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The silk sheets were a torment, torture, and utterly cruel.

You pressed your forehead into the mattress, your breath coming in shallow, ragged puffs against the pillow, and the cool linen had warmed to your body heat minutes ago or was it hours? Time had dissolved into a pulsing, aching fog, like it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, you couldn’t keep track of anything anymore, like your mind was rendered useless all but focused on the sensation crippling inside you right now.

It all happened too fast.

A low, involuntary sound escaped your throat, You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste copper, and pulled your knees tighter to your chest, the position did nothing to ease the hollow throb between your legs, as it just radiated outward, a deep, insistent ache that coiled through your belly and turned every brush of fabric into a lick of relentless fire.

The blade. You remembered the assassin’s dart slicing past Damian’s shoulder on a mission you accompanied him on as always-you saw through it quick and deflected the follow-up strike with your sword, but the first needle had found its mark, a pinprick below your collarbone, You catalogued the agent in that instant, there was no necrosis, no paralysis. Just heat, and spreading, unbearable heat that you dismissed until your legs had nearly buckled on the walk back to the manor, you didn’t think much of it because since birth you’ve been trained and conditioned to resist even the most lethal toxins, hallucinogens, any drug known to mankind so you can be a better shield and protector, although your body was proven wrong and this drug that was affecting you was merely something else you weren’t exposed to. Maybe perhaps it was because you had never considered yourself important, or perhaps, somewhere along the way, you had simply convinced yourself that you weren't, you were a shield. A sword. A ward, that was what you had been taught to be from the moment you were nine years old, when your family clan, the Zanes, arranged for you to be sworn as Damian’s protector, you still remembered that day, you remembered entering the League’s compound, the cold mountain air biting at your skin, your small hands clasped behind your back as you were led toward the boy you had been told you would protect.

And then you saw him, Damian, just a child, like you.

His green eyes had been sharp even then, carrying an intensity that seemed far too old for someone his age. His lips were pursed into a thin line, his brows furrowed as though he were already burdened with something he had yet to understand, and you didn’t know him, well not yet, you simply saw a boy who seemed determined to prove something to his family, and then you bent the knee, in a soft, trembling voice, you swore your oath, you would protect him for as long as you lived, as long as you drew breath, the Zane family had always been known as Protectors. Where the League of Assassins conquered from the shadows and eliminated threats before they could rise, your clan existed for the opposite purpose, for you guarded, you shielded, you endured.

Two families with entirely different purposes, yet somehow, fate had intertwined them, you to him.

The Al Ghuls had decided that if Damian was to become their future heir, then he would require a designated shield someone who would stand between him and every blade, bullet, and enemy that sought to bring him down and that someone was you, and, as if your oath alone were not enough, you had eventually been brought into Damian’s life as his betrothed, you never quite understood why.

Perhaps it had been another matter of politics, maybe another arrangement made by people who believed they could dictate the course of your lives yet you had accepted it, you always had, that was why you were here, and perhaps that was why, now, you found yourself thinking about that first day, about the boy with green that was the color of forests, his eyes who had spoken volumes without uttering a single word.

You remembered him so clearly, you remembered wondering what kind of person he would become, and you never could have imagined the answer, because Damian had changed considerably since then.

Especially after he met his father.

Bruce Wayne, you had been thirteen when Damian left the mountains to meet him, and despite his scowl and repeated insistence that you were to remain behind, you had followed anyway, of course you had, you always followed, you remembered the journey away from the mountains, away from the League, and into Gotham, at first the city had been overwhelming.

Loud, unfamiliar, nothing like the secluded compound where you had spent most of your childhood, and then there had been Wayne Manor, for the first time, you and Damian were surrounded by people who lived differently from the world you both had known. People who challenged the beliefs you had both been raised with, people who taught him that not everything had to be predetermined.

That not everything had to be controlled, that sometimes, a person could choose their own path.

Everyone had a destiny, perhaps, but more importantly, everyone had a choice.

And you watched Damian slowly learn how to make his, years passed and somehow, through all of them, you remained betrothed to him , it was strange, sometimes, to think about.

Your engagement should have been annulled years ago, perhaps Damian simply had never bothered to do it or perhaps-you stopped yourself there, because there were some questions you had never dared to ask, maybe he didn’t either, maybe you had both simply grown accustomed to the arrangement, maybe it was easier to leave it untouched than to acknowledge what it had gradually become.

Because somewhere between sworn childhood oaths and years spent side by side, your engagement had begun to feel like something other than an obligation, something warmer, something neither of you had a name for, something more.

You shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, twisting onto your side before turning again moments later, the drug was making everything worse.

Your skin felt unbearably hot, your body restless and hypersensitive, every nerve seeming to scream at you at once. You clenched your jaw and tried to breathe through it, desperately attempting to quell the foreign urge the drug had awakened inside you.

It was useless, your fingers curled into the sheets, you forced your heavy eyes toward the floor, near the bedside was the half open small medical kit you always carried for emergencies-a collection of counter-herbs, antidotes, and other remedies you had learned to keep close after years of training maybe there was something in there.

Something that could help, something that could make this stop, your vision blurred as you searched through the scattered contents, nothing.

Not one herb that could counter whatever had been slipped into your system, a weak breath escaped you, of all the situations you had trained for, all the threats you had prepared to face, you had never considered something this humiliating.

You were supposed to be a Protector, a shield, a sword.

You were supposed to stand between Damian and danger, yet here you were, helpless beneath the effects of a drug you couldn't even identify at all.

And, for the first time in years, you found yourself wondering what would happen if Damian saw you like this, you didn’t want him to see this which is why you were secluding yourself in your room shaking tremendously while your body fights against you.

The antidote was nowhere in the apothecary kit, and the only thing your trained mind that was sharply honed could identify was the specific, humiliating nature of the toxin, perhaps lust agent, potent, unforgiving.

Your armor was shedded on the floor forgotten, as you continued to twist in the bed unbearingly so, your nightgown had been white linen an hour ago. Now it clung translucent to your skin, soaked through in patches, You curled tighter, a fresh wave of cramping need rolling through your lower abdomen, you just cried out in pain and desperation, nothing could quell the burning aching sensation inside you.

You should’ve heard the faint noise and footsteps despite the aching and ringing in your ears but you didn’t.

You didn’t hear the door open, Damian’s footsteps were silent, he’d been trained by the League, after all-but the shift in air pressure, the faint scent of sandalwood and steel,  finally pricked at your guardian honed instincts even through the haze, you didn’t look at him.

His name left your lips, and his voice. Low, clipped, carrying that edge of command he’d inherited from his grandfather, but still yet soft for you, still mistakenly Damian, You couldn’t turn to face him at all slightly embarrassed for him seeing you in this state, as if you saw his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, the piercing green of his eyes-you’d fracture.

“Leave… please.” You managed weakly, but it came out a whimper as your fingers fisted in the sheets desperately to ground you, or trying.

You felt the mattress dipped behind you, you slightly flinched as his palm settled on your shoulder, and the contact ripped a gasp from your lungs, your hips bucked against the bed, a mortifying, instinctive grind, and you felt him looking down at you, with an intense gaze.

Damian’s hand didn’t move. “You’re burning up.”

“Poison.” You gritted your teeth. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’re curled in a ball making sounds like a wounded animal, that’s not handling it.” A beat. His thumb traced the damp fabric over your shoulder blade. “The dart, I saw the sheen on the tip when you got hit, I was analyzing the needle, It wasn’t a neurotoxin.”

You shuddered. “No.”

“An aphrodisiac.” The clinical word hung in the air, and you wanted to die, your body, however, responded with a traitorous flood of warmth at the sound of his voice. Your inner thighs were slick. The scent of your own arousal, musky, salt-sweet rose between them.

“Look at me, habibti.” The Arabic slipped out like velvet, a term he’d used only in private since now you both had been old enough to understand the weight of their betrothal. He used it with you, It shattered something in your chest, it felt so intimate and strangely it anchored you and finally you looked at him.

Your turned your head. Damian’s face was now inches from yours, his expression unreadable save for the tightness around his mouth. You could feel him catalogue your dilated pupils, the flush spreading down your throat, the tremor in your lips.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

“Since we returned. It’s escalating.” You swallowed. “Damian, please. I can’t…”

“You can’t what?”

Another cramp seized through your lower belly, as you buried a sharp cry against his knuckles, your hips lifting off the bed. “Can’t keep still, I-I can’t think.”

His free hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up. “Then don’t think, beloved let me take care of you.”

He kissed you. It wasn’t gentle-his mouth slanted over yours with a possession that sparked a direct line between your lips and the molten ache below, you keened into the kiss, your hands flying up to grip his tunic. The fabric was rough under your fingers, you pulled, and seams protested.

Damian pulled back just far enough to speak against your mouth. “Tell me what you need.”

“You.” The word was a sob. “I need you, please.”

