed out the assignment sheets, she walked around, checking in with pairs as they began discussing the project.

Tara looked over at you, already preparing herself for the inevitable back-and-forth she knew was coming, her expression set.

"Do you even remember what novel we're supposed to be working with?" she asked, her voice edged with irritation.

You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms with that familiar look of feigned concentration. "Oh, yeah. The Great Gatsby, right?"

She stared at you, her fingers tightening around the edge of her notebook. Just when she thought you couldn't be more infuriating, here you were, throwing out the wrong title like it was nothing.

How could anyone be this clueless?

But before she could bite back, you let out a soft, breathy laugh, that glint of amusement flashing in your eyes. "Relax, I'm kidding. It's Wuthering Heights."

Her jaw clenched, annoyance sharpening into something colder as she shook her head. "Right," she muttered, her tone dry. "Because it would kill you to just answer like a normal person."

You tapped your fingers idly on the desk, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Alright, so how are we splitting this? Or should I just sit here while you write the entire thing and glare at me for breathing too loud?"

Tara shot you a look, eyes narrowing. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure I'll be doing all the work anyway," she snapped, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

Your smirk widened as you put your hands up in mock surrender, leaning back in your chair. "Well, if you're insisting on it, I really can't stop you."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, words caught in her throat as she considered snapping back.

But before she could come up with something biting enough, you tilted your head, dropping the playful tone just slightly. "So, realistically, whose place are we doing this at?"

The question made Tara's irritation deepen into something heavier. The idea of having to work on this project outside of class with you felt exhausting.

But you both knew very well that Mrs. Jenkins' lessons were always cut short by the schedule, leaving too little time to actually make progress in class.

Tara already dreaded the awkwardness and frustration of dealing with you here; the thought of it extending into her free time was worse.

Bringing you to her house was out of the question. Sam would almost definitely be home, and knowing Sam, she'd make a point of chatting with you. It was infuriating that Sam didn't seem to share her distaste for you.

But going to your house? Tara's mind reeled for a logical excuse—something about it felt even less appealing.

Without looking up from her notebook as she jotted down a few notes to avoid meeting your eyes, she muttered, "I was thinking the library, if you've ever set foot in one of those."

You chuckled softly, that amused glint back in your eyes. "I didn't know you cared about my literacy so much. But sure, the library works."

You paused for a moment, leaning a bit closer. "You free after school, or is that the time you reserve for taking that stick out of your ass?"

Tara's jaw clenched, eyes snapping up to meet yours, her pencil threatening to snap under the pressure of her grip. You'd agreed, sure, but you'd managed to infuriate her all the same.

"After school's fine," she said flatly, before turning her attention pointedly back to her notes, wishing the bell would ring already.

Fortunately for Tara, it did, just minutes later, the sharp clang cutting through the tension that had coiled around her like a vice.

It seemed to be the only stroke of luck she could count on for the week, at least.

As soon as the sound echoed through the room, Tara was up, shoving her notebook into her bag with quick, agitated movements. She didn't waste a second, her movements brisk as she ignored your casual, "See you later," tossed her way.

Without waiting for anyone or pausing to catch her breath, she pushed her way through the bustling hallway, weaving between groups of students and dodging backpacks that jutted out into her path.

The sooner she was away from you, the better.

When she reached a spot far away from everyone, she exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and yanked her phone out of her pocket, still walking. Her fingers flew over the screen as she typed:

guess who i'm stuck working with for the english project?

The response came almost immediately, as if Mindy had been waiting for some kind of drama to break out.

Spill.

Before Tara could type a response, her phone buzzed again with a string of messages from Mindy.

Bryan who always falls asleep in history?

Loud chewing Hannah?

Victor?!

Tara let out a breathy laugh despite herself, rolling her eyes at the rapid-fire guesses. Mindy's knack for dramatics never failed to pull her out of her own frustration, even if just for a moment.

She was about to tap out a reply when she spotted Mindy leaning against her locker, arms crossed and a curious look already on her face.

"Finally," Mindy said as if she hasn't been waiting for no longer than two minutes, pushing off the locker with a grin. "So, who's the lucky partner?"

Tara snapped her phone screen off and glanced over, still holding onto her irritation. "You won't believe it," she muttered, janking her own locker open with more force than necessary.

Mindy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh! Don't tell me it's Brian from algebra—you know, the one who still counts on his fingers."

Tara's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, but she quickly suppressed it. "Worse."

Mindy leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Worse than Brian?" She tilted her head, rattling off another guess. "Please don't say it's Becca from gym class, the one who makes breathing into a competition."

Tara let out a humorless laugh. "No, but I'd take Becca over this."

Mindy's grin faltered as she studied Tara's expression. Realization dawned on her face, and she gasped dramatically. "Wait, no. Y/N?"

Tara's silence was answer enough.

Mindy's mouth dropped open before she broke into a chuckle. "What, did Mrs. Jenkins draw names out of a hat and decide to create chaos?"

Tara groaned, closing her eyes for a second. "Feels like it."

Mindy nudged her shoulder playfully. "Hey, maybe this is your chance to finally work out whatever weird tension is between you two."

Tara's glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. "Don't. Even."

Mindy laughed, raising her hands in surrender but couldn't help adding, "Come on, Tara. It's like fate's way of telling you to loosen up. Maybe you need a challenge."

Tara shook her head, slamming her locker shut and pushing past Mindy, muttering, "The last thing I need is Y/N's smug face outside of class."

Mindy's voice followed her as she walked away. "Or maybe it's exactly what you need!"

"No," Tara muttered, shoving a stray book into her bag with unnecessary force. "And I don't want to."

Mindy leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "This is your chance. Come on, Tara, look at you—you need to ease up. You need a good—"

"Stop," Tara interrupted, the flush on her cheeks deepening as she scowled. "Don't even go there."

Mindy's grin only widened, unfazed by Tara's glare. "A good fuck," she finished, drawing out the words with a teasing lilt.

Tara's eyes widened in shock, the blush on her cheeks turning a deeper shade of crimson. "Mindy!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else had overheard. The hallway was busy, students rushing to their next classes, but Tara still felt exposed.

The comment sent a wave of nausea through her as well. "Are you out of your mind? That's not even funny," she shot back, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger.

Mindy just laughed, the sound light and carefree. "What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking," she said with a casual shrug. "You've been wound up tighter than a drum, and now you're paired up with the one person who gets under your skin the most. Tell me that isn't some cosmic joke."

Tara rolled her eyes, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. "It's not a joke. It's a nightmare," she muttered, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

Mindy reached out, stopping Tara just before she could turn away. "Hey, just... think about it," she said, her tone softening for a moment. "Maybe it won't be as bad as you're expecting."

Tara pulled her arm away, shaking her head as she started walking again. "It'll be worse," she whispered to herself, willing her heartbeat to slow down as she disappeared into the crowd.

___

It wasn’t worse.

Despite Tara's initial dread, working with you at the library hadn't been as unbearable as she'd anticipated.

Sure, there were moments where your casual confidence and the way you smirked at her when making a point still made her grit her teeth.

You'd tap your pen absentmindedly while explaining your ideas, a habit she found irritatingly distracting. And then there was the way you'd throw in a playful jab every now and then, your eyes glinting with amusement when she huffed in response.

But, to Tara's reluctant surprise, you were sharp, insightful even, when it came to analyzing.

The discussion had gone more smoothly than she'd expected, with ideas bouncing back and forth faster than she'd thought possible.

It struck her, in a fleeting moment she wasn't prepared for, that you weren't as infuriating now as you'd always seemed within the confines of the friend group.

You were still you, with your annoyingly self-assured manner and the smirk that made her want to roll her eyes, but it didn't seem so intolerable when it was just the two of you.

She had tried to shake off the thought, feeling a flicker of annoyance that she even had to acknowledge it.

But just as she had felt they were getting somewhere, her phone had buzzed in her pocket.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it—Sam had been calling, the texts piling up with increasing urgency, wondering where Tara was and why she hadn't come home yet. Tara's stomach clenched as she skimmed through the messages, noting the slight panic in Sam's words.

Realizing she couldn't ignore it any longer, she had packed up her things, muttering that you'd have to finish another time.

You didn't seem bothered, giving her a nod and a quick, teasing smile that left her more annoyed than she cared to admit as she left the library.

When she had gotten home that night, sleep eluded her. She had tossed and turned, frustration simmering just beneath the surface as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Thoughts of your discussions swirled in her mind, mingling with that annoying realization that you weren't as insufferable as she had always believed.

Over the following week, she had found herself paying more attention to you than she intended to. It wasn't like she had tried to; it just happened.

You were there, cracking jokes during lunch, your laugh ringing out louder than anyone else's, and Tara caught herself stealing glances when you were busy chatting with the rest of the group.

Even when you weren't around, she found herself thinking about you, which irked her more than she cared to admit.

It was infuriating how often you popped into her head, making her wonder what you would say in any given situation, or how you would tease her if you were there.

Tara gritted her teeth at the thought, refusing to admit how much it bothered her that she couldn't stop.

She hated that you had gotten under her skin, and she wasn't sure what it meant. All she knew was that it felt wrong to be so intrigued by you, and yet, here she was, wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking about her too.

It was confusing. Annoying, even. Tara hated the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about you lately.

But the more she tried to push the thoughts away, the more they seemed to cling to her. It wasn't just that you were smart-mouthed and quick-witted, though those things had always gotten under her skin.

No, it was something else—things she hadn't noticed before, or maybe things she had noticed but refused to acknowledge.

The way you smiled when you thought no one was looking.

Tara had started to notice that your smiles were different when you weren't throwing one of your usual smirks in her direction. When you smiled genuinely—like when you were talking to your friends or when you thought something was genuinely funny—it was softer, almost shy, and it made her stomach do this stupid little flip.

She hated that she even noticed it, but she couldn't help it. That smile wasn't something you gave to just anyone, and that realization made her heart race in a way she wasn't ready to confront.

And that damn smirk.

Tara couldn't get it out of her head.

There was something about it that drove her crazy, and not in the way she wanted to admit. It was infuriating how much she wanted to wipe it off your face—literally, and, to her horror, in ways she'd never imagined before.

She caught herself staring at your lips sometimes as well, wondering what it would be like to just lean in and kiss you, to catch you off guard and see that cocky expression falter.

The thought made her stomach churn with a mix of desire and disgust. What was wrong with her? Since when did she think about kissing you, of all people?

Why was this happening? Why couldn't she just hate you like she used to?

She'd always been good at handling her emotions, keeping them locked up tight where they couldn't hurt her.

But lately, whenever you were around, that control started to slip. It was like you'd found a way under her skin, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get you out.

She hated it. Hated how her heart raced whenever you smirked at her, how her stomach twisted with something that wasn't quite anger anymore.

She'd never felt this way before—this mix of anger and attraction that left her feeling off-balance, like she was constantly walking a tightrope. It was ridiculous, disgusting even, how much she let it affect her.

