#Can you believe he's TWELVE

[isolophilian]

i think we need to understand the gravity of how quickly Percy blames himself and his disabilities for the way his world is. how he's been made to believe over years and years that he's weird, that there's something wrong with him. Percy saying he should've been paying attention. Percy saying there's something wrong with his brain. Percy calling himself broken.. he's just a kid man

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN | D'FESTA THE MOVIE

[puhpandas]

I love ggy so much how did they accidentally make the most intriguing hypothetical gay romance ever

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Can’t get over the angle you drew Erik at in that last picture like yes I am on my knees before my king holy shit.

None of the thoughts I am having are in the Bible. Not sure I’d be relieved or disappointed he couldn’t read my dirty, dirty thoughts.

(Charles meanwhile can hear my thoughts and probably wishes he couldn’t…)

whats funny bout that pic is i was gonna draw him at a Non Scandalous Angle but i thought about how every time i draw someone sitting its usually at an angle Im Not Happy With and now we're here !!!!!!!!

[orcelito]

Ok I kind of am glad to have given this Isobu arc a chance. I'm not entirely sold on the Guren and Yuukimaru stuff, but I'm getting to see a lot more of the minor characters I don't usually see. INCLUDING so many female characters!!!!! Started off with Hinata, then Sakura, and now Ino, Shizune, AND Tenten are all here!!! Five female characters active in one arc!!! Practically unheard of for Naruto!!!! Plus Guren makes 6 I guess, though I don't really like how they're like "here's a Ruthless Woman who thinks of nothing except becoming one with Orochimaru!!!! ...except now here's a child, and after just a few days her Motherly Instincts are thawing her heart!!!!!! She's not so ruthless after all!!!!" Like I mean it's sweet, but also it sucks that they're doing this with one of the few female villains. Like why are most of the women reduced to mothers and girlfriends??? In the end, basically all of them get this fate. Or they die. Come on can't we have a woman that just sucks??? Smh.

[teaboot]

One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)

And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".

And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try

I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else

And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T

But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me

And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"

And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And like

It just sorta

Kept going?

And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands

And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting

And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting

So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie

and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"

So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."

So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me

The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment

But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her

[violent138]

If I was Bruce it would drive me absolutely crazy that I couldn't complain to Alfred about my kids:

Bruce: "Alfred, you won't believe what Dick did. He's in space again! He didn't even give me a heads up or--"

Alfred, drinking tea: "The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree--"

"Alfred--"

"I suppose it'll be twelve long years before we see him, no messages, not even a postcard."

Or

"Alfred, I think Jason's sick. Tell Leslie to tell him to take a night off."

"A night off you say, Master Bruce?"

"Don't start."

Or

"Alfred, why the hell is there a tank in the backyard?"

"I tried telling them not to Master Bruce, but you yourself bragged about the ability to survive Houdini's act."

There is no scenario the kids can wind up in where Alfred is even halfway sympathetic to Bruce.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Teacher: Class, we have a new student joining us today. Danny, could you tell us a little about yourself? Danny, standing up: Ugh, okay. My name is Danny Fenton. I'm from Amity Park, Illinois. I moved to Gotham with my siblings. Teacher: That's lovely, Danny. Do you have any hobbies? Danny: I like to stargaze, but it's tricky here in Gotham to see them. Teacher waiting for more: *Stare* Classroom: *stare* Danny panics as the class stares at him. I also really liked helping Dan with his experiments. Teacher: Who's Dan? Danny: He's my eldest brother. He got a job at Wayne Labs three months ago, so we moved. Classmate: What kind of experiments do you guys do? Danny: Dan's a chemist. He likes to create antidotes to various poisons or toxic substances. Last month, he made the new Anti-Fear Gass Antidote! Classmate: *scoff* Yeah, right, and I'm the tooth fairy Classroom: *laughs* Teacher: Alright, everyone, settle down. Danny, welcome to Gotham, but you should be careful with your fibs. They can be dangerous in this city. Danny: I'm not lying. Teacher: Of course not. Everyone turn to pages three and twelve in your math textbooks- Danny, please sit down. Danny: *sits* It wasn't a lie Damian: I believe you. Danny: Really? Damian: Yes, my Father signs Dan Fenton's paychecks. Danny: Oh, does he work at Wayne Labs, too? Damian: .....In a way. Would you happen to know who I am? Danny: Damian Al Ghul. I heard you tell the teacher you prefer that name. Damian: .....Yes. Your pronunciation of my last is perfect. Most people claim it's too hard. Danny shrugs: If I can learn to pronounce Obi-Wan Kenobi, I can learn how to say your last name. Most people are just rude. Damian, under his breath: Is this the rush Mother felt when she found her Beloved? Danny: What? I'm sorry I didn't catch that Damian: Do not worry about it. Merely know that you belong to me now Danny: Like a friend? Damian:.....In a way. Danny: Cool :D