He stripped your nightgown with efficient movements, the ruined linen parting like a curtain. Cool air hit your breasts, your stomach, your nipples were already tight, almost painful, and when his gaze dropped to them you felt it like a physical touch.

“Mashallah,” he murmured, reverent, “You’re exquisite.”

His thumb brushed your nipple, and your back arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing loose. He caught the sound with another kiss meant to soothe, swallowing your moans as he palmed your breast. Each squeeze sent a jolt directly to your clit, which throbbed in answer, your hips rocked against nothing.

“Be patient, ya roohi.” His voice dropped to a husky register, meant for you. “I’ll take care of you.”

His tunic joined your nightgown somewhere on the floor, your vision swam as your hands traced the hard planes of his chest, the scars that told his own story, the life he lived. Then his mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, his tongue tracing the tiny puncture wound where the dart had struck which caused a soft whimper to leave your lips, you turned your head so he can have more access, feeling his tongue slithered on your neck pulse.

“The antidote for this kind of toxin,” he said between kisses, “is release. Multiple releases.” His teeth scraped your pulse point. “It will be intense, do you hear me habibti?” you looked at him, or tried to and your lips pursed softly into a thin line. 

“I can handle-” He kissed the protest away. One hand slid down your belly soothingly and cupped your folds, the moment he made contact, the sound you made didn't sound human.

“Soaked,” Damian breathed against your ear. His middle finger traced your slit, gathering slickness, circling your entrance without pressing in. “And you’ve never been touched here, have you? Not like this.” he whispered.

It wasn’t a question. He knew-had known since the contracts were signed that she was his, and he hers, but with formalities, you and him never really became intimate like this at all, until this happened. You shook your head anyway, your thighs falling apart of their own accord.

“Words, my love.” His fingertip teased her opening. “You can always say no.” He was still being considerate of you, it warmed your heart because he knew you were shot with a lustful agent drug but he wanted to hear you say it,  that you wanted this, he would never take advantage of your state without hearing you, it did something to you.

“Of course not, I’ve never-” You shakily grabbed his wrist and tried to push his hand harder against your sacred part, but he resisted, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest. “Yes, Damian, please.” he let out a soft tt sound before proceeding, kissing your forehead again.

Then he sank one finger into you, and it happened so fast that you came.

The climax hit like a detonation-no build, no warning, just the sudden, violent clench of your inner muscles around his knuckle and a scream that tore your throat raw, your vision whited out, as your back bowed off the bed, heels digging into the mattress, and Damian held you through it, his thumb pressing deliberately against your clit to draw the spasms longer, harsher.

When you collapsed, gasping, he was already working a second finger inside you.

“No rest yet,” he said, and the soft dominance in his tone made your body tremble. “The toxin requires more than one. You know this.” You did. Even now the ache was rebuilding, the hypersensitivity ratcheting higher, your clit pulsed under his thumb, oversensitive and desperate at once.

“I need you inside me,” your heard yourself say. “Damian, please…I need-”

“Shh.” He withdrew his fingers, glistening, and unfastened his trousers. “I know what you need.”

He was beautiful. There was no other word. The lamplight carved shadows across the ridges of his abdomen, the jut of his hipbones, and lower, your breath caught. He was thick, the head already slick with his own arousal, and the sight sent a fresh bolt of want through your core.

Damian settled between your thighs, the weight of his body grounding you for a moment before the tip of him nudged your entrance, your body tried to pull him in. desperately feeling empty like he was the only one that gave you what you needed, your salvation.

“This will hurt,” he warned, his forehead pressing to yours. “Briefly.”

You hooked your legs around his waist, not caring anymore as you looked up at him with everything you had. “Now.”

He pushed, and you felt it the stretch was immense-a bright, sharp bloom of pressure that stole your air, your nails bit into his shoulders. He stopped halfway, shuddering, a groan dragged from his chest, your name leaving his lips.

“Don’t stop, please…” You whimpered as you lifted your hips, taking him deeper, and the pain dissolved into something else entirely, a fullness that hit a place inside you that you hadn’t known existed. “Oh-”

“Yes.” Damian withdrew and thrust back in, a slow, grinding roll that made you see stars. “Yes, that’s it. Let go for me.”

He fucked you with deliberate, rolling strokes, each one bottoming out against your cervix with a jolt of pleasure-pain, your breasts bounced with the rhythm as your moans rose in pitch, tangling with his grunted murmurs-shukran, ya habibti, like that, take it all-and the wet, obscene sound of their joining, and skin against skin.

The second climax built differently. A tightening at the base of your spine. A frantic, climbing tension that made you dig your heels into his thighs and beg.

“Please-faster-please-”

Damian’s control snapped. He drove into you with a force that rattled the headboard, one hand fisting the sheets beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. The roughness shattered something in you, a final barrier you hadn’t known you had, and your orgasm crested with a guttural cry.

Your walls clamped around him, and he groaned, his rhythm stuttering.

“Inside,” You gasped, barely coherent, your eyes slinking to the back of your skull “Please, inside…” you slurred weakly, coming undone.

The tension hadn’t left you,. Even as the waves subsided, the ache was coiling again, sharper, more desperate. Damian saw it in your eyes and smiled- fierce, possessive curve of his mouth, as he kept moving, time blurred as he tried to help ease or flush out the toxin inside you but repeatedly fucking into you. One moment you were gasping beneath him, ankles locked at the small of his back, pulling him deeper with a desperate flex of your thighs. The next, Damian's hand slipped from your hip to your waist and flipped you.

You landed on your stomach with a soft grunt, cheek pressed into the damp pillow, hair spilling in dark tangles across your face, the sudden emptiness as you withdrew made you cry out-a sharp, bereft sound that would have mortified you maybe an hour ago. Now you just clawed at the sheets, hips lifting instinctively, seeking him.

The silk was cool against your burning skin, your breasts ached where they flattened against the bed, nipples dragging with each shallow breath. Every nerve ending felt stripped raw, exposed to open air, and when his knuckles grazed the curve of your spine you flinched not from pain, but from a sensitivity so acute it bordered on agony.

His weight shifted behind you, his thighs bracketed your hips. The head of his cock dragged through your slick folds, nudging your clit on the pass, and your vision sparked white.

"Look at you." Damian's voice came from somewhere above you, roughened and reverent. "Presenting yourself like this, my sworn servant, aren't you not?"

You tried to form words, your tongue felt thick, uncooperative. "Please…" of course Damian will choose to tease or be unbearable right now, but he just couldn’t help it see you at his disposal, his to use, he still held you dear of course but right now, hunger and his urges to take you and make you his, took over.

"Please what?" He notched himself at your entrance and stayed there, just the tip, stretching your wet folds open without pushing in. The denial was exquisite, and so unbearable you whined weakly.

The word you wanted dissolved before reaching your lips, Your hips pushed back, a mindless seeking motion, and Damian chuckled-a low, dark sound that vibrated through your skin.

"Already losing your words, ya roohi? We've barely started, you know."

He finally sank in, the angle was different-deeper, somehow, a thick invasion that filled spaces inside you hadn't known could be filled, your mouth opened on a silent scream as your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles blanching, and he gave you no time to adjust. One thrust, full-length, until his hips pressed flush against your ass and you could feel him in your throat.

"Oh-Dami-" The syllable broke apart.

"Yes." He withdrew until just the ridge of his head caught on your entrance, then drove back in with a force that pushed your ass up further on the mattress. "Yes, that's it. Take it." you did, you had no choice, your body had surrendered completely to the drug's demands, and your mind-your disciplined, vigilant, carefully ordered mind-was following fast.

The rhythm he set was relentless, not the grinding roll of before, but a driving, possessive beat that filled the room with wet percussion, each stroke punched a sound from your chest, gasps, moans, fragments of words that didn't cohere, your breasts still swayed beneath you as your clit throbbed in counterpoint to his thrusts, untouched and screaming.

Damian's hand left your spine and fisted in your hair, not pulling, just holding it in place as he fucked you, the restraint undid something vital in your brain.

"Count them for me," he said, his voice strained with his own climbing pleasure. "How many times have you come, habibti?"

You blinked. The question seemed to come from very far away, traveling through water to reach you. "T-two." The word slurred, you swallowed, tried again. "Two times."

"And you're going to give me a third." He tugged your hair gently, tilting your head so he could see your flushed face. "Aren't you?"

"Mmhm…" Your eyes rolled. His cock hit a spot inside you, more gush trickling down your thighs. "Yes. Yes, I-"

"That’s my girl." Damian leaned over you, his chest pressing against your sweat-slicked back, and the change in angle drove him even deeper. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

"Inti mine," he murmured. "You're mine. You've always been mine." more moans and wails left your lips muffled in the sheets as his hips continuing pistoning into you, this could be seen as making love, but it felt rougher than that.

"Say it." His hips never slowed, a piston rhythm that was building something catastrophic at the base of your spine. "Tell me whose you are."