You were supposed to be her rival, her annoyance, the person she loved to hate. And yet, here she was, her thoughts consumed with you in ways that made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

She was supposed to hate you, not fantasize about something so ridiculous. But the more she tried to push the thoughts away, the more they lingered, haunting her even when you weren't around.

It was like she was losing herself, becoming someone she didn't recognize. How could she be so weak, so pathetic, to let these feelings take over?

The thought of you seeing her like this, vulnerable and conflicted, made her sick to her stomach. You'd probably just laugh at her, throw some snarky remark her way that would make her feel even smaller than she already did.

She needed to get a grip. This was just some stupid, fleeting attraction, nothing more.

It had to be.

She refused to believe that she actually liked you, that she wanted something more than just the back-and-forth banter that had defined your relationship.

Because if she admitted that, if she acknowledged the truth, it would change everything.

And that scared her more than anything.

So she did what she always did—pushed those thoughts down, buried them deep where they couldn't hurt her.

She'd pretend that nothing was different, that she didn't feel her pulse quicken whenever you walked into the room, that she didn't think about your stupid smirk when she was alone at night.

It was easier that way. Safer.

But deep down, she knew she was just lying to herself. And as much as she hated it, those feelings weren't going away. They were only getting stronger, no matter how hard she fought against them. And that terrified her more than anything.

Because she was supposed to hate you.

[kissandtellus]

Heyooo!!! Could I request a smut fic where you keep teasing Zayne for the whole day and he is usually composed and then he loses it and things happen 👀👀👀 I’m a teaser so would love to see how Zayne reacts to that. Hope you feel better and thank you!!!

Revenge is Best Served Cold

Synopsis: Teasing Dr. Zayne only has consequences you will love hate.

Warnings: Teasing, Soft!Dom Zayne, Use of Evol, Praising.

Breaking the cold exterior of a man like Zayne took lots of hard work. Hard work that included Y/n sending countless teasing photos while she knew he was inbetween surgeries. He had just finished up a difficult surgery, sweat sticking to his forehead as he pulled down his mask.

Zayne tore off his gloves and disposed of them before reaching for his phone on his desk. What greeted him was multiple images from his girlfriend who had the day off and was no doubt bored.

Zayne, whose hands were steady as could be, nearly dropped his phone when he opened the attachments. Multiple photos lined the text column, each more revealing than the last.

Fuck, he regretted buying her that dark blue lingerie set.

The work day couldn’t move any slower. Appointments droned by and Zayne was sure to finish up any paperwork ahead of time. His radio usually played smooth Jazz on the way home. But now he rode in silence, white knuckled on the steering wheel.

His home was quiet beside the soft home of the stereo where Y/n was playing her ‘indie’ playlist. Zayne removed his lab coat, placing it over the coat rack. He tied his shoes off and strutted with purpose straight to the bedroom.

Y/n was laying belly-down on the bed, still clad in that devilish blue lingerie set. Zayne felt his breath hitch in his throat when she looked over her shoulder, curls falling over her shoulder as she feigned innocence.

“Welcome h-“

“Do not look at me.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to look at him. Shit, that’s all he wanted. But he didn’t want her to break the tension that had been building between them all day. His hand found the back of her head, tangling in her hair and shoving her face first into the sheets. He leaned down, kneeling against the bed as his breath ghosted her ear.

“You’ve been a bad girl. Is your boredom so strong that you’d waste all the eccentric gifts I’ve gotten you, just to send me photos of your pretty pussy?” Zayne hardly ever cursed. But when he did, it felt like his ice Evol had pierced her very soul. Y/n didn’t get a single second to answer before the pretty little lingerie was torn away to nothing but shreds.

“Zay-“

“Quiet.” His large hand covered the expanse of her mouth as he summoned the smallest bit of his Evol to his fingertips. His touch trailed between her legs and to the most heated spot of her body. Y/n let out a panicked, yet muffled noise as the ice trailed right over her throbbing clit. “Do not think I will touch you here tonight.”

Zayne chuckled as he watched how she leaked over the bed and onto his sheets. “The saying is ‘revenge is best served cold’, right Darling?”

Y/n was left shivering, teeth shattering after multiple orgasms had been torn from her body. Zayne kept true to his word. Even when she pleaded, drooled over his clothes cock and now had bittersweet tears over her cheeks, he held strong.

“I’m sure the only photos I’ll be receiving at work from now on, is the healthy and nutritious meals you’ve had for lunch, isnt that right?”

“Y-yes sir~!”

“Good girl.”

[livelaughloveluffy]

love languages - black leg sanji

a/n: as i become increasingly more frustrated with my current medical situation and struggle with the lack of control i have over it, writing fanfic is a nice distraction to cope with all the stress 😭😭

a/n: sanji is and always will be my comfiest comfort character. it physically pained me to not just drone on and on while writing this fic. i can always endlessly gush over this man and i do so happily 😭😭😭😭😭

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

words of affirmation - praise constantly drips from sanji's lips, he can't help but fill the air between you two with flowery descriptions of how amazing you are, how lucky he is to have you, everything he loves about you, and so much more. he absolutely refuses to stand for any kind of negative self talk, instead he'll quell those thoughts and go on a long tangent of reassurance and admiration for you. the second sanji notices even the smallest hint of doubt or insecurity from you, he's there, ready to address your concerns, ease your worries, and do it all with the sweetest honey-coated voice.

acts of service - of course, the biggest example of sanji's love through an act of service is through his cooking. and when it comes to you, he is even more meticulous, spending hours in the kitchen, always serving you nothing less than true perfection. but this habit of his also extends to outside the kitchen. sanji adores physically pampering you. whether it's showering with you, getting to lather you up with soap and carefully rinse you off, drawing you a bath and scrubbing your hair while you get to lay down and enjoy the ambience. or helping you get ready, zipping up your dress, helping style your hair, applying your lipstick and mascara. he's the king of any sort of massage, and he often comes up behind you to gently rub your shoulders whenever you look tense, leaving small wet kisses along your neck as he does so. there's nothing this man wouldn't drop anything to do for you.

how he feels loved:

physical touch - there's nothing more reassuring to sanji when he's anxious or stressed than your touch. the warmth of your skin against his is his greatest comfort. but nothing comes close to the pure bliss he's in when he gets to sit in between your legs, laying his head back on the plush of your thighs, as you softly stroke his fluffy blonde hair. it's not something he allows himself to indulge in often, because he's so focused on your pleasure and well-being, but when you insist you want to, he's practically purring in your lap. you watch as every single muscle of his relaxes, and he eventually dozes off into the best sleep he could ever ask for.

words of affirmation - the curly-browed cook also finds comfort in any sort of praise. his heart will always skip a beat and his cheeks will flush at any compliment towards the meals he's prepared. it means the world to him when you tell him h's doing a good job, or reassuring your affection for him. sanji savors the sweet nothings you murmur as you fall asleep in his arms, treasuring them and committing them to memory.

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tags ♡: @chibinasuu @twiishaa @3v37773 @irethepotato @peachycat17 @dreamcastgirl99 @sanji-soup @suga-tofu @vamphoria @kcch-ns @hamhamhamtaro @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes @certain-tragedies @roronoazoroswife @teewon @all-by-myself98 @moonpri @thissaintjessi

want to join the taglist? click here!!

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[kaitlyn-imagines]

I’m cooking up some Remmick fic ideas, but first lets talk about the vampire hive mind in Sinners… 👀🥵

Remmick’s Hive Mind Takes:

Hive mind where you essentially share a mental phone-line, which directly connects a stream of consciousness between entities.

Emotions, thoughts, memories, pain, pleasure, and bonds are all communicated and shared through the hive mind.

Drones can choose when to share their mental faculties with one another, but the head of the hive has unbridled access to those vampires he fathers via bitten transformation.

Drones are naturally subdued, obedient, pleasant, and loyal to their head so long as they exist within the chain of command. Drones break free of the hive mind when the head is killed.

Drones naturally share a feeling of camaraderie and emotional intimacy to others within the same hive.

Drones can be compelled via the hive mind to act or speak a certain way. They can even be compelled to injure another vampire within the hive mind, but will resist a compulsion of self destruction.

The more powerful vampire heads can override the individual mind entirely and speak/act directly through their drones.

Vampire heads can host a large encompassing hive mind, multiple smaller circles, or individual bonds.

The smallest form of hive mind can be described as a mental thread linking two vampires which allows for the sharing of thoughts and feelings, but without the power imbalance of compulsion over the other. This relationship is called a bond.

Any vampire can host their own hive, but if you already belong to a head, the hive you cultivate risks falling under their command via the mental hierarchy

Some heads will eradicate drones in their hive if they are beginning to show signs of mental resistance to hive compulsion. Resistance can be built via prolonged, physical distance from the host or by building mental fortitude via a large hive of their own drones.

It is nearly impossible to transform someone into a vampire without imparting the hive mind to some extent. Therefore, most vampires will choose to feed without the commitment of transforming their victim.

Thoughts?? 👀

[cherrrydragon]

➤ sweet

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read it on ao3

SUMMARY ↳ Peter Parker is sweet. The kind of sweet you can't get enough of. It kind of ruins your life. One day, during lunch, it’s the same as any other. You three are sitting together, not really eating your food, too focused on talking. Then, Peter speaks up, and it kind of throws off your whole existence. “Did Liz get a new top?” His face is resting on his hand as he stares at the girl. You’ve always thought Liz was pretty, and what makes that even more unfair is that she’s nice. She helped you find your way to your class on time, and you have a bad habit of being willing to die for people once they show you even the smallest amount of kindness. pairing: tom!peter parker x fem!reader warnings: just reader having to watch the person she loves not love her. so basically all of us with our fav fictional characters tags/notes: MAJOR pining on reader's side, (not actually) unrequited love, 7k of this is just straight yap my bad, happy ending! wc: 8.5k

Peter Parker is a sweet boy.

He always has been. Even when people shunned him for no reason, he never shed that kind demeanor. He has remained unwaveringly gentle and compassionate.

Your first interaction with him is simply asking him for a pencil. You’ve just rushed into class, barely making it before the bell rang. As you fumble through your bag, you realize you forgot to pack a pencil. Hesitantly, you turn to the boy sitting next to you.

"Hey, uh, do you have an extra pencil I could borrow?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

Peter looks up from his notebook, his eyes meeting yours with a friendly, albeit slightly surprised, expression. He quickly reaches into his bag and hands you a pencil.

“Uh, yeah. here,” he smiled unsurely, handing you a pencil.

“Thanks,” you smile. You notice how he keeps his gaze on you for a moment before turning away.

The rest of the class goes by smoothly, thanks to Peter's pencil. As the teacher drones on, you can't help but sneak glances at Peter, noticing his focused expression as he takes notes diligently. There's something about him that draws you in—a quiet determination mixed with a genuine kindness.

