EssentialsWrld

The bill counter on the table slows as the bills flipped through come to a stop, Fezco takes the stack and fixes it neatly against the surface.

Wrapping a band around the cash, he looks up as you appear from the hallway, your bag being pulled over your shoulder. You and Ashtray, the boy is mumbling something to you, looking miserable. Or as miserable as he can look with the disgusted, upturned nose he's giving you as you give him a big smooch on the cheek.

"Hey!" Ashtray swatted you away. "That ain't right, man! We got peoples comin'!" He made a face at you, Fezco chuckled a bit to himself, this was the first time Ashtray hadn't gone tomato red after a kiss from Ma. He was getting used to it, Fez realized with a laugh.

Luckily, you weren't wearing any lipstick this time, but that didn't mean he didn't try to wipe any potential mama's boy imprints you always seemed to leave on his face.

"I know, I know," you could only smile in your humor, before audibly chuckling. Running your thumb along the area, just for safe measure for him, before cupping his cheek. "I'll see you later, ok?"

His chin upturned with confirmation. "Mmm," Ashtray stayed there, eyes flickering up to yours as he went quiet for your goodbye. "I'll keep him outta trouble."

"Says the trouble," you snickered, to which his lips shifted with glee at, he's the business partner for a reason after all. "You always do, I know you got him," you pinched his chin lovingly, before straightening, bag in hand. "Just be safe, babe. Ok?"

Ashtray nods, sharply, face finally burning red. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He then half-heartedly shoves you towards the hall, "Now, get outta here, man. We got work to do."

"Alright, alright," you put your hands up, taking a few skipping steps down the hall towards the living room. "I love you!"

Ashtray grumbles, embarrassingly. "Just get out of here!" he disappears back into the hallway, jumping a bit too boyishly back into his bedroom.

Fezco could laugh, but he held it back, he didn't need the boy more embarrassed then he pretended to be during most of your motherly habits.

You chuckled to yourself as you spun around from the hallway, eyes finally landing on your boyfriend, Fezco. Your smile never dampening, only growing bashful as you slowly glide around the couch, tracing your fingers along the fabric.

Fezco clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

Shit.

He didn't want you to leave.

I mean, well, he did. You had to leave, no question.

Mouse was nothing to play with. And Fezco made it perfectly clear he did not trust any of his dealers when it came to being around you. Least of all Mouse.

Its always been out of the question to get you involved in any of this, if he could help it.

He was literally inviting danger to his doorstep, if he could pride himself on anything it was that he'd distanced you from most of it, you couldn't put name to face, you hardly knew the shit he sold. Not that you didn't recreationally partake from time to time, but that was usually with him.

You grew up with smokers, so sharing a stick together used to be the closest thing you had ever came to a type of high.

Fezco wasn't necessarily proud he introduced you to drugs, it wasn't even related to how you met, or why you stayed. Why you stayed... Something that confused him to this day, god, you could be anywhere, be with anyone, BE anyone.

But, you were here. Lighting up the house with love, painting a picture of a family he had to think was impossible until you came into his life.

God, he was absolutely obsessed with the addiction he'd found in you. Easily a pinnacle high.

And so, there was no debate, you can't stay here tonight.

Fezco swallows, thickly.

He glances in your direction, as he tries to get his thoughts together. You're already looking at him, waltzing up casually, as he stands from his chair as you get closer, don't look at me like that, he wanted to say.

You didn't know how easy he gets lost in your presence, time just slipped away. Or maybe you did, maybe you thought the world would slow for the both of you in moments like this, when leaving his side felt like an impossibility.

Sliding your bag off from your shoulder, you let it settle next to your cardigan at the table leg. "Did he have to come today?" you knew the answer, your voice soft but frustrated.

"Yeah, ma. Ain't nothin' I can control right now," Fezco answers quietly, watching as you slide your hand across the table delicately, tracing the grain. "It'd just be us tonight. If I could."

"Business is business," You slide the ring of your keys into your palm, humming your understanding. You glance back from your keys that you slide behind you, back up to him. "Update me, ok? Don't forget." Safety check-ins after deals like this were always your number one rule, no exceptions.

He assures you, "I know, baby," stepping close to run his hands over your arms, his palms are warm and his thumbs dig in with a gentle pressure.. "I ain't forgettin', I gotchu."

"And eat something," you added. "There's leftovers from earlier. You never eat right on days like this."

Fezco chuckled. "You keepin' notes or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'." you teased back.

BZZZZ...BZZZZ...

His phone goes off , you don't turn recognizing the harsh alarm as the one he'd set to give you enough time to rush out before his exchange went down tonight.

They both release a breath, before he turns back at the replicated sound. Straightening to face you again, "Hey," he breathes at your pout.

Fezco lifts his phone, turning off the alarm. "You text me when you're home, ight?" he leans down to take your bag off the floor, his other hand now rested on you hip, held it right. Pinching the skin, tenderly, "Hear me?"

"Mm hmm." You inch into him, brows that pinch when you're about to lean in.

"Ok?" he repeated, he noticed.

"OK."

You had his face in your hands then, kissing him, hard. Breathlessly.

Pulling back to look at him, "And you'll call me when it's over." A reminder, instead of a question, you made clear of that. Pretty eyes that bore into his, easily stealing what little attention he'd given to anything else but you.

You kissed him again, he's pressing his lips to yours just as your pulling away. "Not a second after, ok?" You instructed, sternly. Though the worried crease in your brows made your intentions clear and left no room for debate.

He nodded, thoughtlessly, that was all he could manage. Mouth open and leaning down for another taste even as you blabber out another word. "I will, I will."

Not when you're pulling him down by the collar like this.

Again, your eyes dart to his lips, and unable to help yourselves, he's diving in for another when his alarm goes off again, the two of you pausing and then staring.

Alright, they've got ten minutes to get you out of here. Fuuuck...

Fezco grabs your keys off the floor, fits your cardigan between the holes of your bag and snatches your sneakers up for you to step into as you both rush towards the hallway to the door.

"Text me as soon as you're in, alright?," Fezco jogs after you, as you pepper kisses while backtracking to the gated door. "Come on, ma," he complains, half-heartedly, as you kiss him full on the cheek longer.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, before kissing him again. "Ok, I love you," he opens the door as you step into your shoes. Ashtray presses the release from the security room and the gate clicks open. It's raining, it hits the metal loudly, your car was just in front so there was no need for an umbrella.

Still, enough to get drenched as soon as you step out.

He's pushing open the doors for you, the two of you just stepping out when Rue rushes over. "The fu--Rue?"

The girl's a bit out of breath, curly hair sticking to her face from the rain.

"(Y/n) Baby cake!" she fired hand guns spouting the dumb nickname, before taking both of your hands to spin around and stumble her way into the house.

Pulling you back inside for a hug, she's completely soaked, easily clinging your shirt. "That was fast, came to see me? Or are you leaving already?" Rue gasped. "No, no, I haven't seen you in forever, come back. Distract Fez while I raid, alright? Cool."

"What, no--"

The curly haired girl excitedly runs off then, makes her way into the hallway, "Hold on! Rue!" Fezco doesn't have time to grab her when she's already strutting onto the carpet and around the corner, looking for the usual.

"How'd you guys know I was outside? Shit, I didn't even ring yet," she laughed, impressed. "Oh, that a hickey?" she snickered, pointing nowhere in particular at you, already trapezing through the house.

"Rue! What're you--" you close the doors, the security click sounding, just as Fezco''s rushing after the girl. "oh my, fuck--"

"Nah, Rue, you can't be here right now," Fezco shouts after her. "I need you out!"

Rue scoffed. "Oh, come on, I've seen porno's crazier than what you two get up to. Just act like I'm not even here."

Bursting into the living room, you follow after Rue as she throws off her sweater, looking to get comfortable. "Jesus, Rue," you pick it up off the couch as you follow behind Fezco.

Ashtray's head peeks out from the security room, brows raised in surprise as Rue trudges through the hall, he speaks aloud. "The fuck is she doin' here?" and then he sees you, yelling after you. "What the fuck are you still doin' here?!"

"I was leaving!" you sighed as you rushed past him. "And don't cuss at me!"

Ashtray rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair, checking the outer camera feed.

"Look, I just need a couple OCs and some socks," Rue plopped down on a bed in the back rooms, pulling off her soaked socks and started opening drawers.

Fezco cornered her in his room, frustrating eating at him. Glancing at the time on his phone. "Yo, for real Rue, you gotta go! I can't help you right now, come back in a few hours, I gotchu. But right now, you need to get up outta here."

You came up next to him, holding her jacket. Throwing it back at her as she pulled on some new socks, "Hey!"

"He's not joking around, Rue," you reiterated. "People are coming. And it'd be better if neither of us were here. You need to come with me."

Rue glanced between the two of you. "This is the weirdest intervention ever," she kicked off her jacket as she pulled on her socks. "Look, Fez, I'm drenched, and I'm out of drugs so...don't be dicks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Oh god," shaking out your hands, you may just have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.

Fezco cursed, tensing up. "That ain't the fucking problem Rue!" they had less than five minutes, he was sure. " I need you to get up out my house right now before theses motherfuckers come through, for real!"

"Look, look, look, all I need are some OCs and a couple of Xanies, that's all," Rue explained.

You hummed, irritated. "Sure," you stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. "At my house. Let's go."

Rue's face pinched in confusion. "The only pill I've ever seen in your bathroom is a Tylenol."

"Uh huh," cause that's is all you had at home. "Well you're a terrible influence."

"Me?!" Rue laughed, appalled. Before glancing back at Fezco, who gave her glare at her clear insinuation. "Wait, wait, my jacket!"

You pulled her back with you, knowing she caught sight of a pill bottle as they passed by the security room. Shrugging off your cardigan, you tossed it over her head, "Here."

She puts it on, but isn't satisfied. "I know you don't got Xanies..."

"And you not hearing me when I say you ain't stayin', Rue," Fezco reminds.

Rue grinds herself to a halt, thinking hard, before she yanks herself through your grip, running around to the couch, flipping onto the cushion. "Prove you got 'em at home, go!" she points.

"Rue! I'm tryin'na tell ya, I ain't got shit right now," Fezco fought the urge to snatch the girl and throw her out. "I got whatever you need , but later. Get out."

"Rue!" your fists ball up, mostly out of your own anxiety. "Please, please, just get out of the damn house. There's some fucking weed to hold you over in the car!"

But Rue, the addict she was, Rue just glared. Staring directly at Fezco, "I know you got something, Fez." He was hiding it from her, he had to be, so why should she leave?

"Jesus Christ..." you ran a hand down your face. "Just come with me. Stay with me at mine, and then in a few hours, we're back here for you to do whatever," coming up to Rue as she braces herself on the backend of the couch. "I'm dead serious, I don't want you here when they get here, ok?"

Rue's brows furrowed at the softened delivery of your last sentence, now you have her attention. Her mouth opening but only a confused, "uhhh..." follows before she's glancing at Fezco, who's staring at the time on his phone. "You said who's coming again?"

Just as Rue's beginning to pull herself off the couch. Fezco opens his mouth to say something, "Rue--" while you're already pulling her to the doorway, and then the phone rings.

Stopping both women in their tracks.

Fezco stares down at the screen, the caller ID, and then sighs.

Making eye contact with you as your shoulders drop, realizing you were out of time, his lips press together guiltily.

His eyes flicker to Rue. "I could fucking kill you right now," he says, walking to the dinner table. He takes the walkie talkie, "Yo, Ash, they're here."

"Crap," the boy responds before the radio cuts silent.

Fezco gathers the money off the table, puts down the radio, walks over to the couch and fishes out the handle to a gun. That he checks for a loaded magazine before shifting the safety.

Rue swallows hard on the couch.

You breath out, running a hand down your hair. "Rue," you start. "Come."

You're already walking down the hallway. Rue swiftly follows, side stepping an angry Fezco.

"Ma," Fezco calls.

"She's not staying out here."

"If they find her..."

"They won't!" you argued. Giving your bag to Rue, pulling your cardigan hoodie over her hair. "They won't, right?" you stop and ask Rue.

Rue swallows, before nodding fast. "I can be quiet. I mean, when it counts, I can be quiet."

Pulling her into the farthest opposing room, you release her to move a few things around in the darkest corner of the room. Which happens to be with Grandma Marie, still sleeping peacefully as she always has in the hospital bed. "Sorry, OG," you whisper, before guiding Rue over.

"Touch nothing, say nothing, keep fucking still," you instruct Rue, pulling her into the corner, as far away from Grandma Marie as possible but in the busier corner of the room where she'd be much harder to spot if anyone were to glance in.

Rue wordlessly fixed herself into place, taking your bag and holding it tight in the corner as you moved a box in front of her to obscure her at least a bit. "Do. Not. Move."

You stepped away as you heard the front door slam shut and Ashtray whispering harshly behind you, "You gotta get over there!" before rushing out the room.

"(Y/n)..." Rue spoke finally as you began to pull the door closed, palms sweating, face flushed with anxiety.

You turned back to her.

"I..." she tried.

"Just don't move. It's ok," you assured her.

Rue watched as the hallway lighting vanished from the room, chest heavy as she recalled the terrified expression on your face as you pulled the door shut.

---

"So, this your bitch, huh?"

Your eyes flickered upwards from beside Fezco, tenses up at the question. You must've zoned out.

"Huh?" you didn't mean to say anything, but it made the man laugh.

Mouse.

As you make eye contact, his smile curls slow, a flash of gold in his teeth and the lighting makes his faded facial tattoos look more intense.

"Nah man, this ma girl, ma wife," Fezco gritted out, but he tried to keep his animosity to a minimum. "Ain't no bitch here."

Mouse snickered, before shrugging as if he could respect that. He drops to one knee to get eye level with you, staring like he's got nowhere else to be. With his palm extended for you to take, "Mmm,' he starts off, getting a good look at your face. "Well, hello there, wifey."

"Um, hi," your mouth dry.

He chuckled, clearly he found you interesting. "Got caught in the rain, huh?"

"I--" you didn't have to look down to feel your wet shirt sticking to you. Enough for the lace of your bra to show through. Fuck me, Rue. "I did."

"Course you did, mamas," Your eyes flicker anywhere but the eyes that haven't stopped trailing you since he'd walked in, extending your hand to shake. He takes it, instead pulling your knuckles up for a kiss, he keeps eye contact every second. "My name is Mouse," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

You couldn't seem to find the words, he wasn't waiting for any, he turned his attention to a tight-lipped Fezco, beside you.

"Hmm," Mouse says, before he's pulling you off the couch with a jerk to the hand.

You follow with a surprised sound, pulled right out of Fezco's range just as he reaches out. "Wait--"

"Hey!" Fezco's already standing, hands shaking. "That ain't cool, man! What you think you doin', Mouse?"

"Relax, man," Mouse spins you around, enjoying the view, and sits you down on the opposing couch, facing Fezco. "I ain't know what ya'll got planned sittin' close like that, just precaution. This," he pinches your chin briefly. "Makes the room more...spread out."

Mouse smirks toward Fezco, who's eyes constantly flicker from you to him. "Sit down already. Let's get down to business," he demands. To which Fezco, not wanting the man to be here any longer than he needed, sits carefully. "Alright. Custer toss me that bag!"

The dealer walks around the couch, away from you, and you finally take a breath. Fisting the cushions beneath, you push yourself back onto the couch, eyes flickering up to Fezco, who leans forward at your attention, hands fidgeting and holding tight. You alright?

Your palm spread out wide over your bare thighs, you couldn't believe you wore a fucking skirt today. I'm fine.

But to Fezco, it looks like you were about to be sick.

Mouse took some plastic out the bag Custer provides him. "Alright, check it," he holds out a few things. "I got 100 OP-OC 80s, 500 Xanny bars, 500 20s of Addy," he listed off as the pill bottle clacked and the pills rattled with every push onto the table. "I'm low on Vikes, so if you wanna cop out some Vikes. You better cop 'em today, cause I got 50 left--" he just kept listing and you glanced off to the side, behind you was Custer. From across the room, Ashtray stood at a doorway, you were glad he was far out of interest to the two men.

Ashtray sees the gun in Custer's pocket, eyes pointedly looking to Fezco, communicating that instantly. He watches his brother's jaw flex at the info, before pressing his hand against the crack of the cushion where his pistol laid.

The boy then looks over to you, the woman's that had become his mom in the years they've known you, he hated that you were still here, god, he could kill Rue.

"Custer, what's the math on that?" Mouse finishes up.

"Uh, 25, 15, 1,100, 35, 77 and 25," he counts off. "7,750."

Fezco takes out the paper bag he's prepared. "Here."

He tosses the bag of money up and at Mouse, who tosses it right to Custer after feeling out the stacks.

Mouse steps around from the table. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?"

"Nah man, I'm cool off that shit," Fezco rejects. "Too many ODs and I don't want the heat."

Mouse didn't like that much, but he didn't show it. Not as he came around the couch, staring down at you, already peering up at him, "What about you, wifey, huh? Ever tried Fentanyl?" he comes to sit beside you.

"No," you said, your voice much too small.

"She's good, bruh." Fezco didn't like his shift in attention.

But, Mouse pays Fezco no mind, doesn't even look at him as he leans in closer to you. You look away, he's much too close. "Got hub talkin' for you, huh?" his arm comes around the couch bend and fists his fingers into your hair.

That's a question, he needs an answer. You remind yourself, you try to just look at your boyfriend, though seeing his rage and clearly being just as uncomfortable as you were, if not more, didn't help.

"He just, knows more about this stuff..." you say. Mouse's fingers trail your shoulders, near your neck. "...than I do."

"Not more than me, though," Mouse interjects, before shifting over. "Don't look at him. Look at me. You think he knows more than me?"

You're sure it's not wise to say yes, not as he presses you to make eye contact, he stares you down, hard. You shake your head, reluctantly, throat closing.

"That's right. Ain't nobody knows more than me about the game, wifey," Mouse gloats, rubbing your shoulder. "So, you don't got nothing to worry about, do you?"

You didn't answer, and his hand comes up, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

He pulls your hair over your shoulder, behind your ear. "You ever try it?" Fentanyl.

Mouse's calloused thumb drags over your check, his hand briefly cupping around your lips to see your pout. You're sure he's just trying to piss off Fezco, who's digging into the arm chair, trying to keep calm.

"Mm mm," you try to shake your head.

"Yo, for real, bruh," Fezco speaks up, voice lifting in his turmoil. "I don't want her fuckin' with that shit. At all, man. She ain't with that."

Mouse leans close, looking to pique your interest. "You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he questions. "You like that feeling? I know you like that feeling..."

"Sure," You glanced at him. "Doesn't everybody..."

Oh, shit. Was that the wrong this to say?

Mouse immediately grins, bursting out a short laugh, looking over at Fezco, then Custer.

"Mmm, That's a good answer. I like that," he glances over toward Fezco, smirking in his humour. "I like your girl, man. This a good bitch," He then leans down, snatching up the bookbag, "So, you're gonna love this," Mouse fishes through a few of the plastic wraps.

Mouse flipped open a knife then, startling you, unraveling a bag to take out a white packet. He pokes the metal into the bag, ripping it open, a bit of the liquid catches on the knife at the very tip.

He raises the knife in front of you, the sight of it makes your skin grow cold.

"I'm fine, really." Your press your lips closed. "I've never..."

"What?" Mouse chuckled at your flushed face, the color that had left it. "Never what? Come on, take a lick. What, you don't trust me?"

"Come on, bruh," Fezco seethes to the side. "She said she's good."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mouse cursed him, glaring his way. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you!" He then turns to you, whispering close to you ear, knife so close it could cut you instead. "Tell hubby over there, nobody talkin' to him right now."

Your eyes lock on Fezco's right across from you, you hadn't even realized you were shaking. He looks so guilty, eyes much too expressive to be hidden from Mouse's sight, you wonder if he just doesn't like Fezco or if he just likes playing with his dealers.

Or if he just really likes torturing you.

"Come on," Mouse continues. "Tell him to 'Shut the fuck up'."

You don't, eyes flickering down to the knife he'd raised toward your chin, that had begun to graze your bottom lip.

"Don't be scared, mamas," Mouse suddenly snatches the back of your neck, making you jump. "It ain't gonna bit you."

"Bruh, stop touchin' her like that!" Fezco tries not to get too loud, there's a shakiness to his voice that maybe Mouse doesn't notice, but you do. "She don't mess with that shit."

"Yeah," he can tell. The man palms your thigh, maybe to test Fezco further. "Yeah, she don't. So, why not get the experience? Try it." He raises the knife further, this time between your closed lips. "Open, come on, good girl, open up. Try it."

You wanted to cry from the pounding in your nerves, heart beating fast enough to give anyone a heart attack.

Taking a final look at Fezco, who's put a hand up to his head, he runs it down his face, shaking his head, but he knows you don't really have that chocie.

Fuck, you should've just left.

Your lips close around the drop.

Mouse grins, proudly. "There."

The knife sliding from between your lips, you release a shaky breath, that feels more like the beginning of a sob. God, do you feel pathetic.

You inhale, trying to remember to breathe, as you lock your hands between your legs.

And now, he waits. Staring closely. Fezco can't look as you shrink away from Mouse's knife that he still holds at his lap.

You look so scared, and he can't help the sick feeling in his stomach, his throat tightening as he watched the drug you'd never even thought of take effect. He tried to find the words that you needed, he leaned forward as your eyes began to dilate, "I ain't goin' nowhere," he assures you, steadily. "Right here, whole time. You're just gonna ride it out, a'ight?"

You feel yourself nod, but for a second the ground seems to close and you keep yourself steady. Just ride it out...

They don't have to wait long when your hands ball up into your thighs, you lean forward a bit. Releasing a breath, Mouse chuckles. "Yeah, that shit works quick."

You're not sure if you like it...

But, nevertheless, the high catches you pretty instantly.

Blinking once, twice, before its harder to open your eyes. You lift your hand to your face as you feel heavy all of a sudden, your arm never lifts, instead you're following it down to the couch cushion.

Fezco watches as your head lolls, eyes fluttering, breath turned shallow, your body folding into the couch. Hair obscuring your face, your arm sinks to the carpet off the couch, you let out a gasp of a sound before completely slumping into your high.

This is your fault, Fezco says to himself. Your fault.

God, he's never felt more like shit.

But, with you, there’s become a floating calm, heavy and numbing, the world slipping a step farther away with every second.

There's a hand tracing circles on your skin, sending intense signals through your brain, but you just blink slowly, eyes locked on Fezco. Who hasn't looked away since.

One.

Twooo.

Five.

Eight...

Is that right?

Mouse's fingers run down your thigh, his nails biting into you gentle, possessive, pinching your skin as he leans over, his fingers snapping the lining of your panties back to your hip with a laugh. "You like the way that feels?" he asks, looking at Fezco.

"I dunno..." you drawl.

Mouse pulls your legs over his, shifting closer to you. "What's that mean?" he questions. "Don't you want some patches, girl?"

You hardly had an idea of what he was on about. "I don't..th'k I should.."

Mouse wasn't satisfied. "I think you should take a few patches," he surveyed the curve of your ass on the sofa, your skirt having pulled up. "Don't you agree with me?"

"Ok..." you breathed out.

He gave Fezco a humored look, flipping out three patches. "It's gonna cost you $300," he fits them under the band of your underwear. "Come on, pay up, wifey."

"I'm..." you say. He wants money? "I have half..."

Fezco closed his eyes briefly at Mouse's baiting. He kept his eye on the rise and fall of your chest, panic wasn't even close to the feeling he had stirring in his gut.

Mouse's hand climbs up, crawling up her skirt that hadn't done its job tonight. "How you gon' pay the other half, hm?"

"Mouse, man--" Fezco gritted out, violently. Forced to watch as he tapped the blunt of his knife against your ankle at his tone.

"I don't do a lot of...pills," you mewl, letting out a startled noise before sinking into the couch again. "I shouldn't have..." your words get lost in the mist.

"Yeah, well I got a strict no return policy, so get that outta ya head, wifey," Mouse cackled, slapping a palm onto your heated skin. You make no reaction.

And so, he's had more than enough. "Yo, I'm payin' for it man," Fezco held up the cash.

"Thought you were too good for Fentanyl," Mouse scoffed. "What is it? Everybody's changing their motherfuckin' minds on me?"

Custer laughed. "Yeah." He then glanced over at the boy in the doorway, Ashtray wasn't lookin' at him anymore, his eyes on you, slumped on the couch.

"If she can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way to pay me," Mouse said, nose upturned at the young man that clearly thought he was better than him. "Straight up."

Fezco should've shot Mouse in the face with what he was insinuating on doing to you, on the shit he's pulled tonight. But he knew best than to do that with you right in his grip and a knife still in his opposite hand.

"Just let me pay for it, man. She my wife," Fezco takes his hand from the couch, standing. "I got the money right here."

Handing over $300 to Mouse, eyes locked on you as you're quick to knock out now.

"Dang, that's that real marriage shit, huh," Mouse counted, while you moaned at the mention. "But, price just went up. It's $600 now."

Fezco gritted his teeth, but forked over the extra $300. He didn't trust himself to say anything else as he walks to the opposite side of the couch, closest to your head.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Mouse smirked finally. Taking a last look at you, hands sliding off your thigh, he stands to fix his jacket. "Later, little wifey."

You exhale, heavily. No words leave you for him.

Not until Fezco comes into view. "Fez..." you mewl.

He goes down to his knee in front of you, your eyes had already begun slipping closed, recognizing him briefly as you moaned. "Oh, ma, hey. I'm right here," Fezco whispered, moving your hair out of your face as you breathe slowly against the cushion. "You're ok, I gotchu."