"Yours." The word came out broken, half-sob. "Yours, Damian, I'm yours, always yours." the words left you like a prayer and something that sounded like truth. "Ahsanti." He pressed a kiss to your temple and straightened up again, both hands gripping your hips now, fingers digging into the firm muscle you built through years of training. "Now come for me again, beloved.”

It was too much-the overstimulation had you trembling like a plucked string, your clit so sensitive that even the brush of pubic hair felt like sandpaper. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, tracking sideways across your nose.

"I-” you gasped. "I can't, it's too-”

"You can." He reached around your hip and found your clit with his two fingers, and softly rubbed the nub in time with his thrusts. "You will,do it for me habibti, only for me."

The touch jolted through you like lightning, your hips bucked, tried to squirm away, but his weight pinned you in place and his cock was still driving into your cunt and his fingers were circling that oversensitive nub with devastating precision, and you came again.

Your scream was muffled by the pillow, as your inner walls clamped down on his cock with a violence that made him grunt, his rhythm faltering for the first time. The pleasure was so intense it blurred into something indistinguishable from pain-a white-hot detonation that erased every thought in your head, your mind felt numb, you weren’t thinking of your name, the league, the poison, the betrothal contracts, You forgot everything except the thick length of him moving inside you and the tears streaming down your face, and all you think of was him, taking you apart and putting you all back together.

When the spasms finally eased, you were sobbing-soft, breathless sounds that hitched in your throat, your thighs were shaking, your fingers had gone numb from gripping the sheets, you orgasmed three times yet the burning sensation hadn’t faded but dulled.

And still he didn't stop.

"Jamil," Damian was saying, pious words falling from his lips in a stream you could barely follow. "So beautiful like this, ya roohi. So perfect. Taking everything I give you."

You turned your head on the pillow, cheek wet, eyes glassy. "Damian-"

He looked down at you and his expression shifted. The possessive hunger was still there, but underneath it something softer flickered-concern, maybe, or the love he rarely voiced directly, He slowed his thrusts, grinding deep instead of pounding inside you, and brushed the damp hair from your face gently as he could, a touch that felt rare from an assassin.

"Too much?" he asked, and the genuine question in his tone made more fresh tears spill over over your flushed cheeks, you wanted to say yes, but you always wanted to say no, your lips moved around syllables that wouldn't form, that felt impossible to, it just felt too much and he knew.

"I know." He cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your  tear-streaked cheek. "I know, habibti. But the toxin…you're still flushed. Still burning. One more, and I think it will break, I promise." your body was still clenching weakly around him with each heartbeat, as you shakily exhaled and inhaled, before nodding weakly.

"Can you give me one more?" His hips rocked into your pussy, a shallow, gentle rhythm now. "Can you do that for me?" you nodded, maybe you thought you nodded, your head felt buried in the pillow in something like assent.

"Words." The gentle command was at odds with the way his thumb traced your lower lip. "I need your words, beloved."

"Y-yes." Your voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. "Yes. One more...I can do it..."

“Hadhih hi fatati." He kissed the corner of your mouth, a brief, tender press and then he sat back and began to rock his hips in earnest again, the gentleness was still there, but layered over something more demanding. He gripped your hips with both hands and pulled you into each thrust, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, your overstimulated nerves screamed and sang in equal measure. The tears didn't stop, but they didn't need to. They were just a thing your body was doing, like the trembling in your thighs and the high, keening sounds that leaked from your throat. There was only sensation, pressure, heat. The wet percussion of their joining, unusually sacred in this moment. His breath, ragged against your throat. His voice,  that you understood less and less as words and more as pure sound-rhythm and timbre and the specific roughness that meant he was losing himself in you, too.

"Damian..." His name was the only word you could hold onto, the only thing in your mind, you said it barely above a whisper.

"Yes." He drove deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur again. "Say it again."

"Damian…"

"Good, keep saying it."

You did, your lips echoed his name like it was water that you desperately needed, It became a chant, a prayer, the syllables blurring together until you weren’t sure if  speaking his name or breathing it, your thighs were slick with their combined fluids and your clit throbbed so constantly that the sensation had become a baseline, a permanent pulse of pleasure-pain that underlay everything else.

"Look at me."

His command cut through the haze, you slowly forced your eyes open. Damian's face swam above you, green eyes blazing, jaw tight. Sweat dripped from his temple onto your cheek.

"There you are," he breathed. "Stay with me. You're doing so well, ya roohi. So perfect for me."

You tried to respond, but the only sound that emerged was a broken moan, his hand came to cradle behind your hair, "That's it." He dropped to his elbows, bracketing your  head, never slowing his rhythm. His forehead pressed to yours. "That's all you need to do. Just feel. Just take it all, take what I give you."

The words settled somewhere deep in your chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the toxin. You were built and conditioned to control and had been forged into one since childhood. Every instinct screamed to manage, to observe, to maintain some shred of composure. But Damian was asking-no, commanding you to let go. And under his weight, with his cock driving into you and his voice wrapping around you like a blanket, you found yourself obeying.

"Look at you taking it, all of it." Damian's voice had gone rough again, reverent and wrecked in the same breath, like he was admiring you like you were just something that came out of a painting, full in awe like you were on pedestal and he was on his knees worshipping your ground,  "My disciplined girl, my protector, and here you are-crying on my cock because it feels so good you can't think anymore."

His name was the only word you still had, your mind clung to it like a lifeline, as he rocked you furthered into the mattress with his harsh thrusts. 

"I'm here." He leaned over you again, one hand bracing beside your head, the rhythm of his hips growing faster, less controlled. "I'm right here, you're doing so well, habibti. So perfect. So-" A groan cut him off. His forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, the change in his control undid you, because Damian, who measured every action, who carried his grandfather's steel in his spine, his father’s expectations, and him taking on the robin mantle and batman and the ah ghul legacy, the pressure, all of it, He was coming apart above you, his breath hot against your skin, his thrusts losing their precision as his own need took over. The knowledge that you have done this to him, that your willingness, your surrender, your tears had stripped away his composure, god it triggered something primal.

Another orgasm rolled through your body like a wave you couldn't see coming. A slow, deep clench that radiated outward from your core instead of striking like lightning, your mouth opened on a soundless cry, as your vision grayed at the edges.

"That's it," Damian gasped. "That's it, yes, I can feel you-allaena-" His hips finally stilled before he slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he buried himself to the hilt and stayed, you felt the first pulse of his release dragged a guttural moan from his chest-the hot spill of his seed flooding you inside, marking you, claiming you in the most fundamental way. Each throb of his cock sent another rope of warmth into your depths, your own walls milked him through it, clenching in rhythmic aftershocks she couldn't control.

"Fuck," he breathed. Then, in Arabic, a string of words you recognized from prayers, gratitude, reverence, awe murmured against your sweat-damp skin, you finally went limp as the fever broke, and your felt his body collapsed onto you as he wrapped his arms around your bare body like you were something precious to behold, his ragged breaths along with your uneven breathing filled the air, his face buried in the crook of your neck, giving the tender skin a soft wet kiss.

You sighed shakily, your eyes half-lidded with relief as the burning sensation inside you finally faded into something manageable, for now, at least, your arms instinctively wrapped around his broad back, holding him close as a small, grateful smile touched your lips.

“Thank you, Damian.” you tilted your face upward, trying to see him, but all you could make out were the dark tufts of his hair, slowly, he pulled back, just enough to look at you.

“You shouldn’t thank me,” he murmured. “It is my duty to take care of you. You are my betrothed.”

His gaze softened. “And as you are mine, I am yours.”

His emerald eyes remained fixed on yours, unwavering, as though you were the only thing in the room worth looking at, the sharp edge that so often defined him was absent.

The Damian everyone else knew the arrogant, cutting, intimidating man who could make even seasoned assassins hesitate was nowhere to be found, not with you, with you, there was only this quieter version of him a softness he rarely allowed anyone else to see.

You exhaled quietly, your thoughts beginning to wander, Damian noticed.

Of course he did, his brows furrowed, that familiar crease appearing between them whenever he knew something was troubling you. Without asking again, he shifted closer making the mattress beneath both of you rustle and gently pulled you against his side, his arm settling around you.

“What is on your mind?” Silence lingered between you.

Your lips parted, but no words came, then they trembled.

“You never ended the arrangement.”

Damian's expression shifted, faint confusion flickering across his features.

“Why?” for a moment, he simply stared at you, as though the question itself made no sense, hiis gaze dropped before returning to yours. His hand rose to cradle the back of your head, fingers slowly brushing through your hair in a soothing motion.

“Why would I end it?” he asked, you swallowed, you looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Because…”

Your voice came out quieter than you intended as you forced yourself to look at him again. “Am I not just a burden to you?” For a moment, Damian said nothing, you paused looking at him, his expression became unreadable, but his hand remained against your hair, his fingers moving slowly through the strands as though the simple motion gave him time to gather his thoughts.

“A burden?” He repeated the word quietly.

