Hell yeah

You stare into each other's eyes for a second, "How close is your place?" she asks. You point southwest. "Two blocks." She slides down your body, her leggings still tangled around one boot like purple restraints. You both scramble to dress—she yanks her mask back down, covering her face, while you buckle your belt over sticky jeans. The alley smells like copper and sex and wet cardboard now. Spoiler scoops up her escrima sticks, wincing as she probes her bruised ribs. "Lead the way," she rasps, nodding toward the street's mouth. Her knuckles are split and raw against the grip of her weapon.

You take her hand—still slick with alley grime—and drag her past the slumped cultists toward the service door you'd pried open last Tuesday during a B&E job. Your apartment building looms like a rotting tooth against the sulfur-yellow skyline, its fire escape groaning under your combined weight as you climb. Spoiler's breathing comes sharp and shallow beneath her mask; every third step jars a pained gasp from her lips. Inside your cramped studio, she collapses against the peeling wallpaper, yanking off her hood to reveal sweat-darkened blonde strands plastered to her temples. "Mask on or off?" she rasps, fingers already hooked under the fabric’s edge.

"Oh, that mask is coming the fuck off," you growled, kicking your apartment door shut with a hollow thud. Before Spoiler could react, you pinned her against the wall near the radiator, its corroded pipes rattling against bruised plaster. "Then why don't ya help me?" she challenged, voice muffled—you pull her mask off, throwing it to the floor, revealing flushed skin and swollen lips. Her fingernails rake down your back as you kiss her hard, tasting blood and adrenaline. She bites your lower lip, drawing blood—a sharp sting mixing with the dull ache in your ribs. "Bed?" she gasped against your mouth, hands already fighting your belt buckle.

You dragged her toward the mattress—just a stained futon on the floor—but collapsed halfway there as she shoved you backward. She strips off her costume top in one fluid motion, purple fabric pooling around her boots to reveal sweat-slicked skin and dark bruises blooming along her ribs. Her sports bra follows, flung toward a stack of stolen electronics. "Hurry," she breathes, dropping to her knees before you. Her teeth scrape your hipbone as she drags your jeans down, her tongue tracing the fresh cut on your forearm before closing her mouth around your cock.

Her throat muscles constrict around you—wet heat swallowing your length whole—while her thumbs dig into your hip bruises. You groan, fingers twisting in her damp blonde hair as she bobs faster, gagging slightly before pulling back to lick the weeping blade wound anew. "Taste like street fights," she murmurs, grinning up at you with blood-smeared lips before plunging back down, hollowing her cheeks until tears streak her flushed cheeks.

You drag her up roughly, biting her collarbone as you push her onto the futon. She spreads her legs, wetness glistening on her thighs where her leggings still dangle. "Need you inside me again," she gasps, hooking her ankles behind your back—but you catch her wrists instead, pinning them above her head. Her pupils blow wide when you spit on your fingers and drag them hard over her clit. She arches violently, a choked cry escaping as you circle that swollen nub with brutal precision. "Been fantasizing about this?" you rasp against her throat, feeling her pulse jackhammer against your lips.

"Watching me fight from that alley?" Her hips buck wildly, seeking friction she can't control. "Wanting to take me home, pin me to your bed and fuck me harder than those Kobra fucks ever dreamed?" Her voice cracks on the edge of desperation as you slide two fingers deep inside her—wet, tight heat clenching around them—while your thumb keeps grinding relentless circles against her clit. She comes almost instantly, her entire body bowing off the mattress in a silent scream, her wrists straining against your iron grip as wetness pulses over your hand.

You don't let her recover. You flip her onto her stomach, knee forcing her bruised legs apart. She claws at the stained futon cover, the scent of mildew and sex thick as you drag her hips back. "Tell me," you demand, your cock slick with her wetness resting hot against her entrance. "Who are you?" Her breath hitches, turning her face toward you—eyes blazing with defiance, lips bruised and bloody. "Does it *matter*?" she snarls, shoving her ass back against you. You drive into her with one brutal thrust, knocking the gasp from her lungs as she arches under you. "Fuck no," you growl, burying yourself to the hilt. Her choked sob dissolves into a ragged moan.

She pushes back against you, meeting every thrust with **** ****, the futon frame scraping concrete with each slam of your hips. Her fingers tear at the fabric beneath her, knuckles white. "Harder—stop holding back!" she gasps, twisting her head to bite your forearm. You oblige, pinning her wrists behind her back, her shoulder blades pressing sharp against your chest as you piston into her deeper, rougher. Her cries fragment—half pain, half ecstasy—as her body clamps down violently around you.