When the bell rings, you suck in a breath and turn to him. “Hey,” you start, extending your hand holding his pencil. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Peter takes the pencil, his fingers brushing against yours. “Uh, yeah. Yeah! No problem.” You think the way he stumbles over words is pretty cute.

Time to be bold. Go for it, [Name]! “Can I sit with you at lunch?”

Peter's eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by your request. He hesitates for a moment, then nods with a shy smile. “I just, I don’t really sit with anyone and you seem nice so–”

“Yes,” he blurts out, wide-eyed. “That’s cool.”

You feel a mix of relief and excitement. “Okay, see you then?”

He nods, a little late. You smile and walk off to your next class, feeling buzzy. You really are looking forward to knowing Peter.

You didn’t really notice him before. He was always in the background, never too far but never too close. He was just a boy you didn’t know, but knew of. But you saw, saw how he was always there, saw how he held the door open for others, saw how he kept his head down and never bothered anyone.

As you anticipate lunch, you imagine conversations, shared laughs, and maybe even a little bit of awkwardness, but in the best way possible. The anticipation grew with each passing period.

Woah, maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. He might think you’re, like, weird. You really hope he doesn’t.

As lunch finally approaches, you gather your things and head to the cafeteria, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. You scan the room, looking for Peter, and spot him sitting not alone at a table near the window. There’s a boy next to him. His friend probably (who else would it be?). Taking a deep breath, you make your way over.

"Hey, Peter," you greet with a smile as you reach his table.

Peter looks up from his tray, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. "Hey," he responds, a bit more confidently than before.

You turn your attention over to his friend, who is looking at Peter, a bit surprised. “Hello.”

“Hey,” he greets you, discreetly elbowing Peter. “I’m Ned.”

“[Name],” you say.

“Why are you sitting here?” he asks bluntly. You blink at the abruptness of it as Peter hisses, “Ned!”

“Uh,” you stutter, suddenly feeling out of place. “I can go if you want–”

“No!” yelps Peter. “He’s just being stupid. What he means is that, well, we don’t really have any friends. But we’d–” he spares a subtle glare at Ned, “–like to be yours. If that’s what you want.” 

His eyes bore into yours earnestly. “Please stay.”

You pause for a moment, processing Peter's earnest plea. Ned looks a bit sheepish now, realizing his bluntness may have come off the wrong way. You glance between them and smile, feeling your nerves ease a bit.

The three of you start chatting, and you quickly find yourself laughing at their silly and nerdy jokes. You learn Peter is really into science and chemistry.

“You know Peter has an internship at Stark Industries?” says Ned, leaning in.

Peter stares at Ned hard. “Oh, really?” you hum.

Peter quickly tries to downplay it, waving his hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal, really. Just a lot of organizing and data entry," he says, clearly trying to stay humble.

You shrug. “I think it’s cool.” You do, you’re impressed.

A hint of a smile crawls on Peter’s face.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, you feel a pang of disappointment. But Peter looks at you with a hopeful expression. "Um, do you want to sit with us again tomorrow?"

You stare at him earnestly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay,” he nods, more so to himself. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

From then on, you become a part of their group, officially Peter’s friend. You learn that Peter is not just smart, but also incredibly kind-hearted. He always goes out of his way to help others, even if it means sacrificing his own time. The bond between you strengthens, and soon you're sharing inside jokes and stories about your classes.

You somehow manage to land yourself a spot on the Academic Decathlon (no, not because Peter’s on the team). But, to be honest, you wouldn’t have tried if not for him. You’ve never considered yourself all that smart, you don’t really try that hard in school. Peter says you’re ‘naturally smart.’ You never gave it much thought, but a compliment from him makes you happy.

“You got this,” Peter assures you before every practice.

One day, during lunch, it’s the same as any other. You three are sitting together, not really eating your food, too focused on talking. Then, Peter speaks up, and it kind of throws off your whole existence.

“Did Liz get a new top?” His face is resting on his hand as he stares at the girl. You’ve always thought Liz was pretty, and what makes that even more unfair is that she’s nice. She helped you find your way to your class on time, and you have a bad habit of being willing to die for people once they show you even the smallest amount of kindness.

“No. We’ve seen that before, but never with that skirt,” replies Ned.

Liz waves at a couple of girls that greet her. You think her voice is pretty.

“We should probably stop staring before it gets creepy though,” notes Peter, still looking at her.

“Too late,” comes a voice at the end of the table. A girl, unbothered and doing her own thing. Oh, that’s MJ. “You guys are losers,” she says, unapologetic. “Except for [Name]. Hi, [Name].”

You wave at her. “Hi, MJ.”

Peter raises his hand in confusion, looking at you for answers. You shrug, not having any. That’s just how MJ is.

“Well, then why do you sit with us?” asks Ned.

MJ flicks her hair out of her face. “Because I don’t have any friends.”

And ain’t that the truth.

“Let’s move to the next question,” hums Liz, flicking through index cards. “What is the heaviest naturally-occurring element?”

You’re not really paying much attention to practice, even though you really should be. You’re too busy staring at Peter.

“Peter, it’s nationals,” you hear. “Is there now way you could take one weekend off?”

Wait, Peter’s not going to nationals?

“I can’t go to Washington. If Mr. Stark needs me, I have to make sure I’m here.” Well, you do like a man who has his priorities straight.

“You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark,” says Flash, doing absolutely jack shit across the room. His voice grates your ears.

“Wait, what’s happening?”

“Peter’s not going to Washington.”

“No, no, no, no.” Felt that.

“Really? Right before Nationals?” asks Liz, wincing at him disapprovingly.

“He already quit marching band and robotics lab,” hums MJ, reading her book. Your fellow members turn to look at her. You know that, but why does she? “I’m not obsessed with him. Just very observant.” Well, you are obsessed with him. Just a little. A healthy amount.

Liz says something to Flash, and at the mention of him you automatically zone him out. You spend the time staring at Peter, who briefly glances at you before looking behind him at the ticking clock.

The rest of the day he’s tapping his fingers against the desk and moving his leg up and down. You barely manage to catch him at the door before he runs off. Peter looks at you, momentarily startled as you catch up to him. He gives you a quick smile, though you can tell his mind is elsewhere.

“Peter,” you say, frowning slightly. “Why aren’t you coming?”

He shrugs, trying to appear casual. “You know already, [Name]. The internship is really important. I gotta be ready at any time.”

“Tony Stark can’t spare you one day?” You raise a brow at him. “I think that goes against some kind of labor law.”

Peter furrows his brows, taken aback. “No, it’s not like that,” he defends quickly, shifting uncomfortably. “Mr. Stark… relies on me. I don’t wanna let him down.”

You give him a sympathetic look. “You’re really smart, Peter. There’s no way that’s possible.”

His gaze softens, smiling secretly to himself. You lightly punch his shoulder, and he gives you a mock offended look. “You’re the whole reason I even joined, and now you’re bailing on the most important day? Fake friends, I swear.” You’re mostly joking, it’s not that big of a deal. But you still would’ve liked him to be there with you.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the spots you hit him (dramatic, you barely touched him). “You’re smart, [Name]. You don’t need me.”

Yeah, you don’t need him, but you want him.

He grabs your hand and squeezes it tightly, briefly, before turning and walking away. “I’ll make it up to you, promise!”

Your heart skips a beat, at both his gesture and his words. “Okay,” you say softly, knowing he’s already gone.

“Hi. I’m Captain America. Whether you’re in the classroom or on the battlefield…”

You wonder how they convinced this guy to stand in front of a camera and yap to a bunch of high schoolers who just simply don’t care. Peter and Ned are mumbling about something, too hushed for you to hear.

“Isn’t he like a war criminal, now?” you mutter. Peter leans in to you to hear better.

He chuckles softly, breath tickling your ear. His proximity sends a warm shiver down your spine. “Sucks, he’s kind of cute.”

Peter chokes, looking at you in surprise. “In, like, a celebrity crush kind of way,” you shrug.

Peter’s face flushes a soft pink, and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Yeah, um, I guess? I didn’t think you’d like older guys…?” He trails off, fumbling with his fingers. His awkwardness only makes him more endearing.

Ned snickers beside him. “You’re not wrong. Captain America’s got that whole classic charm thing going on.”

Peter shoots him a look. “Dude.”

It’s only natural you and MJ pair up for the exercises. Though, to be fair, you’re not really doing much exercising. Instead, you’re too busy ogling Peter.

“You’re down horrendously bad,” says MJ, unapologetic.

You blink, looking down at her. “Huh.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She looks unimpressed by your attempt to seem unaware.

The way Peter effortlessly does pull-ups is doing something to you, and it’s really embarrassing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” she snorts. You watch as Peter flicks his attention over to… Liz. Always Liz. Never you.

“Is he staring at her again?” MJ asks, looking over. Your heart sinks a little.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mutter. “He’s just my friend.”

MJ raises an eyebrow, studying you for a moment before shrugging. “If you say so.”

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

The entire gym looks over at Ned and Peter. Um. What was that, Ned? Peter gets up, sputtering and denying Ned’s claim.

“They’re friends,” says Ned.

“Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends.” Your nose scrunches up at Flash’s words. MJ catches it and nods her approval.

Peter glances around nervously, his eyes meeting yours for a split second before darting away. You feel bad for him, even if he doesn’t have need for anyone’s pity. Peter is cool, and really smart. He’s also really cute, and he bites his lip when he’s focused on something. He can’t sit still for very long, and he has a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when–

Yikes, girl. Focus.

Wait, Liz’s party?

“Yeah, I’m having people over tonight. You’re more than welcome to come,” she nods, demeanor kind of shy.

“Having a party?” Peter’s voice is breathy, and it makes your fingers clench.

The bell rings before Peter can decline (or accept, because why would he ever decline?) and Liz spares him a look as she walks away. Peter looks up at the ceiling in frustration, turning to Ned to snarl something at him.

Probably upset because Flash made fun of him in front of the girl he likes, you think miserably.

You help MJ up off the floor, waving her goodbye as she leaves. Your legs are barely able to talk you towards the door, wanting to go over to Peter. You can’t take your eyes off him, but you know you have to, so you tear them away and walk out.

As you walk away, you can't help but feel a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Peter's feelings for Liz are clear, but you can't deny your own growing affection for him.

“[Name]!” Peter’s voice is very recognizable (to you at least). You hear his footsteps rush over, coming to a stop by your side. You turn to face him, your heart pounding. "Hey, Peter," you say, trying to sound casual.

He looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you can't quite place. "Hey, uh, I just wanted to say... about what Ned said earlier. I mean, he's just being, you know, Ned."

You nod. “It’s okay Peter, I think it’s cool you know Spider-Man.” Everything about him is cool.

Peter’s eyes widen slightly at your words. "Really? You do?" He seems both relieved and surprised by your reaction. He crosses his arms, trying to seem casual. “And, uh… what do you think about Spider-Man?”

Peter's question catches you off guard. You stare at him, a bit taken aback by his curiosity. “Well, I think he’s a hero,” you shrug. “Reliable.”