There was something almost offended in the way he said it, making you lower your gaze, but you still continued.

“I… have followed you since we were children,” you whispered. “I was assigned to protect you before I even understood what that meant, then time passed and we came here, and everything changed… you found your father and… you found your family, you found a life that was yours to choose.”

Your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his shirt.

“And I was still there, something you couldn’t choose, something both… our families had to assign to you.” you put the words carefully on your tongue, as the words filled the air in this room that was just you two, Damian watched you carefully.

“You never asked for me.” Your eyes softened, 

His jaw tightened. “No.”

The answer was immediate, you blinked, looking up at him, slightly by surprise, “No,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “I did not ask for you.” and your heart sank, feeling as if this what you expected, rejection, despite yourself, but before you could pull away, his hand gently caught your chin, preventing you from turning your face aside.

“I did not ask for you,” Damian continued slowly, “because I was a child. I was given a protector and a betrothal before I was old enough to understand either.” His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek.

“But you seem to have forgotten something.”

Your eyes narrowed and morphed into slight confusion, “What?”

“I was given many things.” His emerald eyes held yours. “Titles. Expectations. Training. A future that had already been decided for me.”

His expression softened. “But you were the only thing I was given that I eventually chose for myself.”

You stared at him, Damian looked almost uncomfortable having said so much, but he did not retract the words. “I could have ended the arrangement,” he said. “I could have told Father. I could have told the League. I could have severed the engagement years ago.”

“Then… why didn't you?” you tilted your face closer, to be closer to him and to just read him maybe, or find what you were looking for, his eyes swept over you as you held in his gaze.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Because I did not want to.”

Your breath caught. “That simple?”

“Yes.” He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours.

“You speak as though I have been trapped beside you all these years.”

His voice softened. “I have not.” You swallowed, your eyes beginning to slightly sting.

“Then… why did you never say anything?”

Damian fell silent, for once, the man who always seemed to have an answer did not immediately have one, his gaze dropped to your hands.

“I did not know how.”

A tiny, incredulous laugh escaped you. “You?”

His brow twitched. “Yes. Me.”

Despite yourself, you smiled a little, he seemed almost offended by your amusement, though the corner of his mouth threatened to lift.

“You have always been better at understanding me than I have been at explaining myself, more than everyone else.” he murmured, your smile slowly faded. “Damian…”

“I remember you.”

The words came unexpectedly. “You were nine.” your eyes widened.

He continued before you could respond. “You were standing in front of everyone, trying very hard not to tremble.” A faint smile appeared on his lips.

Damian hummed, as he continued, “You thought no one noticed.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice everything about you.” Your heart gave a painful little flutter, Damian's fingers gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You bent the knee that day and swore that you would protect me until your final breath.”

His eyes softened. “I remember thinking that you were foolish.”

You gave him a small glare. “That is hardly romantic, Damian…”

“I am not finished.” 

You fell quiet, as he kept going, “I thought you were foolish,” he repeated, “because you promised your entire life to someone you had only just met.”

His thumb brushed your cheek again. “And yet you kept that promise.”

His voice dropped. “So did I.”

You stared at him. “You don't have to protect me anymore,” he whispered. “Not from everything. Not alone.” His forehead finally rested against yours.

“You are not my shield simply because our families decided you should be, you are not my burden.” His fingers intertwined with yours.

“And you are certainly not someone I intend to lose simply because an arrangement has become inconvenient.”

Your lips parted slowly. “Then… what am I?”

Damian looked at you for a long moment, his expression was still, almost solemn but warm, then he answered.

“My choice.”

The words settled between you, simple, certain, and somehow, more powerful than any oath either of you had spoken as children, your eyes grew misty.

“You really mean that?” 

His brows furrowed. “Would I say it if I did not?”

You smiled faintly, “No.”

“Then stop questioning it.” There was the Damian you knew again-the quiet arrogance, the certainty, the slight impatience.

You both stayed like that, entangled with one another in each other’s embrace, as his hand never left yours, then he moved.

Slowly.

You didn't.

You simply stayed there as he leaned closer, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, lingering kiss before he pulled back just enough for your foreheads to rest together. Your noses brushed, your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you, and for a moment, it felt as though there was nowhere else in the world you would rather be than here, safe within his arms.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

You listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, letting its familiar cadence settle something deep within you.

For the first time in years, you wondered if perhaps your oath had never been meant to be a chain.

Perhaps it had been the beginning of something neither of you had known how to name.

Something that had quietly grown between you through childhood, distance, duty, and all the years in between.

And perhaps, after all this time, you were finally allowed to choose it, too.

Not anywhere fate had once decided you belonged.

You wanted to be here.

By his side, because there was nowhere else you would rather be.

The house had settled into that specific late-night quiet where even the refrigerator’s hum was so faint, you could hardly hear it but it didn’t pass you, you’d been listening to it for an hour, maybe two, lying on top of your covers in an old sleep shirt that you put on with no mind, your phone was face down on the nightstand and the blue glow from your charging cable made a thin line across the ceiling. 

 William’s room was at the other end of the hall, and you’d heard his door shut around eleven p.m, the muffled bass of a video game soundtrack cutting out shortly after, you were restless, your mind clearly awake and refusing to rest, maybe it was due to the fact that Mark was staying over and that’s precisely why you couldn’t sleep, because a certain boy with onyx slick back hair, eyes with the color of calmest brown, and fairly unattractive dimples were on your mind, fairly so. Mark was William’s best friend, and you were William’s little sister, to him anyways… that’s all you were, and it left you deeply unsatisfied, not that you could ever admit that, you? Crushing on your brother’s best friend of all people, and he’s quite older than you by three years, plus your brother would freak out! Because you were his little sister, and his best friend was “off limits” so that you heard William say one time.

Maybe it’s the awareness of him being in the same house, fifteen steps away, one room just down the hall from yours kept your pulse in your ears because you’d crushed on Mark Grayson since the summer William brought him home when you were in the seventh grade, you  remembered that one time vividly in your head, the scene played out, you were thirteen and he was fifteen, you heard someone come in making you turn slightly,  and there he was, he wore a random comic tee along with random pants and he didn’t see you because he was too busy taking his shoes off near the entrance door looking like the dorky kid he was and then when William hollered out and ushered him upstairs for a video gaming session or whatever boys do, you were on the couch perched with a book where your head was buried, you looked at him awkwardly before shyly stupidly giving him a wave, and finally he looked up at you.

He froze at first, but then he grinned that awful boyish smile, showing his braces, he had a glint in his eyes as he shyly waved too before making his way upstairs, back then Mark was just another gawky kid with a crooked smile, someone who liked his nerdy seance dog comics and built a whole collection, would ramble random facts on the national geographic documentaries containing weird science facts about animals, or would sometimes stutter out his sentences, that’s the type of guy he was literally. You didn’t really know what changed but something did over the past year, because his shoulders filled out, you remembered briefly you were over at the Grayson’s house last summer because William dragged you along, why? You forgot the reason, you went inside with your brother and Mark was near the kitchen counter chugging water from a glass cup, he was wearing a tank top and his biceps were out flexed, along with his forearm veins, and his back muscles god… he didn’t notice but you were just salivating at him because recently he looked like he became built like a greek god and then his jaw sharpened, since when did he get so hot? He was twenty, three years older than you, and every time he looked at you it was usually with the same flat, amused expression he’d give a neighbor’s cat that kept wandering onto his porch. 

You were William’s little sister, that was your name to him, one time he’d ruffle your hair on his way to the kitchen and he’d always steal the last soda from the fridge and say, “Tell your brother I owe him,” without even glancing at your face, it was mean, but not cruel but dismissive in, a way that made you feel like a smudge on a window he was looking through.

And still. And still…

You shifted onto your side, your lips pursed as you brows furrowed in thought, the sheets rustling too loud, and stared at the sliver of light beneath your door, creeping in through your room, and your mind began to go haywire, currently drifting elsewhere.

You imagined Mark curled up in the sleeping bag on William’s floor right now in your brother’s room, one arm behind his head, breathing slow, probably wearing a fitted old seance dog t-shirt that fit him too well, you could even see his abs peak because of how muscular he was, his black messy hair framing his face, and the way the cotton stretched over his chest, your skin felt too warm and your thighs kept pressing together without a conscious decision.

You tried thinking about something else, anything but him but it failed because that boy still lingered in your mind rent-free and you still blinked at the ceiling above you that stared back tauntingly with nothing else to say back to you.

You tried counting the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, the ones you remember you’d stuck up in sixth grade once because it just looked cool to put on for whatever reason, but then your mind kept drifting to that moment a few weeks ago, the shape of Mark’s big hands when he’d passed you the popcorn bowl during movie night with William who was passed out on the couch and you were sandwiched between him and Mark, you all were watching some old 2000’s horror movie, you imagined his knuckles, veins, long fingers. You’d imagined them everywhere, maybe everywhere on you, if his fingers brushed your skin, tracing your chest bone to maybe your neck, to your cheek, maybe to your thumb?