The radiator clanks like a failing heart, steam hissing from its valves as Spoiler's muscles tremble beneath you. Sweat stings the cut on your arm, mingling with blood smeared across her spine. She arches suddenly, a strangled gasp escaping her—"Don't stop, I'm close"—and you slam harder, the futon's metal frame screeching across concrete with each thrust. Her teeth sink into the mattress cover, muffling a sob that sounds like surrender and triumph twisted together. Outside, garbage trucks rumble through predawn streets, their diesel growl syncopating with your ragged breaths.

Her climax hits like a live wire—back bowing, thighs clamping around your hips as wet heat floods your cock. You follow seconds later, roaring into the damp hollow of her neck as you empty yourself deep inside her shaking body. For three shuddering breaths, you collapse against her, her pulse hammering against your sternum like a trapped bird. Slowly, she twists beneath you, turning until her bruised lips find yours—a slow, exhausted kiss tasting of blood and salt. “Holy shit, didn't know alley fights came with perks,” she rasps, fingernails tracing the scrape marks on your back.

You two laid back on the mattress, skin slick with sweat and blood, breathing in jagged unison. Spoiler traced the healing scar on your jawline—the one Black Bat gave you—with a surprisingly gentle thumb. "That her handiwork?" she asked, voice raspy. You nodded, catching her wrist before her fingers could stray lower. "Almost shattered my face," you replied flatly. She snorted, a sharp, pained sound. "Fortunately, she didn't, we wouldn't want that pretty face ruined." She grinned. You rolled your eyes. "Oh shut up." You kissed her quickly before rolling away to grab a half-empty bottle of whiskey from under the bed. Spoiler watched you gulp it down, throat working. "Thirsty?" she teased weakly. You wiped your mouth, offered her the bottle. "Painkiller," you muttered.

The whiskey burned her throat as she swallowed, her bruised ribs screaming in protest. She winced, handing the bottle back. "Better?" you asked, eyebrow cocked. "Marginally," she lied, shifting gingerly. Her gaze drifted to the boarded-up window, dawn’s gray light leaking through cracks. "You know," she said slowly, fingers tracing a fresh bite mark on your shoulder, "those Kobras? They weren't random street trash." You froze mid-swig. "Meaning?" Her eyes met yours, sharp despite exhaustion. "They were hunting *me*. That ambush? Personal. Their leader’s got a hard-on for vigilante scalps."

"Well then we need to keep you somewhere safe." You said, getting closer to her. "Yeah?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Where?" You gestured around the cramped studio—the peeling wallpaper, the stained futon, the flickering bulb overhead. "Safe as anywhere." You grabbed her chin gently. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight." She leaned into your touch, exhaustion warring with adrenaline in her eyes. "Guess that means I'm staying." Her fingers traced your jawline where Black Bat's knuckles had left their mark. "For now."

The two of you spent the night together. You woke to Spoiler tracing patterns on your chest, her fingertips cool against your bruised skin. Her eyes scanned the apartment—cracked linoleum, barred windows, stolen electronics piled like modern artifacts—before settling on your face. "Had worse safe houses," she murmured, her voice rough from sleep and alley grit. You pulled her closer, her ribs protesting against your grip, smelling gunpowder and sex in her hair. Dawn bled sulfur-yellow through the boarded window, painting stripes across the bloodstains on her discarded costume.

"How about you stay here, just until the heat dies down?" You gestured toward the boarded window where dawn light filtered through knife-thin cracks. Spoiler's gaze swept the room—your makeshift armory of repurposed pipe wrenches, the dented hotplate crusted with instant ramen residue—before settling on the fresh bruise blooming across your collarbone where her teeth had bitten deep. She traced it with a calloused thumb, her smile sharp as broken glass. "Only if you promise not to hog the blanket." You pulled her closer, ignoring the protest in your ribs as her knee nudged the whiskey bottle still wedged between mattress springs.

You two kissed for a while longer, you had no idea what this was, if it would even last. But you didn't really care, as you kissed her full lips, you knew that any reason to spend more time with her was worth it. After a while, she pulled away from you and looked around, "You got a shower?" she asked, wiping crusted blood from her chin. You pointed toward the bathroom, its door hanging crooked on rusted hinges. "Cold water only," you warned, watching her limp across the room, purple leggings still tangled around one ankle like discarded serpent skin. "Then how about you warm me up?" She smirked back over her shoulder, peeling off her sweat-soaked sports bra before disappearing into the gloom. You smiled, this was gonna be a fun few days at least.

Spoiler Ending.