Peter kind of… stares. In awe of you. Then he snaps out of it, cheeks flushing as he looks down.

He clears his throat, changing the subject. “So, uh… you going to Liz’s party?”

You hadn't considered it, but the idea of spending more time with Peter, even if Liz is there, is tempting. Even so…

You purse your lips. “Probably not.”

He furrows his brows. “What? Who am I gonna go with?”

You snort. “Ned? Who else?”

“You.” He says it so absolutely it almost makes you fall to your knees. The idea is both thrilling and a bit nerve-wracking. The last thing you want is to feel out of place at a party, especially with your growing feelings for Peter.

“You want me to go with you?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant even though your heart is racing.

Peter nods earnestly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re up for it. It’d be… nice.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

Peter’s face brightens up instantly, a mixture of relief and excitement evident. “Ok. Cool! I’ll, um. Hope to see you there.” And then he’s off to do his own thing.

When you arrive at Liz's house, you immediately spot MJ, and it puts your mind at ease. She’s in her own world, happy to snack on the foods there. She looks up as you approach.

“Sup.”

“Hi.”

You stand together awkwardly. Well, you’re awkward, and she’s cool. The party is in full swing, with music playing and people milling about, making the large living room feel even more crowded.

It’s embarrassing how fast you spot Peter. It’s as soon as he arrives. He’s decided to keep it casual, but you think he looks good. Really good. God, MJ was right, you are down bad.

Speaking of which, she nudges you and nods her head in Peter and Ned’s direction. “You should go say hi to him.”

“But…” Liz is there. To be fair, she’s probably only greeting them. Saying ‘thanks for coming’ you know. But even so… you’re not sure you want to watch Peter’s attention stay on Liz when you’re also there.

You take a deep breath and muster up the courage to approach Peter. MJ gives you a supportive nod, and you make your way over to them.

“Hi, Peter,” you greet, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in your chest.

Peter turns to you, his face lighting up with a genuine smile that makes your stomach flip. “[Name]! You’re here.” His eyes are warm and welcoming, and for a moment, you forget about the rest of the party.

You nod, peering around him to greet Ned. “Hi, Ned.”

He gives you a small wave. “Hey, [Name].”

Peter's smile widens as he steps a little closer to you, clearly excited that you're there. His eyes roam your figure. “You look good.”

Your face warms. “Thanks. You too.”

“Dude. Peter,” says Ned, grabbing Peter’s arm. He begins to pull Peter away. “Sorry, [Name]. Gotta talk to him about something.” Peter looks affronted by Ned’s behavior, sending an apologetic glance your way.

You watch as Peter and Ned head off to the side, leaving you standing by yourself. A little awkwardly, you try to blend in with the crowd, scanning the room.

“Penis Parker, what’s up?”

Ugh, Flash. Who let him on the sound desk? He says a few mocking words, and suddenly Peter’s walking off somewhere.

You jog to catch up to him. “Peter, please don’t listen to Flash. He’s just an asshole.”

Peter stops in his tracks, looking back at you with a mixture of surprise and frustration. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, clearly struggling to find the right words.

“[Name],” he starts, voice honey sweet, “I’m not worried about Flash, I just…” He looks around for a moment, searching for whatever words he wants to say. “I gotta go do something. I’ll be back.”

You watch as Peter rushes out of the house, deflated. You feel a mixture of concern and confusion. The party goes on as if nothing happened, but your thoughts are entirely focused on him.

In a moment of impulsiveness, you decide to follow him. The cool night air hits you as you step out onto the porch, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Peter. Damn, where did he go? He’s fast. You walk down the front steps, glancing around. “Peter!” you call out, trying to catch his attention.

A movement catches your eye. Around the side of the house, on top of the neighboring ledge, there’s someone there. Your ears can barely pick up the rustling of clothes. Weird place to change clothes. How the hell did that guy even up there?

Wait a damn minute.

That guy is Peter. How the hell did he get up there so damn quick?

You keep yourself pressed against the wall, peeking around the corner. Why the hell is Peter even changing his clothes? He looks fine. Good, even. Wait, he’s changing his clothes. Maybe you shouldn't be spying on him, that’s weird. Oh, wait, he’s wearing something underneath. Something red and black, with web patterns on and a spider symbol on his chest.

…

Oh. Oh!

What the fuck!

As Peter pulls his undershirt off, you get a glimpse of him in his full Spider-Man glory. Holy shit, Peter Parker is Spider-Man. You knew there was something special about him, but this? This is a whole different level. The red and black suit, with its sleek, form-fitting design, is unmistakable. The spider emblem on his chest is a dead giveaway.

You swallow down the knot in your throat, willing your body to turn and go back inside.

He doesn’t come back.

You leave when Flash starts his ‘when I say Penis, you say Parker’ chant.

The yellow blazer feels tacky, but you’re required to wear it as part of the Academic Decathlon. Though, MJ isn’t wearing hers, so maybe you can get away with taking it off until you get to D.C.. But MJ is MJ.

“Hey, it’s Peter!”

What.

You turn around, seeing Peter run up to your group. Peter’s face is bright with excitement as he approaches your group. His usual nervousness is replaced by an eagerness you haven’t seen before. It’s like a different side of him is on display.

“I was hoping I could rejoin the team,” he says, looking at Liz.

And he’s welcomed back with open arms. He decides to sit next to you. You’re pretty sure because it’s closest to Liz, and because Ned has decided to sit in the back. You wonder if Ned knows his identity.

He nudges you with his arm. You’re snapped back to reality, looking at him. He’s staring at you, brows furrowed just the smallest bit. You feel your traitorous heart skip a beat, like it always does when he’s around.

“You okay? You’re quiet,” he murmurs, voice low.

You manage to nod, not having much to say. Are you mad that Peter kept this secret from you? No, of course not. There was never any obligation for him to tell you, or even anyone. It’s a pretty big secret to have, after all. Though, now you wonder if him being Spider-Man has something to do with that Stark internship…

Peter’s eyes linger on you, a mix of concern and curiosity. You can sense he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling. It’s a little uncomfortable, you’ve never really had to lie to him before, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to. You’ve just discovered one of the biggest secrets in your life, and it’s about someone who’s become so important to you.

His phone starts ringing. You peak at it, someone by the name of ‘Happy’. Weird name, but okay. He moves to the back of the bus to take, settling in next to Ned.

You sigh, slouching in your seat. You can’t believe your life.

At least you get to room with MJ. You’re just about to fall asleep when Liz comes knocking on your door, saying that she and the rest of the team are going to sneak down to the pool. MJ decides she’s going to come. For ‘enrichment’ she says. You on the other hand… kind of just want to stay inside right now.

Until another knock on your door rouses you from your would-be sleep. Again . You grumble as you make your way to your door, opening it to find Peter, his face a mix of uncertainty and hopefulness. “Hey,” he says, looking nervous. His hood is over his head. You think he’s got his suit under there.

You don’t bother trying to fix up your appearance since you truly doubt he doesn’t see you like that. “Hello?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, gesturing away from him. “You… weren’t with the others. Are you not going to go with them? To the pool?

You shake your head. “No, not feeling it.”

“Oh,” he nods, like it was obvious. “Are you, sick or something?”

“No.” You don’t mean to be blunt with him, but you don’t really know how to act around him anymore.

“Oh, Okay.” He shifts back and forth on his feet. “Can I come in?”

You open the door wider to let him in, never able to say no to him. Peter steps are hesitant and awkward, deciding to sit on the leaning against your bed, while you sit on the mattress.

“So..?” you prompt.

Peter licks his lips, looking down to fiddle with the hem of his hoodie. “I, um, wanted to talk. About... the party. Liz’s party.” For a moment, your heart races. Did he know you were there? He glances up, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I didn’t mean to, uh, leave you hanging. I just... had to go take care of something.”

You nod, understanding differently to what he knows. “It’s okay, Peter. I get it. I mean, you had... you had something important to do.”

Peter takes a deep breath, clearly relieved by your reaction. “I just... I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you or anything. I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.”

Peter’s earnestness tugs at your chest. He’s going to give you a damn sweet tooth. You can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration. “Peter, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

He shakes his head, his expression earnest. “But I do. I care about you, and I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skips another traitorous beat at his words. His sincerity is disarming, and you find yourself wanting to reassure him, even though you’re the one grappling with this newfound knowledge about his double life. Why does he have to say things like that?

“Are you not going to the pool?” you ask, gesturing to his get-up.

He scratches his cheek, shaking his head. “No I… gotta… do something.” His voice gets quieter the more he speaks, realizing he’s just quoted the very thing he just apologized for. You snort, unable to help yourself in reaching out a brushing a curl away from his face. His eyes soften, and he reaches out, tentatively taking your hand.

Your fingers brush against his, and there's a moment of silence as you both just look at each other. Peter’s grip is gentle, as if he's afraid of pushing too much, too soon. You feel the warmth of his hand, and for a second, you forget about the secrets and the confusion.

After a moment, Peter clears his throat, his expression shifting back to a more familiar, awkward smile. You snap back to reality. “You should, uh, probably go do that thing.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes. “Yup. Gonna go do that thing now.”

He’s out the door before you can blink.

Peter doesn’t come back in time for the Academic Decathlon. MJ wins you the last point, anyway.

You’re just out of earshot as Ned talks to what you assume is Peter on the phone. You look away when Liz takes the phone and begins to speak to him.

Your coach decides it’ll be fun to have a tour of the Washington Monument. You zone out during the long elevator ride, thoughts drifting to Peter. Always Peter. You wonder if you were his girlfriend, would he look to you to patch him up when patrol gets rough? Would he take you away, swinging through the night while he tells you how pretty you look–

There’s a bright light, and everything goes deafening as a loud sound explodes within the elevator. Everything comes to a stop. Ned throws his backpack on the ground, frightened.

“Oh my God. Look at the ceiling.” There’s terrifying scorch marks on it.

“Just stay calm, everyone.”

“Oh, we are all going to die here.”

You don’t listen to anymore of what anyone has to say, too focused on steadying yourself against the wall. Holy shit. Peter better be hauling ass back here, now .

Security pushes the failing doors open, and the elevator hatch is opened as your group is prepared for evacuation. It’s a scary process, and you feel like you’re just waiting for the elevator to give up and start plummeting.

Flash, always an asshole, shoves Liz out of the way, taking the trophy with him. You scoff in disbelief as he says, “Take my trophy!” ready to give him a piece of your mind, because by God, you are in a life or death situation and he still finds the time of day to be himself–

Speaking of death.

The elevator just gave up.

You are actively falling to your resting place right now.

You can’t hear anything over the sound of everybody else’s scream. You can’t even bring yourself to scream. Even as you’re about to die, you hold yourself back, just as you always have. You’ve held yourself back when it comes to school, not putting in as much effort as you could’ve, and you’ve held yourself back from telling Peter how you feel.

Now you’ll never get too.

Except the elevator jerks to a stop, almost sending you to the floor.