Then your greediness, and that immense feeling of wanting him to be all over you won and took over common sense, you slid your hand down your stomach slowly, slow, almost casual, like you could trick your body into believing this was just an absentminded gesture like it didn’t matter, the hem of the sleep shirt rode up, and the air kissed the skin, and a shiver ran sideways across your ribs, you felt so exposed right now in your room, naked even if your shorts were on. Your breathing shifted into something shallower, mouth parting against the soft pillowcase to be quiet because the house was pretty silent and everyone was probably asleep and because you weren’t going to do this, you really weren’t.

Nope you were. 

You were already doing it.

Your fingers traced the elastic of your cotton underwear, not pushing under, just along the edge. The contact made your stomach tighten, well it’s fine nobody was going to know, can you really blame yourself? A girl like you had urges too, you needed to take care of them, no one is gonna know… right? Yeah no one will know, and with the reassurance in mind, you let yourself loose, and finally caved in.

Yeah you're fine, Mark was probably asleep. William would be dead to the world until noon if you let him, It was just you and the dark and the permission you finally gave yourself after months of tucking this want, this feeling into smaller and smaller corners, because maybe you just weren’t allowed to have this, you didn’t want to make William’s friendship with Mark awkward, and… he probably didn’t like you like that anyway, so… but you can’t help it, this want, this feeling that felt like molten hot electricity crawling in your spine, when your heart beats so fast like a leopard whenever you see him, when your cheeks would pink a little when you knew Mark was over or every small interaction you would have with him if you could, and when he looked at you, his warm chocolate eyes gazing into yours and subtly glancing near your jaw, and to your shoulders before lifting back up again, you would notice the wrinkle in his eyes when his lips would smile.

Your middle finger dipped beneath the fabric, the sound you made was involuntary, a little whine against the pillows, because you were already wet, embarrassingly so, and the glide of your fingertip through that wet folds of your pussy sent a jolt up your spine that made your hips twitch. 

You pressed your face into the pillow to muffle the next sound, a soft, rising whimper, and circled your clit with the kind of deliberate pressure you’d learned your body liked.

Circles, then side-to-side, then a light rubbing rhythm that made your thighs fall wide open on the bed, your lips parted, the ceiling stars watched, your eyes fluttering shut as you kept making keen soft noises muffled in the bed, letting all of this want go, and not keeping it in any longer.

Behind your lids,  you imagined Mark was just standing there, watching you touching yourself and maybe his lips would part? His brows furrow in confusion as he watches you pleasure yourself to the thought of him, William’s best friend-what if he just watched and didn’t leave? Oh the watching made your stomach drop the way a staircase does when you miss the last step, falling and falling endlessly.

You imagined him pulling the door closed behind him, walking to the edge of your bed, pulling you into him, maybe hoisting you in his lap? his hands would just touch you everywhere he could reach especially inside, as his chocolate swirls focused on you and only you, he’d be everywhere and all of the skin on you he would’ve touched would be his already, you’d smell him everywhere, maybe he’d lean forward, his nose drifting near your cheek as he whispered dirty words in your ear, like…

 Look at you.

Naughty girl, getting off to me like this?

Do you think about me all night?

Touching you, giving you what you can’t give yourself?

Your eyelashes weakly fluttered, your fingers worked faster at the flesh, two of them now sliding down to press at your entrance without entering, teasing the wetness forward, spreading it.

Your heel dug into the mattress as you whined more and more, so desperately trying to chase the high you needed so badly, the nightlight under the door flickered once, and you didn’t think much of it, probably something else, catching the bulb-and in the back of your mind you registered the faint sound of the hallway settling. Old house. Always creaking, so it didn’t worry you, and you just really needed to come now, you imagined his lips near your neck, his fingers working your pussy good, maybe he’d add one finger, perhaps two., three, He would pummel his fingers slowly gliding out, and back in, he would fill you up in ways you can’t, your back would be against his broad chests, his muscular arms feeling your waist groping you, pinning you to the bed-

The name slipped out before you could catch it.

“Mark…please…” Quiet, barely a whimper, but in the silence of your room it landed like a thud, but then speaking of a thud.

You heard something move, you swore you did… and your eyes snapped open, and you quickly lifted your head up, your eyes blown and you looked at the last crease between the door to the distance of the wall because…the door was ajar, not wide enough to be obvious, but the gap had widened by three, maybe four inches from where it had been when you’d last looked.

The sliver of hallway light now cut a longer rectangle across your floor, and at the edge of that rectangle, interrupting it, was the dark shape of someone’s foot?

Every muscle in your body locked, your hand froze between your legs, the wet heat still pulsing around your fingers, your heart was pounding fast, the foot didn’t move then it did. The door swung inward with a slow, deliberate creak that drank all the air from the room, and Mark Grayson slowly stepped inside.

He was wearing sweatpants, nothing else, he was bare chested… he wasn’t wearing a shirt like you thought he would in your mind earlier fantasizing about him, the hallway light painted one side of his torso in pale gold, tracing the slope of his shoulder, the hard shelf of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen that vanished into the dark waistband.

His hair was mussed, one lock falling across his forehead, and his expression was not the blank amusement you’d catalogued for years into your memory. His jaw was set. His eyes were dark, focused… and tracked down your body, then tracing back to where your hand was still underneath your panties.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and you just stared at his bare chest dumbfoundedly, because your hand was still in your underwear, and you’d never been more aware of the exact position of your body in physical space, because from how it looked, your legs were apart, and your lips parted around an interrupted breath, and you got caught.

The word caught expanded inside your skull until it was the only thing there, “M-ark!” you squeaked shyly, and in shock and your brain worked overtime to finally decided to stutter a response out.

Mark was still silent and closed the door, not all the way because he left it cracked exactly as it had been before, the gap precise, and the click of the latch not catching was the loudest sound you’d ever heard, it was closed slightly to give some privacy but a bit open for the gap to be there, where someone could peak in if they wanted to.

“Um…” Your lips parted open, trying to form some excuse or maybe tell him to get out of your room? Maybe say it’s not what it looks like? Where you can at least keep some of your dignity intact, why is he still standing here? Then before you could even muster out a sound.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

His voice was different, lower, the teasing edge he used with William was gone, replaced by something denser, something that settled in the air and made your throat ache. He leaned back against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest, and the muscle in his bicep twitched when he shifted his weight, looking you up and down.

“I-” You dumbly spoke again, but he cut you off fast, not giving you a chance to respond. 

“You were saying my name,” he simply said. Not a question. A fact presented with the same casual certainty he’d use to announce the weather. His eyes didn’t leave your face, but it trailed to your eyes and then to your cheek, “I was… walking back from the bathroom and I heard it, kind of thought I imagined it at first.”

Your hand finally withdrew from your underwear on instinct, slick fingers gripping the sheet, and the loss of contact was almost painful. Your clit throbbed in protest, as you scrambled upwards, your hands now buried in the sheets as if to anchor you.

 “Mark, I-”

“Shh.” He didn’t move, didn’t unfold his arms, but his command landed like a physical pressure on your mouth, yet sounding soothing.  “‘S okay, keep going for me. I want to see.” it sounded so intimate like it’s something he told, just between you and him, only words to you, and it sounded a bit wrong because did he just ask you to keep touching yourself? and he’s watching now, you both knew what this could look like, it was a bit inappropriate. 

The words didn’t make sense at first because you heard them, processed them, rejected them, processed them again, your face burned so hot you thought the heat might radiate off you in visible waves. 

But the way he was looking at you finally looking at you, not through you, not around you  like you were something actually worth looking at, it short-circuited the part of your brain that would have said no, stop, this is insane.

You stilled for a moment, your knees still clamped together out of instinct, his eyes intensely boring into yours and then slowly, for some reason, your legs parted again, as you laid back down keeping your gaze on him and you heard his breath hitched.

Your hand moved before you told it to, back down, under the elastic, fingers finding the wet heat again without preamble. The relief of contact made you quietly gasp, a sharp little intake that broke in the middle, and Mark’s nostrils flared. 

He didn’t smile, but something shifted in his posture, loosening around the shoulders, and he tilted his head to watch your hand move beneath the fabric.

“Like that,” he murmured softly. “Just like that.”

The humiliation and the thrill tangled so completely you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began because this was insane you were touching yourself while your brother’s best friend watched, the door open a bit wide enough that anyone including your brother walking to the bathroom or wherever maybe checking in on you would hear the slick sound of your fingers, see the silhouette of Mark, the boy who would always come over for dinners at the clockbell house, he a sweet boy with good manners was now standing in your doorway, watching you pleasure yourself, he should’ve known better, be responsible, walk away, but he doesn’t and he knows he should, because what if someone walked in right now like your brother? Or god, even your parents? Well at least they were away on some vacation to Hawaii, but what would your brother say and how would he react? 

The danger of it made your hips lift, chasing your own touch with a desperation that felt foreign and yours all at once.