He lifts your hand from the floor holding it tight and letting it settle on the couch by your face.

"I like my bitches lightweight too," Mouse says to Fezco, while lighting a cig between his fingers, before him and Custer make their way out of the house.

Fezco is quick to action as the door slams to a close, fishing the packets off your underwear as Ashtray comes over. A hammer in hand, and an anger he hadn't acted on yet, Fezco's too lost in the moment to see how it's still violently building in his eyes.

"Get the Narcan, just in case, and get rid of these." He hands his brother the packets and points down the hallway.

Ashtray follows his instructions, putting the hammer down on the way.

Fezco turns and returns to your side, a blanket in hand. He pulls it over you, up to your shoulders, you're already feeling feverish though.

He doesn't shift you too much, there's nothing to heave out, or a needle to pull from your skin, there's nothing he can do besides keeping you as comfortable as possible.

All he can do is wait...and watch.

He swallows down the tight pit in his stomach that builds up in his throat, reddening eyes that burn as he settles your head on his lap as you've begun to slip into your slumber.

"I'm sorry..." you drawl, sleepily. "I took it. I didn't..."

The fuck were you apologizing for, he wanted to cry. He stroked your hair, pulling it back and away from you face, holding his palm to the top of your head. "No, ma, it's on me, it's on me," Fezco leaned down to place his lips on your cheek. "It's ok, you're ok. Just rest, ok?"

You're already out.

And with that, Fezco leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes and smearing any evidence of his heartache.

Soon, Ashtray comes to sit on the opposing couch, when he feels a bit composed, Fezco finally looks to his brother.

But, they say nothing, both just sit here, where they both wait together.

A few moments later, Rue comes out of the opposing room.

He had nearly forgotten.

The girl hesitantly enters the hallway, looking into the opposing room before she catches site of Ashtray already staring her down from the living room. She pauses mid stride for a moment at that. "So, your dudes cleared out then, huh?" she awkwardly stepped into the living room.

Fezco hasn't turned to her yet. So, when she's looking around she spots the bags of pills, the drugs unopened, fresh prescriptions, the real, good stuff. "Holy shit..." she breathes out. "What the hell! That's a crazy haul, your guy is the best, oh my shit--"

"Rue!" Fezco lets out an absolutely seething hiss toward her, he doesn't yell or scream, he sneers. Trying his hardest to keep his volume at a minimum, the effort makes him shiver.

Rue's not sure she's ever seen Fezco actually angry. Pissed, yeah. Irritated, definitely, she just tends to have that effect. But, Fezco just wasn't a person she had known to have a real temper, in the way he was glowering at her, she was wrong.

Her voice likes to run away from her despite knowing she should shut up. "What? I was just saying--" she then noticed someone missing. "Did (Y/n) leave already?"

She came closer. Then, seeing you on Fezco's lap, completely out. Beads of sweat already beginning to collect on your forehead.

"Is...everything alright?"

"Ash."

Ashtray lifted himself off the couch, eyes on Rue. He pulls a small bag from his pocket, 4 or 5 pills, the usual. And it's selfish, but she was hoping for more, she doesn't dare say that though.

"Shit, thanks, but..." she dragged. "Um, is she ok?"

"Get out, Rue."

The girl wanted to argue, she also wanted to get the fuck out of here and drown her guilt in the little tablets that put those feelings right to sleep. "I mean, can't I just wait till she--"

"RUE!"

Fezco fumes, enough for a vein to pop. Then he flinches, looking down to make sure he hadn't disturbed you before sighing harshly.

Her hands go up. "Fine, fine! Fuck!" Rue turns quick, making her way down the hall and out the front door. "Fine."

Ashtray locks up behind her, wordlessly. The slam is enough of a tell to his own irritation with her.

Rue clears her throat, walking off the porch and down the walkway, slowly. Her eyes instantly finding your car, she stares at it for sometime, before opening the bag Ashtray had shoved into her hand a moment ago.

She takes a pill, sticking it on her tongue to swallow.

As she snatches up her bike, she waits for the guilt to pass like it always would with every high.

---

An hour or two later, as Ash is beginning to fall asleep on the couch. Fezco decides to move you to the bed, his arms slipping up your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you to the bedroom.

He keeps you turned on your side, his hand braced on your shoulder blade to anchor you there as he blinks back exhaustion. Ashtray crawls onto the end of the bed, deciding to fall asleep there, Fezco tossing a pillow his way.

Ashtray is fast to fall asleep, it was late after all.

Fezco tiptoes around sleep, but he can't.

He has to feel every breath, every shift, every sound, what ifs are infinite right now and he wasn't taking any chances.

He holds you to his chest as you snore quietly, his focus stays locked on the pulse beneath his thumb, on the slow rhythm of your lungs. Every few minutes, placing his lips on your bare shoulder, he whispers small, steady nonsense in case you were listening to him. "You're ok. Stay here. Stay with me."

"You're ok," he mutters against your skin as he blinks slow, the clock glows at 3:40 a.m. when he begins to close his eyes from exhaustion. "I'm here..."

It's 4:12 a.m. when he wakes up to your body tensing up next to him.

"Hey," he rubs your shoulder as you stir to life.

A small, strained sound catches in your throat, a hand clutching at your stomach. Disoriented, you try to lift yourself off the bed, limbs uncooperative, you just slump back to the bed. Fezco quickly leaves the bed, coming around to help you up.

You seemed surprised to see him, hands balled into his sweater as he lifts you. "Fez..."

"I gotchu, ma," he lifts you off the bed. Guiding you forward, he's already sure you'd prefer your first stop being the bathroom. You stumble your way with his help, your weight sagging into him, the ground just won't stop moving!

You drop to your knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling against the porcelain. The first heave hits you hard and sudden, your whole frame shaking with it, enough to make tears sprout. Fez kneels behind you immediately, one hand holding your hair back, the other spread between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely louder than breath. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’re okay. Just let it out.”

You cough up what you can, choke, tears spilling without you meaning to. The sick feeling wracks through you in waves, leaving you gasping between them. Fez stays exactly where he is, his hand warm against your back, holding you tight with every shudder.

As the worst of it passes, Fezco stands for a towel, wiping off your face after wetting it. "M' sorry, I woke you," you apologized as you pressed your head into his chest.

He keeps one arm around your shoulders as you sag into him, exhausted, shaking, breathing uneven but real and steady against his chest.

"Don't apologize for anything," he holds you tight on the bathroom floor. "Please."

You sink into him inch by inch, the last of your tension finally giving up. His chin rests against your hair. When your body jerks again with a small wave of nausea, he tightens his hold as you try to settle your stomach. "I'm ok," you hiccup.

He strokes your cheek, leaning down to embrace you and shield you as he should have tonight.

Soon, you both make your way back to bed, both sitting upright, you've leaned into his chest, trying your best to rest.

Lying there like this now, tangled and still, both wrung out in different ways. Ashtray at your feet, exhausted himself. The day sits heavy between them, what almost happened, what did happen...

Maybe he really was the bad influence...

And as if you could hear his thoughts, you turn in his arms. "Stay w'me tomorrow.." you huff out. "Don't leave me..." and you say so in a way he could never betray.

He was the bad influence that could never go away.

And he wasn't proud of that...

He kissed your temple, tenderly. "Never."

For now, you're safe and warm and breathing, and he’s here, as if he would ever go anywhere else.

Your breathing evens out as you let yourself rest. His finally does too, but he takes in every moment.

Morning always arrived too quickly in Republic City. By the time the first streaks of sunlight slipped between the towering skyscrapers, the streets below were already humming with tram cars clattering along their iron rails.

From your apartment, tucked above a stretch of canal, that restless energy felt blissfully far away. The city's noise reached you only as a soft, muffled murmur filtered through glass and warm drapery, distant enough that it couldn't touch the quiet sanctuary you and Katara had built together.

The kettle hissed softly on the stove, releasing the rich, savory scent of coffee into the air. Katara moved through the sunlit kitchen with a calm efficiency, every step guided by a routine so ingrained it had become second nature.

You stood at the kitchen counter, still getting dressed for your shift, the latest patrol report resting loosely between your fingers. Your eyes drifted over the neatly typed lines of police records while you adjusted the collar of your uniform. The dark fabric fit seamlessly over your broad shoulders and athletic frame as the metalbender's badge you had just pinned over your heart shined in the morning light.

From across the room, Katara caught the faint set of your jaw whenever a particular detail on the report pulled at your thoughts. She noticed the stiffness in your shoulders and the way your eyes lingered a fraction too long on a single line of text. It wasn't just tiredness weighing you down. It was the responsibility of protecting an entire city.

Katara paused, watching you from across the counter. Over the years, she'd grown dangerously good at reading you. You didn't have to say anything; she could pick up on the smallest changes in you.

“You didn't sleep much,” Katara noted softly, stepping closer until her shoulder brushed against yours.

It wasn't an accusation or even a question, just a simple fact. Katara's hand came to rest lightly against your forearm, her thumb tracing an absentminded, soothing circle over your warm skin. “Your chi is all over the place. You were tossing and turning for half the night again.”

A quiet huff escaped your nose as a small, stubborn smile threatened the corners of your mouth. “I slept.”

Katara raised a single, entirely unconvinced eyebrow, daring you to question her.

You finally looked over at her, your voice carrying that deep, gravelly rasp left behind by sleep. “Just not enough according to you.”

“According to me?” Katara echoed, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Try according to the dark circles under your eyes and the fact that you turned over every twenty minutes. Or maybe it's the way you're leaning on that counter like it's the only thing keeping you upright.”

You let out a low chuckle, shaking your head in defeat. “You've been keeping track?”

“I've been sharing a bed with you long enough that I don't have to keep track.” Her fingers slipped into yours, her grip warm and sure as she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I just know you.”

You squeezed back, your expression softening into a tenderness reserved strictly for her. “You worry too much, baby.”

“That's what happens when I love someone who's convinced they're indestructible.” Katara stepped into your space, leaning up just enough to let her forehead rest against yours for a fleeting moment.

“Humor me today. Eat a real lunch, drink some water, and if Toph offers you a dangerous assignment...” She paused, her dark blue eyes searching yours, already knowing the answer. “At least pretend to think about turning it down.”

You couldn't help the amused sound that rumbled in your chest. “Now you're asking for miracles.”

“I'm asking my partner to come home tonight.” The teasing faded from Katara's voice, replaced by an earnest sincerity. “I don't think that's too much to ask.”

For a few quiet minutes, the apartment settled into a peaceful atmosphere that almost felt too good to be true. You shared a simple breakfast at the counter, Katara's eyes tracking your every movement. You didn't mind her watchful gaze. She got like this sometimes. Having spent much of her youth fighting through a war, she took no comfort in watching the person she loved walk out the door to face dangerous benders every day.

Eventually, Katara cleared her plate and walked over to the small wooden table beside the front door, reaching for the worn leather travel pouch she carried everywhere. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency as she checked her healing supplies, tightening roll after roll of sterile bandages, she walked to the sink to refill her waterskin before tucking carefully dried medicinal herbs into a side pocket.

Katara had just pulled the drawstring tight when your warmth settled against her back. You stepped up behind her, your frame casting a long shadow over her as your arms slid naturally around her waist. You pulled her flush against your chest, resting your chin lightly atop her shoulder. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“You're packing enough supplies to heal half of Republic City,” You teased, your deep voice vibrating through her back. “You know that, right?”

Katara let out a soft sigh, her shoulders rising and falling. “I'm being prepared.”

“Mm.” Your grip tightened just enough to draw a reluctant smile from her. “That's what you always say.”

She leaned back against you, letting herself sink into your comforting embrace. Usually, a moment like this was enough to quiet the anxiety that always hovered in the back of her mind before a shift. Today, she couldn't shake it.

Katara gently slipped from your embrace and turned to face you, her smile fading as quickly as it had come. Without a word, she reached up to straighten the dark collar of your uniform. Her fingers moved slowly, smoothing out nonexistent creases before trailing lightly over the strong line of your neck. She wasn't fixing your uniform anymore. She was grounding herself, convincing some frightened part of her that you were right here, warm and solid beneath her touch.

You watched her silently, picking up on the shift in her energy. “Katara?”

Katara swallowed hard. “I don't know why,” She admitted, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I just have a bad feeling today.”

The words seemed to surprise even her. Katara wasn't someone who succumbed to superstition or dark omens. She relied on training, instinct, and experience. Yet ever since she'd opened her eyes that morning, a cold knot had sat in her chest and refused to loosen.

“It's probably nothing,” She continued quickly, trying to talk herself down. “Maybe I just didn't sleep well, or I'm overthinking things, but...” Her eyes locked onto yours, wide with an uneasiness that startled even you. “Could you just be extra careful today? Please?”

The playful edge left your expression instantly. You raised your calloused hand and gently covered hers where it rested against your chest, your thumb smoothing over her knuckles. “Hey. Look at me.”

She was already looking, and you could see the unshed tears in her eyes. The sight of them broke your heart.

“I'm coming home tonight,” You said firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “I promise.”

Katara tried to avert her eyes, but you gently caught her chin between your fingers, tilting her face up. “When have I ever lied to you mami?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. You gave her that crooked smile she'd fallen in love with all those years ago, the one that always made the rest of the world fade away. You leaned down, cupping her cheeks as you rested your forehead against hers.

“I'll be careful,” You promised, your warm, coffee-stained breath brushing her lips. “I'll try not to volunteer for anything stupid.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Try?”

You shook your head, a laugh escaping you. “I'm negotiating here.”

Katara rolled her eyes affectionately, but before you could tease her further, she closed the remaining distance and pressed her lips to yours. It was meant to be a brief goodbye kiss, but the intensity behind it changed everything.

Katara's fingers twisted into the dark fabric of your uniform, clinging to you as if letting go required more strength than she possessed. You kissed her back with equal tenderness, your hand settling firmly against the small of her back to pull her closer as the other cradled her cheek.

As the kiss softened into gentle pecks she pulled back just enough to breathe. Katara kept her forehead pressed to yours, her eyes closed as she drew in a long breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your cologne.

“I love you,” She whispered, her words brushing against your lips.

You kissed the corner of her mouth. “I love you too, princess.”

Katara's grip tightened around your uniform. “Promise me you'll come home.”

You brushed your thumb over the line of her cheek, smiling with the same confidence that always drove her crazy. “I'll do everything in my power.”

It wasn't the guarantee she wanted, but it was the only honest one you could give. Reluctantly, Katara loosened her grip on your uniform, her fingers dragging across your bound chest before finally dropping away. The air between you felt heavy as you stepped out into the crisp morning light, parting ways toward your respective Satomobiles. Leaving her while her eyes were still shadowed with worry pulled at your chest, but duty didn't wait for reassurance, and you both knew that.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

That uneasiness clung to you throughout the entire morning shift. Every call you received, whether it was a domestic dispute or a simple traffic violation, felt distant against the memory of her touch. By the time late afternoon arrived, Chief Beifong handed you and your patrol partner orders to investigate an illicit warehouse operation near the central marketplace. Your mind had finally sharpened back into focus now that you had official orders. You didn't have the luxury of distractions when your patrol partner relied on you being at your best.

The drive across the city wasn't long. Your partner wove the Satomobile through congested streets as the neat limestone architecture gave way to the packed, weathered brick of the lower district. Pulling up half a block from the target warehouse, the engine sputtered out, leaving only the ambient roar of the crowded marketplace.

You stepped onto the street first, scanning the narrow avenue and catching the cold, guarded glares of passersby. Police were rarely met with warm welcomes on this side of the city, the hostility could be felt in the thickened air.

Adjusting your metalbending cables, you took a cautious step across the curb. The moment your boots planted firmly against the cobblestone, the world shattered around you.

The first warning wasn't visual. It was the sudden, violent scream of stressed stone beneath the earth. Through your seismic sense, an underground fault line flashed instantly in your mind. From the looks of it an ancient drainage support was giving way beneath decades of accumulated strain.

Before you could even shout a warning to your partner, the cobblestones groaned, fracturing outward in violent spiderweb patterns. Massive slabs of masonry tore free with a deafening crack, throwing up clouds of dust and stone as the eastern side of the plaza began collapsing in on itself. Panic erupted around you. Frightened civilians scattered in every direction, screaming as storefronts cracked and heavy stone overhangs groaned overhead.

You rushed forward, dropping into a wide earthbending stance and driving both palms toward the earth. The raw force of your earthbending surged through your arms and into the bedrock, spreading beneath the streets in a desperate attempt to halt the sinkhole's advance. The stone groaned under the pressure, but slowly, the widening crack began to slow enough for fleeing shopkeepers and civilians to cross.

“Move toward the main street! Keep moving!” Your commanding voice thundered through the dust as the strain of your bending made your arms burn.

You could hear the sirens in the distance grow louder, but you were already deep within the dust cloud. You tore through fallen brickwork with your bare hands, pulling trapped pedestrians from the rubble and carrying the injured away from the unstable ground. Every few seconds, another section of the street cracked or collapsed, sending fresh clouds rolling through the streets making it harder to breathe, but you refused to stop, you had to save these people. You continued directing civilians away from the sink hole while using your bending to brace whatever structures threatened to come down around them.

Katara arrived with the first medical response unit just as the second wave of collapse ripped through the street. Water was already spiraling around her arms in protective ribbons before her boots had fully touched the ground. She barely had time to take in the devastation of shattered storefronts and civilians stumbling through the haze because something else captured her attention.

You.

You stood near the epicenter of the destruction, directing terrified civilians away from the shifting stone with a composure that seemed almost impossible amid the chaos. You barely reacted as fragments of brick and stone rained around you.

She watched as you steadied an elderly shopkeeper struggling to keep their footing while simultaneously guiding a crying family toward safer ground. Your voice carried above the screaming crowds, giving people something solid to hold onto while everything around them was falling apart.

You had always moved toward danger instead of away from it. It was why you trained at the Metalbending Academy in the first place, to put yourself between innocent people and whatever threatened them. Katara had always loved that fearless, protective streak in you. She admired the way you never hesitated when someone needed help, courage came as naturally to you as breathing.

But standing there and watching you do it with the earth splitting apart beneath your feet terrified her to her core.

She began running toward you, the knot in her chest finally loosening now that she could see you. Your eyes met across the chaotic plaza for one brief second, and the world seemed to disappear around you.

Katara hadnt even made it half way across the courtyard before the earth gave way completely.

This time, there wasn't a warning your seismic sense could pick up on. The entire central foundation of the warehouse heaved upward before collapsing inward, swallowed by the hollow drainage tunnels beneath it.

Katara looked up just in time to see the colossal concrete archway that had ripped loose from the warehouse. Several tons of stone hung suspended for a fraction of a second before gravity took over, sending it plummeting toward the plaza.

Your head snapped upward at the sound, then toward the child screaming for his mother amid the chaos. Through the vibrations in the air and ground around you, you calculated its trajectory–the weight, speed, and distance between the child and the impact point. It didn't take long to realize there wasn't enough time to save him and get yourself clear.

Katara saw the exact moment realization settled over your face. She knew what you were going to do before you even moved.

You gave her one last mournful look before launching yourself forward with every ounce of power your legs had. You crossed the distance in a blurred sprint, scaling broken rock and leaping over massive splits in the earth while keeping sight of the falling debris.

When you finally reached the child, you wrapped an arm around him and used the full force of your momentum to throw him clear of the drop zone. Your metal cables snapped around his waist, suspending him long enough to break some of the impact as he went tumbling onto safe ground. His panicked cry as he ran toward his mother was swallowed by the deafening roar of falling stone.

Unfortunately, you never had a chance to follow.

The second the child was safe, the mountain of concrete smashed down. Thousands of pounds of masonry descended in a violent cascade, blotting out the sky above you. You drove your feet deep into the earth and threw both hands upward, forcing a thick wall of stone to erupt from the crumbled street in front of you.

The barrier surged upward just as the first pieces of debris struck it, but you already knew it wouldn't be enough. There simply hadn't been enough time to bend enough material, and the sheer mass of the collapsing structure was far beyond what even your strongest defense could withstand.

The concrete arch slammed into your stone wall with catastrophic force, pulverizing the barrier almost instantly before the remaining wreckage broke through. You barely had time to brace yourself before the full weight of the collapse came crashing down over you, swallowing your figure beneath an avalanche of rock.

“NO!”

Katara's scream tore from her throat as she watched you disappear beneath the wreckage. She thrust both hands forward, and water from the nearby display fountain erupted into the air, surging upward in a massive torrent before crashing against the falling structure. Katara planted her feet firmly against the broken pavement and pushed with everything she had. Her muscles strained visibly as she fought against thousands of pounds of concrete and iron.

She wasn't trying to stop the entire collapse anymore. She was trying to slow it, to buy you even a single second–half a second, if that was all she could get. Water surged harder around her, wrapping around chunks of falling debris and attempting to redirect their momentum, but the structure was too massive. It was like trying to hold back a mountain with her bare hands.

The concrete gave way beneath the pressure, folding inward as the collapsing building swallowed her current beneath tons of debris. The impact shook the entire plaza, sending violent tremors through the surrounding streets and rattling nearby buildings to their foundations as an enormous cloud of dust erupted from the wreckage. It rolled outward in every direction, thick and blinding, swallowing the afternoon sunlight until the plaza disappeared beneath a bleak gray haze.

For several seconds, Katara couldn't see anything. She stood frozen at the edge of the destruction, staring at the place where you'd been, her chest heaving as she desperately searched the dust for any sign of movement. People were still shouting somewhere behind her but none of it seemed real.

Katara didn't remember deciding to run, only the sudden sensation of her body carrying her forward until her knees slammed against the broken pavement beside the collapsed structure. She immediately began tearing through the rubble with both hands, throwing jagged chunks of rock aside with frantic desperation. Sharp pieces of stone sliced into her palms the further she went, smearing blood across her fingers as dust filled her lungs and burned her throat with every breath, but she didn't stop.

Katara barely seemed to notice the pain. Every part of her was focused on one desperate thought: if she could dig far enough, if she could reach you before it was too late, she could still fix this.

She had spent her entire life running toward people who needed her, healing wounds that seemed impossible to mend and fighting battles that should have broken her. Nothing had prepared her for watching you disappear beneath a mountain of rubble.

“Baby!” Katara sobbed, her voice cracking as she heaved another piece of rock out of her way. Her bloodied hands shook so badly she could barely keep her grip. “Baby, please!”

She dug deeper, throwing aside chunks of stone until her fingers caught on something that wasn't concrete. A flash of dark fabric emerged beneath the dust, and Katara's breath caught so sharply it hurt. She tore at the rubble with renewed desperation, uncovering more of your uniform until she finally saw you.

You were half-buried beneath a massive, tilted slab of reinforced concrete, your body frighteningly still. Your uniform had been shredded by the collapse, exposing skin already mottled with deep purples and blacks from the force of the impact. Your left shoulder and torso remained pinned beneath the slab's crushing edge as a dark pool of crimson spread slowly beneath you, seeping into the cracks between the broken stones.

The sight drained every bit of warmth from Katara's body. For one terrible second, she couldn't breathe. Her heart seemed to stop as grief and horror crashed through her so violently that thought disappeared entirely, leaving only the desperate need to get you out.

Water erupted from every available source in the ruined plaza. The nearby canal surged upward in a roaring column, merchant barrels burst apart as their contents were ripped into the air, and even moisture hanging thickly in the humid atmosphere gathered around her in twisting streams.

A wretched cry tore from Katara's throat as she threw both hands beneath the concrete slab, dragging every drop toward the wreckage as an enormous mass of water slammed underneath it, forming a powerful cushion between the stone and the ground. Katara’s entire body tensed as she pushed her bending beyond what was physically sustainable, forcing the massive slab upward inch by inch.

The concrete groaned under the pressure, lifting just enough to expose a narrow opening beneath it. Several nearby earthbenders rushed forward, wrenching the slab completely free with their bending before hurling it backward into an already-cleared section of the plaza.

“Please...” Katara fell forward from the strain, her breathing ragged as her blood-stained fingers pressed desperately against the side of your neck, searching for any sign of life.

For several agonizing seconds, she felt nothing but the frantic pounding of her own heart beneath her ribs. Then, so faint she almost convinced herself she'd imagined it, a thin, erratic pulse fluttered underneath her fingertips.

Katara's eyes squeezed shut as relief rushed through her so violently that she nearly collapsed over you.

You were alive.

Katara cupped your face with one hand as the other hovered over your crushed chest, already drawing glowing blue water into her palms.

“I'm here,” She whispered, her voice barely holding together as luminous currents spilled over your body and began sinking into your damaged skin. “I've got you, baby. Stay with me.”

The moment her healing water connected with your injuries, the true extent of the damage became horrifyingly clear through her bending. Multiple ribs had shattered under the impact, threatening the organs surrounding them. Your collarbone had broken completely through as torn muscle and ruptured blood vessels surrounded the injury. Katara could feel blood pooling inside your chest faster than your body could compensate.

Your internal organs were struggling due to the trauma. Every shallow breath sent another dangerous tremor through your damaged body. Katara felt everything at once, and for one fleeting moment, panic threatened to overwhelm the discipline she'd spent decades developing as a healer.

Katara wanted to cry, scream, tear the entire ruined plaza apart until nothing remained between you and safety, but she knew exactly what panic would cost you.

So she forced it down.

She buried the terror under years of training and focused entirely on the movements of her hands, pouring every ounce of concentration into keeping your life force within reach.

Her water seeped into torn flesh with painstaking precision. Katara worked through the damaged muscle and around shattered bone, carefully guiding fragments back toward alignment. She sealed ruptured blood vessels one by one, slowing the internal hemorrhaging enough to keep your heart from failing while simultaneously supporting your damaged organs and easing the pressure threatening your lungs.