There’s a web attached to the top. You can barely see a red clad figure connected to it.

Nevermind, maybe you will get to.

And then the doors he’s held up against break off the hinges and you’re falling again, spider included like a package deal. The damned box catches itself on something, and the love of your life has a rough landing as he falls into the elevator with you. Oof.

Unfortunately his impact knocks the elevator off, and you’re falling. Again. If you make it out of this alive, you’re going to take a five year nap. Peter, with all of his amazing smarts, sends a web to the top of the shaft and plants himself upside down in the elevator, stopping the thing.

He clears his throat. “Hey, how you doing? Don’t worry. I got you.” Why do you love this loser.

You stand with your whole body tense as Peter makes the perilous journey of dragging your group back up, slowly and steadily. You’re gripping the handrail so tightly your knuckles turn white. Every jolt and creak of the elevator feels like a death sentence. But Peter – no, Spider-Man – is pulling you up, inch by inch.

Ned is out first, then Mr. Harrington, and Liz clutches your hand tightly as it’s just the two of you left.

But then the floor shoots out from under your feet. Liz, ever so pretty and ever so brave, jumps out, reaching a hand for Spider-Man.

She misses, and for a split second it’s just you and her falling. And then there’s a thwip sound and suddenly you’re not falling. You’re just hanging. Hanging by a thread. Or a web, you should say.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Spider-Man grips Liz’s hand so tight and so assuredly, you feel like everything’s okay. Liz’s hand feels warm. Really warm. Probably all the sweat from it.

The sweat from it.

Sweat that’s making your grip come loose.

Liz looks down, terrified. “She’s slipping.”

“What–” chokes Peter.

And your hand falls from her grip. This time, you let yourself scream. The mask Peter wears gets tinier and tinier as you fall. The sensation of free-fall is overwhelming. It’s like you’re completely weightless. You wonder if this is how Peter feels when he’s swinging through New York. You also wonder he ever feels the twisting of your stomach.

You feel something wrap around your waist tightly. You’re yanked back up with a sharp tug. The warmth of an arm is something you’re not all that foreign to. You’ve been hugged by your family and friends before. But not like this. It… kind of feels like home.

“I got you, [Name].” Is whispered in your ear like a prayer. “I won’t let you fall.”

Peter’s voice in your ear is like a lifeline, pulling you out of the chaos and fear. The sheer relief of his presence makes your heart pound in your chest. You cling to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he swings you both out of the elevator shaft and onto the relative safety of the doorway.

You can hear the panicked voices of your friends, but all you can focus on is Peter, his breath coming in quick gasps, his suit slightly torn but his grip on you unyielding. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice trembling slightly.

You can only nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. Tears blur your vision as you look at him, your best friend, your hero, the boy you've been in love with for so long.

"You saved me," you whisper, your voice breaking.

Peter tilts his head, voice  a little wobbly but genuine. "Couldn't let you fall," he says simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He gently lets go of you, leaving you to connect back to the real world again.

“So, uh, is everyone okay?” And just like that, things go back to the way they were.

Then the piece of metal he’s hanging upside-down from breaks off, and he’s falling down the shaft.

He’ll be fine.

The school news plays on a nearby team, retelling the events in which you almost died. Weird flex, but okay.

You’re on your way to your next class when arms suddenly wrap around you. You blink. Uh…

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” says a sweet voice. Ah, Peter. Who else but Peter? You smile and melt into his embrace. “Hi, Peter.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if checking for any hidden injuries. “You sure you’re alright? That was... intense.”

You shrug. “Yeah.” Then, you feel like being mean. Only a little bit. As a treat. “How would you know, though? You weren’t there.”

Peter’s eyes widen in confusion, a frown pulling at his lips. “What do you mean? I was there. I–” Then he stops himself. He was there, just not as Peter. You raise a brow.

Peter’s face goes through a series of expressions—confusion, realization, and finally, a nervous chuckle. “Oh. Right.” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just–”

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “Had to do that thing, I know.” Maybe you’d be more upset if you didn’t know any better, but you do. Maybe you’re just tired from everything.

Peter’s apology falters as he looks at you with those big, apologetic eyes. He seems so earnest, so genuinely concerned. He gives you those puppy dog eyes, filled with guilt and embarrassment.

“Look,” you say, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, “it’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“Come on,” he whines halfheartedly. “Let me make it up to you.”

You look at Peter, a mix of exhaustion and affection in your eyes. Despite everything that happened, you can’t help but find his earnestness endearing. “Alright,” you say, managing a small smile. “Here’s my proposal.”

Peter's eyes light up with a hopeful glimmer, and he leans in closer, eager to hear your proposal. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders as you prepare to make your request.

“If neither of us get a homecoming date,” you begin, watching as Peter’s eyes flick back and forth between yours, “we’ll go together.”

Peter's eyes widen with surprise and a hint of nervousness. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, processing your proposal. He takes a deep breath, as if trying to steady his racing heart, and then he nods with a flushed face.

"Deal," he says, his voice steadying. "But let's hope neither of us ends up dateless, okay? I mean, it's homecoming. It should be fun."

His words kind of sting. He basically just said he hopes he can find a date that’s not you. You’re not sure if the fact that he’s willing to go with you if things don’t work out is a good thing or not.

“Yeah, let’s hope,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light. Peter gives you a reassuring smile, though there’s an awkward tension between you now.

“Parker, my office.”

Peter looks at you exasperated. You shrug. Looks like Peter has detention.

The next couple of days, Peter looks down in the dumps.

He just seems… less like himself. Still as sweet as ever, holding doors open for you and carrying your bag. It’s hard to miss the way his usual enthusiasm is replaced by a constant air of melancholy.

You notice him moping in the hallways, his usual banter replaced by awkward silences. In class, he doesn’t seem any different, but you can tell the way he zones out when he’s not answering a question.

You try to give him space, but it’s hard to ignore the sense of worry you feel. You don’t want to pry, but you also don’t want him to sink into a deeper funk. Perhaps it’s in your nature to want to make him happy.

May greets you with a smile when she sees you on your doorstep. She’s always been kind to you. Maybe too kind. May always let little teasing comments about you too getting together slip. Peter always waved away her comments, chuckling awkwardly and saying ‘she’s just kidding’. Not very healthy for your heart.

Peter’s sitting on his bed, lost in thought. He jerks up as soon as you enter, staring at you in surprise. “[Name]!”

“Hi,” you greet, coming to sit next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I can leave if you want,” you hum, point a thumb out the door. It’s mostly a joke, you really hope he doesn’t actually want you to leave.

Peter looks a bit flustered by your presence. “No, no, don’t go. I just… didn’t know you were coming.”

You lean back on your hands. “Well, when you’ve been acting weird the last couple of days, I’m gonna get worried.”

Peter slumps in on himself, sighing. He contemplates for a second before meeting your eyes. “I lost the internship.”

The internship. The Stark internship. The one you’re pretty sure is a cover for him being Spider-Man. Who hasn’t been active in a couple of days. Oh.

You give him a sympathetic look. “Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Peter nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah, well, it’s my own fault. I was… I messed up. Tried to overcompensate, and it didn’t work out.”

You can see the frustration and disappointment in his eyes. He’s always been so driven, so dedicated. To see him like this, struggling with something that clearly matters to him, tugs at your heartstrings.

“It’s not your fault,” you say gently, trying to offer him some comfort. “Sometimes things just don’t go as planned, no matter how hard you try.”

Peter offers a small, bitter smile. “I guess. It’s just… I don’t know.” He looks in a faraway corner. “It was all I had.”

You purse your lips, wanting to scream ‘you have me!’, but you can’t bring yourself to.

Peter clears his throat. “At least I got that date with Liz.”

…Huh?

You think there’s a ringing in your ears. Your heart sinks as Peter mentions Liz. It feels like a punch to the gut. You try to mask your surprise, keeping your tone steady. "Wait, you got a date with Liz?"

“Yeah…” he chuckles shyly. “I asked her to homecoming. She said yes.”

You nod slowly, trying to process this new information. It's not exactly a blow to your heart, but it's definitely unsettling. Peter, the person you’ve had feelings for, is going out with someone else.

Though, you shouldn’t be surprised, really. You knew Peter liked Liz. If the way he stared at her wasn’t obvious enough, then the fact that he asked her to hoco is. And the fact that she said yes… God, you need to get over yourself. It’s not the end of the world. You just…

You really wanted to go with him.

“So… who’s your date?” he asks, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

You bring your legs up, wrapping your arms around them. “Nobody. I think… I’m not gonna go.”

Peter’s face falls at your words. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it, clearly at a loss for words. “Why not?”

You shrug. “I don’t have a date. Don’t wanna go alone.”

He furrows his brows. “I thought you did.”

Now it’s your turn to look confused. “No. Why did you think that?”

“You…” he trails off, looking lost. “I heard you. Talking about your crush”

“When did you hear that?”

He gulps, turning away guiltily. “In. Gym… class.”

You take a moment to think back. The only time you ever talked about your crush in gym was with MJ, that time Ned mentioned Peter knows Spider-Man. But that time…

“How did you hear that?” you ask, kind of knowing the answer. “You were, like, twenty feet away from me.”

He blushes. “I, uh… have really good hearing?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Whatever. At least you didn’t mention Peter’s name. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t like me back. So.”

Peter’s face softens as he processes your words, a mixture of guilt and concern evident in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t be. He likes someone else. Can’t be helped.”

Peter is silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face as if trying to gauge your feelings. There’s a tension in the air, a weight that seems to hang between you. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

You breathe, patting your thighs as you stand up. “Hope you have fun, though.”

Peter watches you go, feeling like he missed something.

True to your word, you don’t go to homecoming. You spend the night watching a movie and eating popcorn. You don’t cry, but you do sniffle.

You catch wind of the battle between this guy (Liz’s dad , holy shit, you hope she’s doing okay) and Spider-Man. The next time you see him at school, you run up to him.

“Peter!” you shout.

Peter snaps out of his thoughts, turning to you. A small smile creeps up on his face at the sight of you. “Hey, what’s up–”

His words stutter to a stop as your arms wrap around him. Peter freezes for a moment, clearly taken aback by your sudden hug. Slowly, his arms come up to return the embrace, holding you tightly. He feels warm and solid against you, a comforting presence despite everything that's happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

You melt into his embrace. “Just glad you’re okay.”

He pulls back to look at you, arms dropping to hang around your waist. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You can’t help yourself, cupping his cheek gently. Peter's eyes widen slightly at the tenderness of your touch. For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher the reason behind your concern. He ever so slightly leans into your hand, doe eyes looking into you.

“You’ve just… been through a lot lately,” you decide to say.

Peter takes a deep breath, his gaze dropping to your hands resting on his cheek. He seems to be grappling with his emotions, his usual composure wavering. “I didn’t realize you were so concerned,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Of course I am. You’re important to me, Peter.”

Peter’s mouth opens and closes, unable to form words. He gulps, shifting on his feet. The tension in the air is thicker than it’s ever been, though you can’t tell why.