Your rhythm faltered, too frantic, too self-conscious, and Mark noticed, of course he noticed, it’s okay he’ll help you, teach you, perhaps you didn’t really know what to do, maybe you were inexperienced, he bit his lip at the thought of being the one to guide you, only him, something possessive coiled in his chest.

“You’re rushing, baby.” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room in three strides that didn’t make sound, bare feet on carpet, now he was standing at the edge of your bed looking down at you with a proximity that made your lungs seize.

He smelled like fabric softener and faint clean laundry detergent, and under that something warm and comforting. 

 “Slow down, you were doing better before you knew I was there.”

“I’m trying…” you breathed out, and the confession came out cracked, a voice you didn’t recognize. “I-can’t…its…” you shyly mumbled nervously, him being here, just seeing you personally like this it felt too much, but it also felt so daunting, having him notice you like this, having his attention on you and only you.

 It felt so intoxicating, he was intoxicating.

“It’s fine, it’s just you and me.” He knelt, his knees hit the carpet beside your bed and now his face was level with your hip, his eyes on the shape of your hand beneath the cotton. “Don’t think, just feel. Show me baby, keep touching that pretty pussy ‘f me.” the crude word that left out of his lips, immediately made you even wetter if possible, it sounded so dirty, and you felt, slick heat flooding between your thighs. 

Yeah it sounded so dirty and you wanted it. You wanted him to keep saying it.

Your eyes squeezed shut, shame and arousal crawled through you, and also fought against each other at the same time and arousal won because his voice was honey and gravel and it was saying things you’d scripted in your fantasies a hundred times.

You circled your clit again, slower, the way you did when you were alone and had time pretending you were when he wasn’t there, and the pleasure built in gradual waves. A moan slipped out high, thin, soft and you bit it back immediately, your free hand flying to your mouth.

Mark made a sound. Low in his chest, almost a hum. “Don’t muffle it sweet girl, let me hear those sounds of yours.” His hand moved to swat yours, covering your lips away gently, firmly gripping your fingers and leaving it at your side.

He glanced at the cracked door, then back at you, and his meaning clicked into place with a gravity that made your stomach flip, and you were so lost in touching yourself you almost forgot the urgency, William, sleeping at the end of the hall. If you were loud, if the bed creaked too much, if Mark’s presence in your room was discovered…

Your fingers stilled. “Mark…my brother-”

“Is asleep.” Mark’s hand lifted, and for the first time he touched you, just his palm on your outer thigh, above the knee, a weight dry and steady. “And I’m right here and you were the one moaning my name with your fingers inside your cunt ten minutes ago, so don’t pretend you want me to leave.” he smirked, and if he counted the minutes, how long was he standing there? With that implication that maybe he actually did watch you touch yourself for awhile, made your pussy throb again at his sinful words.

Oh and the bluntness of it-cunt, a word that literally got spoken out of that sweet boy with dimples, never heard spoken aloud made your inner muscles clench around nothing, you shook your head, a tiny motion, and his hand squeezed your thigh once before releasing.

“That’s right, that’s my good girl.” He cooed hushedly and heat flushed your cheeks, more if that was possible because getting praised by him felt so good, and you never knew how it felt from him before, it hit your bloodstream like a shot of something distilled. “Now move your hand, let me.” He didn’t wait for permission. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and you lifted your hips automatically, a reflex, and then the cotton was sliding down your legs, catching on one ankle before he tugged it free and dropped it somewhere on the floor. The air hit your wetness and the contrast of temperature made you flinch. Mark’s gaze dropped between your legs and stayed there.

“Look at you baby,” he said softly and so proudly,  “You’re so soaked.”

The blunt observation made your face flame even more, but he wasn’t mocking because he sounded fascinated, and maybe affected like you were, he stood up from the carpet, and his bodyweight dipped on the bed joining you, then his broad hand settled on your inner thigh and nudged it wider, opening you to the dim light and to his view, and then his thumb was brushing through the slick folds.

A whimper leaked out before you could stop it yourself, high-pitched. Soft.

“There it is,” he murmured. “You know, I heard weird noises from your room and I thought maybe I should… y’know be a good friend to William, check on his little sister, make sure she’s okay. ” he trailed off huskily as he kept working your pussy open, his big calloused fingers felt so different from your fingers, and it just felt so much better like he reach more than you could, you blinked slightly out of it as he coaxed more moans out of you. “But,” he continued, as his fingers rubbed the nub slightly faster, causing you to squirm under his touch, a little not that he minded, “Then I find his little sister just touching herself, and god I shouldn’t have watched, because you’re his little sister but-” he bit his lip as his gaze honed in on how your expression looked more flushed by the minute and desperate, and your eyes were lost in a haze, glossy as your lips parted more for more high pitched soft moans, not too loud but still so quiet for him, you were being so good, just letting him touch you like this, letting him have you like this. He continued, his adam’s apple swallowing heavily, “But then you moaned my name and god-you sounded so fucking pretty, y’know that? You’re such a pretty girl, tell me, did anyone touch you like this?” you quickly shook your head, his fingers rubbed even more faster through your slick heat, the pleasure so hot and white, the wet sounds of your pussy filled the room, and you couldn’t completely answer, you just tilted your head back as you moaned helplessly, feeling like your orgasm was getting closer.

His thumb found your clit and pressed, not circling, just a steady pressure that made your vision sparkle at the edges. Your hips bucked again and his other hand came down on your hipbone, pinning you to the mattress with an effortless strength that made your mind go briefly, blissfully blank.

“You’re movin’ too much, stay still.” The command cut through the fog, and you obeyed because the alternative was him stopping, and you would have done anything to keep him from stopping, because it just feels so good. “Also you’re being too loud, If William wakes up we have to stop and you don’t want that do you?”

You shook your head shakily, your eyes getting a little teary at the slight tone he was using with you, because it sounded gentle and soft, but there was a bit of an edge.

“Answer me, c’mon let me hear that pretty voice.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I don’t want it to stop…please don’t stop.”

“Mm, good.” He pulled his hand away and you nearly sobbed at the loss and the orgasm that almost happened disappeared quickly. “Mark I was gonna…” You mumbled before he just hushed you, “Come? Yeah I know, just wait.” You frowned, but then he was shifting more making the bed dip, positioning himself between your spread legs. The heat of his body you felt it, and you could see the outline of him through his sweatpants now, the heavy shape of his erection pressed against the gray fabric, and the size of it made your mouth dry. 

You’d known, theoretically, that maybe he was big, how? you heard him and william compare dick sizes for fun one time, you didn’t mean to eavesdrop and you didn’t see it of course, the door was closed but you walked past near William’s room, then you heard your brother’s voice- ‘Damn grayson well endowed huh?’  Then you heard a chuckle, mistakenly Mark’s, as he was trying to downplay it but seeing it now, hard and straining and just inches from where you were open and waiting, rewired something in your brain.

“You’ve thought about this, huh?” Mark crooned, settling his weight on his forearms on either side of your shoulders. His face was close now, close enough that you could see the flecks of lighter brown in his irises, the faint scar on his chin that you wondered where he got it from, his eyes flicked to yours, his hot breath kissing your cheek “Thought about me fucking you while your brother sleeps two doors down, didnt you?”

Your chest heaved, and your jaw nervously went slack, he was so close to you, and he was on top of you.

“Tell me.”

His tone firm and steady hooked  and pulled you in,  “I… think about it all the time… when you’re over and when you’re not. I can’t-I can’t stop thinking about it, about you.” You babbled, looking at him, something flashed across his face. Satisfaction, maybe, or hunger, or both, but something deeper too, then his mouth was on your throat, not kissing so much as pressing, an open-mouthed heat that traveled down to your collarbone while one hand slid between your bodies. 

You felt two fingers pushed inside you without warning, and the stretch drew a choked cry from your lips, “Mark…” you cried out, your eyes darting up to his like it could hold you together, the sensation felt different when he was just touching your clit, but now his thick fingers were inside, and you felt like you were being filled.

“That’s it,” he said against your skin. “Take it, god you’re so tight around my fingers, how long has it been baby girl, how long did you go without touchin’ yourself?”

You couldn’t answer because his fingers were thick, curling inside your gummy walls, finding a spot that made your back arch off the mattress. The heel of his palm ground against your clit with every thrust of his hand, a dual stimulation that built pressure behind your eyes and warmth pooling low in your belly.

“Never…” you managed, the word fractured. “Never, you’re the first… no one’s ever touched me… please Mark, please…” you mewled desperately, you kept panting and moaning uncontrollably a little louder than before, you swallowed before he murmured for you to keep on talking, keep using that pretty voice of yours to tell him. Mark's fingers plunged deeper, curling just right to stroke that sensitive spot inside you with each thrust. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, slick and hot, dripping down his knuckles as he worked you more open, and in a daze you kept speaking, your voice drifting to a mumble.