[bosspigeon]

love seeing a typo that turns a particular word into my starter name 😅

[prisonhannibal]

the loumand relationship was actually crazy I can’t believe it lasted for 77 years. like imagine dating a guy who’s clearly not over his ex to the point that he hallucinates him when the two of you are on dates and even in bed with you and he says no when asked if you’re companions and you don’t really have compatible lives because you are a coven leader and he doesn’t really gaf about all that or the theater AND he has a daughter/sister but you don’t wanna be a step parent and told her she should die. then you massively fuck him over and try to get him killed bc you don’t trust that the relationship will last, but he survives (because of his ex) so you apologize and he tells you he will never forgive you, and then you guys meet up with the previously mentioned ex (who is also your ex, allegedly) who calls you a gremlin and your boyfriend rubs it in his face that he’s gonna stay with you forever just to hurt his feelings. right in front of you. and you literally got his daughter/sister killed so there’s that elephant in the room forever. then you stay together for twenty more years while you lie to him the entire time about what happened in paris and he fucks and kills 100+ guys and you’re clearly mad about it but won’t tell him. you get into the worst argument ever where you’re both horrible to each other and intentionally bring up each others worst traumas to hurt each other and he reveals that he finds you boring and that spending twelve hours talking to some guy he just met about his ex was more interesting than being in a relationship with you for decades. so obviously you hold the guy hostage and psychologically torture him and then wipe both of their memories. then presumably the relationship continues in the same deranged fashion for fifty years, where you do stuff like build shelves he can’t even reach because you can fly and he can’t, but at least you got an ipad to play on in bed when the two of you are lying half a meter apart in bed. then he decides to bring back the same guy from 50 years ago to do another interview and you listen to him talking lovingly about your (allegedly) mutual ex and how good the sex was for hourssss. and somehow your solution to all of this is to make the marriage work by constantly lying, manipulating him, deleting memories from his brain and spinning a whole web of lies that you had to keep going for more than seventy years just so he wouldn’t leave you for the ex. WHY ARE THE TWO OF YOU TOGETHER! why do you want to make this relationship last!! can’t even go to couples therapy because this is a whole new type of fucked that they don’t even teach in therapy school

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[vampzity]

1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I’ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill the detailed form here!

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, but, how does Batman deal with swear words? The short answer is that he doesn’t. Bruce is the Expert in pretending that he Didn’t Hear That.

Dick knows more curse words in more languages then you can imagine. He grew up in a multinational circus—he has heard it all. For the longest time he could get away with saying some pretty explicit shit simple because Bruce had no idea what the fuck he was saying. By the time Bruce put two and two together, he was a little embarrassed he’d let it go on so long, so he just decided it Wasn’t His Problem and continued to ignore it. Nowadays, Dick has mostly grown out of the swearing, and when he does swear it is most always in English.

Jason… holy shit, Jason can swear. He might not know how to say “motherfucker” in twelve different languages like Dick, but he grew up in Park Row, so he’s learned how to get creative. In his Robin days he was know to distract criminals with his impressively long spiels of insults and curse words—and again, Bruce ignored it because he figured it wasn’t all the different from what he’d left Dick get away with. It was up to Alfred to inform Jason that cursing out a criminal is acceptable but cursing out that annoying lady from the gala is most certainly not. (Steph, who came from a similar background to Jason, has pretty much the same experience.)

Tim knows how to curse but doesn’t do it often. Isaw a post once about how he picked up a bunch of swear words from both Dick and Jason, and I internalized that, so I definitely believe he curses creatively and in multiple different languages—though he’s good at keeping it to himself when Bruce is around. He realized early on that when he cursed it the field, it reminded Bruce of Jason, which was in no way conductive. So he doesn’t curse.

I have a feeling that Talia was like an Almond Mom but on steroids, so she definitely did not allow Damian to curse. Nonetheless he picked some words up, and occasionally will shout something in Arabic or Chinese when he’s particularly irritated.