Every adjustment required absolute concentration. Her fingers shook slightly as she held your body together through sheer force of will. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there. Sweat mixed with dust across her forehead as tears continued streaking her cheeks, but she never looked away.

She couldn't. Not when she was terrified that the instant she did, you would slip away.

“Listen to me,” Katara commanded brokenly, leaning down until her forehead nearly touched yours. “You promised me you'd come home tonight.”

Her voice cracked, and for the first time since she'd reached you, the carefully constructed walls around her composure began to give way. “So don't you dare break that promise to me.”

The sound of Water Tribe boots suddenly struck the cobblestones behind her as emergency response medics rushed onto the scene, their voices cutting through the continuing chaos.

“Master Katara!” The head medic called as he dropped his kit beside the rubble. His expression changed the instant he saw your condition. “We have to move them to the trauma ward right now. If we transport them quickly, we can stabilize-..”

Katara didn't even glance in his direction. Her attention remained fixed entirely on your pulse beneath her fingertips and the faint movement of your chest.

“I'm keeping her alive,” Katara's voice was low, controlled.

The medic stepped closer, trying to make himself heard over the distant sirens and shifting rubble. “Master Katara, if we don't transport them immediately-..”

“I said...” Katara finally lifted her head. The frantic activity surrounding the wreckage seemed to falter under her gaze. “I am not done.”

The words were quiet, but there was nothing uncertain about them. The medics stepped back and waited until the unstable rhythm beneath Katara's hands finally strengthened into something marginally steadier. Your vitals remained dangerously weak, but they were stable enough to risk moving you.

Only then did Katara release an uneven breath. “Now you can move her.”

The medics moved the second they were given permission, lowering a reinforced stretcher beside you while the earthbenders helped clear the remaining debris. Katara never allowed her healing connection to break as they carefully lifted your battered body onto the gurney. She stayed beside you, her hand maintaining the flow of glowing water through your injuries while the other remained wrapped around yours.

Her eyes stayed fixed on your face as they hurried you through the ruined streets toward the precinct's medical ward only a few blocks away. Driving would have taken longer with the congested streets and surrounding road closures.

The intensive care ward smelled of copper, steam, and bitter medicinal herbs burning in small braziers along the walls. The soft mechanical hum of the water-filtration systems blended with the rhythmic beeping of vital monitors, creating an atmosphere that should have felt reassuring.

Katara just couldn't find any comfort in it. She remained beside the massive glass healing tank, watching every subtle movement of your chest as if she could keep your heart beating through her own vigilance. Hours blurred together until they became impossible to distinguish, stretching into an entire day, then two, and by the third time ceased to have meaning outside the room.

At one point, a nurse tried to slide a chair behind her, hoping to convince her to sit before exhaustion finally claimed what was left of her. Katara never acknowledged it or thanked the woman for looking out, and when she came in to check vitals again the chair remained untouched.

Later that same day, another master healer came to reassure her that your condition was stable, but the word offered Katara no comfort. Your heart was still beating, she could see your body was still fighting. But you remained unconscious, suspended in a fragile state that gave her no guarantee you'd ever wake.

Stable sounded too much like not dead yet. Katara couldn't bring herself to accept that as reassurance. She needed to hear your voice, to see your eyes open, feel your fingers tighten around hers. Until then, every beep of the monitor only reminded her how close she'd come to losing you.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

On the fourth afternoon, the metal door slid open with a soft mechanical sigh, followed by the measured footsteps of someone who had no reason to hurry. Katara didn't bother turning around. She knew that cadence anywhere, having memorized it over decades of fighting alongside each other.

Toph entered the room without her usual swagger. There was no crooked smirk or dry remark waiting somewhere behind her expression. She stopped just inside the doorway, her face unusually solemn as her seismic sense spread through the floor, mapping the ward through subtle vibrations.

She registered the quiet hum of the life-support systems first, then the gentle circulation of healing water around your suspended body. Toph could feel the slow pulse of your heart that felt weaker than the last time you were in her presence.

Katara couldn't find the energy to speak. She had spent the last seventy-two hours staring through that glass, and she didn't have the strength left for anything that wasn't you.

“I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner,” Toph said after a long moment. “The healer at the front desk told me you haven't moved from here since they brought her in. Have you even slept?”

Katara's eyes remained fixed on you floating in the blue-tinted water. “She's alive.”

Toph walked farther into the room, stopping just shy of the tank and resting one hand against its metal frame. “That's not what I asked.”

Katara's jaw locked. If Toph felt the sudden spike of tension, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she reached out, her fingers catching the fabric at Katara's elbow. “How are you holding up?”

Something inside Katara began to crumble. Her shoulders remained squared, her palms still pressed against the glass, but her breath caught in her throat. Toph had asked the one question Katara has spent four days refusing to answer.

“I'm holding her together.” Katara's voice was so worn it barely sounded like her own. “That's the only thing that matters right now.”

Toph didn't argue, she simply stood there, her own sorrow evident in the stillness of her posture. She could feel the grief ravaging Katara, slowly eating away at all her joy and happiness and replacing it with a darkness that was consuming all the good parts of her. For once, Toph couldn't deflect the horror with an abrasive joke or awkward attempt at comfort.

Katara swallowed hard, the click of her throat sounding unnaturally loud in the sterile room.

“If I break focus for even a second, I lose the thread.” Katara pressed her palms harder against the freezing glass. The water reacted to her in microscopic currents, manually forcing your damaged lungs to expand and collapse. “If the internal pressure shifts too much her heart stops and she dies. So don't tell me to rest. I'm perfectly fine.”

Toph's expression tightened, but Katara didn't give her room to answer.

“This morning, before she left, I made her promise she'd come back to me.” Katara's bottom lip quivered. Her chest tightened until getting the next words out became impossible.

“But she always does this. She sees someone in danger and suddenly nothing else matters” A bitter sound escaped her, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob before dissolving into a physical manifestation of her grief that hung in the air.

“She acts like nothing in this world could ever possess the power to tear her away from me. And I feel like an absolute fool for ever believing her.” Katara's voice cracked beneath the heartbreaking realization. “I knew she would choose a stranger's life over her own if the choice came down to it. But some selfish, pathetic part of me believed that maybe, just this once, she'd remember that her life doesn't belong exclusively to her anymore. That I'm a part of it now and I cannot survive the aftermath of her absence.”

“Katara...” Toph started quietly, her hand settling on Katara's shoulder as she felt how much effort it was taking to keep her upright.

“No, Toph. Don't.” Katara shook her head, moisture blurring your silhouette that was suspended in the tank. “It's the truth.”

Katara let out a harsh gasp, her upper body folding slightly as the devastation finally broke through the defenses she'd been clinging to since the rescue.

“It still feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from,” Katara choked out against the glass.

“When I first sprinted onto that site and saw her standing there in the middle of the wreckage, I never imagined she'd be the one we'd have to dig out of it. I was too busy thinking about the lecture I was going to give her when we got home.” Katara’s hand shook against the pane.

“I was already picturing it. I was going to scream at her for being reckless and scaring me half to death. She would've given me that exasperated look, like I was overreacting because she nearly died. She would've insisted she had everything under control, and I would've told her that wasn't the point.”

Her eyelids clamped shut as a single tear finally spilled over her lashes, cutting a clean path through the dirt and grime that still clung to her cheek.

“I thought that argument would be waiting for us when we got home. I thought I'd be standing in our kitchen, still furious and terrified, listening to her make some ridiculous excuse for why she couldn't have handled it any other way.” Katara's fingers curled weakly against the glass. “I never imagined the reality would be me standing here, staring at her through a tank and begging her to open her eyes.”

Katara's voice dwindled to a whisper. “I would give up everything I have just to have her come home and make me angry again.”

Inside the tank, something changed. There was this microscopic ripple that would have escaped anyone else. Your fingers twitched in the fluid, curling weakly as though searching for a hand just out of reach. The monitor beside the glass dipped into an erratic stutter before fighting its way back to a steady pulse.

Katara's vision locked onto the movement. Hope struck her with the violence of a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs. It flared bright and blinding for a split second before twisting into something sharper that made her blood boil. Katara was filled with so much anger, hurt and pain that she didn't know what to do with. It was hitting her all at once now, overwhelming her senses to the point that she could feel it actively poisoning her mind against the people that have done nothing to her.

Katara's body stayed pressed to the glass for only a second longer before she turned on her heel and glared at Toph. “What was she even doing down there, Toph?”

“Where were your metalbenders?” Katara spat, her anger momentarily replacing her grief, or maybe it was all the same and she couldn't recognize it because all she felt was your absence and she couldn't handle it on her own. “Where was her backup?”

Toph didn't flinch, her spine straightened as she absorbed the impact of Katara's fury without backing away.

“Katara,” Toph said evenly, though her voice was still incredibly soft. “she was executing a warrant. There was an old, undetected split in the drainage supports. My people can't predict geological failure.”

“Well, they should have been there!” Katara snapped. She turned fully now, tears spilling over despite how fiercely she tried to hold herself together. “You built this entire city, Toph. Are you telling me no one thought to reinforce the one sector that could cave under pressure? She's lying in that tank because someone wasn't paying attention!”

Toph didn't raise her voice, she knew Katara was going through a lot and she didn't mean it. That was the beauty of having a friendship that lasted as long as theirs.

“I didn't drop the building on her,” Toph said quietly. “And neither did she. It was a collapse, Katara. Not a choice.”

“That doesn't change a thing.” Katara's voice splintered, her anger had nowhere to go, so it latched onto the first person willing to stand there and speak reason to her. “It means nothing to me because she's the one paying the price for it!”

Katara's palms tore away from the glass for the first time in four days. She turned her back on the tank, as if looking at your suspended body while speaking was too much to bear, yet she didn't actually retreat. She paced a tight circle not too far from the tank, afraid if she went too far something would happen to you and she'd be too late

“She shoved a child out of the way and took the blow because that's who she is,” Katara continued, her breathing shallow and ragged. “Because she thinks she has to be the shield every single time.”

“And now she's-.” The rest refused to come, Katara's throat worked around the grief as bile rose in her throat. “She is everything I have, Toph.”

Her shoulders shook violently as she covered her mouth, trying to contain a sob that escaped anyway. Toph's face softened as she took a step forward.

“She’s strong Katara,” Toph's fingers twitched at her sides as she fought the urge to reach out and hug her. “If the roles were reversed and it was you or that child, you'd have done the exact same thing.”

“I know.” Katara's eyes turned toward the tank solemnly. “That's not what I'm angry about.”

“I was there, Toph.” Her voice was barely audible. “I felt the water push back as it slowly slipped from my grasp. I held it just long enough to believe I could stop it.”

“That's what I can't let go of. Not that she chose it. Not that she's stubborn.” Katara's voice caught, revealing the truth she's been circling since the moment she'd found you under the rubble. “It's that I was right there and I still couldn't change it.”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The first thing that registered to you was pressure. Not pain, not even clear awareness of your physical form, just an weightlessnes held within something cool and controlled, like the world had been pushed far enough away to stop anything from cutting in too sharply. Sound followed in scattered layers, distant and warped, slipping through water, glass, and too much space before reaching your ears that could barely comprehend it.

Light came after that, filtered blue-green. The glow drifted overhead in slow motion, folding and bending as though the illumination possessed a pulse of its own. When focus became necessary, everything separated into pieces that refused to line up.

Your battered body existed somewhere in that space, but your physical form didn't fully feel real yet. Your limbs felt restricted in ways that didn't translate cleanly into pain. You felt strangely light in places where you knew something should have been wrong. Movement came as an idea more than an action, and even the impulse felt delayed, as if the action belonged to someone else entirely.

Then fragments of your memory broke through at once. The warehouse collapsing, the force of the impact residing somewhere behind your ribs. You could still feel the sensation of being buried beneath tons of stone. You remembered the chaos, the piercing scream in the distance as the brick came raining down.

You felt the desperate pull of it as her voice threaded through everything else, refusing to be buried beneath the wreckage. It reached the abyss the same way she had refused to let go when everything around you was falling apart. You wanted to reach for it, follow the sound until it called you home but it was getting further away the more you focused on it.

Katara.

The thought surfaced fully before anything else could settle around the name, as if your mind had been holding onto that single point the entire time, waiting for the person who made everything else meaningful.

Your unfocused eyes drifted fully open now. The world assembled itself in blurred pieces that refused to settle all at once. Breathing came with difficulty, every inhale shallow and strained, leaving your throat painfully dry. You found that even swallowing hurt as your parched throat scraped against raw tissue.

Your gaze drifted beyond the glass as your eyes searched for her. Katara was seated in a chair pulled so close to the healing tank that one hand still rested against the glass. You recognized the exhaustion clinging to her body, it only happened after she pushed beyond every limit she had until her physical form finally demanded what the heart refused to give.

Katara's shoulders were slumped under the strain of sleepless days. Hrr dark strands of hair had long since escaped her braid, framing her face that looked far thinner than you remembered. Your could see the shadows forming underneath her blue eyes that were deeper than ordinary fatigue.

She looked like the last week had taken pieces of her spirit one by one. And still, even in sleep, she hadn't moved from your side.

Something tightened painfully in your chest, an ache that had nothing to do with the injuries slowly knitting themselves back together beneath the healing water. You wanted to speak, you needed her to know you were alive so she could finally stop carrying all of this alone. Your lips parted as your throat constricted around the effort, but all that emerged was a weak rasp.

Katara's head lifted so quickly the motion looked almost painful. Her eyes found the tank before the faint echo of your voice had fully faded. She didn't move closer at first, she simply stared through the glass, searching every inch of your face with cautious disbelief. It was almost like she couldn't allow herself to believe you were awake until she'd witnessed the sight enough times to make it real.

Fear kept her eyes from truly blinking. Katara was terrified the image before her might dissolve the instant her focus wavered. When you titled your head to look at her fully, hope surfaced again, hesitant and fragile as relief washed over her.

“Don't try to talk,” Katara whispered, her voice gentle enough that it seemed carried by the water itself. There was no reprimand in it, only concern bordering on fear.

You tried to anyway.

Your stubbornness had always been one of the few things capable of matching her own. Your lips parted as air forced its way through muscles that had lain dormant for far too long.

“Ka...” The sound dissolved before the second syllable could form.

Katara's breath hitched as tears spilled from her eyes. “Baby? I'm here. I've got you.”

Your eyes sought hers through the wavering blue of the medicinal water. Everything still felt slow, like the world had forgotten how to move at a normal pace, but her face remained unmistakable admist it all. You lifted your hand, the movement was painfully small, your fingers curled weakly as your palm drifted toward the inside of the glass. The effort left your arm shaking as your fingertips finally brushed the smooth surface separating you from her.

Katara saw the gesture before the movement had even finished. She raised her hand, placing both palms against the outside of the tank until her skin rested directly opposite of your fingertips inside.

“You've been asleep for a week,” She said, never taking her eyes off you. “I kept talking to you anyway. I figured if you got lost somewhere, maybe you'd hear my voice and remember how to find your way back to me.”

Her fingers spread slightly against the glass. “I’m so glad you did baby.”

Your chest tightened. Whether from emotion or injury, you couldn't tell. You swallowed against the dryness of your throat, wincing as the movement sent dull aches through your body. “Hurts.”

Katara's face crumpled, she closed her eyes for a brief second, drawing in a cautious breath as the healing water carried every flicker of your discomfort back to her palms. She could feel the agony as clearly as if the trauma were happening to her.

“I know,” She murmured, her thumb brushing slowly across the glass where your hand rested. When she looked at you again, her eyes were bright with tears she no longer cared to hide.

“I wish I could take the pain from you.” Her voice softened into something fragile. “I would, if the choice were mine.”

“You scared me,” She admitted, the words slipping free before she could stop them. “I've watched people fight for their lives before. I've held strangers together with these same hands.”

She lowered her eyes briefly to her palms before looking back at you.

“But watching you...” Her voice faltered. “I've never been so afraid of making mistakes. I wouldn't allow anyone else to manage your care.”

You couldn't speak so you just listened, allowing her voice to wash over you.

“You were unbelievably brave,” Katara added, a faint smile appearing through her exhaustion. “And when you're strong enough to argue with me again...” Her brow lifted slightly. “We're going to have a very long conversations about throwing your body underneath collapsing buildings.”

You couldn't help the weak, breathy laugh that escaped you. You winced a little at the pain that followed it. Katara smiled through her tears, she was just happy to be able to see your open eyes again.

“That's for later,” She promised gently. “Right now, I just need you to heal.”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The transition out of the intensive care treatment came days later under Katara's watchful supervision. The machinery surrounding the healing tank activated, its familiar hum changing pitch as the drainage process began.

Katara spine straightened as the tenderness she'd carried throughout your recovery gave way to the sharp, focused concentration of a healer. At her signal, the other healers moved into position as the filtration pumps began drawing the medicinal water away in slow, regulated stages.

The fluid level dropped inch by inch.

As the warm currents receded, the weightlessness that had supported your body for days gradually disappeared. Your muscles that have been suspended for so long were suddenly forced to bear the strain of gravity again, and the sensation was jarring. Every mending bone, deep bruise, and carefully stitched muscle seemed to announce itself at once.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat as your body struggled to adjust. Katara noticed before anyone else and she was already moving toward you.

“Easy,” She said, one hand lifting toward the glass even though she couldn't reach you just yet. “Don't fight the pressure. Let your body adjust.”

The final drops of water slipped away, leaving moisture clinging to your skin and streaking the inside of the tank. Without the support of the water, your shoulders sagged under the sudden weight of your own body as exhaustion settled over your limbs like lead.

Katara never took her eyes off your shivering body. The tank doors released with a low metallic hiss, allowing cool air to spill into the chamber. Before the other healers could fully step forward, Katara was already there.

Her arm slipped carefully behind your shoulders as her other hand supported your back, her movements careful enough to avoid disturbing the injuries still healing beneath your skin. Katara took as much of your weight as she could, holding you close for the first time in days. She was so close now that you could finally feel the warmth of her skin after a week and a half of being separated by glass and all you wanted to do was burrow into the safety of her embrace and never leave.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Katara simply held you, her arms firm around your weakened frame as she held you close to her. She eventually eased you onto the edge of the medical cot, keeping one hand against your back until she was certain you could support yourself. Only then did she reluctantly let go.

“Stay there,” She ordered, her voice calm but unmistakably authoritative. “Don't move.”

Before you could answer, she'd already reached for the thick towels waiting on the nearby cart. She draped one over your head and began working it through your short hair with brisk strokes.

There was nothing particularly delicate about the way she dried you, but after spending a week unable to touch you without a layer of glass between you, even her fussing felt strangely comforting.

“And don't even think about standing up,” She continued without missing a beat. “Your left femur is still healing. If I catch you trying to put weight on that leg before I examine it properly, I'll freeze your feet to the floor myself.”

You smiled as a rough laugh rumbled from your chest. Your amusement didnt last too long before pain erupted beneath your ribs, forcing you to suck in a careful breath through clenched teeth.

Katara's hands stopped in your hair as her eyes lifted to yours, concern flashing across her face before settling into a mixture of exasperation and affection. “Don't make me prove that I'm serious.”

Despite the soreness pulling through your chest, a tired smile found its way back across your face. You'd missed that look and the way she slipped effortlessly into healer mode, issuing orders before you could even think about arguing with her. You also missed the sound of her voice and the warmth of her hands. You could go on and on about all the things about her that you would never take for granted again.

“Missed you too,” You managed, your voice carrying that deep rasp Katara had spent the last week terrified she might never hear again. “Beautiful.”

“You're going to be the death of me.” She whispered, her thumb brushing gently across your skin. Katara bent down then, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth just shy of a bruise that hadn't fully healed yet. “I missed you too baby. Now lets get you cleaned up so I can take you home.”

You knew you had a long recovery ahead of you, but atleast Katara was there, and although you weren't looking forward to the lecture once you got home. You were happy to be in the safety of her arms once again.

Bruce trusted your judgment, your ability to improvise, and above all, your ability to keep up with him on patrol. He didn't need to give you orders every second; a single glance was enough to understand the plan. He also appreciated that you weren't some rebellious kid trying to impress him to stay. You were less trouble than all the others who had come before.

That's why, when the city became too chaotic or everyone else was unavailable, it was your communicator that would ring.

Over time, the police grew accustomed to seeing you alongside the Dark Knight. Commissioner Gordon wasn't even surprised anymore when, instead of Nightwing or Batgirl, it was you descending from a building with Batman.

The criminals also learned your name. They knew that if you showed up, the chances of escape would decrease dramatically.

And, in a surprisingly short time, you had already faced a long list of Gotham's most dangerous criminals. Names you only knew from Batman's files or the news a few years ago: the Joker, the Penguin, the Riddler, the Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, and, of course, Two-Face.

You never imagined that those figures, almost mythical to any citizen, would end up becoming part of your daily routine. Each one had their own methods, their own quirks, and a different way of challenging Batman. Over time, you learned to adapt to them all, to anticipate their moves, and even to recognize when one of them was planning something big.

However, there was one who was very creative, as you had faced him at least three nights in the same week.

At first, it seemed like a simple coincidence. Two-Face frequently appeared in the operations you were involved in. Then, he started ignoring opportunities to escape in order to confront you personally. Later, he stopped being content with just exchanging a few words during battles.

Nobody paid any attention to it. After all, Gotham was full of obsessive men.

But this was not a simple rivalry; it was the beginning of a fixation that, as the months passed, would end up becoming a dangerous obsession on the part of the renowned Harvey Dent.

One night a call came in shortly after midnight.

One of Batman's informants had obtained a crucial lead: Two-Face was planning to meet with several members of Gotham's mafia at an old dockside warehouse. According to the information, a deal involving weapons and money from various criminal families would be finalized there.

So less than twenty minutes later, the Batmobile stopped a few blocks away.

The building was enormous. An old brick industrial warehouse, abandoned for years, its only light coming from a few exterior spotlights that flickered intermittently. The wind creaked the rusted sheets of the roof while the harbor water lapped gently against the wooden pilings.

Batman scanned the building through the visor of his cowl. "I see no movement."

"Perhaps we arrived ahead of schedule," you whispered.

The place was unsettling; it was too quiet and gloomy given the poor visibility due to the lack of lights. Inside, hundreds of containers, wooden crates, and machinery covered by tarpaulins formed a veritable labyrinth.

Batman raised a hand, signaling you to stop. He crouched down next to some fresh footprints.

"These ones are new."

"So someone was here."

"Or is it still here..."

They continued advancing in silence; only their muffled footsteps and the steady drip of water from the ceiling could be heard. Suddenly, Batman's communicator emitted a faint beep, and a heat signature appeared in his visor.

"Movement on the second level." he looked up at the metal walkways. "I'm going upstairs. You check the east side. If you find anything, don't act alone."

You nodded.

It wasn't the first time they had separated during a patrol; they were both used to working that way, and he knew you would take his words into account.

You waited for Batman to disappear into the shadows before continuing, as you moved forward between the containers, the feeling of discomfort increasing.

It was as if someone was watching you.

You turned slowly, but there was nothing in that area, only darkness accompanied you. You took a deep breath and continued, but a faint metallic noise resonated behind you.

Then a box fell several meters away. Instinctively you ran towards the sound, and as soon as you crossed the narrow passage formed by two rows of containers, several metal gates crashed down behind and in front of you.

You were locked in.

"Batman!" You reached for the communicator, but only heard static.

The signal had been blocked.

Before you could react, four men emerged from the shadows. They were Two-Face's men.

The first one tried to grab you, but you knocked him down with an elbow to the jaw, the second one received a kick that threw him against a container, the third one managed to fire, forcing you to take cover behind some boxes.

You knew you couldn't stay trapped there, you threw a batarang, cutting the lights in the hallway, the darkness was on your side.

For a few seconds, there were only thumps, muffled screams, and the sound of metal hitting the ground. One after another, the men fell. And when the last one finally lay unconscious, you sighed.

It was over, or at least that's what you thought.

A voice sounded behind you. "The boss said we couldn't fail."

You turned around too late; something heavy had hit the back of your head hard.

A sharp pain shot through your skull, your knees gave way instantly leaving you completely dizzy and blind, while through the ringing in your ears you heard footsteps approaching.

"Is she alive?"

"Yeah."

"Perfect... The boss made it very clear he didn't want a scratch on her, kill the idiot who shot her."

Before you completely lost consciousness, you saw a pair of elegant black boots stop in front of you.

Then a silver coin fell to the floor and Harvey Dent's face flashed before your eyes for just a second. "Take her."

Everything went black.

The return to consciousness was slow and painful.

Before you opened your eyes, a sharp thump hammered at the back of your head. The thump was still there, pulsing insistently, as if each beat of your heart echoed against your skull.

The air was cold, damp, with that unmistakable smell of old wood and dust accumulated over years.

You slowly opened your eyes. The light was dim, barely enough to make out the shapes in the room. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly and casting irregular shadows on the walls.

You blinked several times, trying to focus; it wasn't common to be surprised by someone hitting your head until you lost consciousness, how painful it all was.

The first thing you did was try to get up, but a strong pull in your wrists prevented you from doing so.

Looking down, you saw steel handcuffs encircling both your wrists, securing them to the armrests of an old wooden chair. These weren't makeshift handcuffs; they were reinforced and bolted directly to the chair's frame. You pulled a second time, harder, but barely managed to budge the chair a few inches off the ground.

You took a deep breath to force yourself to think clearly; you couldn't exert force, it only made your head throb even more and you weren't going to get anywhere. You had to find another way to solve it, but first, rule number one: don't panic.