“Uh huh… no one’s touched me before.” The confession fell out of you, unguarded, and you watched his expression shift from hunger to something more complex, something with edges you couldn’t name. “No one… just you.” your head felt so light and heady, you swore you heard a faint groan, yours hips bucked into his hand, and he fingerfucked you faster, his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles while two fingers pumped faster, the wet sounds filling the room. Your moans grew louder, broken and needy, legs shaking as pleasure built fast and sharp, and then you felt it you came immediately, the wet gush of juices coating his hands as you whimpered.

Your hips needily rolled into his hand, as you looked up at him with half lidded eyes and he added a third finger and the stretch burned a little for half a second before dissolving into more pleasure so deep it felt like falling, your head lolled against the pillows, as you were panting. “Look at that pussy swallowing my fingers, does it feel good baby?” He whispered, near your ear, you nodded frantically, his hand cupped your jaw tilting to his lips and he kissed you for the first time. Not gentle. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you, claiming the space behind your teeth, and the kiss was messy and hot and everything you’d imagined when you’d watched his lips touch his glass cup, and the thought about what his mouth would feel like. 

His thumb found the nub again and pressed in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers inside your gummy walls, the dual sensation fueled a brightening wire in your lower belly, and you could feel it coming again, the intense orgasm coiling not like a wave but like a spring being wound too tight. Your breath came in short, soft pants that you tried desperately to keep quiet, each exhale a little whine that you swallowed against his tongue, he pulled his lips away with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting you to him.

“She’s close huh,” he murmured, he licked his lips as his eyes focused on your puffy cunt just swallowing his fingers whole. “Let go, come for me, you got it.”

His words so low curled around you like a warm husk, your orgasm broke not in a crash but in a series of concentric ripples that expanded outward from where his hand was buried inside you, each pulse stronger than the last, your pussy clenched around his fingers, hard, rhythmic contractions, then he shoved his tongue deeper into your mouth again as you came, he groaned looking at you come completely undone, a low sound that vibrated against your mouth. Your thighs clamped around his wrist and your back lifted off the bed and the sound you made was a high, keening thing that you muffled into his lips.

He worked you through it, pumping in his fingers slowly but not stopping, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and making small, wounded noises into his skin. When he finally withdrew, his hand glistened in the dim light, and he lifted it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean while maintaining eye contact, and god that did something to you. “Still with me?” He whispered, you barely nodded, you felt so spent already but he already started moving and he wasn’t done, your lips parted to say something more but all it did was just let out strings of wanton moans as you felt him nip at your skin.

He moved, leaning down and dragged his tongue along the column of your neck. Wet kisses followed, trailing lower until His mouth was on your breast before you could form words, pulling the sleep shirt higher until it bunched at your collarbone, he sealed his lips around your nipple and sucked hard in his mouth.

A soft cry of his name left your lips, your head lolling against the pillows, as your fingers made its way tugging his black hair strands.

His tongue circled your nipple with the focused attention of someone who had nowhere else to be, he suckled before his lips also met the other bud, twirling it gently, the sensation was electric, somehow connected directly to your clit, and you felt yourself getting wetter, impossibly, the slickness spreading to your inner thighs and soaking more into the sheets, he pulled off with a wet pop before leaning back on his haunches, and just looking at you.

“Ready for the big thing baby?” he said, and the corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You ready for me?” your eyes widened at the realization, and you felt warm anticipation fluttering in your belly, you didn’t get a chance to answer. He shifted, and you heard the soft rustle of fabric, the elastic snap of his waistband being pushed down. Then the weight of him was settling between your thighs, and the hot, blunt pressure of his cock was pressing against your entrance, and looked at it immediately.

He was big. You’d known, but knowing and feeling were things, “Mark..wait-” you muttered out nervously, “Shh, it’s okay, you're okay trust me, it will feel so good jus’ let me show you.” He murmured, palming your hips closer to his as he adjusted his position, and you felt the stretch of him pushing just the head inside made your mouth fall open in a silent scream. Your hands flew to his biceps and gripped hard enough to leave crescents, but he barely flinched and he paused, forehead dropping to yours, breath coming in controlled exhales.

“Mark… your too big, its too…” you whimpered out, your lashes a little watery and his lips kissed your hairline, before his fingers gently swiped a bit of your tears away, his nose nudged against yours, and his brown swirls stared deeply into yours.

“I know sweetheart, ‘m sorry,” he murmured a little apologetically. “Just keep looking at me, keep your eyes on me.” 

You opened your eyes-when had you closed them? and found his gaze already locked on your face. The intensity there made this feel less scary, somehow. Anchored you, because no one had ever been inside of you before, this was your first time, no boy ever made you feel like this before, and it was gonna be Mark Grayson that will take your virginity away, it was him.

His lips peppered a wet kiss on your cheek, his broad palm caressing your hair as you felt another wet peck near your jaw, and him kissing more away the tears that stained your cheeks a little.

“Breathe,” he instructed, and you realized you’d been holding your breath. You inhaled shakily, and on the exhale as he pushed deeper, another inch, another, the friction a liquid burn that radiated up your spine. “Shit…yeah, doing so good for me baby, open up, jus’ take it like that, just like that.” He cooed, as his cock slid in more deeper, he kept going, slow, so slow, until he was fully seated inside you, and the fullness was so complete, you were so filled up.

It felt like he was touching places nothing had ever touched before, you felt his hips against your pelvis and your lips parted into a ‘o’ your eyes blown wide as you really felt it, god he was so fucking big he was stretching you out, but the slight pain and burning sensation was slowly fading and now you melted into the sheets, your eyes were half lidded barely open, and he saw it, you looked out of it, but it’s okay he’ll take care of it.

You don’t have to do anything but lay there and take it, he will take good care of you, show you how good it feels, he felt your body relax more against the bed and your thighs spread a little farther apart between his waist, as your lips loosened, and he could feel your hips nudging against his like you needed it just as much as he did.

“There,” he breathed. “There you go, taking all of it, good girl.”

The praise turned your bones to water, and his hips stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, and you could feel every ridge and vein of him inside you, the pulse of his heartbeat transmitted through the place where your bodies joined. Then he finally moved.

Not thrusting. Rolling. A slow, deep grind that pressed his pubic bone against your clit and pushed the head of him against some deep internal spot that made starbursts bloom behind your eyes. Your mouth opened on a moan and he covered it with his palm, gentle but firm, muffling the sound.

He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, before plunging back in, the sound of your bodies meeting was wet and sloppy-a squelching noise that made your cheeks burn, The bed creaked continuously with every thrust, his heavy frame pinning you flat while his palm stayed clamped over your mouth. Each deliberate push bottomed out, his cock dragging along your walls before pumping back in, the wet squelch of your soaked pussy filling the room. 

"You're taking it so deep, look at this pretty pussy." he groaned, his voice low and rough in your ear, he leaned down, trapping you beneath his massive body, covering your mouth with his hand again as a particularly loud whimper escaped your throat. "Shhh be quiet baby, I know it feels good, I know." your moans went muffled against his hand, your eyes blurry with little tears as he kept going.

He set a steady rhythm that was deliberate and unhurried, each stroke pulling out just enough to make you want more but keep you over the edge, the slide of him inside you was slick and obscenely loud in the quiet room, a wet sound that you’d have been mortified by if his face wasn’t contorting with pleasure above you, his lips now parted open as he kept pumping his hips.

He drove into you with long, slow yet hard strokes that punched the breath out of your lungs. The bed creaked continuously with every thrust. He pulled almost all the way out, the head of his cock stretching your entrance, then slammed back into the hilt. Your body jolted forward, a choked cry escaping past his fingers. He didn't speed up, just kept that relentless, measured rhythm, each stroke deliberate and deep, keeping you hovering right on the edge without letting you tip over. 

His control was impressive because you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hips wanted to snap more harder, faster but he held back, kept it slow, kept it steady. “You feel so good,” he gritted out, the words punched from him on an exhale, you mewled as he pushed you further deep into the bed to keep you from squirming, “Fuck, if I knew how good this pussy was, would've bent you over a long time ago baby girl.” his hips kept snapping, skin slapping against skin echoed in the room and your eyes nearly rolled back to your skull, it felt so so good, his praises felt so good, your hands limp by your sides gripped the sheets tightly as his hips kept hammering, your tears were soaking the pillows, and the more high pitched whines was being fucked out of you.

“Mark…” you cried out, your lashes fluttering, he looked down at you, His gaze stayed low, locked on the place where your bodies met, watching his cock slide in and out of you with steady, deliberate strokes. He dipped his head, mouth brushing over your skin, lips dragging slowly along your jaw until they reached your ear. His breath was hot against it as he kept thrusting, hips still rolling in a relentless rhythm that made the bed creak more and more beneath you both, to the point whatever was happening in the room and whoever passed by would’ve been obvious.