Peter thinks he just had an epiphany.

He takes a deep breath, hands on your waist tightening. “Hey, um. Can I… can we talk later? After school?”

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

Peter nods as well. “Cool, cool.” His hands fall from your waist when his phone buzzes, and you finally feel like you can breathe. “I gotta take this,” he says, already walking away from you.

Peter texts you before the last bell rings, saying that something came up and if you can push your talk a few hours ahead. Your fingers shake as you type out your reply agreeing. You do your homework in silence, foot tapping up and down nervously. The sun is on the cusp of setting when there’s a knock on your door.

“Hey,” Peter greets you when you open it. He looks out of breath, like he just ran here.

“Hey,” you respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

Peter shifts nervously on his feet, glancing around before focusing on you. “You’re parents home?”

You raise a brow. “No..?”

“Good.” He moves past you, making his way to your living room. You close the door and follow him, heart pounding in your chest. Peter paces for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to face you.

“I,” he starts, voice unsteady, “have been doing a lot of thinking.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue. Peter runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I’ve been focused on the wrong things. I know I haven’t really… been there. So, I’m sorry for that.” He wrings his hands together. You watch Peter with a mixture of anticipation and concern, your heart racing as he continues to struggle with his words.

“And, um, I guess, what I’m trying to say is…” He looks directly into your eyes, a mixture of vulnerability and resolve in his expression. He takes a deep breath.

“I–”

“–Know,” you blurt.

Peter’s mouth flops open like a fish out of water. “Uh. What?”

You purse your lips. Cat’s out of the bag. “I know you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter stares incredulously at you. “I… saw. When you went outside to change at Liz’s party. You just left, and I followed you, and for some reason you were changing in front of a big ass window without your mask on? So, literally anyone could’ve saw you, so that might be more your fault than mine–”

“[Name].” Peter's voice cuts through your rambling, and he takes a step closer, hands coming to grasp yours. “You… know?”

You gulp. “Well, yeah? That’s what I just said.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, shoulders hunching. He brings your hands up to his mouth, lightly kissing them. It sends your heart cracking through your ribs. “[Name], that’s not what I was gonna say.”

You look up at Peter, confusion and anticipation mingling in your eyes. He seems almost relieved, a soft smile gracing his lips as he holds your hands close. The moment feels suspended, and you can hear the quiet hum of the evening outside, adding to the atmosphere of calm and intensity.

“I like you. I really like you.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, the words sinking in as if time has momentarily stopped. Peter’s eyes are locked on yours, filled with sincerity and a vulnerability that’s rare to see from him. The warmth of his hands around yours feels electrifying, grounding you in the moment.

“...I thought you liked Liz,” you whisper.

“I thought I did too,” he mutters, close. “But I was being stupid. I thought you liked someone else, so I stayed away.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t anymore.”

“How do you know it’s you I like?” you croak.

“Apart from you basically just admitting it?” He smiles cheekily. “MJ told me.”

You click your tongue. “Meddler.”

“She said she got tired of our bullshit.”

You giggle quietly, head dropping. Peter doesn’t take his eyes off of you, biting his lip in anticipation. You squeeze his hands gently, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. “So, what now?”

Peter’s expression softens, and he takes another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Can I… can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart flutters at his words. “Yes,” you say, almost breathless.

Peter leans in slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips meet yours in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s a kiss filled with all the unspoken emotions, a release of the tension and a celebration of what’s finally come to light. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, shared moment.

As Peter's lips linger on yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate yet still tender. You feel the warmth of his body, the soft pressure of his lips, and the gentle caress of his hands around yours. The kiss seems to hold everything that had been unsaid, all the confusion, the longing, and the relief of finally being on the same page

When you finally pull back, both of you are smiling, the weight of recent days seeming lighter. Peter’s eyes are full of warmth and affection, and he holds you close, his forehead resting against yours.

“Will you, um… be my–”

“–Guy in the chair? Sure, Pete. It’d be my pleasure.”

Peter hides his grin in your neck. “Sorry. Ned beat you to it.”

“Barely seconds into this relationship and you’ve already betrayed me,” you scoff playfully.

“So we’re dating now?” His voice sounds hopeful.

“Duh.” You’ve never been more sure. “Pete, I’ve been down bad for you ever since you gave me that pencil.”

He pulls back, looking at you with heartbreaking eyes. He leans in to kiss you on the forehead, then pulls back slightly, his expression soft and sincere. "I’m really sorry about homecoming. I’ll take you to prom and we’ll have the best night of our lives.”

You’re pretty sure the best night of your life will be when you and Peter get married, but maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. “I heard you dumped her there as soon as you got there, anyway. If you ever do that to me I’ll make sure you can never be Spider-Man again.”

He nods his head seriously. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he grins, giddy with the outcome of the situation. “I’ll still make it up to you.”

“I can think of a few ways.”

He blushes, scandalized. “[Name]!”

“Down bad for a long time, Pete,” you remind him. “Like I said, my parents aren’t here…”

He scoffs, shoving you away slightly before pulling you back to him, not willing to let you go after he finally has you. The two of you stand there, holding each other, savoring the quiet and the closeness. The weight of the past few days lifts, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and possibility. It feels like the beginning of something new and wonderful, a chance to explore this newfound closeness and see where it takes you both.

“Can we just. Go out to dinner or something?” he asks, thumb rubbing at your waist. “We could use some celebration, I think."

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. "That sounds perfect."

As you both head out the door, hand in hand, the evening feels full of promise. With the uncertainties of the past few days behind you, you're ready to embrace whatever comes next—together.

notes: i wanted reader to drop the "i know ur spiderman" bomb and somehow find a way out of the conversation and now peter has to try to confess to them but he just cant get a hold of them for whatever reason. but that would be like a whole nother 3k or more words and like... this fic already too long LOL

thanks for reading !!

[theonottsbxtch]

TEACHER'S PET PT.4 | CL16

an: final part let's go!! can't wait to hear what you guys think about this and many thanks to @iimplicitt my beloved for writing the smut scene since i absolutely suck at it.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: smut mdni 18+ only, infidelity, oral (f), fingering, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy x)

Charles leaned back in his chair, eyes on the academic papers scattered across his desk, though his attention was elsewhere. Across from him, Professor Gasly was rambling on about departmental logistics, something about reallocating teaching assistants for the next term. Charles nodded occasionally, keeping up appearances, but his mind was already on the ticking clock, counting down the minutes.

Six o’clock was approaching. Too slowly.

He glanced at his watch, trying not to make it obvious. 5:58.

Just a few more minutes.

"And, of course, there’s the issue of the undergrads for next term," Pierre was saying, his voice a steady drone, punctuated by the sound of a page flipping over in his notepad. "You know, I’ve had a number of students in the seminar expressing interest in your modules. You’ve built quite a reputation with them."

Charles gave a noncommittal hum, his mind drifting. He hadn’t been able to focus on much all day. Not after that kiss. The memory of it was still imprinted on his senses—the taste of her, the heat of her skin under his hands, the way she’d looked at him with that intoxicating mix of desire and defiance.

She’ll be here soon.

As if on cue, a movement outside the window caught his eye. He shifted his gaze, and there she was.

She stood just outside his office, her figure outlined by the soft glow of the hallway lights. Her hair was slightly tousled, lips parted as if she was catching her breath. She hadn’t bothered with her usual careful posture—her shoulders were relaxed, almost languid. He could see the anticipation in her stance, even from here. Her eyes darted toward the office door, and for a brief second, their gazes met through the glass.

His pulse quickened.

Pierre, oblivious to the shift in Charles’s attention, continued his monologue. "Of course, I was thinking about restructuring the curriculum for our electives. There’s a student in your lecture—I think she’s in one of mine as well—what’s her name? Oh yes, Miss. Impressive work ethic. Top marks. One of those who really stands out."

Charles turned his head slightly, glancing at Pierre. His colleague followed his line of sight, and Charles knew immediately he’d seen her standing outside.

"Ah, speaking of," Pierre said, his tone slightly more interested now. "That’s her, isn’t it? Always punctual, always prepared. You’ve got a meeting with her, I assume?"

Charles felt his throat tighten, though his expression remained composed. "Yes," he said evenly, trying to maintain the professional front. "She needs help with an assignment for another module. I promised to take a look."

Pierre glanced back toward the window, where she still waited, her body bathed in the soft glow of the evening light. His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, his eyes subtly sweeping up and down her figure before he turned back to Charles with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, she certainly has the kind of focus we like to see," Pierre remarked, a thin smirk playing on his lips. "You don’t come across students like her every day."

Charles’s jaw clenched, though he nodded, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral. "She’s dedicated," he said, his voice a little lower than before.

Pierre leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, clearly in no hurry to leave. "Very dedicated," he agreed, still smirking. "Maybe she’ll volunteer to be your TA next year, she’s a good one."

Charles’s eyes flicked back to the window, where she had shifted her weight, crossing her arms, the smallest hint of impatience in her stance. The way her blouse clung to her frame made it impossible for him to focus on anything Pierre was saying.

He needed to get this over with. Now.

"Pierre," he said, cutting into the professor’s musings. "I’ve really got to get started with her. We’re on a tight deadline."

Pierre chuckled softly and stood up, collecting his notepad and pushing his chair back. "Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to it. Tell Miss I said she’s doing excellent work."

Charles nodded, already standing as Pierre made his way to the door. As Pierre opened it, he gave her a polite nod on his way out. "Good evening, Miss," he said.

She responded with a quiet, "Good evening, Professor Gasly," her voice steady, though her eyes were firmly on Charles as she stepped into the office.

Pierre disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that filled the room was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

She stood in the centre of the room, her gaze on him, unblinking, waiting for him to make the next move.

Charles took a slow breath, the tension in the air between them building as they regarded each other. The boundaries they’d already crossed lingered in the space between them, ready to be shattered completely.

Without a word, he gestured toward his desk, though he wasn’t entirely sure either of them intended to sit.

"Close the door," he said, his voice low, firm.

She didn’t hesitate. The door clicked shut once more, this time locking them in the room together with all the desire and recklessness that had been simmering since their last encounter.

It was six o'clock, and they both knew exactly what they were here for. Charles’s gaze met hers. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken desire. She stood in the centre of his office, her eyes dark with intent, and without a word, she slowly moved toward his desk.

Charles’s pulse quickened as he watched her, the anticipation humming in his veins. She didn’t hesitate—she just sat on the edge of his desk, her posture casual, yet there was nothing casual about the way she looked at him.

Her legs crossed at the ankle, her skirt sliding just slightly up her thighs as she perched on the edge of the wooden surface. The soft glow of the lamp on his desk cast her in a warm light, but it was the heat in her eyes that held him captive.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. There was no need for words right now.