You could hear Bruce's voice telling you that.

As long as you remained calm, there would always be a chance to escape. You looked up and finally took in your surroundings.

The room was enormous; several rows of wooden benches stretched out before you, covered with a thin layer of dust. To one side still stood the judge's bench, raised above the rest of the room, and behind it hung the Gotham crest, cracked in two. The windows were completely boarded up, preventing any light from entering.

An old courthouse in one of the abandoned buildings.

An almost ironic choice for Harvey Dent. The former district attorney had turned a place dedicated to administering justice into his hideout for a kidnapping.

You couldn't keep dwelling on the situation you were in because the sound of a door opening broke the silence.

The footsteps echoed on the wooden floor with an unsettling calmness. Then Harvey appeared, or at least what was left of Harvey Dent.

His figure emerged from the shadows with the same elegance he had once possessed as Gotham's district attorney. The undamaged side of his suit remained impeccably pressed, while the other half was charred and torn, as was the deformed skin of his face.

He carried a revolver in one hand and in the other, he absentmindedly twirled his characteristic silver coin between his fingers.

He entered the room, his gaze fixed on you, his attention so intense it sent a shiver down your spine, and stopped just a few feet away from you.

The only sound was the soft clinking of the coin as it passed from one finger to another.

You were the one who finally broke that awkward silence. "I have to admit, this is a pretty extreme method for starting a conversation."

The corner of his mouth, on the good side, curled slightly. "If I had invited you, you wouldn't have come." His voice was calm, as if they were talking in a coffee shop and not in an abandoned courtroom with you handcuffed in front of him.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Well... I mean, you can't blame me."

Harvey did not respond immediately.

He simply pulled a chair from among the benches in the courtroom. The scrape of the wood against the floor echoed throughout the room as he slowly moved it closer until it was right in front of you.

He rested his forearms on his knees, holding the coin between his fingers, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, and that was what was truly unsettling.

He wasn't interrogating you, he didn't want information about Batman, he didn't even seem interested in threatening you. It was as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time and, now that he finally had it, he didn't quite know where to begin.

Harvey remained seated in front of you without saying a single word.

The chair he had dragged until it was in front of yours creaked every time he shifted his position slightly. Between his fingers, the coin twirled with an almost mechanical skill; it seemed an unconscious movement, a habit acquired after so many years.

You, on the other hand, did not take your eyes off the handcuffs that bound your wrists.

His gaze drifted down to your wrists. "Are they too tight?"

You blinked, confused. "Pardon?"

"The handcuffs." he made a small gesture with his head, indicating them. "I didn't want them to be so tight."

You watched him, unsure if he was joking to annoy you or what was wrong with him, but his expression remained completely neutral.

"Kidnap me"

He barely inclined his head. "Yes."

You waited for an explanation or for him to continue talking so you could get some information, but nothing, and the silence became increasingly uncomfortable.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. "And you don't see anything strange about all this and what you're saying?"

The coin stopped spinning for a moment. Harvey held it between his thumb and forefinger before answering. "No."

He didn't really find anything strange about the situation.

"Batman is coming."

"I know."

"And when he arrives..."

"He'll try to get you out of here."

"So... why do it?"

Harvey looked down at the coin and rolled it slowly on his knuckles. "Because you'll be here for a few hours."

You frowned. "What?"

He looked at you again. "Without him."

You didn't understand.

"Whenever we meet, Batman is in the way." His voice remained measured. "There are always gunshots, explosions, people running; we can never finish a conversation."

You looked at him in disbelief, what the hell was happening? The signs that he was out of his mind were obvious, but this was something, you had to be smart if you wanted to get out of here alive.

Where the hell is Batman when someone needs him?

"Conversation? Harvey, every time we meet you try to shoot me."

"I've never shot at you."

The statement came from his lips with such certainty that it made you fall silent, leaving you to mentally review each confrontation.

And suddenly you realized he was right, what a strange feeling to think that a murderer and criminal like Two-Face was right, the hit and his timeshare were damaging your mind.

He had shot at Batman, at the police, at vehicles, but never directly at you.

What a romantic man, right?

Harvey noticed the change in your expression. "You remembered." He leaned back in his chair. "That's why I needed to bring you here."

"You need to?"

He nodded slowly. "It's the only way you'll stay long enough."

The casual way he uttered that sentence was far more unsettling than any threat. He spoke like someone who had reached a perfectly reasonable conclusion after analyzing all the possibilities.

You would escape, Batman would appear, and the conversations would end.

So he removed the only thing that was preventing you from staying there and

He kidnapped you.

And, judging by the serene expression on his face, it was clear that he didn't understand why that should seem like madness to you.

"Enough time for what?" you asked in a low voice.

Harvey held your gaze, the coin had stopped spinning between his fingers. For the first time since you had woken up, he seemed to hesitate.

He opened his mouth, ready to answer.

But a loud crash shook the entire room.

The old skylight exploded above their heads, sending hundreds of shards of glass hurtling to the ground.

Harvey barely had time to look up when a black figure descended, wrapped in a cloak.

Batman.

He didn't even have time to react; a punch landed squarely on the uninjured side of his jaw, forcing him back. Before he could regain his balance, Batman spun around and connected with a second, direct blow to his face.

Harvey fell heavily onto the wooden floor. The revolver slipped several meters. The coin slipped from his fingers, spinning on the floor before coming to a stop next to one of the benches.

"Are you okay?" Batman asked without taking his eyes off Harvey, making sure he remained unconscious.

Before you could answer, another figure descended using a cable from the hole in the ceiling.

"God!"

Nightwing landed almost immediately in front of you, and in two strides he was by your side. He knelt in front of the chair as he pulled a small tool from his belt. "Let me see..."

Her hands moved swiftly over the handcuffs. You could sense the confidence in every movement.

"Did it hurt you?" he asked as he tried to open the mechanism.

You shook your head. "Just... one hit."

He looked up immediately. His eyes scanned your face until they settled on the bruise that was beginning to form near your hairline. "Did he hit you?"

"It wasn't him, one of his men."

Nightwing clenched his jaw.

A metallic click announced that the first handcuff had opened. Then the second, and the chains fell to the floor with a thud.

As soon as your hands were free, Dick carefully grasped your wrists, examining the reddish marks the steel had left on your skin. "Look at me."

You obeyed.

He placed a hand on your cheek and then on the back of your head with a gentleness uncharacteristic of someone who had just stepped into an operation. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"A bit."

"Are you seeing double?"

You smiled wearily."I only see you once, luckily."

Dick let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between relieved and frustrated. "Don't joke around now."

Without thinking twice, he placed a hand on your shoulder to help you up and held you by the waist before you could even feel dizzy. "Relax, I've got you."

Batman, who had already secured Harvey with reinforced handcuffs, looked up for barely a second. He simply checked that you were in Dick's hands and refocused on the prisoner.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he helped you up.

Still dazed from the blow to the head, you nodded."I've had better nights."

He let out a relieved smile. "Yes... I can tell"

Harvey, still dazed from the blows, slowly began to regain consciousness.

The first thing he saw when he opened the only eye he could focus on was Nightwing holding him with a closeness that did not go unnoticed.

Then he saw how, almost instinctively, you placed a hand on Dick's arm to keep your balance. And finally, he heard the phrase that made everything fall into place.

The living room one flight down from your room was lively, you could hear the residents of wayne manor busting and talking to one another, your invite had seemed to get lost in the mail between lips just like anything else in the house.

There were only so many times you could make excuses for their lack of attention, until you gave up all hope on them, but tonight you no longer roll in self pity, you had shit to do.

Zipping up your fur lined latex bodysuit you thought at the very first time you had a nightly activity of this kind. You were 16 and bored, but most of all dirt poor, how one might ask

"How is a child at wayne manor dirt poor" well lets say that a certain bat forgot to even set you up with a allowance in the first place, so you had to live off what little money your mom left to you and whatever you found around the house, which still wasn't enough for to the ever growing greed in your yet to be seen need.

So following after the very popular cat themed thief thief you planned out a simple house on a not so pleasant councilman member, the hustle overall went smoothly due to you having the full schematics of his house and the security layouts, it was a simple in and out job that was until your inspiration herself confronted you.

Instead of reporting you to bat man, just to be petty like you thought she was going to do, she just simply told you to get your own turf. And that you did, yes it was a bit far but what's 40 mins (30 if you pushed it) to new york.

In the new york scene you thrived, not worrying about the bats and birds (aka your family since they were the worst at keeping their voices down) and always the other villains in the city coming after you. In new york, you were simply a robin hood except you hated birds and you kept everything you stole.

It took as long as a month for you to get a proper costume, at first it was a simple black bodysuit and a lenless diamond mask in the matching black, that was until you upgraded to the current fur lined latex body suit you wore, that you had changed it because people were sizing you as a woman which largely annoyed you, that's also why you started to wear a white wig. You wanted to make sure you stood out more.

By month 3 you had official earned your villian name, the black cat—simple yes you were sastified with it. Also in that month you had officially met new yorks bryggest (well one of them) hero's, Spiderman. You had been in the middle of swiping some flash drive full of info from a tech company for a client (because you felt just stealing jewels had become pointless as some point.) when he had lowered himself slowly next to you.

"So who what are we doing?"

if you hadn't seen apex of his red and blue ass costume point arrlier you would have jumped 5 feet in the air with a scream, but instead you kept working for the flash drive.

"If it isn't the little spider, and you came here for lil ol' me?" your voice lined with a teasing tone that was bordering on flirtatious. "I thought you would have to go deal with one of these other actual threats, I'm just a harmless kitty" you pause as you finish your sentence and approach him more directly making the now standing spider man back up slightly.

"If you call stealing millions of dollars worth of stuff harmless, then the bar sure is low!!"

You could hear the plain sarcasm in his voice, entertaining as you hold your hands behind your back and continue your approach towards him and he continued to back up. Clearing his throat to regain some kind of control "You know you're gonna have to lose that bolt now?" you raise your eyebrow in amusement, perching side notes clearly never this. "aw, but then how would my client pay me? would be a shame if I showed up empty empty handed now would it?"

At this point you were circling the poor hero and him seemly flustered at your tone of voice, "If you leave the flash drive here, I will let you have at least 3 mins until the cops come to get a head start." You tilt your head and tap your chin with the USB side as if actually thinking about his offer, "How about I keep the flash drive and get a head start now..."

You perch in the open window you were discreetly moving towards the entire time "Sorry spidey, hope our next meeting is more exciting than this, but a kitty needs go, deuces!" using your grappling hook, you flew out the window into the night.

After that, you had more run in's with spiderman, many more actually, there were multiple times you guys had teamed up to face a bigger threat, or that time he had gotten a symbiote in himself, after all those times he tried again and again sorry and yes yes to became a full hero with him and you would always say the same thing "calling me a anti-hero is already pushing it and besides spidey, I'm a black cat—misfortune is my whole thing."

It's been a full year since you guys fully met and of course you knew more about him than he knew about you, you knew the man behind the mask and the mess—he had was your first name and your face with only the mask.

So it was a common thing during your encounters for him to say random last names to try and guess mostly getting the horribly wrong. He also knew you weren't native to new york when you two had fucked and the other time you brought him to your small base in gotham after you found him on the brink of death.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully. 

Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.

“Were you expecting company?”

She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.

“Oh. Right.”

A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day. 

Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” 

“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered. 

“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?” 

Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.” 

His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“ 

“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.” 

He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“

You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.” 

His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger. 

“…Seriously?”

You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.” 

His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.” 

You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?” 

“I forgot.” 

“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.

You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost. 

Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.

The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.

You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately. 

Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off. 

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?” 

He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.” 

“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“ 

You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago. 

The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?” 

You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again. 

“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.” 

“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.” 

“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch. 

“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”

You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”

“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement. 

“Yes, can we?” 

“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.” 

“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet. 

The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.

“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”

“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.

“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.

Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”

”It is more like possession."

You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.

Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.

“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”

You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs. 

“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”

Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”

“I’ve seen your belly button.”

All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered. 

“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”

“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”

The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.

”You’ve scared him off.” 

“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.

Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.

News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last. 

 The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????” 

You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything. 

“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “

“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”

You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.

“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”

“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”

“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”

A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”

“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”

You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“So what’s next?”

“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”

He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”

“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing” 

“Oh? That’s it huh?” 

“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to. 

Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”

“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.

Instead, silence answered you.

The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity. 

You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.

I’m at your office. Where are you?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

running 2 get food

Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.

do u want blini

wait no dumplings

there's an ice cream cart do u want 

of course u want why do i ask

Then another.

I'll get them all brb

there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country 

You couldn’t help smiling. 

thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea 

Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.

yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time 

Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.

You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.

By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.

So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.

”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.

“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself. 

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”

“I’ll just wait here.” 

“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.” 

“Are you sure?”

”Yes.”

“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”

That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”

He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”

“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”

”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.” 

“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.

He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.

It was then your eyes caught the scar.

Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.

He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”

One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.

”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.” 

“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.” 

“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?” 

He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.

You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”

“Y-Yeah…”

The word caught somewhere in his throat.

A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.

His eyes betrayed him.

For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.

“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.” 

“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.

He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.

“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”

Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”

Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view. 

“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated. 

“Do you shoot webs from other places?” 

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”

A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“I said that’s a shame.”

“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”

For a long second he simply stared at you.

“What? I like spiders too, you know?”

Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.

“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.” 

“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?” 

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you. 

“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”

Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.” 

He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.

For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.

“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?” 

“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.

The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.” 

“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?” 

He shakes his head, “I try not to.” 

You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.

“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek. 

“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric. 

You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.

“Is this okay?” 

“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced. 

Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones. 

“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing. 

“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch. 

“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.” 

He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins. 

“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?” 

“I-“ 

“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“ 

One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it. 

He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?” 

You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth. 

One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits. 

“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit. 

“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.” 

Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist. 

“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.” 

“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”

There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically. 

In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you. 

He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt. 

There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd. 

“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.” 

Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?” 

“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.” 

“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out. 

“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs. 

“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you 

Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh. 

You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.

“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.” 

“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again. 

When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“

”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.” 

“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm. 

“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.

“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.” 

“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time. 

You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you. 

“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.

“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him. 

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“ 

“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.” 

He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his. 

“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…” 

“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.

You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs. 

“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.

He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.” 

“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened. 

“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.

That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name. 

You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again. 

“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.” 

The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries. 

“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.” 

“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you. 

“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.” 

“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. 

The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.

𑣲⋆

The steam from the hot tub coiled upward into the cool evening air, little tendrils of vapor that caught the glow of the rooftop string lights and turned them soft, hazy. You’d positioned the tub years ago so it faced west toward the city skyline, toward the Avengers compound in the distance if you squinted and tonight the view was doing its job. Manhattan glittered like a circuit board, all gold and white and flickering red from the tower beacons.

Your phone buzzed on the cedar decking beside the tub.

On my way. Ten minutes out. You have the files?

No emojis. No banter. Very on-mission energy from Peter Parker tonight.

You let the message sit for a full three minutes before responding, using the time to adjust the jets, to let the bubbling water massage the backs of your thighs, to touch up your lip combo in the reflection of your phone screen. The brown liner was still crisp.

The gloss sat perfect in the center of your bottom lip, catching light. Your wispy lashes fanned against your cheeks when you blinked down at the screen, and you smiled slow, private— before tapping out your reply.

I have what you need. Come to the roof. I’m in the hot tub.

Three dots immediately. Then they stopped. Then they started again.

The hot tub?? I’m coming about the Jean Grey intel. This is serious.

So am I, you typed back. And so is the intel. Door’s unlocked. Bring a towel if you’re shy.

You set the phone aside and sank a little deeper into the water, your shoulders kissed by steam, your curly flip-over grazing the nape of your neck. The water temperature sat at exactly one hundred and one degrees, perfect for loosening muscles, for softening tension, for making someone forget why they walked through the door in the first place.

Peter Parker had been in and out of your orbit for two years now. On and off, as you’d described it to your journal never quite dating, never quite strangers. A gravitational pull that kept yanking you back toward each other every few months when a case overlapped, when intel needed sharing, when he swung through your window at midnight with a gash on his ribs and that sheepish, I know I should’ve called first expression. He was brilliant.

He was maddening. He was twenty-three years old with the weight of the goddamn world strapped to his shoulders, and he still somehow found time to remember that you took your coffee with oat milk and two sugars.

But the on-and-off rhythm had tilted three weeks ago. A late-night argument about his recklessness.

Your refusal to hand over classified data without proper clearance. Words that cut deeper than either of you intended. He’d called you impossible. You’d called him a liability to himself. And then he’d disappeared into the city skyline, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

Until this morning.

I need your help. It’s about Jean Grey.

And now here you were. In the hot tub. Because if Peter Parker wanted to treat you like an information vending machine, he was going to have to work for every byte of data.

The door to the roof stairwell creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

“You’re not wearing a towel,” you said.

“I— no. I’m wearing the suit. I thought this was a business meeting.” Peter’s voice had that slightly strained quality it always got when he was trying not to sound flustered. Footsteps on cedar, careful and light. “You’re literally in a hot tub.”

“Literally.”

“With… is that a mimosa?”

The glass flute sat on the tub’s lip, condensation sliding down the stem. “Orange juice and prosecco. Want one?”

His silhouette moved into your peripheral vision. He was in the red-and-blue suit, mask and all, the web pattern catching the string lights in a way that made him look like something out of a fever dream, muscle definition that the spandex did nothing to hide, lean athletic lines from shoulders to hips to thighs. He’d gotten broader since you first met him. The boyish edges were sharpening into something harder. More capable.

The mask’s white eye lenses narrowed. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” He gestured at the hot tub. At you. At the mimosa and the city skyline and the slow, deliberate way you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip without breaking eye contact.

“The whole… thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You set the glass down. Trailed your fingers through the bubbling water. “You said you needed Jean Grey intel. I have it. We’re meeting.”

“We’re meeting in a hot tub.”

“Is there a problem?”

Peter exhaled, a sharp little sound that the mask’s speakers picked up and broadcast. He reached up, thumbs hooking under the edge of his mask, and peeled it off in one clean motion. Brown hair stuck up in seventeen different directions. His cheeks were flushed, and not from the steam. “You’re impossible.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“Three weeks ago.”

“I remember.”

His eyes met yours. Dark, warm, a little tired around the edges. He hadn’t been sleeping, you could tell, the faint purple smudges beneath his lashes telling stories he’d probably never volunteer. But there was something else there too. Something that flickered when his gaze dipped below the waterline, traced the silhouette of your body through the steam, and snapped back up to your face like he’d been burned.

“The intel,” he said.

“The intel,” you agreed.

Neither of you moved.

“There’s a protocol for information exchange between Avengers-adjacent operatives and independent intelligence contractors,” Peter said, and it was such a transparent attempt to regain control of the situation that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“Standard Form 7-B. Digital transfer preferred. Encrypted channels. Not…this.”

“Mm.” You lifted one leg out of the water, propping your heel on the tub’s edge, letting the jets churn against your calf. His throat moved. You watched it happen. “See, the thing about Standard Form 7-B is that it’s tedious. And I’ve had a very tedious week. So I thought we might negotiate more… directly.”

“Negotiate.”

“You ask questions. I answer them. Every answer costs you something.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “I’m not playing games with you.”

“Then you don’t get the intel.” You sank back into the water, arms spreading along the tub’s rim, head tilting to expose the line of your throat. The brown lip gloss shimmered. Your lashes caught the light.

“And Jean Grey remains a mystery because you don’t want to play games.”

Silence.

Then a sound, half groan, half laugh. Peter dragged a hand through his hair, and when he looked at you again, something had shifted in his expression. The tiredness was still there. But so was the recognition.

The understanding that this was happening whether he liked it or not.

“What kind of games?”

“Easy ones.” You crossed your legs beneath the water. “I’m not cruel.”

“You’re a tease.”

“That’s different.”

A beat. He knew it was different. You could see him recalibrating, his scientist-brain slotting variables into place, adjusting parameters. He’d come here expecting a transaction. He was realizing it was going to be something else entirely.

“Fine.” Peter set the mask down on a cedar bench.

“First question. Is Jean Grey the Phoenix?”

“Yes and no. She’s a host. The Phoenix is separate.

They’re… entangled.” You traced the rim of your mimosa glass with one wet finger and watched his eyes follow the movement. “That’s your first answer. Now you pay.”

“What’s the price?”

“Suit off. Join me.”

Peter looked at you for a long moment. Then he reached for the spider emblem on his chest and pressed the release mechanism. The suit slackened instantly, nanotech fibers loosening their grip, and the sight of him peeling spandex away from his collarbones, his chest, the ladder of his ribs was so familiar and so foreign all at once that your thighs pressed together beneath the water.

He’d changed in three weeks. More definition across the shoulders. A new scar on his left hip, thin and pink and still healing. His cock was soft against his thigh as he stepped out of the suit, and you didn’t let yourself stare, but you noticed. You always noticed. He was proportional and cut, and the water was going to do interesting things to your self control.

Peter climbed into the hot tub without grace. One leg, then the other, a splash that sent water sloshing over the side and sank onto the bench opposite you.

The jets churned between you. Steam rose. His chest was flushed pink from the heat already.

“Happy?” he asked.

“Getting there.” You lifted your mimosa. “Question two.”

“Where is Jean Grey now?”

“Westchester. Xavier’s school. She’s been there for six months under observation.” You sipped.

Swallowed. Set the glass down. “Price: you tell me why you really showed up tonight. And don’t say the intel. You could’ve gotten this from anyone else.”

Peter’s jaw flexed. His hands were beneath the water, and you could see his arms moving slow, restless motions, palms gliding over his own thighs maybe, or gripping the edge of the bench. “The intel was a reason.”

“Not the reason.”

“No.”

“So?”

He met your eyes. The steam was making his hair curl at the temples. “I missed you.”

The words landed somewhere in your chest and spread outward, warm and slow and dangerous.

You didn’t let your expression change. But your heartbeat had picked up, and you knew if he was paying attention. And he was always paying attention. He could probably sense it. Spider-sense or not.

“You missed me,” you repeated.

“Three weeks is a long time.”

“You could’ve called.”

“You could’ve called too.”

Fair point. You didn’t acknowledge it. Instead you reached for your mimosa and finished it in one long swallow, the prosecco bubbling against your tongue, and when you set the empty glass aside, Peter had shifted closer. Not by much. Maybe six inches. But six inches in a hot tub is a negotiation all its own.

“Third question,” you said.

“What’s the price this time?”

“Still negotiating.” You let your voice drop, let it go softer and smokier the way you knew he liked. “Ask.”

“Is Jean Grey dangerous?”

“Unbelievably. She could crack the planet in half if the Phoenix fully manifests. But she’s also the only person keeping it contained. So she’s dangerous the way a nuclear reactor is dangerous. Necessary. Volatile. Terrifying.” You paused. “That answer’s worth two prices.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“You literally just made that rule.”

“And I stand by it.” You smiled, and Peter’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and the water suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. “First price: you tell me something true. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m scared all the time. Not of dying. Of failing. Of letting someone down because I wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough. Tony used to say I had a hero complex. He was wrong. I have a—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I have a worth complex. Like if I’m not useful, I don’t deserve to be here.”

The vulnerability hit you like a blade between the ribs. You’d known Peter for two years. He’d never said that. Not to you. Not to anyone, you suspected.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Second price?”

You pushed off your bench and moved through the water, slowly, deliberately, letting the jets buffet your hips, your belly, your breasts. Your one-piece was black and cut low in the front and lower in the back, and you felt his gaze track the movement like a physical touch. When you were close enough to touch his knee with yours, you stopped.

“Kiss me.”

Peter’s breath caught. “That’s the price?”

“That’s the price.”

“I thought we were—” He gestured vaguely between your bodies. “On one of the off cycles.”

“We were. We’re not anymore.” You tilted your head.

“Unless you don’t want to.”

His hand came out of the water and found your jaw.

His fingers were wet and warm and slightly pruned from the steam, and they spread along the curve of your cheek with a gentleness that made your stomach clench. The calluses on his palm scraped lightly against your skin, webslinging calluses, rough and permanent. And when he drew you forward, the water seemed to part around you, offering no resistance, as if the universe itself was conspiring to close the distance.

The kiss started soft.

His lips brushed yours like a question, tentative, almost shy. Two years of on-and-off and Peter Parker still kissed like he was asking permission.

You answered by catching his lower lip between yours, drawing the kiss deeper, and the sound he made a low, helpless noise from somewhere in his chest. It sent heat cascading down your spine.

Tender, you thought. He’s always tender first.

And then he wasn’t.

Something unlocked behind the kiss. His free hand found your waist beneath the water, fingers splaying across the wet fabric of your swimsuit, and he pulled you forward until you were straddling his lap, thighs bracketing his hips, the heat of his chest pressing against your breasts. The kiss turned open-mouthed and urgent, tongues sliding, teeth grazing your lower lip. Your hands came up to grip his shoulders muscle and bone and slick-wet skin and the jets continued to churn around you, indifferent, mechanical, completely at odds with the way your pulse was hammering in your throat.

Peter pulled back just far enough to speak, his forehead pressed to yours. “More questions.”

“You haven’t earned them yet.”

“I kissed you.”

“One kiss. I need more.” Your fingers traced down his chest, following the center line of his sternum, nails scratching lightly through the sparse hair. His stomach contracted. His cock twitched against your inner thigh, half-hard now, growing, a weight and a warmth that you chose not to acknowledge yet. “Tell me what you want, Peter.”

“I want the Jean Grey intel.”

“Bullshit.”