"That's it," he groaned, breath hot against your ear. "You’re takin it like a big girl huh? Look at you so fucking tight around my cock." Your pussy clenched hard at his words, dripping more slick down his thick shaft and onto the sheets, as you cried out, his hand left your mouth and slid down your body, fingers finding your clit again and finding your wet slickness, he circled in time with his thrusts, the dual stimulation was too much in the best way, building a second orgasm that you could feel in your teeth, making your toes curl.

“Come on my cock baby, let me feel it.” He whispered, the command tipped you over, along with his words lingered in your mind like it had control over you, your second orgasm was sharper than the first, a bright, blinding thing that made your vision tunnel and your inner muscles clamp down on him in pulses so strong you heard him hiss through his teeth. 

You bit your own lip to keep from crying out and your body arched up into his sharply, he still fucked you through it, pace never faltering, and when you came down you were shaking, more tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, every nerve ending burned so good, but he didn’t stop, he leaned closer just looking at your tear streaked face, along with your hiccups.

“Give me one more.”  his voice had gone rough, the restraint fraying at the edges, and his hips snapped more faster now, no longer holding back steadily, the wet slap of skin growing louder in the quiet room. Each thrust punched deeper, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls before slamming back in. "You can give me one more. I know you can." 

“I nnh-can’t,” you whimpered, your hands pushed against his muscled chest slightly, your pussy so overstimulated, spasming more uncontrollably, “I can’t…” you whined.

“You can.” His pace quickening further, the bed creaked louder beneath you both with each hard thrust and every time his hips buried you to the hilt.  “You will, look at you, this pussy is taking this cock like you were made for it, like you need it, ‘s what you wanted right?” 

He was spurring you on and you nodded, incapable of speech, and he rewarded you with a thrust that hit so deep you saw white, The pleasure built up  in waves, he was hitting your pussy so deep, the head of his cock bullying and kissing your cervix with every thrust. It was rough, bordering on brutal, but the way he held you, the way he looked at you, still was so tender it made your heart ache a little, 

“Say it, say you want me, say you need me.” he whispered to you, as his hips pummeled deep inside your pussy, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, and you were so in bliss, that if someone walked by at this point no longer any of your worries, all you wanted was him to keep going, to keep fucking and using you like this.

“I wanted this,” you breathed, the confession tearing out of you. “Wanted you. Wanted your cock. Inside me… please, Mark, please-” more whines escaped your lips.

The begging broke something in him. His control slipped, thrusts becoming more harder, less measured, and the bed frame gave a warning creak that made you both freeze for half a heartbeat. 

Then he shifted his hips, changing the angle, his cock pummeled out and back in with a wet slap again, this time one of your legs was hooked over his shoulder, opening you impossibly wider to him, and you let out a mewl, as he kept rocking his hips with an unbearable, slightly faster pace, his palm resting on where the bulge was on your belly.

The third orgasm built in layers you didn’t recognize, something heavier, deeper, spreading through your pelvis like heat through metal. Your mouth shaped a silent scream and Mark’s hand clamped over it again just so you won’t be too loud, his eyes wild, his rhythm stuttering.

“Going to come,” he gritted out “You want it? Want me to pump this pussy all up full with my cum?”

You nodded frantically, and he fucked you deep into your soul your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering, a thin line of drool slipping from the corner of your mouth around his palm, and Mark was pounding you into the bed, his hips slammed forward hard, burying himself to the hilt. For one suspended second he pulled back, his cock sliding out with a wet plap that left you empty and clenching around nothing, then he drove in again, one final thrust that locked him deep, you felt his whole body went rigid above you.

You felt the first thick rope of cum pulse into you, hot and heavy, followed by another, and another, more whimpers left you, along with his cock jerked inside your gummy walls, flooding you with pulse after pulse until the warmth overflowed and leaking out around his shaft. He stayed locked there, grinding in tiny, involuntary circles as he emptied every last drop, breath ragged against your ear.

His cock slid out, then he rolled his hips in slow, lazy thrusts, letting more of his cum to seep out around your swollen pussy lips, you slumped into the mattress as you were out of the breath, that left you boneless and barely conscious.

He stayed inside you, pulsing, for what felt like minutes. His forehead dropped to your collarbone, breath hot and ragged, and your fingers tangled in his hair without thought, your eyes fluttered shut, the room smelled like sex and sweat and faint honey and slight wood, then you felt his lips kissed your cheek, everywhere and to your lips, to your neck.

Then, from the hallway, a floorboard creaked.

Your heart stopped. Mark’s head lifted, eyes cutting to the door-still cracked, still showing the same sliver of light and his body went tense above you, your head shot up before he firmly pressed your back down and towered over you again, his hips still slotted against the mattress, your legs spread between his as he admired his work, you sprawled on the bed with his cum leaking out of your thighs, and your cheeks were little pink, your hair slightly messy now. He turned, his spare hand moved, rumpling underneath the sheets, like he was finding something and he did and founded your cotton underwear somewhere, he twirled it in his fingers absent mindedly and finally you felt his tip pull out, and his palms founded your thighs pulling you to him, you stared a little out of it, “Up baby,” he murmured, tapping your thigh gently and your mind felt like cotton, you just listened and lifted your hips, and he hummed satisfyingly.

His fingers slid the thin panties up your ankle to your hips, covering your pussy folds where his semen still leaking out of, which he was still staring at profoundly, his hand fiddling with your panties, move to still rub the flesh in a soothing way.

His brown swirls then bore into yours deeply and intensely, and you unfalteringly stared back, you see his lips part to saying something more before-

"Guys?" A voice, still thick with sleep but growing more alert, drifted into the room, and you immediately sat upright.

Mark turned, and in the blink of an eye, your blanket was pulled over your thighs, and by the time William stepped inside, Mark was somehow already back in his sweatpants, he was still shirtless, instead of on you was now sitting cross-legged beside you on the bed as though nothing had happened.

You barely caught how Mark managed it so quickly, before you could even question it at all or what you just saw unfolded, your attention shifted to your brother, who  now stood in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the two of you.

"Hey, bro. What's up?" Mark asked casually, lifting a hand in a small wave, his brown eyes all looking so innocent, which was quite the contrary. Something did happen, and William obviously did not know or somehow didn’t catch on yet what was staring at his face.

The ‘I fucked your little sister next door when you were sleeping’ happened.

You gave a nod sheepishly, quickly smoothing your disheveled hair in an attempt to make yourself look a little more put together, William looked between the two of you, one eyebrow raised.

"Nah, nothing," he said. "I woke up to use the bathroom, but you weren't there. So I figured I'd check where you were... and you're in my sister's room?"

"Yeah," Mark replied easily. "Just checking in on her. Thought I'd stop by, say hi, and annoy her for a bit." He glanced at you, and you immediately caught on.

"Yeah," you added with a small shrug, trying to make all of these less suspicious in any further way possible. "But now I'd actually like to go back to sleep, so... instead of bothering me, maybe you could bother William since he's already awake." You smiled a little, your hands fidgeting and you see your brother let out a quiet snort, the tension cooled off you a little.

"See? Mini Clockbell has a point," Mark said with a grin, and William sighed. "Well Mark,” His hands rested on his hips and stared at him deadpan. “You can’t bother me because I think I am just gonna head back to bed, and get my beauty sleep, so night, guys keep doin whatever you were doin." William mumbled through a yawn, giving a lazy wave before turning toward the hallway, You let out a soft reply ‘good night’ back along with Mark’s voice intermingling with yours at your brother’s remark.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded until the house fell quiet once more, leaving just the two of you.

Only then did you look back at Mark, and he was already looking at you.

Without a word, his hand drifted over the blanket, gently kneading your thigh through the fabric before he pushed himself to his feet, and finally the warmth of his touch left you faded, his gaze never leaving yours, and you looked at him a bit too long, your lips still parted a little, your breaths becoming a little uneven, and his eyes fell on your lips before meeting back to your eyes, and your mind ran rampant. It felt so good, and you wondered would this happen again? You felt the warm coiling sensation gather in your stomach already even though he strung it out of you and made you come until you couldn’t, leaving your body spent and used, you liked it, because you weren’t fucked this good out of your life before. You swallow a little, the words came but died down heavily down your throat, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of Mark's lips, he made his way toward the door before pausing, tilting his head to look back at you one last time. “Night clockbell, see you tomorrow.” His eyes swept over you up and down before leaving, and your thighs rubbed a little underneath the blanket, and you bit your lip.

Because deep down, you knew this wasn't over, because tomorrow night, around this same hour, he would probably maybe somehow find his way back to your room, and somehow, you already knew how the night would unfold.

With him pinning you in the bed, his fingers interlaced with yours, his lips on your neck, with his hips slotted against yours, as he takes from you again, and makes you come more and more than last time, his hot breath against your cheeks, and maybe with his cock down your throat or-possibly you riding on his length over and over again, with his broad palms gripping your waist.

Maybe him taking you in multiple positions, and taking you nine ways to Sunday.

And maybe, just maybe… you were looking forward to it.