Instead, Charles moved toward the windows, crossing the room with deliberate, measured steps. He could feel her eyes on him the entire time, watching, waiting. His hands gripped the cord of the blinds, pulling it down, and in one smooth motion, the office was sealed off from the outside world. The blinds fell shut with a quiet thud, the last sliver of daylight vanishing, leaving them enclosed in the dim intimacy of the room.

When he turned back to face her, she hadn’t moved. She still sat on the edge of his desk, her hands resting casually at her sides, but there was a fire burning in her eyes, a challenge, an invitation.

Charles’s breath came heavier now, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him, but he didn’t resist it. He crossed the room until he was standing right in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath had quickened, mirroring his own.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, she raised a finger to her lips, silencing him with nothing but a quiet shh.

The move caught him off guard, but he didn’t fight it. He stood there, frozen for a moment, as she leaned forward, her fingers curling around the end of his tie. She tugged on it gently, just enough to pull him closer. His breath hitched as he allowed himself to be drawn toward her, the distance between them shrinking until there was barely any space left.

And then, before he could process it, her lips were on his.

The kiss was hot, urgent, a collision of need and desire that made his mind go blank. Her hands twisted in his tie, pulling him even closer as her mouth moved against his with a hunger that matched his own. There was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing—just the raw, electric connection that had been building between them for weeks.

Charles groaned softly against her lips, his hands finding her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her skirt as he pulled her against him. The feel of her body pressed to his sent a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, tasting her, claiming her.

Her legs parted slightly as she shifted on the desk, drawing him in closer until he was standing between them. Her fingers moved from his tie to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, her hands insistent, needy. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent sparks through him, each touch driving him further over the edge.

He let out a low, throaty growl, his hands sliding up her sides, feeling the softness of her body under his palms. Her skin was warm, inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of it, to lose himself in the feel of her.

But she wasn’t passive in any of this. Her hands were everywhere—his tie, his shirt, his hair. She was guiding the kiss now, setting the pace, her lips moving against his with an urgency that made his heart pound in his chest.

She kissed him deeper, harder, like she couldn’t get enough. And neither could he.

Charles’s hands slid up her back, tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back, giving him better access to her lips, her neck. He kissed a trail down her jawline, his breath ragged against her skin. Her hands were pulling him closer still, tugging at his shirt, her nails grazing his chest through the fabric.

His self-control was unravelling, faster than he’d expected. Every touch, every kiss was a reminder of just how far they’d already crossed the line. And yet, instead of pulling back, he was sinking deeper, his body pressing into hers, his lips trailing down her throat, tasting the softness of her skin.

She moaned softly in response, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter, her body arching into him. The sound of her voice—low, breathy, filled with need—sent a surge of desire through him that was impossible to ignore.

He was on the edge, teetering between reason and pure instinct, and all it would take was one more moment, one more kiss, to push him over.

And then the sound of his own ragged breath reminded him where they were. His office. His desk. The world was just outside that door, but right now, it felt like they were the only two people in existence.

His lips hovered just above hers, their breaths mingling as they both paused, the reality of their situation crashing over them for a brief second.

Her hands were still on him, her fingers tangled in his shirt. His own hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her waistband. They were both caught up in the moment, knowing they should stop but unable to find the will to do so.

The only thing that broke the silence between them was the quiet, unsteady beat of their breaths.

"Slow down," Charles muttered against her lips, his voice husky and ragged. His breath came in shallow gasps as he gently pulled back, his hands slipping from her waist. He stepped away from her, creating just enough space to catch his breath, though the need still burned in his eyes.

She blinked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she looked at him, clearly reluctant to stop. Her hands hovered in the air, as if unsure of what to do now that he’d created distance between them.

Charles took a steadying breath and stepped back toward his chair, his hands running through his tousled hair. He didn’t break eye contact, though, not for a second. The heat between them hadn’t lessened—it had only intensified, simmering just below the surface.

He sank into his chair, his tie still loose around his neck, his shirt slightly undone from where her fingers had been. His gaze never left her as he slowly leaned back, legs parted, watching her with that dark, hungry look that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mon Ange, viens la," he said softly, his voice a low, velvet command.

She hesitated for only a second before lifting her leg towards him, her body still thrumming with the tension that hung in the air. He reached out, his hand curling around her ankle, and slowly guided her leg up, placing her foot on his knee.

She balanced herself, her breath catching as she felt the warmth of his hand on her calf.

Charles's fingers moved with deliberate slowness, unbuckling the strap of her shoe. His touch was light, teasing, as he slid the shoe off her foot, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet thud. His hands lingered on her skin, his thumb brushing soft circles over her ankle as he looked up at her, eyes heavy with intent.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice roughened with barely controlled desire. "What you do to me."

Her breath hitched at the way he was looking at her, the intensity in his gaze making her knees feel weak.

His hand slid up her calf, slowly, agonisingly slowly, as though he was savouring every inch of her skin. He leaned forward slightly, his lips grazing her ankle in a featherlight kiss, barely a whisper of contact. It sent a jolt of heat through her, her body tightening in response.

"I’ve been thinking about this," he murmured, his mouth brushing the curve of her calf now, kissing a path higher. "Since the moment you walked through my door."

Her fingers curled into the edge of his desk for balance as his lips travelled upward, pressing soft, deliberate kisses along her leg. His hand slid higher, gripping her thigh just enough to make her breath catch, as his mouth moved slowly, achingly slowly, up the inside of her calf.

"You make it impossible to focus on anything else," he whispered against her skin, his breath warm as he kissed higher still, his lips now nearing her knee. "When you sit in my class, all I can think about… is this."

She felt her pulse quicken, her body responding to every word, every kiss. Her skin tingled where his lips touched, each caress leaving her more breathless than the last. The intimacy of the moment—the slowness, the tenderness—was almost overwhelming, the way he was worshipping her with his mouth and hands.

Her hand, which had been resting on the desk, slid down to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she watched him, unable to look away. He was taking his time, drawing out the moment, making every second feel like it was teetering on the edge of something deeper, something reckless.

Charles kissed the inside of her knee, then paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. His eyes were dark, filled with a kind of raw hunger that made her shiver.

"But you need to understand something," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Once we go further, there's no going back."

He kissed higher, just above her knee, his hand still gripping her thigh gently. The sensation sent waves of heat through her, her body practically buzzing under his touch.

"Do you want that?" His voice was rough, but the question was deliberate. He needed to hear it, needed to know.

She swallowed, her heart pounding as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulder. For a brief moment, she hesitated, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them. But then her eyes met his, and all the hesitation melted away, replaced by the undeniable pull that had been simmering between them for weeks.

This was what she wanted.

Instead of answering with words, she leaned down, closing the space between them again, her fingers sliding up the back of his neck, into his hair. She pulled him to her, their lips crashing together in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

His fingers dug into her thighs and the warmth of her mouth against his was overwhelming. This moment in his office felt existential, as if infinity was laid before him so he could experience everything life had to offer him in the form of her body. Charles didn’t know if he was getting ahead of himself, or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic, but this felt like more than lust. More than hormones and lingering glances. More than just a one time thing. 

She was so soft yet every touch was electric, making each of his nerves vibrate in anticipation as he slowly pushed out each of her knees. A light gasp escaped her mouth, the hot breath invading his senses and he couldn’t help the way his lips tugged up at the sides. Pulling away from her mouth was one of the most difficult things he had ever done given the way her lips were swollen and glistening, her eyes fluttering in a daze. 

He kept eye contact with her as he leaned down, slowly kissing up between her thighs, his mouth open and leaving a wet trail that made goosebumps erupt up her skin. She was trembling against him, sensitive and anxious and he nearly laughed if it wasn’t for the slight look of concern that furrowed her brows. Charles left one last kiss at the apex of her thigh before stopping. 

“What’s wrong, mon ange?”

She swallowed thickly, her pupils blown wide and eyes glowing in the darkness. “Nothing, it’s just,” she took a deep breath, blushing slightly in what was clearly embarrassment. “No one has ever really done this before.”

Charles tilted his head to the side, not quite sure what she was getting at. “You’ve never…had sex before?” If she hadn’t, that was fine. Everyone’s life moved in different stages but he needed to know how careful-

“What? No, no.” She covered her face with her hands and let out a nervous laugh. 

Charles began to rub soothing circles into her legs, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible when she was with him. He wanted her to give him everything, and he’d give her his soul in return if she’d take it. 

“Hey,” he gently grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down, kissing the backs of both as he looked at her. “Tell me what's going on.”

She sighed, biting at the inside of her cheek as she debated. A few moments later the words spilled out. 

“No one has ever gone down on me before.”

Charles blinked at her as if someone had just slapped him. Not being able to wrap his mind around how not one of her past flings ever offered. Or maybe none of them were good enough for her to want them to. He went to open his mouth to say something but she kept going.

“You don’t have to.”

This time, it was Charles’ brows that furrowed in concern. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that I— don’t worry about it.”

“Logan has never done it, has he?” Her boyfriend's name was sharp in the quiet room, an uncomfortable reminder of how wrong this really was. 

She didn’t say anything and Charles squeezed her hands. “Has he even offered?” She looked away from him, biting at her lip before eventually shaking her head.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Charles let out a long sigh as he watched her with such strong intent it made her shift slightly where she was sitting, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red if possible. 

His hands let go of hers, falling to her thighs as he slowly trailed them upwards, fingers disappearing under the hem of her skirt and he watched as her breath hitched. Charles continued to watch her as his hands explored further, pushing her skirt up around her waist and a barely audible prayer left him as his eyes caught sight of the white cotton panties she was wearing. She was wet, that much was obvious from the damp spot that could be seen and he felt as if the world had stopped moving just for the pair of them, the universe giving them a small moment of infinity. 

He leaned forward, kissing her navel and his hot breath danced over her covered pussy and she trembled against him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Sir,” her voice wavered, thick with anticipation and lust. 

Charles' eyes flicked up to hers, his mouth hovering over where he knew she needed him most. “Please, mon ange. Let me do this for you.” He sounded desperate, and by god he was. She was the air that he breathed and he needed her permission to do this or he thought he might drop dead by tomorrow. Driven mad by all the what if’s and the way his name might sound when she moaned it. 

She stared at him for a tense moment before nodding once.

He didn’t hesitate as he lowered his mouth right over her clothed clit, rubbing circles into it with his tongue and her hips bucked up into his face as a surprised shout left her. One hand dug into his hair while the other slapped itself over her mouth. 

Charles worked her with his mouth with the fervour of a man who had just had his first taste of salvation. Desperate to chase more and reach heaven, the sounds leaving her throat despite how hard she was trying to keep quiet were a twisted form of a holy prayer. Blessing him over and over again.

Her hands were twined in his hair, tugging in a way that made the pain deliriously pleasurable as she yanked him closer. 

“Please,” she panted, not sounding quite like herself but the slight rasp to her voice could be equated to a siren leading him to his downfall. Perhaps she was. “Please, sir.”

As much as he adored the term, the sick satisfaction of it and how wrong it was, he wanted to hear something else fall from her pretty lips. 