“I want—” He stopped. Swallowed. His hands were on your hips now, thumbs rubbing circles into the jut of your pelvic bones through the swimsuit. “I want you to stop pretending this is a business transaction.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“You’re doing it right now.” His voice had gone lower, rougher, the way it always did when he was getting frustrated. Not angry. Just frustrated. Wound up.

“You’re sitting in my lap in a hot tub, and you’re acting like you’re handing me intel, but we both know you could’ve emailed me the file. You wanted this. You wanted me here. So stop.”

The words landed like a challenge.

You lifted your chin. “Make me.”

Peter’s expression shifted. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not anger, not exactly. Control. The kind of control he wore in the suit, facing down threats that would make lesser people crumble. But this wasn’t a threat. This was you. And he was looking at you like you were a puzzle he’d just figured out how to solve.

“Okay,” he said.

And then his hands were under your thighs, and he was standing.

The water sluiced off both of you in sheets, spilling over the edge of the tub, and you made a sound, half gasp, half laugh as Peter stepped out onto the cedar decking with you cradled against his chest.

The lift was effortless. Superhuman strength applied with surgical precision, one arm supporting your back, the other hooked beneath your knees, the classic bridal carry executed like he’d been planning it all evening.

“What are you doing?” You squirmed, not trying to escape, just registering surprise. Your legs kicked once, a token protest. “My apartment is downstairs.”

“I know.” He was already walking toward the stairwell door, the cedar cool under his bare feet, water dripping from both your bodies and leaving a trail across the decking. “You said make you. I’m making you.”

“This isn’t—”

“You wanted a negotiation.” Peter nudged the door open with his shoulder and carried you through into the dim stairwell, the motion-sensor lights flickering on overhead. Your body angled slightly toward his chest, thighs draped over one arm, your curly flip-over brushing against his bicep. “You set the terms. You set the prices. Now I’m changing the venue. That’s allowed.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“You’re not kicking.” His voice had a smile in it, even if his face stayed serious. “You’re not telling me to put you down. You’re gripping my shoulder like you’re afraid of falling, but you know I won’t drop you.” He descended the stairs, each step smooth and sure despite the slickness of his wet feet. “So you didn’t agree to it, but you’re not stopping it either. Which means you want to see where I’m taking this.”

Your heart was beating in your throat. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong about any of it.

“Where are you taking it?”

“Your bedroom.” Peter reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed through into your living room. It was dark, quiet, the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He navigated the furniture without hesitation, crossing toward the hallway that led to your bedroom, still carrying you like you weighed nothing. “Unless you have objections.”

You didn’t have objections.

The bedroom door swung open. The bed was made, with dark sheets, too many pillows, a throw blanket folded at the foot because you liked the texture.

Peter set you down on the edge of the mattress with unexpected care, your legs dangling, your feet barely touching the floor. He stood between your knees. Water dripped from his hair onto your thighs.

“Last chance,” he said. “Tell me to leave. Tell me to go back to the roof and get the rest of the intel like a professional. I’ll do it. I’ll walk out right now.”

You looked up at him. At his chest, rising and falling with breaths that were too controlled to be calm. At his cock, half-hard and hanging heavy, glistening with hot tub water. At his face… that face you’d missed for three weeks, the stubborn jaw, the tired eyes, the mouth that had kissed you soft and then urgent and then soft again.

“Ask me the fourth question,” you said.

Peter’s breath shuddered out of him. “How do we stop Jean Grey if the Phoenix takes over?”

“We can’t. Not yet. But there’s a containment protocol being developed by Doctor Strange. Mystic dampeners. They’re not ready, six months, maybe eight, and until then we monitor. We watch. We hope she stays in control.” You reached up and caught his wrist, tugging him closer. “That’s your answer. Now pay.”

“Price?”

“Touch me.”

His free hand found the strap of your swimsuit and dragged it down your shoulder. The fabric peeled away, wet and clinging, revealing the upper swell of your breast. He traced the newly exposed skin with one fingertip, light, circular, teasing and you shivered.

“Where?” he asked.

“Surprise me.”

Peter knelt.

The motion brought his face level with your chest, and his hands. Both of them now found the straps of your swimsuit and pulled them down your arms in tandem. The one-piece slid to your waist, then lower as he hooked his thumbs in the fabric and eased it over your hips, your thighs, your calves, until it pooled on the floor at your feet. You were naked on the edge of your bed, and he was kneeling between your legs, and the way he looked at your body. At your breasts, full and dark-nippled and tipped upward by the angle of your spine made your stomach clench.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Not like a compliment.

Like a fact. Like he was naming something he’d always known and was finally allowed to say aloud.

“You’re so beautiful, and you know it, and you use it, and it drives me crazy.”

“Good crazy?”

“Insane crazy.” His palms settled on your thighs, spreading them wider. His thumbs stroked the soft skin of your inner thighs, close to where the heat was building, close but not close enough. “You showed up in the hot tub with that look on your face and those lips—god, your lips—and you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d break.”

“You didn’t break.”

“I’m on my knees. I broke.”

You laughed, breathless. “That’s not breaking. That’s participating.”

“Then I’m participating.” His hands slid higher. His thumbs traced the crease where your thighs met your hips, and his gaze dropped to what he was about to touch, and you watched his expression change, soften, sharpen, focus as he really looked at you.

Your pussy was bare, clean-shaven, the skin smooth and brown and slightly darker than the surrounding flesh. The outer lips were full and closed, a seam that ran from the top of your cleft down toward the tighter pucker of your ass, and when Peter’s thumbs brushed either side of that seam, you felt yourself flush with heat. Your lips parted slightly under the pressure, revealing the first glimpse of pink inner flesh, glossy, already wet, not from the hot tub.

“You’re slick,” he murmured. “That’s not water.”

“I know what it is.”

“How long?”

“Since you took the mask off. Maybe before.”

His thumbs spread you wider, and the cool bedroom air kissed your inner lips, and your hips jerked involuntarily. He made a sound, low and appreciative and held you open, studying the architecture of your arousal like it was a scientific paper he needed to memorize.

“Your clit’s already swollen,” he said, and the clinical observation delivered in that hushed voice made you throb. “Right here. Peeking out.” One thumb moved upward, barely grazing the hood. “Does that feel good? When I talk about it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.” His thumb circled, feather-light, nowhere near enough pressure. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like—” Your voice caught as he repeated the motion, clockwise this time, still too light. “I like when you describe things. What you’re seeing. What you’re going to do.”

“Okay.” Peter leaned closer, and his breath ghosted over your clit, and your fingers clenched in the sheets. “I’m looking at your pussy. It’s open now, your outer lips are dark and full, and your inner lips are pink and glistening, and there’s wetness pooling right at your entrance. I can see it. I can smell it.” He inhaled, and the sound was obscene. “You smell like sex and chlorine. You smell like you’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“I have.”

“I’m going to touch you now. Not with my tongue. Not yet.” His thumb returned to your clit, tracing the hood with slightly more pressure, and your back arched. “With my finger. Right here. And you’re going to tell me question five, where Cyclops fits into the Phoenix equation.”

You laughed, strangled. “You’re negotiating during—”

“You started it.” His thumb circled again, and your thighs trembled. “Answer the question.”

“He—Scott—he’s her anchor. Their bond is what keeps her tethered to her humanity. If he dies, she loses control. If they’re separated for more than a few months, she gets unstable. He’s her weakness and her strength.”

“Good.” Peter’s thumb pressed down, finally, and your clit pulsed under the attention, and the moan that escaped you was louder than you’d intended.

“Good girl. That’s what I needed to know.”

The praise hit you like a drug. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the damp curls, and he hummed approval against your thigh.

“You like that,” he said. “Being called good.”

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re being a brat. Even when you’re teasing me and making me jump through hoops. You still want to hear that you’re good.” He pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, wetter this time, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin.

“That’s okay. You can be both. You can be a tease and still be my good girl.”

The words vibrated against your skin, and your hips rolled forward, seeking more pressure, more contact, more. Peter obliged by replacing his thumb with his mouth—one long, flat-tongued lick up the seam of your pussy that ended at your clit and sent electricity arcing through your nervous system.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Mm.” He did it again, slower this time, his tongue parting your inner lips and curling into your entrance just barely. “Question six. What’s the Phoenix’s ultimate goal?”

“I can’t… I can’t think when you’re—”

“Can’t think, or don’t want to?” His tongue circled your clit, and your vision blurred at the edges.

“Answer the question, and I’ll give you something to really lose your mind over.”

“Rebirth,” you gasped. “The Phoenix wants cosmic rebirth. Burn the old universe, seed a new one. Jean is fighting that impulse constantly.”

“Good job.” Peter’s mouth sealed over your clit, and he sucked gentle, rhythmic, devastating and your orgasm built out of nowhere like a storm front rolling over the horizon. Your thighs clamped around his head. Your fingers pulled his hair. He didn’t stop, didn’t ease up, just kept sucking with that steady, patient pressure until you shattered against his tongue.

The climax rolled through you in waves, each one triggered by another flick of his tongue, another gentle suction, until you were trembling and gasping and pushing weakly at his forehead because it was too much and not enough simultaneously.

“There,” Peter said, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips wet and shining. “There’s one.”

“One?”

“One orgasm. I’ve got more for you.” He rose from his knees, and his cock was fully hard now, jutting upward toward his belly, the head flushed dark and glossy with the first bead of pre-cum. “But I want to be inside you for the next one. Any objections?”

You shook your head, still catching your breath.

“Words. I need words.”

“No objections. Yes. Please.”

Peter smiled, and it was warm and kind and still slightly wicked, the smile of someone who had discovered a new favorite hobby and intended to pursue it with dedication. “Good girl. Lie back.”

You scooted up the bed, and he followed, positioning himself between your thighs. His cock hung heavy, the tip grazing your belly as he leaned down to kiss you, soft again, reassuring, his tongue sliding against yours and sharing the taste of your own arousal.

“I’m going to tease you first,” he whispered against your mouth. “You teased me all evening. It’s my turn.”

“That seems fair.”

“I’m a fair guy.” His hips shifted, and the head of his cock dragged through your wetness, sliding up between your pussy lips without penetrating. The sensation was electric, smooth, hot, the ridge of his head bumping against your clit with each pass.

“Feel that? That’s what you do to me. I’m dripping already. Look.”

You looked. His cock was slick with your combined arousal, pre-cum mixing with your wetness, the head glistening every time it appeared from between your folds. He repeated the motion up, down, up, down,and the sound it made was obscene. Wet. Slick. Shlick-shlick-shlick with every stroke.

“Hear that?” Peter’s voice was strained now, the first cracks showing in his composure. “That sound. Your pussy is making music for me.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please put it in.”

“Not yet.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit deliberate circles, bumping and massaging in rhythm and your hips bucked. “I want to watch you squirm a little more. You had me negotiating. Now I get to take my time.”

The head of his cock dragged lower, pressing against your entrance barely, just a suggestion of pressure before sliding away. Your inner lips clung to him, reluctant to let go, and the emptiness when he pulled back was a physical ache.

“Peter.”

“I’m right here.” Another pass. Another bump against your clit. “Ask me a question. Your turn.”

“Why did you really miss me?”

The question surprised him. His rhythm faltered, and for a moment he was just Peter again, vulnerable, unguarded, his cock sliding to rest between your folds with no intent behind it.

“Because you see me,” he said quietly. “Not Spider-Man. Not the suit. Me. Peter. When I’m with you, I don’t have to be anything except what I am.”

You pulled him down into a kiss before he could say more, and he sank into it, and the head of his cock nudged against your entrance and this time—this time—it stayed.

“Now?” he whispered.

“Now.”

He pushed inside.

The penetration was slow, deliberate, a centimeters-at-a-time advance that let you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his heartbeat transmitted through the flesh currently claiming space inside your body. Your pussy stretched to accommodate him, tight, wet, welcoming and he watched your face the whole time, cataloguing every flutter of your lashes, every parting of your lips, every gasp.

“You feel—” He stopped. Swallowed. Started again.

“You feel like coming home. I know that’s cheesy. I don’t care. You do.”

“Deeper.”

He pushed deeper, and your inner walls fluttered around him. The fit was perfect, full without pain, stretching you in a way that made your toes curl against his calves.

“Look at you,” Peter breathed. “Taking all of me. You’re so good at this. So good for me. Your pussy was made for my cock, you know that?”

The words—the degradation wrapped in praise, the crude language in that gentle voice sent an electric shock straight to your clit. You clenched around him, and his eyes fluttered shut, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily.

“Say it again.”

“Your pussy was made for my cock.” His hips drew back, then thrust forward slow, deep. “You take it so perfectly. Like you’ve been waiting for it.”

“I have.”

“Three weeks?”

“Three weeks.”

He thrust again, harder, and the sound your bodies made when they met was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. His pace picked up, but it wasn’t frantic it was controlled, measured, a rhythm designed to keep you on the edge without pushing you over.

“Question seven,” he said, and you stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re still—oh—” He’d angled his hips differently, and the new position rubbed his pubic bone against your clit with every stroke. “You’re still doing the intel thing.”

“Multitasking. What’s Jean Grey’s connection to the Shi’ar Empire?”

“She—god—she destroyed one of their galaxies. They’ve got a kill order on her. Xavier’s been protecting her from—from—”

“From?”

“Assassination attempts. Three in the last year.”

“Good.” His rhythm increased, and your second orgasm was building, coiling tight at the base of your spine. “Good girl. You’re doing so well. Come for me.”

“Not until you—”

“Come for me,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated in your chest. “Right now. On my cock. I want to feel it.”

The command tipped you over.

Your second climax hit harder than the first, deeper, a full-body convulsion that started in your pussy and radiated outward until your fingers were numb and your vision was white at the edges and all you could hear was the sound of your own voice crying out his name. Peter didn’t stop thrusting, working you through it with steady, even strokes that milked every last spasm from your body.

When you came back to yourself, he was still hard inside you. Still in control.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now let’s try the mating press. I want to see how deep I can get.”

His hands found the backs of your thighs and pushed them upward, folding you in half, your knees approaching your shoulders. The shift in angle pressed his cock impossibly deeper, and your gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you and thrust simultaneously.

“Ready for question eight?” he asked.

You were never going to survive this man.

His grip on your thighs tightened, not painful, just present, a grounding pressure that reminded you exactly who was holding you in place. The mating press folded you in ways your yoga instructor would approve of, knees bracketing your ears, your calves draped over his shoulders, and Peter above you like a promise he intended to keep.

“Actually, no more questions,” he said.

The words landed somewhere in your chest and spread hot. You blinked up at him, sweat-damp curls, flushed cheekbones, eyes dark and focused and tried to summon something clever. Something teasing. The part of your brain responsible for banter had short-circuited somewhere around the second orgasm.

“No more intel?” Your voice came out breathier than you intended.

“I have enough for now.” He drew his hips back, nearly withdrawing, and the emptiness made your inner walls clench around nothing. “Everyone and thing can wait.” A pause. His cockhead rested against your entrance, not pushing, just there, a blunt pressure that made your toes curl. “Right now, the only thing I care about is this.”

He thrust back in.

Deep. Deeper than before, the new angle from the mating press sent him grinding against your cervix, a sensation that teetered between discomfort and ecstasy and landed somewhere in the yes-please-don’t-stop category. Your mouth opened. No sound came out. The breath had been punched clean from your lungs.

“There it is,” Peter murmured, and his hips rolled in a slow circle, his cock stirring inside you like he was testing the fit. “That spot. You feel how tight you are right there? How your pussy clutches when I hit the end of you?”

Your hands scrabbled for something to hold— his biceps, the sheets, anything solid—and settled on his forearms. The muscles there were corded steel under velvet skin. “Peter.”

“I know.” Another slow withdrawal. Another deep thrust. “I know, sweetheart. You can take it.”

The rhythm he set was merciless. Not fast, not yet but thorough, each stroke a full retreat followed by an advance that bottomed out with a wet slap of skin on skin. The sound filled the bedroom: slick, rhythmic, punctuated by the creak of the mattress and the hitch of your breathing. The city lights through the window painted stripes across his shoulders, across your thighs, across the place where your bodies joined.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the movement constrained by the press of your own thighs against your chest. Peter noticed. His gaze dropped to watch the jiggle, your dark nipples pebbled tight, the full weight of your tits shifting with every impact and his rhythm stuttered.

“You have no idea what you look like right now.” His voice had gone ragged, the controlled tone fraying at the edges. “Folded up under me. Taking my cock. Your tits bouncing every time I move.”

“Tell me.”

“You want the narration?”

“I want you.” Your nails dug into his forearms. “Stop holding back.”

Something flickered in his expression— surprise, maybe, or the realization that you could see through the Pleasure Dom act to the strain underneath. He’d been controlling himself since the hot tub. Keeping the rhythm measured. Keeping the questions coming. Keeping his own need banked like a fire he wasn’t ready to feed.

But you’d had two orgasms. He’d had none. And his cock was rock-hard inside you, throbbing with every heartbeat, the head swollen and sensitive and leaking pre-cum that slickened your channel with each stroke.

“You want me to let go?” he asked.

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. His hips snapped forward, harder this time, a thrust that shoved you up the mattress half an inch and knocked a gasp from your throat. “Like that?”

“Yes. Yes.”

The next thrust was harder. Then harder again. The controlled pace dissolved into something more urgent, more honest, the rhythm of a man who’d been patient long enough and was done pretending he didn’t need this. His cock drove into you with a force that made the headboard knock against the wall—thump-thump-thump—and you grabbed for the slats behind you, bracing yourself against the onslaught.

“This what you wanted?” His breath was hot against your ear now, his chest pressed to the backs of your thighs, folding you even deeper into the press.

“Wanted me to stop being nice? Stop asking permission?”

“I wanted—oh fuck—” He’d angled his hips and the new trajectory dragged his cockhead across your G-spot with every stroke. The sensation was electric, a live wire sparking somewhere behind your pubic bone. “I wanted you to stop thinking.”

“Thinking’s what I do.”

“Not tonight.” Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangling in sweat-damp curls. “Tonight you’re not Spider-Man.

You’re just Peter. And Peter gets to feel good. Peter gets to come. Peter gets to fuck me until he can’t think anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His rhythm faltered. His forehead dropped to yours, and for three heartbeats he was completely still, buried to the hilt, breathing like he’d run a marathon.

“Say that again,” he whispered.

“You get to feel good.”

His hips jerked. “Again.”

“You get to come inside me.”

A groan tore from his chest, low, and desperate, completely unguarded. He started moving again, but it was different now: less controlled, more instinctive, the rhythm of a body chasing sensation rather than orchestrating it. His cock pistoned into you with abandoned precision, each thrust driving deep and fast and god, the sound of it, the wet obscene slap of his balls against your ass, the creak of the mattress, the headboard knocking a staccato against the wall.

You clung to him, your hands on his shoulders, his back, his ass, anywhere you could reach and let yourself be fucked. There was no other word for it. He wasn’t making love. He wasn’t performing. He was fucking, raw and urgent and completely absorbed in the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock.

“You feel—” Peter’s voice cracked. “You feel so good. So wet. So tight. I can feel every inch of you.

Every time you clench. Every time you—” He thrust again, and your inner walls spasmed around him.

“yeah, like that. Just like that.”

“Close,” you managed. The word was barely a syllable. A warning and a plea.

“Me too.” His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, swollen now, slick with your combined arousal, so sensitive that the first touch made you flinch. “No. Don’t pull away. Take it. Take what I give you.”

The pressure of his thumb circled your clit in counterpoint to his thrusts—down when he pushed in, up when he pulled out—and the dual stimulation was too much and not enough and exactly right.

Your third orgasm built differently from the first two. Slower. Deeper. A pressure that started in your toes and climbed your spine and settled somewhere in the base of your skull, white noise and static and the distant roar of blood in your ears.

“Peter, I’m going to—”

“I know. I can feel it. Your pussy’s fluttering around me. You’re going to come on my cock again. Third time tonight. My good girl.” His thumb pressed harder, circles smaller and faster. “Come for me. Let go. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm detonated.

Not a wave this time, a detonation, a bomb blast that started in your core and radiated outward until your fingers were numb and your vision was white and the only sound in the universe was your own voice keening his name. Your pussy clamped around his cock in rhythmic convulsions, squeeze-release-squeeze, milking him, and Peter’s answering groan was the most honest sound you’d ever heard him make.

“Fuck. Fuck. Your pussy is—you’re gripping me so tight—I’m going to—”

“Inside,” you gasped. “Come inside me. I want to feel it.”

His control snapped.

Peter’s hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the root, and his whole body went rigid above you. His cock pulsed, once, twice, a third time, and you felt each jet of cum paint your inner walls in hot, thick spurts. His face was buried in your neck. His breath was ragged. His hips kept twitching, tiny involuntary thrusts that milked the last drops of his release deeper into your pussy.

Time stretched.

You floated somewhere outside yourself, aware of your heartbeat slowing, of Peter’s weight settling more heavily on your folded body, of the wetness between your thighs that was both of you combined. His cock was still inside you, softening now but still present, still connected.

“I can feel it,” you whispered. “Your cum. It’s warm.”

Peter made a sound—half laugh, half groan—against your neck. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Worth it?”

He lifted his head. His eyes were hazy, post-coital, the sharp edges dulled by endorphins and exhaustion. But underneath the haze was something softer. Something that looked a lot like the vulnerability he’d shown in the hot tub, multiplied by a hundred.

“Worth it,” he said. “Worth everything. Worth three weeks of silence and every fight we’ve ever had and every fight we’re going to have. You’re worth all of it.”

Your heart did something complicated in your chest.

You ignored it in favor of practicality. “You’re heavy.”

“Sorry.” He untangled himself with exaggerated care, easing your legs down from his shoulders, slipping out of you with a wet sound that made both of you wince. His cum followed, a slow trickle that slid down your inner thigh and onto the dark sheets. Peter watched it happen. His expression flickered. “I should—do you want me to get a towel?”

“In a minute.” You caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Stay.”

He stayed.

Peter lowered himself onto the mattress beside you, and you turned onto your side to face him. The sheets were a disaster. The room smelled like sex and chlorine and the faint citrus of your diffuser still puffing away on the nightstand. Outside, the city carried on without you, sirens in the distance, the drone of late-night traffic, the glitter of lights that never went dark.

None of it mattered.

His hand found your hip, thumb tracing idle circles over the jut of bone. “I meant what I said. In the hot tub. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Then why do we keep doing this? The on-and-off thing. The fights. The three weeks of silence.”

You considered the question. Considered the answer—the real answer, not the deflection you normally reached for. “Because we’re both terrified.”

Peter’s thumb stilled. “Of what?”

“Of this.” You gestured between your bodies, the inches of space, the tangled sheets, the shared warmth. “Of something that actually matters. It’s easier to walk away when things get hard than to stay and risk losing it for real.”

Silence. Then a slow exhale, warm against your collarbone.

“You’re terrifyingly smart,” he said.

“I know.”

“And you’re right. I’m scared. I’m scared all the time.

But I’m more scared of…” He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. “I’m more scared of not having this. Of waking up one day and realizing I let the best thing in my life slip away because I was too scared to hold on.”

Your throat tightened. “Peter.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just—I wanted you to know. No more off cycles. No more three-week silences. If we fight, we fight. But we don’t disappear. Deal?”

“Deal.”

His smile was small and tired and the most beautiful thing you’d seen all night. He leaned forward and kissed you, soft, closed-mouth, impossibly tender given everything your bodies had just done to each other—and you kissed him back with the same gentleness.

When he pulled away, his eyes had sharpened slightly. The post-coital haze was lifting. The scientist-brain was rebooting.

“I have one more question,” he said.

“You said no more questions.”

“This one’s not about Jean Grey.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then what?”

“How do you feel about round two?”

The laugh that burst out of you was startled and genuine and so loud it probably woke your downstairs neighbor. Peter grinned—that boyish grin you’d fallen for two years ago, the one that made him look nineteen again instead of twenty-three going on ancient.

“You just came,” you pointed out.

“I’m twenty-three. I have superhuman metabolism. Give me ten minutes.”

“You’re insufferable.”

..

OH LA LA LAAAA- I’m so happy that I’m back writing. Here’s to better times and newer stories 💋.

[Edit Credits: m9stics on TikTok]

From the book of young hoe: Thou shan’t wear a coat if it doesn’t match the fit.

When most people met Smoke, they automatically assumed that they knew what type of woman he would gravitate towards. When they envisioned Smoke’s significant other, they pictured a woman who was modest, quiet, and poised. What they weren’t expecting was you. 

Now, no one would ever step to Smoke and openly say anything unkind about you. Not unless they wanted to be packed up like a can of sardines. Because one thing Smoke didn’t play about was you. 

Smoke meets you at the gas station of all places. He notices you almost immediately. It’s really hard not to notice you in your short dress that clings to your curves like it’s painted on, or the loud clacking from your heels that are definitely a safety hazard. 

Or maybe it’s the warm and sweet vanilla perfume that wafts past his nose and lingers in the aisle as you pick up snacks. Smoke assumes that you must be coming back from a night out based on how you look. Your movements are a bit sluggish, but still graceful as you pick up a bag of Hot Cheetos. 

You seemingly don’t pay attention to any of the patrons inside the gas station, whose eyes follow you like bugs to a porch light. You blow large bubbles with the gum in your mouth before popping it to repeat the cycle. 

Smoke hates the way that his body instantly reacts to feeling your presence behind him. Your scent overwhelms his senses like you’re imprinting yourself into every atom of his being. 