Cass exclusively flips people off. Why use words when her middle finger can convey the same message?

[screampied]

‘GHOSTIN' ?! ★

ᡴꪫ sum. it's midnight and you're bored. bored and horny. everyone knows ghosts aren't real, or are they? you end up summoning a ghost and he's not leaving anytime soon, in fact, he wants to give you a taste of your own medicine for disrupting his slumber. you get a taste, alright.

wc. 5.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghost! toji, unprotected, switch toji, praise, dirty talk, oral (m! receiving), manhandling, spit, impact play, brēeding, biting, size kink, mentions of tummy bulge, nipple play.

an. don't summon ghosts unless their name is toji fushiguro idk

don’t summon ghosts they said—you’ll regret it in the end they said,

but who cares? not you. besides, it’s not like ghosts even exist. you’ve never been one to believe in paranormal activity anyway, although all of that starts to change on a specific night. this night, the clock just struck twelve and you’re bored out of your skull. it was an ordinary sunday night and it was just you and your dead quiet apartment walls. as you’re scrolling on your phone, glancing at your feed a certain link catches your eye. wanna summon a ghost? click here to find out how.

to keep it brief, your curiosity eventually gets the best of you. with a snort, very much not believing the lengthy follow up article that warns you of the possible dangers to come of the spirit, you go into your bathroom, following the steps before your lights flicker. at first nothing happens, oh, see you knew ghosts weren’t real. annoyed a bit that you wasted fifteen minutes of your time—you prepare to leave the restroom when you feel a cold hand on creep on your shoulder.

“tch. the nerve,” a rough voice murmurs behind you. you tense up, craning your neck to indeed see the ghost that was displayed on the picture. yet, he looks more human-like if anything. toji, the name that was said to be his. toji eyes you up and down before a scoff leaves from his reddened slick lips. “why’d you summon me..”

you’re taken aback immediately. with a staggering height of almost six feet, you meet the soulless eyes of a mere attractive spirit. “i— uh,” you sheepishly peer down at your feet, not in a million years thinking it’d actually work. “you’re a real ghost?”

“uh obviously,” he murmurs, mocking your expense. trodding his bare feet across your carpet floor as if he knows the layout, he scratches his chest. “eh, what a mess. you live here?”

ouch, so he was hot and rude. figures,

you take a moment to gawk at the ghost’s attire. nothing really too appealing—just a simple white t-shirt with sweats. it almost could be mistaken as an eerie nightgown if you squint. again, he looks more human than an actual spirit. it was just the paleness of his skin that gave away his non-human features. his clothes weren’t the only thing you were staring at though.

his bulge,

its hard to not notice it, especially with a size like toji’s. you spot the invading print poke through his sweats, the roundness of it, basking in all its dirty glory. you had to restrain yourself from making a fool of yourself — licking your lips and almost allowing your lewd, obscene thoughts to take over. you couldn’t help it though, it was quite literally all in your face. you’re so entrapped in your little phantasm that you don’t even feel the ghost flicking his chilly cold fingers against your forehead.

“girl are you even listening?” he rasps.

“h-huh?” you look up, snapping out of whatever trance had you on such a leash.

toji deadpans, a groan sliding past his lips before he eyes you up and down. his gaze alone makes you nervous. “don’t huh me, i saw what you were looking at,” and he peels up his shirt with a single hand, exposing his curled up washboard abs. god, even as a ghost he was so ripped. your eyes ogle down towards the sable-black boxers he wore, the hem of it peeking from over his pants before he hums, amused. “wanna feel?”

“can i…?” your voice trails off, and it’s so pathetic and soft. you could hardly recognize your own softened tone but you didn’t care.

“knock y’erself out.” he hoarsely shrugs, and you barely give him a chance to finish before your fingers twang against his skin.

immediately, you feel how cold his body was, a shivering temperature that ghosts against your digits as you feel against his body. jade pupils of his burn into you as he watches intently. the hardness of his abs — you feel everywhere, the texture of it was rock hard. his muscles, the way he carried himself, the flexing of his abs. it was all just so attractive. despite how the lower half of his body was freezing, you continued to let your fingers wander on every part of his abdomen.

“you’re cute,” he murmurs, and you don’t realize he’s been staring at you the entire time. toji had to admit, for a human, you were quite easy on the eyes. maybe even his type, if he was a human himself. “are ya always this handsy towards people you first meet or…?”