“Say my name, ma chéri. Then ask me again.” He pressed a kiss to her clit and gasped sharply.

“Charles, please.” She pulled on his hair so his eyes could meet her’s, and there was a glimmer of determination mixed in with the storm of lust. “Give me everything.”

“Everything?”

“I want it all.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, perhaps it was something primal, something that he hasn’t even dared to explore, but his hand wound itself around the strap of her underwear at her hip and yanked until the sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room. His mind was consumed by her, the feeling of her skin and what she would taste like with no barriers left. The line they had crossed was forgotten and blurred in the distance. Irrelevant.

He placed a hand beneath each of her knees and lifted, spreading her wide for him and he was sure he would come undone right there and then. Charles was already painfully hard and just looking at how wet she was for him was enough to make him come. But he needed this to last and he would kill himself if she didn’t enjoy every moment of this night together. 

His eyes flicked up and held hers as he pressed the flat of his tongue at the bottom of her entrance, licking a long stripe up before closing his mouth over her clit. Revelling in the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head and his name tumbled out of her mouth like it was a mantra that would lead to salvation. 

Her nails dug into his scalp, any self restraint she had long forgotten as she moaned and pushed her hips closed to his mouth. Slipping into delirium as his tongue circled her clit in tight circles. A scream nearly tearing through her as two of his thick fingers sunk into her cunt with no warning, the even thrusts of them had her panting.

Charles felt like headed. Hoping to any higher power that this was real and his mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks on him. She tasted devine and she was constantly clenching on his fingers, begging for more. Begging for a release. 

He was so hard it was painful, one of his hands sneaking down to give his cock a hard squeeze. Anything for some relief. Charles wasn’t helping his own case as he inserted a third finger, crooking them up and hitting that spot that made her scream his name as she came against him, liquid and cum spilling out and he wasn’t letting a drop get wasted as he continued to eat her out. Lowering his mouth to her entrance and his fingers trailed up to her clit, not letting up and she convulsed in over stimulation.

“Charles, oh my god!” Her legs tried to snap themselves shut but he didn’t let up. He felt crazed and she let out a guttural sound as she came again. 

He finally pulled back, a delirious grin on his face and his chin shining from the aftermath as he watched her fall back on her elbows trying to catch her breath. 

“That was… oh my god.”

Charles stood and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet, darling.” Her breath caught as her eyes followed the movements of his hands. Watching in what seemed like admiration as he shrugged his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. She seemed more entranced with his hands when he began to undo his belt however, her attention apt as Charles slowly pulled it free from the loops and undid his zipper. 

When he finally rid himself of his trousers and the cool air from the office hit his cock he shivered, the tip was leaking and clearly desperate for release. Charles stepped closer to her, closing the distance and he slowly pushed her onto her back, not caring about the stacks of paper that fell to the floor. 

Leaning down, his breath danced across her neck and he smirked into her skin as she shuddered against him. “Mon amour,” his voice was low, gravely. Not quite familiar. “I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He entered her completely within a breath, the action brutal and unforgiving but with the way she moaned and clenched around him, he knew she loved it. Charles kissed her neck before straightening, grabbing hold of her hips and pulling back, watching in sick satisfaction as his cock slammed back into her. 

She was moaning his name with no care in the world, her screams mixed with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against each other. She was everything to him. She was all he could think about. All he could feel. His existence was in her hands now and he’d never be able to get enough of her. Not until the day he dropped dead and even then he would long for her from the grave. 

The sharp sound of a phone ringing felt like a tuning fork struck right against the ears drums. Charles didn’t stop, though. She didn’t even seem like she noticed, her head still thrown back and mouth agape as he continued his relentless pace. 

His eyes strayed to the lit up screen.

Logan.

His contact picture glowing up at him, the American smiling brightly with his arm draped over your shoulder. 

Charles shouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t regret it either as he hit the answer icon and tossed the phone to the side. 

“Fuck, Charles I’m going to come.“

“Let it out, mon amour. Give me all of you.” His hand snaked down between their bodies, rubbing tight circles into her clit and he watched in pure adoration as she came on his cock. Charles followed not a moment later, her name echoing around the room followed by their heavy breaths as he collapsed on top of her. 

The air in the room was thick, their ragged breaths the only sound breaking the silence. She lay sprawled on the desk, still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her hand slipped from Charles’ shoulder as he rolled off her, his own breathing just as uneven. The remnants of their reckless act were scattered around them—clothes on the floor, papers thrown askew in the heat of the moment.

For a split second, everything was still.

Then, the door creaked open.

Both of them froze, eyes darting toward the door, panic seizing her heart like ice.

There, standing in the doorway, was Logan. His eyes, wide with shock, scanned the scene—the two of them barely dressed, her legs still exposed from where her skirt had been pushed up, Charles’ shirt hanging open, his tie askew. The mess on the floor, the heavy air, the undeniable truth.

Logan’s face shifted from shock to something worse—a mixture of hurt, disbelief, and fury.

“Wow.” It was the only word he could muster, low and bitter, dripping with betrayal.

Her breath caught in her throat, panic surging through her body. She scrambled off the desk, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through her chest. “Wait—please, I can explain—”

But he was already turning, shaking his head in disbelief as he backed out of the room, his face contorted in pain.

“No, don’t—wait!” she cried, desperately grabbing her blouse from the floor, pulling it on hastily as she stumbled after him. Her hands were shaking, her mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix what couldn’t be fixed.

Logan didn’t stop. He walked out of the door, his pace quickening as he stormed down the hallway. The echo of his footsteps sounded deafening in the otherwise silent building.

“Please! Just let me explain!” she called after him, her voice cracking, but it was as if he couldn’t even hear her.

She was halfway down the hall when she caught up to him, grabbing his arm and turning him toward her. “Please, let me explain. It’s not—”

“Not what?” he snapped, his voice sharp, full of anger and pain. He yanked his arm out of her grip, his eyes cold as they locked onto hers. “Not what it looks like? You think I’m stupid? I saw everything. I heard and now walked in and saw you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t even finish the sentence, like it was too painful to put into words.

She swallowed, her throat dry, her chest tight with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I—”

“You didn’t mean for it to happen?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? You didn’t mean to fuck him behind my back? Or did you just not mean for me to find out?”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her chest tightening painfully. She didn’t know what to say. There were no words to make this better. No explanation that could undo what had just happened.

“And what, he’s a better man than me?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice quieter now but filled with a kind of desperation she hadn’t heard from him before.

She froze. The question hit her like a punch to the gut. 

“I—” Her voice faltered. She didn’t know how to answer.

Her hesitation was all he needed. He let out a bitter, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Logan turned to leave again, his movements stiff, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t walk away. I didn’t—”

But he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the sound faded into silence.

She stood frozen in the hallway, her heart still pounding, her breath shallow and uneven as Logan’s figure disappeared down the dim corridor. It was as though she had been cast out—left stranded in the wake of her own betrayal. Her mind screamed to run after him, to beg for forgiveness, to undo the irreversible, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

With trembling hands, she turned back toward the office door. The room she had once thought of as a sanctuary now felt like something else entirely—an altar, a place of confession, a place where she had surrendered too much.

When she pushed the door open, the heavy silence greeted her, thick as sin. Charles sat behind his desk, utterly unbothered by what had just transpired. He reclined in his chair, his shirt still undone, a cigarette lazily burning between his fingers. The soft tendrils of smoke curled upward, like incense rising from a ritual long completed.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, the weight of it slamming shut like the gates of something holy—something she was now forever barred from.

Charles watched her through the haze of smoke, his eyes sharp, reflective. His mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile, as if all of this was inevitable—as if the fall had been predestined. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke coiling in the air like the whisper of a prayer.

“You’re back,” he said quietly, his voice smooth, almost like a benediction.

She stood in the middle of the room, the guilt burning in her chest, her throat tight with everything she couldn’t say. The weight of her own sin felt unbearable now, but Charles’ eyes held her captive, calm and untroubled, as if nothing sacred had been broken.

“I ruined everything,” she whispered, her voice fragile and cracked, like glass about to shatter.

His gaze stayed steady on her. “No,” he said simply, his voice low, like a confession offered in the stillness of a church. “You didn’t.”

She blinked, confusion crossing her face. How could he say that? How could he be so certain when everything felt so wrong? Her world had crumbled. The altar of her relationship, her conscience—it was all in ruins.

Charles extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray, his movements slow, deliberate. He stood up from his chair and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had already seen the ending, who knew the story was written long before they’d ever acted it out.

When he reached her, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracing her face like he was reading her soul.

“He’s out of the picture now,” he said softly, almost reverently.

Her breath caught. The way he said it, like this was some divine plan, made her chest tighten. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered, the lie trembling on her lips, tainted with uncertainty.

Charles’ smile widened, though there was something dark in his gaze. He reached out, brushing a thumb against her cheek, his touch tender but loaded with something more—something dangerous, something tempting. “Didn’t you?”

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of her unspoken desires. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing as though they were locked in some secret prayer, a communion that only they could share.

“You wanted this,” he whispered, his voice low, like a psalm of temptation. “You wanted me.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as the truth stirred within her. She had tried to deny it, tried to resist, but standing there, under his gaze, she felt stripped bare—her defences falling like the last walls of a crumbling cathedral. He saw her, truly saw her, and it was terrifying how deeply he knew her desires, how easily he could pull her into them.

She shook her head weakly, as though she could shake off the truth, but the words faltered. The pull was too strong. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, her voice wavering like a confession whispered in the darkness of a confessional.

Charles’ eyes darkened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his voice a hushed, dangerous promise. “You’re free now,” he murmured, as though he were offering her salvation.

The weight of that word—free—hung in the air, almost sacrilegious. Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like falling.

He stepped even closer, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, pulling her against him in one fluid motion. She felt her knees weaken, the space between them vanishing as his lips hovered just above hers, his breath a ghost of temptation on her skin.

“No more pretending,” he whispered, the words slipping between them like a vow.

She felt the heat of his gaze burning through her, igniting something reckless, something she couldn’t control. And in that moment, she realised there was no turning back. The fall had already begun.

Charles’ hand trailed down her arm, his touch soft but insistent. He was pulling her in, and she was letting him. She wasn’t running. Not anymore.

And when their lips met, it was more than a kiss—it was an offering, a surrender. His lips moved against hers slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the taste of her guilt, of her desire, as though it was all part of some twisted prayer they were both too willing to say.

But the peace that should have followed never came. Instead, it left her breathless, hollow.

She broke away, her mind spinning, her body trembling with the force of it all. “But he…Logan” The words were a last, desperate plea for redemption, but even she could hear how weak they sounded.

Charles didn’t hesitate. His grip on her tightened, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “He’s gone now. It’s just us.”

There was something almost triumphant in his voice, something darkly satisfied, as though he’d been waiting for this all along. He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes, his expression unreadable, save for the gleam of possession in his gaze.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice like a prayer. “And I don’t intend to share.”

the end.

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