He spares a glance at you once he pays for his things. He finds that you’re already staring at him with a pretty smile and mischievous eyes. You wave your pretty manicured hand at him before stepping up to the counter. Smoke chuckles lowly before waving back to you and heading outside to pump his gas.

You slide the snacks across the counter as you smile flirtatiously at the associate, “Azim, how you doing, baby?”

Azim blushes under your gaze, “I’m doing good, my darling. Was it a good night out?”

“It was amazing, my girls and I danced all night. Free drinks too,” you reply, blowing another bubble. 

Azim starts bagging up your items before peeking back up at you, “I’m glad to hear you had such a good time. Anything else you need, my dear?”

“Let me get $20 on pump five.” 

Azim types the amount in the register before giving you your total, “That’ll be $21.00, my love.” 

You smile at him, “Azim, I know you’re undercharging me.” 

Azim waves you off with a soft chuckle, “You know you’re one of my favorite customers. I have to take care of you. Family discount.” 

You tap your card on the reader before smiling and blowing a kiss to Azim, “You’re the best, Azim. Let me know when your wife is making some more of that baklava, so I can come through.” 

“I’ll have her make you a special batch. Come by on Sunday,” Azim calls out to you. You reply with a quick ‘thank you’ before walking out to your car. You spot Smoke standing at his car, pumping gas, along with a few other guys who are crowded around one car. 

Truthfully, Smoke could’ve been done pumping his gas, but he chose to pump slower in hopes of catching you coming out of the store. 

You open the door to your car to throw the snack bag on the seat before moving to start pumping your gas. It’s not lost on Smoke how cold it is outside, and you, in your tiny dress, don’t even seem to be phased by it. 

In fact, you keep pumping your gas and blowing bubbles like everything is copacetic. 

Unfortunately, Smoke’s not the only one who notices how pretty you look tonight. The guys surrounding the car all wolf-whistle and make noise as they catch you passing by. Smoke can see the predatory look in their eyes as they drink in your appearance. 

His body immediately goes into protector mode. Feeling bold, one of the guys starts to yell out in your direction, “Aye ma! Aye ma! Lemme holla’ at you!”

You roll your eyes and keep pumping your gas. You chose to ignore the ignorant man, who clearly doesn’t have any home training. 

It appears that audacity is on sale as the man yells out to you again, “Aye, girl! I know you hear me talking to you!” 

Still, no response from you. 

“Well, fuck you too then, you stuck up bitch!” 

Smoke doesn’t know whose head snaps over quicker—his or yours. He can see the anger filling your pretty face as you finally stop chewing your gum. 

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face with them cheap ass clothes and that fake-ass Cuban link. Wanna-be-rap-ass nigga,” you yell back. Smoke and all of the other men are stunned momentarily by the ruthlessness of your words. 

The wanna be who you just insulted doesn’t take the lashing well. Smoke catches the ugly expression that overtakes the man’s face as he moves around the car to start making his way to you. His homeboys have enough sense to try to stop him, but he roughly shrugs them off. 

Just as he’s about to make his way to you, Smoke stands directly in his path. The older man squares his shoulders and glares down at the younger man. The height difference, combined with Smoke’s quiet disposition, creates a sense of unease in the young man’s demeanor. 

“Nah, don’t get shy now. Whatchu’ was planning on doing, young buck? You thought you were about to put your hands on her?” Smoke questions, stepping up to crowd the boy’s space. 

The man in question opens his mouth to start stuttering. Smoke frowns, “Nah, don’t start stuttering on me now, boy. Tell me whatchu’ was planning. You wanna act bad in front of your boys, so let’s talk man to man. You wanna press her? Nah, you press me now, nigga.”

The man swallows harshly as Smoke can see the tremors racking through his body as he finally starts to recognize Smoke.

He holds his hands up, “S-Smoke, I ain’t meant nothin’ by it, man.”

“You ain’t mean nothing by it? Seems like you had your mind set before I stepped in front of you. You wanted to be a man when you were about to put your hands on her, but you ain’t a man now that I’m in front of you.” Smoke steps forward so the only thing that the young man can feel is his presence. 

He lowers his voice, “You listen to me, and I want you to listen real good because I don’t repeat myself. You ever talk to a woman like that or approach her like that again, ima beat yo’ ass as yo daddy should’ve. If I see you planning on pressin’ another woman, I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ body and have you sippin’ on yogurt for the rest of your life. Don’t get yourself put on a t-shirt, boy. I’m sure Ms. Coretta ain’t prepared to put you in a casket. We clear?”

The young man is now openly shaking as he sees the darkness in Smoke’s eyes. It’s like he’s looking at something inhuman. He nods his head, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Smoke,” He responds, fear lacing the edge of his tone.

Smoke nods, “Now, I believe you owe her an apology.”

The boy looks in your direction, “I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again.”

Smoke looks at him again, “Now, get the fuck out of here.” The young man scurries away with his homeboys in tow. Anyone in town knows that the Smokestack twins are the last men that you want to have beef with. 

Smoke turns to you before walking over. You blow a bubble before popping it, “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

Smoke smirks, “Yes, I did. What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t stepped in or been around?” 

You shrug, “I was planning on getting him with this bear mace.”

Smoke lifts his eyebrows, “You know that’s illegal.”

You blow another bubble. Pop! “So is harassment, but these niggas act like the First Amendment entitles them to a response from me.” Smoke chuckles in response. 

You look at him, “So it’s Smoke, I reckon?”

He nods, “S’just a nickname. My real name is Elijah.” You hum while still chewing on your gum. You’d vaguely heard of the Smokestack twins. Anybody this side of the Delta had heard about the two men, but you rarely paid attention when people would go into detail about them. 

You only cared for gossip when it was something that intrigued you. Two men who put fear in the hearts of men in the South didn’t intrigue you. Yet, with Smoke standing in front of you, smelling like a grown man, you were now thoroughly intrigued. It didn’t help the fact that he was fine in a way that gave 90s. 

Smoke catches your hand on the gas pump, “Let me finish pumping your gas for you. It’s freezing out here.” 

You step to the side and let Smoke take over. Who were you to deny the services of a man being courteous to you? Smoke takes a moment to look at you up close. 

You smile before leaning on your car, “You wanted to pump my gas so you could stare at me?”

“M’just wondering where your jacket is,” Smoke comments. 

“At home, it didn’t go with my outfit,” you respond as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“So catching pneumonia in the ass is worth the fit?”

“Yep, you haven’t ever heard the saying ‘fashion is sacrifice’?”

Smoke chuckles, “Can’t say I have. Now, would you pretty please go sit in the car while I finish pumping your gas?” 

You roll your eyes before smacking your glossed lips, “Fine, since you’re so worried that I’ll turn into a popsicle.” You open your door before sliding into the seat. From his view, Smoke can see you typing on your phone. He finishes pumping your gas and places the gas pump back on the handle.

He closes the cap as you turn on your car. You roll down the window just as Smoke steps closer to lean down. You flash another pretty smile at him, “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Smoke.”

“Just Smoke for you, sugar. Or Elijah. Whichever you prefer.”

“Hmm..I guess I’ll call you, Elijah, then,” You said, still chewing on your gum. There’s a beat of silence that’s filled with your soft chewing and music from your radio. 

You lean closer to him, “Are you going to ask for my number now?”

“You know I’m too old for you, right?”

You blow another big bubble and pop it, “So? I like my men a little seasoned. Just hand me your phone.” Smoke slides his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. You start typing your number in before calling yourself. You save his contact and slide his phone back into his hand. 

“Do you always give your number away at the gas station?” Smoke questions. 

“I give my fake number out all the time. You should feel lucky that you have my real number,” You respond, flashing another cute smile at him. Smoke admires the way that the light dances across your skin and the faint glitter that he assumes is from some lotion. 

“Consider me honored. Drive safely and let me know when you make it home,” Smoke states, looking you straight in the eye. 

You smack your lips, “You checking for me already, old man?” 

“I’d just feel a lot better knowing that you got home safely.” 

“I’ll text you then, Elijah.” With that, you smile before rolling your window up. You drive out of the parking lot with Smoke watching your car. 

He enters his own car and sets off to go home.

Later in the night, when he makes it home and showers, he’s lying in bed, and he hates to admit that he’s waiting for the text from you. Finally, his phone vibrates in his hand, and he sees your name appear on the screen. 

You

*image attached*

I made it home safely

Smoke eyes the picture for far longer than he’ll ever admit. His gaze scans across your baby blue pajamas and the matching bonnet. A cute smile graces your lips as you snap the picture. 

Elijah

Let me take you out tomorrow for brunch.

You

Straight to the point, I like you. 

I guess I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for you😉

Elijah

I promise it’ll be worth it. 

You

It better be. I’m not afraid to leave you at the table by yourself.

From that moment, you became Smoke’s old lady, and everybody knew not to cross you unless they wanted him on their necks.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt take the clothes from the dryer and put it in a pile; you’ll get to it later

The age difference between you and Smoke takes a little bit to get used to on both of your ends, but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. In fact, you keep Smoke on his toes every day that you’re together. It’s within the second month of your relationship that he learns that you’re a “young ho” as you had so affectionately put it. 

“Why you calling yourself a hoe?” He asked, a frown covering his handsome face.

You roll your eyes, “It’s not like that, Elijah. It’s more of a reclamation of a word for a positive cause.” 

“What I tell you about rolling your eyes?” 

You resisted the urge to do it again. The last time that you’d rolled your eyes at Smoke, he’d turnt you every way but loose in the bedroom. 

He chose not to elaborate on your new self-proclaimed title. He learned very early in your relationship that you were a real stubborn brat when you wanted to be. He liked to play the part of annoyed, but inwardly, he loved how much you tested his patience. 

Smoke was one of those guys who had a real strict program, and that program was applied to you, but he often let you off scot free most of the time. Stack would even fuss at him because of how spoiled Smoke had you. 

The next day, Stack and Smoke are sitting at the kitchen table together while you’re vacuuming in the living room. You cut the vacuum off, and Smoke expects you to walk up to the wall to take the cord out. 

But you don’t. Because young hoes don’t do that. Instead, you grip the cord and rip it out of the socket before dragging the piece over to you. 

Smoke and Stack both watch you. 

“Aye, why didn’t you just go pull it out?” Stack asks.

You smack your lips, “Why would I make all of those unnecessary steps when I can just do it my way?” You wrap the cord up and hook it onto the vacuum before leaving the living room.

Stack turns to Smoke, “You would end up with a young hoe.”

“So you know about it too?” 

“Yeah, it’s this new thing on Twitter and TikTok. Girls talking about stuff that young hoes typically do. Her ripping that cord out of the wall was a prime example.”

Smoke does typically watch you. It’s a habit, really, but now, he watches you closer for your young hoe habits. 

He comes over to your house on a Sunday and finds that you’re finishing up your laundry. You grab the warm clothes from the dryer in one big swoop and deposit them on the chair in the corner of your room. Smoke watches as you walk away without folding the clothes. 

“Baby, you just gone leave them right there?” He questions, looking between you and the pile. 

“Yes, Papa Bear, I’ll fold them later,” you respond. He wants to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you’ll fold them, but he has to keep an eye on you. 

Turns out, he should’ve let the doubt win.

When he comes back over the following day, the clothes are still sitting in the chair. Wordlessly, he goes over to the pile to start folding the clothes into neat sections for you. He even goes the extra mile to place them in their appropriate places. 

You give him a surprised look when you come into the room, “Aww, Papa Bear, you didn’t have to do that.” You press a big kiss against his lips, your lip gloss staining his lips, but quite frankly, he loves the sensation. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Smoke is able to catch more of your young hoe antics when it comes to clothing. You volunteer to put his clothes in the washer because you love taking care of your old man. 

To his honest defense, Smoke believed that you could handle the task, and truthfully, you could, but just in your own way. He stands up from the couch to go grab a water from the fridge. Once inside the kitchen, he catches sight of you in the laundry room with his dirty basket of clothes.

Now, Smoke is a man of habit. There’s a precise way that he likes to have things done. Which is why he’s honestly gobsmacked when he watches you load the clothes into the washer without separating any of them by color.

To top it off, you grab his expensive laundry detergent and pour way more than what’s required into the washing machine. You turn the machine on, step back with your hands on your hips, and have the nerve to look proud. 

You turn and catch sight of him staring at you in the kitchen. He fixes his mouth to comment, but chooses not to when he sees the bright smile on your face. 

You point at the washer, “Look, I got you all fixed up.” 

Smoke can’t find it in his heart to take this moment from you, so he just smiles in response before walking over to press a long kiss against your lips. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Now, Smoke is old, but he didn’t think he was that old. But by the way that you’re looking at him and the ironing board, the nigga starts to feel like Morgan Freeman. 

“You don’t know what an ironing board is?” 

“Nigga, I’m not daft, I know what an ironing board is. I’m just trying to figure out why you would need one. Just iron on the bed.”

Smoke cuts his eyes in your direction, “No, the creases won’t hit the same.”

“Anyways. So what do you need this disinfectant spray for?” You ask, holding up the white bottle. 

“Baby, that’s starch.”

You frown and turn the bottle in your direction before reading it. You try to hide the embarrassed look that crosses your face before you hand the bottle back to him. You walk over to the ironing board that is still folded and fumble with it. 

You look genuinely perplexed by the fact that it won’t stand up. Anyone else would be annoyed, but Smoke finds it cute. You look at him with that whiny pout on your face, “Your ironing board is broken. Probably because it’s from the 90s.” 

Smoke chuckles before taking the ironing board from your hand and standing it up correctly. You look at each other in silence before you nod, “I got it loosened up for you. You’re welcome.”

With that, you walk out of the room, and Smoke figures it’s best to just let you have the win. 

Besides, his baby girl gets whatever she wants when she’s with him. 

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt use Apple Pay for literally every expense. We don’t use physical cards or cash anymore.

Smoke is old school.

He still carries around a wallet of cash and his debit cards. He only sets up Apple Pay on his phone because you insisted that it was more convenient. 

It is, but he won’t admit that to you. For you, you never have to pay for things when you’re with Smoke. In fact, he finds the audacity of you paying for anything outrageous. On the small chance that he isn’t there with you, he makes sure that you have the funds available for your needs. 

When he tries to hand you his card, you genuinely look perplexed, “What’s this for?”

He squints, “For you to buy your stuff. No limit.”

“That’s cute, Papa Bear, but I don’t even carry my own card around. I use Apple Pay for everything,” You said. 

“Just add my card to your Apple Pay, then baby,” Smoke orders, sliding the card in your hands. 

“Okay, thanks, baby,” you said, kissing his lips a few times. In response, Smoke slides your body into his lap and watches as you type the card into your Apple Pay and save it. 

This isn’t the only incident involving money with you and Smoke. You’re about to head out for a night with your girls when he stops you. 

“Come here before you leave, baby,” He demands from the couch. He and Stack are watching the finals while you go out.

“Sup ugly,” You state, slapping Stack on the neck. He frowns and twists around to pop you back when you step out of the way. 

Y’all are about to engage in another childish fight until Smoke glares at you both. Stack smacks his lips, “You better get yo girl before we be outside tussling.” 

“Ima mace you too,” You quip, as you walk to Smoke’s side of the couch. 

“See, I don’t even wanna play with you because I know you’re serious,” Stack states before turning his attention back to the TV. 

Smoke runs his eyes up and down your body in the two-piece set. Your body shines from your rigorous body care routine. He grips your waist, “You look good, babygirl.” 

“Thank you, Papa Bear,” you respond, leaning down to kiss him. From behind him, Stack makes gagging noises while you stick your finger up at him. 

As you pull away from the kiss, Smoke grabs a couple of bills from his wallet and slides them over to you. 

“Uh, I don’t need this,” You said, a faint whine at the end of your tone. 

“Yes, you do. Your little Apple Pay can’t cover everything. What if your phone dies? You need to be prepared just in case. Here. Take a few quarters, you might need to call me from a pay phone,” Smoke explains. 

All of the argument leaves your body because he’s right and you know it. You slide the bills and change in your purse before leaning down to press your lips against his again. This time, however, you slide your tongue inside of Smoke’s mouth while his hand goes to your neck. 

“Man! Y’all gone with all of that,” Stack yells from his end of the couch. 

You and Smoke part with a few additional pecks. A honk from outside lets you know that your friends are here. As you go to leave, you peck Smoke’s lips again, “I love you, Papa Bear. I’ll text you updates throughout the night.” 

You start walking towards the door until Smoke clears his throat, “Grab that coat on the way out, babygirl.”

You huff and throw your head back, “Elijah..it doesn’t go with my outfit!” 

He gives you a hard look, and you stare back. For a solid minute, you both keep the staring contest going as Stack moves his head back and forth between the two of you.

Smoke goes to stand when you hold your hands up, “Chill! Chill! I’m getting it.” You grab the jacket and hold it up as if to say, “See.” 

In return, Smoke smiles at you, “Good girl. I love you too. Make sure that you text me.” 

Stack laughs, “Aha…my brother got you in check.” He turns and feels like he has the last word. He doesn’t catch you creeping up behind him until you lean down to whisper, “stupid hoe” in his ear and slap the back of his neck again. You’re already out the door by the time that Stack gets off the couch. 

He frowns and crosses his arms. 

Smoke takes a sip from his drink, “Y’all are some children.”

Later in the night, Smoke periodically gets updates from you about your location and condition. You send him tipsy pictures from the club bathroom. It’s not too long before he gets a notification from your Instagram saying that you’ve posted to your stories. 

Smoke chuckles at the picture, but he’s glad to see that you’re having a good time with your girls. Some people assumed that since you liked to go outside, it would be a turn-off for Smoke, but it was quite the opposite. 

He liked the fact that you were young, carefree, and enjoying your life. He’d never try to nag or change who you were. In fact, being with you taught Smoke that he needed to let loose a lot more and enjoy the moment. 

Hours later, he hears the sound of a car door closing and watches from the porch as you walk back to the house. You pout pathetically upon seeing him, “My feet hurt. Can you carry me, Papa Bear?”

Without hassle, Smoke scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the house. He waves at your friends as he closes the door. Your head lolls to the side as you lie on his shoulder. 

Smoke looks down at you, “You still with me, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

He raises an eyebrow, “So you gonna carry me up these stairs?” 

“Yeah, I got you, baby,” you grumble back. Smoke laughs to himself at your antics. Even in your tipsy state, you still swore up and down that you were the Incredible Hulk. 

Arriving inside the bedroom, Smoke gently sets you down while grabbing a big t-shirt for you. 

He helps you with getting out of the heels and your set. “Lift your arms for me, baby.”

You oblige as he slips his t-shirt over your head. He goes to the bathroom to grab some micellar water to help you remove your makeup. 

You grumble in sleepiness. 

“I know, baby, just a little bit more,” He coos to you gently. Once he’s finished cleaning your face, he tucks you away under the blankets. He slips your bonnet over your hair.

“It’s hot,” you whine from beneath the covers. Smoke walks over to the fan, flicks it on, and turns it in your direction. He’d never heard of someone sleeping with a fan on until he started dating you. 

He slips beneath the covers and pulls your body into his side. You cuddle your body more into his hold, “Thank you, Papa Bear. I love you.” 

“I love you too, babygirl,” Smoke replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

As he listens to your steady breath, Smoke rationalizes that there’s nothing better than being here with you.

If Stack were here, he’d clown him real bad, but Smoke doesn’t care. He’d gladly go out and get your name tatted to show how down bad he is for you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt play the music about the guns and drugs, but shalt not participate in said activities

Smoke watches you in amusement as you pretend to shimmy in the living room, as “Off the Leash” by Gucci Mane blasts through the space. When he first met you, he’d assumed that you would like a lot of lover girl music, which you did. 

But more often than not, you were listening to music about drugs and guns, even though you were hands down a law-abiding citizen. The song changes to “All There” by Jeezy, and you start hyping yourself up more. 

You walk over to Smoke and start rapping the lyrics in his face, while grabbing money from his wallet to spread it down your arm. 

“So you’re a dope boy now?” Smoke asks, subtly nodding his head along to the music. 

“I’ve been trappin’ out here, Smoke,” You respond. He raises his eyebrows at the change of name, but continues chuckling as you make gun gestures with your hands. 

“So that means I should go get you a gun of your own now?”

You ball your face up, “No, thank you. You know I don’t like guns. Plus, I’d just be a menace if these niggas tried me.” You prove your point by making gun noises like you’re shooting

You really weren’t a big fan of guns. Even with the gun that Smoke kept in his house, you always made sure that he had it locked away, far from your sight. You didn’t even like the idea of him being near a gun, and he was a whole trained veteran. 

You take your phone out and start typing. You glance back at him, “I have a hair appointment tomorrow, so I may be MIA for a while.” 

He nods, “Okay, I’ll send you the money to cover it.” 

You lean down to press a kiss against his cheeks, “Thanks, Papa Bear.” 

When you mentioned getting your hair done to Smoke, he doesn’t expect you to be gone for that long. He checks your location, which states that you’re still at your braider’s house. 

His phone buzzes with a text from you. 

Babygirl♥️

Be home soon. 

I can’t wait for you to see my braids🙂‍↔️

He lets out a sigh of relief at the message. One thing that was always true, Smoke could be a bit overprotective, but it was only because he knew how the world operated. He knew how cruel people could be, especially to someone like you. 

You were smart and observant, but Smoke just preferred to be around to look out for you. In his mind, you were all bubble gum, sunshine, and sweetness. He’d hate to see someone trying to snuff that light out of you. 

Thirty minutes later, Smoke hears your car pulling into the yard. You get out, casually sipping on your Stanley Cup and walking to the house. 

He opens the door to greet you. You connect your lips to his while gripping his shirt, “Hey, Papa Bear. I hope you weren’t waiting up for me.”

“I was,” Smoke said, closing the door behind you. 

He goes to sit on the couch and crosses his arms, “What took you so long?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “It was mostly the braid length. You know I like to get my braids long.” You do a quick turn to show the braids off, and Smoke’s gaze travels down to how long they are. The braids’ length ends just below your butt. 

You turn back to him with a wide smile, “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, babygirl, I love them. You look beautiful as always.” He means it. There’s not one moment when Smoke isn’t thinking about how beautiful you are. 

Later in the night, he oils your scalp at bedtime. In return, you apply a clay mask to his face as he waits for it to dry. 

Quite honestly, Smoke had never been well-versed in skincare. That just wasn’t his thing. Now, he kept himself up and always kept his skin moisturized, but stuff like skincare was more up Stack’s alley. 

Since dating you, Smoke has a whole skincare routine that you and he do every night. He’s always had pretty good skin, but since being with you, you've elevated his skin to a new level. You both stand side-by-side at the sink, washing the masks from your faces. Smoke scoops you up to sit on the counter and grips your backside in his hand as you apply his serums and moisturizer for the night. 

You peek up at him through your lashes, “You so handsome, Papa Bear.” 

You grab his chin in your hand and pull his face down towards yours. Smoke’s lips engulf yours in a passionate kiss as he tongues you down. He slides your body closer to his as he fully steps between your legs. You roll your hips into his as his bulge presses against your wet core. When he steps back slightly, you whine in response while pouting. Smoke chuckles darkly before gripping your thighs to pull you off the counter. He effortlessly carries you from the bathroom to the bedroom and deposits you on the bed. 

He leans down on the bed to cover your body with his. He grabs both of your wrists in his hands and pins you to the top of the bed. He frowns when he moves one of his hands and hears a crinkle. Smoke looks up and grabs the item. A bag of Hot Cheetos crunches in his hands. 

He looks down at you while you give him an innocent grin. It’s only when he looks up that he notices all of the extra items in the bed like candy, your iPad, both of your chargers, and your Stanley. 

He’s about to open his mouth to comment when you stop him, “Before you start with all of that, I need this. These are my essentials. Don’t be trynna reach across me to eat my snacks either.”

He gives you a blank look, “I’m trynna eat you now, but if you want to keep the snacks on the bed…”

You move quickly to put the snacks and other items on the nightstand. 

You open your legs with a soft smile, “Okay, I’m ready.”

The only thing Smoke can do is chuckle, but he still gets on his knees regardless. His back may protest, but he’ll never give up the chance to put his mouth on you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt not take any BS.

It didn’t take Smoke a long time to figure out that you were a bit of a hot head. In your honest defense, you just weren’t the type to hold your tongue, especially when something felt like disrespect. Which is why he often found it amusing when you and Stack would argue because you’d match his brother bar for bar with insults. 

However, it was all love between you and Stack. You were the younger sister he always craved having, so he’s delighted to have you around more often. 

As Smoke’s old lady, as he likes to refer to you as, your invitation to any family functions is automatically secured. You knew your spot was secured when all of Smoke’s aunts and uncles hit him with the famous, “That’s you, nephew?” 

You stood in the kitchen with Ardelia, Smoke, and Stack’s mother as you both conversed. 

“I’m so happy that you could come today, and you look so pretty,” Ardelia said, nodding her head in appreciation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” You said, grinning widely. 

“Ah, now what I tell you about that. None of that, you can call me mama.” 

You smiled even brighter at her comment. Ardelia had been nothing but welcoming to you since Smoke introduced you for the first time. You were nervous that she wouldn’t be accepting of you, especially with the age gap, but she referred to you as her daughter-in-law all over town. Now, a few of Smoke’s other family members weren’t as accepting of you, but they wouldn’t ever say it aloud. But you were well aware of the whispered comments.

‘He’s bringing that lil’ girl all up in here. She still got milk behind her ears.’

“He outta be ashamed. Bringing her around here when he could be back with Annie.’

‘Look at her outfit. Any shorter and them shorts will be some panties.’

’I heard she just with him for the money. Jill from down the street said she got a pattern of jumping from man to man and using them for money.’

‘Lord, that’s a shame!”

You rolled your eyes and took it on the chin. The last thing you were about to do was start an argument with Smoke’s folks, especially in his mama’s house. You knew how a lot of people viewed you, especially with how you carried yourself. There’d been rumors all over the place that you were a relationship hopper, which was far from the truth. You just weren’t the type to stick around in a relationship, especially if it didn’t serve you. 

Growing up as a little black girl in the South, you recognized that many black girls weren’t taught how to date. Most girls here felt that if they dated someone, they had to tie themselves down to the person forever. It was often frowned upon if you were dating more than one person or exploring your options. 

No, exploring your options was only something that was reserved for men. 

The fact that you weren’t the type to stick around in dead situations or entertain men made you stick out like a sore thumb in the community. They couldn’t stand to see a black woman standing strong in her boundaries. They would never catch you apologizing for that. 

You walk outside and sit next to Smoke, who is surrounded by a few of his uncles and cousins. It’s at that point in the evening when the conversations shift to more controversial topics, and the new school vs old school duke it out. 

You were already rolling your eyes as Marvin, one of Smoke’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak. He was the physical embodiment of red pill alpha male content. 

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t want my Queen out here degrading herself on these apps by posting seductive pictures and doing OnlyFans. I mean, look at the state of female rap, all they talk about is their pussy and what they can get from men.”

A few of the older traditional men hum in agreement. 

You frown, “Well, isn’t that a bit contradictory, Marvin? Men rap about pussy all the time. There isn’t one rap song that you can give me that doesn’t consist of some line of a man talking about all of the women that he’s slept with or the degrading acts that he makes her perform. To add onto your point, you’re complaining about the women making content, but you fail to realize that there wouldn’t be a market if men weren’t paying for it. Sounds like smart business women capitalizing on a rising market.”

Marvin cuts his eyes at you. You can see the irritation rising in his eyes, “See, I’d expect you to say that. You’re one of those new school women. You don’t have traditional values. A real woman knows her place in the home. She should be preparing the home for her King to come home to. She shouldn’t be out here selling pussy.” He glances over in Smoke’s direction, “Dang, cuz, you really switched things up with this one. At least Annie was taking care of her man.”

Marvin sits back in the chair, clearly pleased with himself. Beside you, Smoke hardens, and everyone can catch that look of murder in his eye. He’s about to address the situation when you place a hand on his chest. 

“It’s okay, baby, I got it. Marvin, I don’t take pseudo-intellectual men like you seriously. You be the same niggas hollering about being an Alpha male and you ain’t even graduated from community college. Last time I looked in the mirror, my breasts and vagina were still there, so I think we got the real woman part covered. You keep trying to take jabs at me about being a low-value woman when, last time I checked, I got two degrees under my name, and I’m well on my way to my third. Let’s not forget the high-paying job, and I own my house. We can go band for band if you want to.” 

You pause and snap your fingers, “I forgot, you don’t have a job, so your bands wouldn’t even match mine. What’s your occupation again? Wait…you’re still building your little YouTube with the ten subscribers, all of whom are your homeboys who can’t keep your dick out of their mouths. You keep talking about pussy, but baby boy, you wake up every day and look at a pussy in the mirror.”

You sit back in your chair with a demure smile. The backyard is silent as everyone turns to look at Marvin. He storms from the chair and walks towards the door. You all listen as his car pulls out of the driveway. 

“I like this one, nephew,” Tony, Smoke’s uncle, comments as he clinks his cup with yours. 

Smoke looks over at you in concern, “Baby, you good?” 

“Yeah, ain’t nobody stressin’ over Marvin. I know my worth, and I know what I bring to the table. I’m not about to let anyone feel like they pressin’ me.”

“Good, but I’ma still beat his ass later on for talking to you like that,” Smoke states, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

“Thanks, Papa Bear.” You lean over to press your lips against his. You resist the urge to deepen the kiss because you still have to be respectful in front of his family. 

“Anytime, baby, you know you mean the world to me. Nobody in this world is ever gonna disrespect you while I’m around.”

Before you can comment, Stack leans over to dap you up, “That last line was a bar. Let’s go put that down in the studio.”

From the book of women: Always show respect where respect is due.

Annie Boudreaux. Formely Annie Moore. 

You’d met Annie in passing a few times, and you liked her well enough. You both got along, seeing as you were both important women in Smoke’s life. To others, they wondered if it bothered you that Smoke’s ex-wife still came around to family functions, but truthfully, it didn’t. 

You understood how important Annie was to Smoke and their shared history. It’d be selfish if you asked him to stay away from her. That didn’t mean that Smoke was taking advantage of the situation and disrespecting you. He’d always be open and let you know that he was going to see Annie. You’d always kiss him and bid him on his way. 

Today was the first time that you’ve ever set foot in Annie’s yard.  

You walk slowly towards the side of the house where baby Anais Moore’s headstone sits. You note the fresh flowers sitting at the headstone, no doubt from Smoke’s earlier visit in the week. You set down your own bouquet before willing away the tears that follow. 

Smoke talks about his and Annie’s little girl from time to time, but only when the moon shines low in the room, and you can’t see his tears falling. He’d laid his head on your chest and whispered all about his daughter, while you remained silent and rubbed at his head. 

“She was so beautiful and tiny. I was scared of holding her the first time,” He laments. 

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. You wish that you could take away all of the pain, but you know that nothing ever quite soothes the ache of losing a child. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Annie comments from her place on the steps. You catch her eyes as they clock the flowers that you placed at the baby’s grave.

“I wanted to come visit you, and I needed to ask for your help with something.”

Annie gives you a long look before ushering you inside the house. She pours you a glass of tea as you sit across from each other on the couch. 

“So what brings you by?” Annie questions. 

“Can you teach me how to make that gumbo dish that Elijah likes. He mentioned that it’s one of his favorite meals, and I wanted to do something nice for him,” You said, nerves coloring your voice. 

Your wide eyes meet Annie’s, and you’re honestly scared that she’ll tell you no. Instead, she chuckles, “You came all this way to ask me how to make a pot of gumbo for Elijah? Come on, silly girl. You must really be in love.”

“I am.” 

For another beat, you both look at each other, and Annie runs her eyes across you. Unbeknownst to you, she can see the pink swirls radiating around your body with all of the love that you have for Elijah. 

She gestures for you to follow her to the kitchen, where she begins taking out all of the ingredients. She turns to you, “Go pick me some of those bell peppers from the garden.” 

You nod before setting out to the garden, where Annie has an assortment of fruit and vegetables. You navigate towards the bell peppers as you pick out the best ones. Inside the house, you hand the peppers to Annie as she washes them off. 

“I love your garden. I always wanted to grow one,” You said, leaning against the counter. 

“Tell Elijah. He’s good at starting a garden,” Annie responds. She ushers you forward as she grabs the flour and cast-iron skillet. 

“Now the roux is the most essential part of the gumbo. You mess up the roux, you might as well throw the whole pot away.” 

Together, you and Annie work hand in hand to craft the gumbo the way that Smoke likes it. Annie lets you take over for the most part, while she gently guides you. Soon, you’re both sitting at the table sharing a bowl of gumbo over rice and laughing like old friends. 

“Next thing I know, Stack is running out of the house. Yellin’ about some voodoo,” Annie states, to which you laugh loudly. 

Your laugh calms after a few minutes when you catch Annie staring at you. 

“Thank you,” She states. 

She doesn’t have to explain what she’s thanking you for. You already know. You slide a hand across the table as you tangle your fingers together. 

“I really appreciate you, Annie.”

“Likewise.”

She doesn’t mention that she can read your palms with your hands touching like this. She chuckles internally. She hopes that you’re ready for some twins in the future.

When Smoke gets home later in the day, he’s surprised at the familiar scent that wafts across his nose. For a minute, he wonders if Annie is inside the house with you. He walks inside the kitchen and takes note of you standing in front of the stove, stirring away at a familiar pot. 

You and Smoke are so in tune with each other that you sense him as soon as he enters the house. You turn around, “Hey, Papa Bear, take a seat.” 

Smoke sets his work bag down and takes a seat at the table. You fix his bowl of gumbo just the way that Annie mentioned he likes, along with a piece of cornbread on the side and a glass of tea. He takes a second to look between you and the bowl of gumbo. He notes the similarities in the gumbo, “You makin’ gumbo now, babygirl?”

“Mhmm..I had a little help from Annie today. I wanted to get it just the way that you like it,” You said, moving to fix your own bowl. 

“You visited Annie today?” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that her gumbo was always your favorite, so I went by to ask her how to make it for you.” You shrug at the end of your sentence like it’s no big deal, but to Smoke, it means the world. 

Before you can take a bite of your gumbo, he grabs your hand in his. 

“Thank you. You know I love you, right?” He said, eyes glistening under the light. It means a lot that you went out of your way to ask Annie how to make his favorite meal. 

“I love you, too, Elijah,” You respond before connecting your lips to his. 

As you both eat, Smoke eyes your empty ring finger and figures that he may need to change that pretty soon.

After the meal, Smoke offers to wash dishes, but you shoo him away.

“Just sit down, you’ve been working hard all day. It’s just a few dishes,” You said, turning the water on. 

Smoke expects you to plug the sink and let it fill up with soap and water, but you do the exact opposite. You keep the water running as you wash each dish one by one under the hot water. 

“Baby, you could’ve just filled the sink up,” Smoke comments. 

“Ew, I don’t want all of that food touching my hands,” You shoot back. 

Smoke decides to drop it and continues watching you wash the dishes. He already knows that he should expect the water bill to be higher this month. From the looks of the empty paper towel roll, he might have to just invest in the big pack from Costco.

From the book of young hoe: Always listen to Papa Bear.

It’s one of those nights when you and your girls are going out again. Smoke opts to stay in, but he’s already made sure that your purse is packed with all of the essentials. He knows how forgetful you can be. 

The sound of your heels clicking brings his attention to you as you walk into the bedroom. He hadn’t paid much attention to your outfit. You always did your makeup first before putting on your outfit, and then you’d give him a little show before leaving. 

Now, Smoke’s gotten used to some of your more risque clothing choices. Shoot, when he first met you, you were wearing a dress that had him drooling. He isn’t one of those guys who likes to police his woman on what she’s wearing, but he is very possessive of you. Smoke knows that you’re a baddie, so why would he stop you from being that?

However, he has to draw a line with this outfit, if you can even call it that. 

Smoke coughs past the smoke and snuffs out the joint that you rolled for him. “What you got on?”

You smile at him through the mirror, “It’s cute, right? I found it the other day!”

You had taken the definition of mini skirt to a whole other level. You’re well endowed in your backside, which hangs out of the skirt. You bend forward to check your makeup, and Smoke almost falls out. 

He frowns at you, “Go change. You ain’t leavin’ the house with that on.”

Naturally, the pout crosses your lips, “But why?” 

“Baby, I ain’t finna have these niggas out here eyeing my woman, and I’m not around.”

You huff in annoyance, “Elijah, it’s not that deep. It’s not even that short.”

He eyes the skirt again with a glare on his face. If he could set the skirt on fire, he would. 

“It’s not up for discussion. Go change into something else.”

“No.”

Smoke’s head whips around so fast that you’re surprised that his neck doesn’t break. That dark look crosses his face, “Babygirl, you sure you wanna cross that bridge with me? Take yo’ pretty ass back in there and get changed.” 

The urge to be a brat weighs heavily on you tonight. You square your shoulders and look him dead in the eye, “Nope, I’m wearing this.”

A honk sounds from outside, and you move to grab your purse. Smoke is openly glaring at you and challenging you, “You leave out of this house, I hope you prepared for the consequences later.” 

You shrug, “I’ll be back later on. I love you, Papa Bear.” 

With that, you walk your pretty self out the door, even though your stomach tingles with anxiety. As you step into the car, your homegirls turn to look at you. 

“Girl, Big Daddy Smoke let you out of the house wearing that,” your friend, Leilani, asks. 

You smack your lips, “He was making a big deal of it at first. Telling me that I need to go change. He don’t run me.”

Your friend, Omi, smacks her lips, “Sis, he gone tear you up when you get back. You know them old heads don’t play about all that.”

“It’s fine, y’all. He’ll be okay when I get back.”

“He gone kill her when she gets back. I’m puttin’ a sign on you that says ‘Dead lady walking.’ You might as well gone get your coochie ready,” your friend, Keisha, quips. 

When you all make it to the club, it’s turnt as usual. You and Stack lock eyes as you pass his section.  His eyes flicker down to your skirt before he starts shaking his head. He ushers you over, “You gotta be one of the craziest people that I’ve ever met. Does my brotha’ know you outside like this?”

“Yes, Smoke doesn’t run me. I can wear what I want,” You state, a frown crossing your face. 

Stack laughs. Not one of those low laughs, but the loud and annoying types. 

“Whew, I’m scared for you, girl. But I’ll keep an eye on you. Have fun now before you get home,” Stack said, continuing to laugh. He lets you and your girls come into the section with him and his boys. You know that it’s so he can carefully watch you. 

Whenever you go to get a drink, Stack stops you and goes to the bar himself. You and your friends go to hit the dance floor when Stack holds his hand up. 

“Oh my gosh, Stack, move!” 

Stack smacks his lips, “I’m just looking out for you. Gone dance, but if I see any nigga gettin’ too friendly with you, I’m on him like white on rice.” 

You give him a thumbs-up before following your friends to the middle of the floor. You’re having the time of your life and twerking like you aren’t on borrowed time. Stack keeps his eyes on you at all times like he’s watching a toddler, which he thinks may be true. He takes his phone out to record a video of you to send to Smoke.

Stack

*video attached* 

Don’t stress yourself out. I’m keepin’ an eye on her.

But I know you got something planned when she gets home.

*Smoke liked your message*

Stack takes a sip from his whiskey, “Lord, she in danger.” 

By the end of the night, you’re all danced out and sweaty, but overall, you consider the night a win. Stack offers to take you home and ushers you into the car. Your friends snicker because they know that Smoke is punishing you tonight. The only one oblivious to the fact is you. 

Pulling into the driveway, Stack turns to you with a smirk, “Good luck.” 

The lights are all off in the house except the porch light. Smoke stands under the porch light like a serial killer. You turn to Stack with a grim look, “Maybe, we should back out of the driveway really slowly.” 

“Nope. You wanted to be grown. Now, you gotta face your actions like a big girl,” Stack said. 

“I’m blinking twice for help. I’m telling a trusted adult!”

Stack shrugs, “Too bad I’m not a trusted adult.”

“Trick..” you mutter before opening the door to exit the car. Smoke nods his head at Stack, who reciprocates. 

“I’ll see you in a week,” Stack jokes, before backing out of the driveway. 

Like a scared deer, you walk unevenly to the porch where Smoke is still standing. As you approach, he blows out a big cloud of smoke before throwing the joint down and stubbing it out. You stand in front of him, “Hey…”

Smoke doesn’t say anything, but simply steps to the side to let you inside the house. You swallow loudly as you walk inside the house. The only sounds are the distinct chirps from the crickets outside, along with the subtle clicks of your heels. You and Smoke make your way to the bedroom. You go to grab your pajamas when Smoke stops you, “Didn’t I tell you to change earlier?”

You turn slowly to face him, “Yes, you did.” 

“And I told you that if you left this house, there would be consequences, but you didn’t listen, did you?”

“No….”

“Come here,” Smoke demands, voice soft. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to get his point across. 

You stay rooted in the same spot, partially aroused and partially scared. Smoke chuckles darkly, “You still ain’t learned? You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” You scurry over to stand in front of Smoke as you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Stand right there,” Smoke orders. He walks off to rummage through one of the drawers. Your eyes widen as you see him procure one of his good ties. The heat from his body wafts onto yours as you become hyperaware of him standing behind you. Smoke grabs your hands in his and skillfully wraps the tie around your wrists so that your hands are bound behind your back. He tugs at the knot and hums in satisfaction. 

You try your hand at seeing if you can move and find that you can’t. Smoke moves to stand in front of you as he glowers down at you. He steps closer to press his chest against yours. For a moment, a soft look crosses his face as he cups your face in his hands. He leans down to connect your lips, and you moan at the taste of whiskey that lingers on his tongue. 

Smoke pulls back from the kiss as his eyes run across you. He trails his hands down your form until his cupping your backside in his hands. “You could’ve stayed home and modeled this lil’ skirt for me, but you wanted to go and show off what’s mine.”

You go to open your mouth to protest, but Smoke stops you, “I didn’t say I was done talking. Since you wanted to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” You let out a squeak when Smoke grabs you to throw you on the bed. Your body bounces before it settles. 

Gripping the corset in his hands, he cleanly tears it down the middle until the material falls away. You gasp in surprise as the cool air hits your nipples. Flipping you onto your stomach, Smoke hikes your hips up and flips the skirt over. 

He tugs your head back, “You owe me. You can either take my hand or something else.” 

The last time Smoke spanked you, you were left shaking on the bed. It was either his hand or one of those leather belts with his name on it. You were screwed either way.

“Your hand,” You said. 

Smoke nods, “Let’s tally up how much you owe me. 10 for the outfit plus 10 because I told you to take it off and you back-talked. Also, an additional 10 because you still left.” Your wide eyes meet his as you turn to face him, “But daddy, that’s thirty.”

Smoke chuckles, “Glad to see you can count, darlin’.” 

The first hit sends heat flooding through your body, along with feeling your cheek ripple under his hand. The second hit sends a flood of wetness to your panties. By the tenth hit, the tears are already running down your face. How were you supposed to count through twenty more?

Your entire backside is on fire once Smoke delivers the last hit. You’re fully shaking and hiccuping into the sheets, but you can’t deny how turned on you are. By now, you’ve soaked completely through your panties, which Smoke clocks. 

He takes two fingers and runs them up and down the soiled material, “My dirty baby. What am I gonna do with you, baby? You don’t know how to listen now.” 

“M’Sorry, Papa. I’ll listen to you next time.”

“I know you will because I’m gonna make sure that you do.” He flips your body around and grips your panties as he tears them clean from your body. Smoke maneuvers your body to the headboard before going to grab another tie. He loops the tie through the bedpost before securing your hands to it. 

Smoke walks over to the closet and rifles through it for a few seconds. You lift your head to get a good look, but his shoulders block your view. He walks over with a long metal rod in hand, “Do you know what this is?”

You shake your head. He laughs lowly, “It’s a spreader bar. I’m gonna put your legs in these cuffs, and you won’t be able to move.” Sitting at the edge of the bed, he removes your heels one by one before throwing them carelessly to the floor. He places your ankles in the cuffs and secures them. Smoke moves to stand in front of the bed as he grabs the metal in his hands. He can already see your glistening folds as your slick pools beneath you. 

He moves your legs from side to side, “See, this is a special bar, I made it myself. Every time you move babygirl, it’ll spread your legs more.” He jerks the rod, which loudly clicks as your spread apart more. You look at him in surprise. 

He grabs the box that he set on the bed and opens it. Your old man is a sex fiend, apparently, as he lifts various forms of vibrators out of the box. Smoke moves to your open legs and dips his fingers inside of you to collect your slick. 

He brings his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck your juices from his fingers. He takes one of the vibrators in his hand before the tip across through your wet center. You shiver at the sensation of the tip dipping into your entrance. 

“This one is special, babygirl. That special spot that I’m always hitting…well my little friend is made to specifically reach that spot.” He pushes the toy inside of you as you gasp at the fullness of it. 

Smoke coos gently at you as your wet eyes meet his, “There we go, baby.” He clicks a button, which brings the vibrator to life inside you. Smoke pushes the toy in and out of you as your walls cling to it. 

Your eyes widen when he holds up another toy, “My other friend is for that lil’ pearl up there.” He trails his fingers through the curls that cover young mound until he reaches your clit. Your body arches into his touch as he casually rubs small circles around your clit. 

“Please…” you whine into the room. 

“Please what, darlin’? I need you to be more specific,” Smoke said condescendingly. 

Your mind is venturing into that mushy territory where you don’t know what you’re asking the man for. 

He smirks, “You don’t even know what you’re asking me for. That’s alright. Take care of my other friend for me while I get done smoking.” 

He attaches the curved toy to your clit and clicks a button, and it buzzes to life. Your first reaction is to move your body. You wither across the mattress, pleasure consuming every inch of you. You go to move your legs, only for the spreader to click and spread your legs further. 

You gasp. 

Smoke chuckles before moving to sit in the chair in the bedroom. He grabs his early discarded blunt to relight. He inhales the smoke into his lungs as he casually watches you suffer. 

Smoke casually taps the button on his phone, which increases the vibrations on your clit and inside of you. Your back arches from the bed as your release climbs higher. 

Just as you’re reaching that sweet release, Smoke taps the button and turns the vibrators off. A loud whine leaves your mouth, “Please let me cum, Papa.” 

Smoke blows the smoke from his nose, “Since you asked so nicely…”

He eases up the level of the vibrators to the fullest level. A loud screams erupts from your mouth as your walls clasp around the toy and your orgasm consumes your body. 

Smoke leans forward, “That’s one. Give me about four more and we’ll call it even.”

You turn your head to him in disbelief. Before you can protest, he turns the vibrators back on. 

You’re a mess of cum, sweat, and tears. Exactly how Smoke prefers you. 

Your brain is complete mush at this point and you can feel the puddle that had formed beneath you. Somewhere between the second and third orgasm, you’d squirted. 

Smoke turns the vibrators off and throws his phone on the chair. He walks over to you and pulls your ruined face to his. Your expression shows how far gone you are. He lightly taps your face, “You still with me, babygirl?” 

Your tongue lolls around in your mouth, “Mhmm, Papa.” 

“So you can give me one more?” 

“Mhmm.”

He unties your hands from the bed. He runs his hand across your wrists and kisses them gently. Smoke pulls the vibrator from your core and observes the cream that forms around the base of the toy. He flicks his tongue out to slurp some in his mouth. 

Smoke pulls his shirt over his head before dropping his boxers. You eye his hardened dick and as tired as you are, you still need to feel him inside of you. 

Smoke lays down on the bed next to you and pulls your pliant body across his lap. He points his tip at your swollen entrance, “Go slow, baby. Papa will take care of the rest.”

You lower your pussy down onto his dick as you whine into his shoulder. You shudder as you feel his large tip brushing against that spot inside you. 

Smoke grabs your hips in his hand as he gently bounces you up and down on his dick. You turn your head to connect his your lips to his. Smoke slides his tongue into your mouth and gently sucks at your tongue. 

He gives a particular thrust that sends fresh tears to your eyes. “I know, it’s too much baby, but you’re doing so good for me. Cum for me one more time, babygirl.”

You nod weakly. 

Smoke plants his feet on the bed and starts thrusting roughly into your body. Loud, wet noises fill the bedroom as your walls clench around his length. 

“M’coming Papa. Right there..”

Smoke feels his own balls tightening as his release nears. He smashes his lips onto yours as your orgasm hits. He swallows your moans into his mouth as his own orgasm starts.

Smoke holds your hips firmly to his as he fills you up.

You shiver at the feeling of his cum splashing against your womb. 

For a second, you both breathe in tandem as your heart calms down. Smoke runs a soothing hand up your back, “You good, Princess?”

“Mhmm, m’good Papa. I’m sorry.” 

Smoke chuckles, “I forgive you, baby. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

He gently slides from inside of you as you whimper softly. A wave of Smoke’s cum slides from you as it lands on the bed. Scooping you into his arms, Smoke walks into the bathroom and sits you on the toilet. 

You’d long since passed the stage of your relationship where you were shy of going to the bathroom in front of him. As wipe and flush the toilet, you raise your arms for Smoke to pick you up. 

He grabs a towel and applies warm water to it before wiping at your face and between your legs. Back inside the bedroom, Smoke gives you a pair of his boxers before sliding his shirt over your head. He slides a pair of briefs on before he tucks you into bed. 

He grabs a bottle of water before offering it to you. Once you’re done, you flop back on the pillow. Smoke slides in beside you as he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I love you, babygirl.”

“I love you too, Papa Bear.”

He presses a kiss to your neck as he closes his eyes. 

“Elijah?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you turn on the fan?”

He chuckles, “Course I can baby.”

End.

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“ooh, wassup, big mama?” the sound of Cameron’s voice echoing throughout the dining hall made you pause before you could lift your fork to your lips and you let out a laugh, your head raising and your eyes locking on an enthusiastic Cameron Cade approaching you and your best friend Sierra’s table.

“you always this loud or you just happy to see me for some odd reason?” you chuckled, raising an eyebrow, as you let go of your fork and let it rest in his plate, leaning back into your chair and crossing your arms.

“both. you should know that by now,” Sierra answered your question before Cameron could even open his mouth, a knowing smirk crossing her face while she stood up from her seat and grabbed her backpack before picking up her empty plate and cup, “but i’ma leave y’all alone so i ain’t third-wheelin’ or nothin’.”

Sierra winked at you before disappearing off into the crowd of college students searching the dining hall for a good meal, making you chuckle as you watched Cameron take Sierra’s seat and sit down in front of you.

“anyways, now that yo’ guard dog gone, wassup wit’ you? you comin’ to the game this Saturday?” Cameron asked, raising his eyebrows, as you snorted at him referring to Sierra as your guard dog and you shook your head at his antics, a soft chuckle falling from your lips while you picked up your fork.

“i’m thinkin’ about it,” you admitted as you stuck your fork in the middle of your plate of pasta and twirled some noodles onto the utensil, “why, you want me there or somethin’?”

“of course i want you there, that’s why i asked,” Cameron grinned a little as he watched you take a bite of your pasta, “you know i need big mama there as my good luck charm, girl.”

you laughed at his words and nearly choked on your pasta as you shielded your mouth with your palm while you chewed and eventually swallowed your food, running your tongue over your lips before speaking, “Cam, i told you to stop callin’ me that shit.”

“stop playin’ like youn’ like when i call you that. know yo’ ass be blushin’ when i ain’t around to see it,” Cameron cockily smirked as you playfully rolled your eyes and removed your makeshift shield from your mouth, “speakin’ of ‘stop playin’, when you finally gon’ stop playin’ with me and give me a chance?”

you raised an eyebrow in amusement and picked up your cup filled with Coca-Cola, taking a sip it from your straw before sitting it back down, “Cam, you not serious.”

“how i’m not?” Cameron’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms.

“because you know damn well i’m practically twice your size. you like a lil’ nigga compared to me,” you chuckled as you gestured between your size and his with your index finger, “i could literally break you, Cameron.”

“and you think that’s ‘posed to steer me away from you or some shit?” Cameron chuckled in amusement as he eyed you up and down and licked his lips at the sight of your big breasts sitting up through your top before his colored eyes flickered up to meet your gaze, “i know what i want and i know what i’m gettin’ myself into. i ain’t no lil’ nigga, shawty.”

a look of surprise mixed with amusement crossed your face and you chuckled as you crossed your arms and a small grin pulled at the corners of your mouth, “wanna make a wager then?”

“shit, c’mon.” Cameron smirked as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, eagerness and curiosity evident in his demeanor.

“if you make five touchdowns at this Saturday’s game then i’ll consider your everlasting desire to pursue me. how that sound?” you asked, grinning, as you raised an eyebrow and Cameron’s smirk widened while he leaned back into his chair again and adjusted his hips.

“so that means you comin’ to the game this Saturday, right?”

“duh, Cam.”

“a’ight. then, that’s a bet, big mama.”

if you knew Cameron was gonna show his ass at that game, you would’ve upped the ante to an unrealistic number of touchdowns. you were sure he’d still find some way of try to reach it, though.

as the football game came to an end, Cameron managed to score seven touchdowns, and you already knew his ego was boosted higher than it already was, but you honestly might not be able to tell the difference since he was always cocky as hell with everything he did and said.

“you think if you would’ve said 20 touchdowns instead of 5 that he would’ve made that many?” Sierra asked, laughing, as she turned her head and looked over at you, earning a soft snort from you while you met her gaze.

“if i said 20, his ass would’ve aimed for 38,” you laughed heartily as Sierra laughed with you and she shook her head before the sound of the buzzer from the scoreboard caught both of your attentions, indicating the end of the fourth quarter and therefore the end of the game, “guess i’ll go down there and congratulate him then, huh?”

“fuck that, give him some postgame pussy,” Sierra grinned mischievously with a chortle as the two of you simultaneously stood up from your seats on the bleachers, “i’m sure he lookin’ for big mama right now, so get yo’ ass down on that field.”

“i wish y’all asses would stop callin’ me big mama,” you laughed as you playfully smacked Sierra’s arm and the two of you started walking down the staircase in the aisle, descending from your high seats, “and i’m not givin’ him no postgame pussy, Sierra, don’t piss me off.”

“yeah, yeah, make sure to let me know how the dick was tomorrow, boo! love you!” Sierra called out with a smile as she walked away from you and looked over her shoulder to blow you a kiss while she headed off the exit, making you laugh while you shook your head and ultimately grinned.

“annoyin’ ass.” you chuckled to yourself before following the crowd and walking off of the bleachers, heading to the field and searching for the one and only Cameron Cade.

after searching for a few minutes, you eventually stumbled across Cameron, his back facing you while he talked to someone in front of him. grinning a little, you walked over to him and made sure to keep your footsteps quiet as you tugged on the hem of his jersey with both hands and Cameron’s head instantly swiveled around, his eyes landing on you while he smacked his lips.

“you childish as hell,” Cameron chuckled, cracking a smile, as you laughed and watched him turn around to face you, his 6’5” stature towering over you while he held his helmet in one of his hands, “you look good, big mama.”

you dressed in a simple black cropped sweater that stopped underneath your breasts and some high-waisted jeans that emphasized the curve of your ass and the thickness of your thighs. your braids were pulled back in a low ponytail and you left one braid on each side down in the front to add to your hairstyle. your lip combo was perfectly applied and smoothed across your lips, no smudge in sight.

if you two weren’t in public, Cameron would’ve pounced on you the moment he saw you.

“thank you, Cam,” you smiled, adjusting your purse on your shoulder, as Cameron smirked a little and nodded his head, “you did good tonight, by the way. out there puttin’ belt to ass and leavin’ niggas on the ground.”

“aye, tell ‘em come pick they dead homies up, you feel me?” Cameron smirked, proudly nodding his head, as he started flexing his biceps and your smile widened, his antics making you laugh, “and ain’t nobody forgot about that bet we made earlier this week either. you said five touchdowns and i went the extra mile just to make two mo’.”

“so you made two extra touchdowns just for me?” you asked in amusement as Cameron smirked proudly and nodded his head, “i’m impressed, Cam.”

“i needed you to know how serious i was about that bet. how serious i am about you,” Cameron’s voice lowered and he took a step closer to you as he reached up and cupped your jaw with his unoccupied hand, his thumb gently pressing against your cheek, “you gon’ stop playin’ and let a nigga get to know you, big mama?”

as hard as you tried to fight it, you couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across your face and you let out a soft laugh as you studied his eyes and slowly nodded your head, “i guess you earned it after everything you did tonight. don’t let it go to yo’ head, though.”

“mhm, lemme’ come see you tonight then,” Cameron said lowly as he softly stroked your cheek with his thumb, “you stay on campus, don’t you?”

“yeah,” you answered, your voice unusually soft, as you slightly nodded, “i stay in that apartment building by the dining hall.”

“what room you stay in?”

“234.”

“bet. i’ma slide through there after this, a’ight? don’t go to sleep on me.”

“better hurry yo’ ass over to that building and i won’t.”

once you made it back to your apartment, you showered and changed into something more comfortable, which just so happened to be your pajamas. you wore a baby pink matching set that contained a button-up top that emphasized the fullness of your breasts and some shorts that your thick thighs ate up with every step you took. you were grateful the shorts were made of comfortable material or else you would’ve taken them off for constantly turning into panties every time you walked.

your braids were free from its ponytail and cascaded down your back and your lips were free from your lip combo, but they still held some shine since you put on some clear lip oil to keep them moisturized. speaking of moisturized, your body was just as moisturized as your lips were, your limbs coated in cocoa butter with your favorite scent of perfume on your pajamas mixing with the faint cocoa smell.

you didn’t do all that for Cameron, though, that was just how your nightly routine always went. you’d shower, dry off, moisturize, get dressed, and spray on some perfume before heading to your bedroom, and you’ve done it every night since you were a teen.

however, you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t double-check your appearance before leaving your bathroom.

you sat on the couch occupied on your phone with your TV softly playing “The Jamie Foxx Show” in the background, a lit-up candle with your favorite scent sitting in the middle of the coffee table and creating a cozy atmosphere. you were trying to distract yourself so you wouldn’t focus on the impending appearance of Cameron at your door, but it honestly wasn’t working.

you were nervous and you hated it, but you couldn’t help it. this would be the first time you and him would be alone together and you didn’t know what to expect from him, other than his casual flirting, of course.

before you could continue overthinking in anticipation about what was to come, three knocks sounded off your door and you raised your head from your phone as your eyes averted towards your door, your mind already knowing who could be at your door at almost 11 PM.

getting up from the couch, you sat your phone down and adjusted your shorts as you walked towards the door, unlocking it before pulling it open. your eyes landed on none other than Cameron Cade, who was standing at your door in a grey Nike tech with grey Nike sweatpants to match, his hood resting on his head while you caught a glimpse of the white tee under his partially zipped-up jacket. his cologne filled your nose as he stood in front of you with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, his signature smirk on his face while his colored eyes traveled over you.

“‘bout time you got here.” you joked, a small grin creeping onto your face, as you stepped to the side and allowed him in, a soft chuckle falling from his lips while he stepped inside your apartment.

“if you missed a nigga or some, that’s all you had to say, big mama,” Cameron smirked, pulling his hood off of his head, as you playfully rolled your eyes and your grin slightly widened while you shut and locked the door behind him, “yo’ roommate here?”

“nah, Sierra gone for the night. she don’t usually come back after football games.” you answered as the two of you entered the living room and walked towards the couch.

“damn, she yo’ roommate, too? that’s yo’ guard dog, fo’real.” Cameron laughed in amusement as you smacked your lips and laughed with him while the two of you sat down on your couch.

“stop callin’ her that, she damn near like my sister,” you chuckled as you leaned forward and sat your phone on the coffee table before leaning back against the couch, “even if she is annoyin’ sometimes.”

“sometimes?” Cameron’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at you like you had two heads, making you snort before bursting out laughing.

“alright, Cam, damn, not too much on my girl!” you laughed as Cameron laughed and his lips curled up into a grin while he raised his hands in surrender.

“a’ight, a’ight, i’ll leave yo’ guard dog— i mean, yo’ best friend alone,” Cameron chuckled as he smirked a little and unexpectedly grabbed your thick legs, pulling them across his lap while he adjusted his hips into a manspread, “i should be focusin’ on the reason i’m over here anyway.”

your eyebrows raised at his action but you didn’t move. in fact, you adjusted your legs on his lap to make them more comfortable instead of pulling them off of him, making his smirk widen once he sensed your compliance.

“so what’s the reason you over here?” you rhetorically asked, grinning a little, as Cameron smacked his lips and gave you a knowing look, his hand resting on top of your knee while his other arm rested on the back of the couch behind your head.

“play crazy if you want to,” Cameron chuckled softly, shaking his head a little, as you laughed and your grin widened, “you know i’m here for yo’ pretty ass, girl.”

“i actually got a question, Cam.” you admitted as you shifted a little and turned to face him, keeping your legs draped across his lap.

“wassup?” Cameron asked, his voice low, as his thumb stroked your knee and his eyes remained fixated on yours, not once looking away from your face.

“why you want me outta’ all the girls here? like, it be bitches throwin’ themselves at you on the regular and you still be all up on me like youn’ see ‘em.” you inquired, curiosity in your tone, as you raised an eyebrow and Cameron chuckled, a smirk resting on his face.

“what, you think i’m easy or some shit?” Cameron asked, feigning offense, as his eyebrows furrowed and you laughed, rolling your eyes at his interpretation.

“you know damn well that’s not what i was implyin’, nigga.” you laughed as Cameron smiled at you before laughing with you.

“i know it ain’t, i just like fuckin’ with you,” Cameron cockily grinned as he gently squeezed your knee, “here’s the thing though, them bitches only want me ‘cause i look good and i’m a good ass athlete. they don’t want nothin’ serious with me fo’real, they just wanna fuck me and brag about it in they lil’ group-chats. i don’t know about the rest of these niggas, but i ain’t ‘bout to just fuck any girl that’s throwin’ pussy at me, you feel me?”

“you ain’t like them. you smart as hell and got your priorities straight. you pretty as fuck and you nice ass company, too. it feel good talkin’ to a girl who got gears turnin’ in her head for once,” Cameron grinned, making you laugh at his comment while you smiled at him, “i ain’t tryna’ go on no ‘you just different’ ass rant like the rest of these lame ass niggas do, but i’m on you ‘cause you real. you one of the realest people i know and that shit attractive as hell. you probably one of the only girls on campus that ain’t easy ‘cause you be curvin’ the fuck outta’ me.”

“clearly you don’t give a damn about me curvin’ you ‘cause that never stopped you from flirtin’ with me.” you laughed as you raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms, earning a chuckle from Cameron while he smirked at you.

“i’m glad i ain’t stop ‘cause look where it got me,” Cameron cockily smirked as he gently squeezed your knee again and his arm behind your head moved from the couch to the back of your neck, his hand making contact with your shoulder and slightly pulling you closer, “got me in yo’ apartment sittin’ on yo’ couch with them legs in my lap.”

you were now hyperaware of how close you and him had gotten since you started talking, and it only clicked once his cologne started flooding your nostrils again. the room filled with comfortable silence after Cameron’s words, the only sound being the soft advertisements coming from your TV. neither of you looked away from each other, and you honestly felt like you couldn’t because of how intensely he was staring at you.

he was starting to grow on you and you could feel it.

“sit on my lap.” the sound of Cameron’s demand broke you out of the trance his colored eyes had you in and a look of confusion crossed your face as your eyebrows furrowed and you let out a laugh of surprise.

“what?—”

“you heard me,” Cameron murmured as your eyes searched his face and you noticed how serious he was, which silenced the laugh you had brewing in your chest, “c’mere, big mama.”

as much as you hated to admit it, his nickname for you was starting to grow on you just as much as he was. usually when he called you ‘big mama’, you’d laugh or roll your eyes at him, but this time? this time was different.

as soon as the words ‘big mama’ left his mouth, you felt a faint ache between your legs.

reluctantly, you moved from your position on the couch and went to sit on Cameron’s lap like he asked, your thick thighs surrounding both of his while his hands rested on your hips and your hands found his shoulders.

“and don’t hover,” Cameron warned as you met his gaze and sheepishly grinned, knowing that he caught you about to full-on hover atop his lap instead of sitting on it like he wanted, “sit all the way down.”

“Cameron—”

“what i say?” Cameron raised an eyebrow at you and leaned his head back against the back of the couch to get a good look at you, “sit yo’ pretty ass all the way down, girl, i’m not playin’.”

“…i don’t wanna hurt you.” you mumbled, continuing to hover above his lap, as Cameron looked at you in disbelief and laughed in amusement, his grip slightly tightening on your hips.

you weren’t insecure about you weight. you used to be when you were younger, but as you grew up, you found the beauty in yourself and built your confidence up. however, the thought of putting all your weight on someone made you nervous. wouldn’t you be too heavy for them? would that not be an uncomfortable experience for them? would they even be able to fully support your weight? would you end up hurting them in the process?

so many questions would always run through your mind when it came down to sitting on someone’s lap, letting someone pick you up, and letting someone carry you, but Cameron wasn’t trying to hear any of it. he wanted to show you that he could handle you, but you were still hesitant and he noticed it immediately.

“girl, i hip-thrust shit heavier than you and you think you gon’ hurt me?” Cameron asked in amusement, raising his eyebrows, as he gently squeezed your hips, “i’m not gon’ tell you to sit down again ‘cause if i do, i’ma make you.”

your eyebrows raised in surprise at his words and a small grin pulled at the corners of your mouth as you hesitantly lowered yourself down onto Cameron’s lap, making sure not to hover so you didn’t have to listen to another pep-talk.

as you sat your weight on his lap, you started getting comfortable in the new position. truth be told, you’d never trusted anyone enough to sit on their lap before until now, so all of this was new for you. it wasn’t a bad feeling though. it just felt… warm, and it made your stomach flutter a little at the feeling.

“how much do you hip-thrust, Cam?” you asked in amusement, raising an eyebrow, as Cameron chuckled and cockily smirked at you, his thumbs rubbing your hips.

“a lot,” Cameron shrugged, making you smack your lips at his vague answer, “enough to handle you, big mama.”

you smacked your lips again and let out a hearty laugh at his answer, “oh, my God, you lame as fuck.”

“you on my lap, though, so i can’t be too lame, right?” Cameron smirked, raising an eyebrow, as his hands moved from your hips to your ass and gave it a gentle squeeze, making your hands shoot to his forearms.

“don’t push your luck, nigga.” you chuckled as Cameron’s smirk widened and his tilted his head a little, his colored eyes peering up at you mischievously.

“you sittin’ on my lap and you think i ain’t gon’ grab some of that ass?” Cameron chuckled, squeezing your ass again, as your grip tightened on his forearms in response, “you lucky i’m not hard with you sittin’ on me like this.”

your eyebrows raised in surprise — at his words and at the fact that he wasn’t hard — and you watched Cameron’s eyes wander across your body, his gaze moving from your big breasts to your chunky waist and down to your thick hips. his eyes rested there for a moment and occasionally flickered down to where you were seated on his lap, which was honestly starting to make him hard even though he wasn’t before.

the casualness in the atmosphere of the room was gradually shifting into something more and sexual tension was slowly seeping its way into the air, but it didn’t surprise you. you were honestly expecting it the moment he arrived, but it arrived later than you expected.

“Y/N,” the sound of your name coming from Cameron completely caught you off guard, and it was evident in your face. any other time he was referring to you, he’d just call you ‘big mama’, so hearing him say your name wasn’t necessarily a common thing, “can i kiss you?”

“huh?” the words slipped from your mouth before you could catch them, a small furrow forming between your eyebrows at Cameron’s question.

“stop playin’ and gimme’ a damn kiss, Y/N,” Cameron chuckled lowly, taking a hand off your hip, as he reached up and gently grabbed your jaw, pulling your face down to his but pausing before his lips could touch yours, “i’m not gon’ kiss you ‘til you let me know i can.”

your eyes lingered in his before flickering down to his lips, practically staring at his mouth while you contemplated the decision you were going to make. honestly, you didn’t think too long or too hard because your lips were on his before you knew it, the two of you kissing passionately while your hands moved upward from his forearms to his biceps.

his hand left your jaw and wrapped around your neck instead, holding it with enough pressure to make you hot and bothered while he deepened the kiss. his other hand remained on your ass and he grabbed a handful of both cheeks as he pushed your hips further down into his lap, making you feel his erection through his sweatpants.

“you feel that?” Cameron murmured against your lips as he purposefully shifted his hips underneath you and made his erection press harder against you, “feel what yo’ pretty ass do to me, big mama?”

“Cameron,” you gasped softly, your voice sounding breathless, as you pulled away from the kiss and looked down at your connected hips before looking back to his face, your eyes searching his, “how… how the hell did you get hard that fast?”

Cameron didn’t say a word, but the wide shit-eating smirk on his face said more than he ever could. his hand left from around your throat and his other hand left your ass as he securely wrapped his arms around you and stood up with you against him, holding you up with ease while his hands shifted to your thighs to properly hold you.

“Cam!” you exclaimed in surprise as you tightly gripped his shoulders and he let out a soft chuckle of amusement at your reaction while he continued holding you like you weighed nothing.

“you done playin’ with me like i can’t handle you?” Cameron asked, raising his eyebrows, as you looked down at him and reluctantly nodded your head, a smile creeping onto your face.

who were you to keep playing with a fine ass man who was skinner than you yet could lift you like you were as light as a feather?

“okay, you made your point. i ain’t gon’ play with you no more, Cam.” you smiled as Cameron cockily grinned and leaned in, giving you a brief kiss on the lips before pulling back.

“good, now tell me where yo’ room at so i can keep makin’ my point.”

never in a million years did you think you’d finally cave to Cameron’s advances, but here you were now: naked as hell and spread out across your bed while a shirtless Cameron licked you clean from your second orgasm, both of which were caused by that mouth of his.

guess his mouth had other abilities than talking shit.

“fuck,” you breathed out as you watched Cameron rise up from between your thighs, the lower half of his face completely soaked with your cum while he licked his lips, “i ain’t know you could eat pussy like that, Cam.”

“you wasn’t supposed to know,” Cameron chuckled as he climbed off of the bed, “it would’ve ruined the surprise.”

you laughed breathlessly as you watched him undress, your eyes drinking him in while he pulled off his sweatpants and boxers and exposed his dick.

“you got a condom?” Cameron asked as he climbed back onto the bed and hovered above you, his hands beside your head to balance his weight while his necklaces dangled above your face.

“it’s a box in that drawer. don’t ask how many’s in it ‘cause i forgot.” you answered with a small chuckle as you gestured towards your nightstand on the left of you, making Cameron chuckle while he leaned over and pulled open the drawer.

“how many niggas you done had in this room not to remember how many condoms you got left?” Cameron joked, pulling out a condom, as he shut the drawer and you smacked your lips before straight-facing him.

“Cameron, don’t fuckin’ play with me, nigga.” you retorted, a small furrow between your eyebrows, as Cameron met your gaze and he smiled a little, giving you a brief kiss on the lips before tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth.

“i’m sorry, big mama.” Cameron cooed, pulling the condom out of its wrapper, as he tossed the wrapper onto the floor and rolled the condom onto his dick while you cracked a smile at his apology.

“i’ll accept your apology when you fuck me.” you smirked as Cameron’s eyes instantly flickered up to your face and he raised his eyebrows in surprise, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“shit, you ain’t gotta’ tell me twice.” Cameron adjusted his body between your legs and his hand gripped one of your chunky thighs to pull your legs further apart as his other hand guided his dick towards your pussy, teasingly sliding the tip against your clit before placing it at your entrance.

he slid in slow, not wanting to rush it or unintentionally hurt you. as he pushed in, your jaw dropped at the stretch his dick was creating inside you, your hands practically clinging to his biceps while his hips continued pushing forward. he stopped once he was halfway in and his eyes searched your face as he looked down at you.

“you good? want me to keep goin’?” Cameron asked softly, intently studying your face, as you let out a heavy breath and slowly nodded your head.

“you… y-you can keep goin’, Cam.” and keep going, he did.

as he pushed further and further, he eventually buried all of his inches inside your walls, a deep groan falling from his lips while his eyebrows furrowed a little.

“fuck, you wet as hell,” Cameron groaned as his hands gripped your thighs and hiked them up to his waist, beginning to slowly rock his hips back and forth, “this pussy so fuckin’ good and i ain’t even been in it for five minutes.”

you moaned at his words and one of your hands left his biceps as you reached up and grabbed his jaw, pulling him down for a hungry kiss. your hands cupped his face and his grip tightened on your thighs as his chest pressed against yours, your hardened nipples brushing up against his skin while you tilted your head and deepened the kiss.

Cameron’s strokes gradually sped up and as they did, your ability to kiss back slowly diminished, your jaw going slack while blissful moans and needy whimpers poured from your parted mouth. Cameron’s eyes flickered open and he stared down at you as he stroked you, his lip tucked between his teeth while he admired your love faces.

“you so pretty, baby. so fuckin’ pretty with this dick inside you,” Cameron murmured as his hands moved from your thighs to the back of your knees and he pulled both of your chunky legs over his shoulders, making you gasp loudly, “shit, you sound even prettier moanin’ for me. you ain’t ever gettin’ rid of me after this, big mama.”

you couldn’t speak. hell, your mouth couldn’t even form words. all you could do was moan, and Cameron was enjoying every little sound you were making with his signature smirk sitting right on his pretty ass face.

the minute he pulled your legs on his shoulders, you knew he was about to make up for all the times you curved him. you could feel him even deeper inside you at this angle, and you were damn near seeing stars from his strokes. your hands clung to his arms to anchor yourself and his hands rested beside your head as he thrusted into you with a passionate yet quick pace, his dick hitting all your sweet spots deep inside of you with each buck of his hips.

“C-Camerooooon!” you whined desperately, your eyebrows furrowing, as your eyes rolled back and your head fell back against your pillows, your body rocking underneath his with each push and pull of his hips while your nails left crescent-shaped markings in his skin.

“i know, baby, i know. feels good, don’t it, big mama?” Cameron cooed, cockily smirking at you, as he leaned down and pressed soft kisses on your face, his lips trailing along your face from your cheeks to your chin and your ajar lips, “this pussy huggin’ the fuck out my dick, pretty girl. she needed to be fucked by a nigga who knew what to do wit’ her, didn’t she?”

Cameron pulled his head back a little and looked between the two of you, watching the way his dick pushed and pulled out of you while your essence coated every inch of him, “mhm, look at that. look at how she grippin’ me, baby. she actin’ like she don’t want me to leave her.”

you damn near ascended under him. it was like he was trying to take your soul and your body was putting up no fight to make him stop. you were practically turning into mush underneath him, your noises becoming less and less coherent while your eyes rolled back so far your irises were no longer visible.

“o-ohhh— fuuuuck— nnnnngh!” you brokenly cried out, your voice cracking, as your eyebrows furrowed deeply and the bridge of your nose scrunched up a little, your stomach muscles beginning to tighten up and your breathing starting to quicken.

“breathe for me, baby, c’mon,” Cameron cooed softly as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, “in and out for me — real slow, a’ight? look at me while you do it.”

your hooded eyes dazedly met his gaze and you started fixing your breathing like he asked, which only intensified the pleasure that was coursing through your entire being. you didn’t know what had overcome Cameron, but you figured that since this was the first time you hadn’t curved him, he was going to take advantage of it and make you feel the best you ever had.

and boy, was he doing the job right.

“and you was so scared that you was gon’ break me… shit, it sound like i’m breakin’ you, big mama.” Cameron cockily smirked, his colored eyes peering down at you, as a grin slowly spread across your face and you giggled through your pleasurable gaze, but it was soon cut short by a loud gasp that ripped through your chest from your impending orgasm — and it was coming fast.

“Ca—Cam!” you whimpered desperately, your legs beginning to shake on his shoulders, as Cameron’s eyes searched your face and it immediately clicked in his mind what was about to happen, making his smirk widen, “i-i’m finna— i’m fffffinna— fuuuck, i-i’m ‘bout t-t-to—”

you couldn’t even get your damn words out because it felt like you were about to explode, but Cameron knew what you meant. he could tell by the way that your breathing had picked up again and how your body was trembling that you were about wet him up more than you did when he ate your pussy — and he was willing to drown in your essence for as long as he could.

“i know, baby, i know you ‘bout to cum. gon’ ahead and cum on yo’ dick, big mama, it’s all yours to have. show me how good i’m fuckin’ you and wet this shit up like a good girl.”