“not really,” you huff, and your hand trails deeper until it stops near a certain area.

his happy trail,

it was so pretty, jumbles of blackened curly hairs run down near the under part of his v-line. he’s so perfectly sculptured. it was easy to compare his ghostly anatomy to a mere greek god. so perfect, the more your fingers explore down his muscular frame, the colder your fingertips get. “wow, are you sure you’re not a human?”

“wanna find out?”

his words struck right into you like a knife strikes its enemy — you pause, leering up at him with glossy eyes and a slight head tilt. in a coy tone, you rub the back of your neck. “y- yes.”

“c’mere then, girl.”

inching towards him, the ghost then pulls you into a longing kiss. its passionate at first then shifts to sloppy. you moan, feeling him try to pry open your lips with his tongue to allow him access. you do, savoring his freshly minty taste and even his tongue was just as cold. toji tasted like hypothermia—chillingly cold, yet your lips stuck against his like ice. speaking of, his lips stuck against yours like velcro, like glue. your breathing continues to grow heavier by the second before he snakes a hand around your neck, giving it a delicate squeeze. already, you were weak for his touch. toji’s thumb skids against the middle opening of your throat, physically feeling the vibrated sensations pour out from your sweet little esophagus.

a gasp wretches from your throat once you feel the front of his knee go right between your legs. it’s sneaky, the friction you feel from that muscle alone earns a soft noise from you. you whine in his mouth as tongues dance and tangle together in harmony.

where there’s harmony, there’s sync,

he loved the way your tongue curls into his mouth, tasting and savoring his minty flavor. you only wanted more by each dreadfully long second that passes. wobbly arms of yours sling around his neck and the static from his rubbing knee only grows. “f-fuck.” you’d whimper between hot, sultry kisses. suddenly, the air felt thick and heavy. you’re panting, lungs already feeling like they were about to collapse as he gingerly starts to suck on your neck. while he does, you succinctly open your eyes to see him already staring at you. darkened raven eyes, long untrimmed bangs that almost shield his eerie pupils alone, his eyes told a thousand stories.

his eyes told a thousand stories and maybe you wanted to know more about this ghoulish visitor.

after a while, the steamy kiss ends up departing and you gasp for air. “knees, pretty. get down for me.”

with how compliant you were, it was almost amusing to see. you get down on your knees, being face first with his bulge yet again. you just wanted to run your tongue everywhere. so full and well rounded, you already started to feel the saliva trickle into your mouth. mouthwatering. toji’s eyes rove towards the pullover hoodie you wore. with an impish expression, he claws a hand over your head delicately. a free finger of his crooks near your chosen attire.

“this. take it off, wanna see more of your body.” he utters in a low tone.

“for a ghost, you’re pretty pervy.” you tease, hauling the piece of clothing over your head.

“girl please. says the mortal staring at my crotch,” and as your hoodie is suddenly removed, he takes a good peek at your bra. he simpers. “mhm,” he inhales for a second, taking in your frame for a few solid moments. toji’s eyes then glance towards your chest. “bra, take that off too.”

you unclasp the back strap of your bra with one hand and he grunts once he sees your breasts spring free. “fuck, y’er pretty. ‘m gonna ‘hafta take my time with you.”

and he does,

toji’s got you on all fours, cutely struggling to take him fully into your mouth. his ruby-colored tip greets you and you can’t help but skitter your tongue against the frenulum. he groans, raking a hand in your scalp. as he’s standing, he moves a few strands of hair away from your face. “yeah, open that jaw. get it wet, spit on it if you have to, doll.”

“mmf,” a muffled moan comes from you as your knees dig into the ground. his taste was flavorless and still you wanted to savor it. sweet like candy, toji’s scent alone clogs up your nostrils and his darkened pubic hair tickle against the rim of your nose. he’s just so big though, so fucking big . .

as you’re taking him down inch by inch, it’s hard to try not to gag as he continues to gradually shove himself into your throat. toji’s abs clench and tighten as he sees your jaw hang open, giving you a single thrust and you pull away to gasp. already, you’re starting to drool for him. with your mouth left open ajar, it had easy access to the saliva dribble down the sides of your lips and onto your chin.

“heh, ‘s too big for you? that’s my bad.” he purrs.

“shut up,” you grumble, your tongue licking alongside his dick. a throbbing vein of his that runs down his side pulses against your tongue and you hear him hiss. toji’s still got a hand combing into your hair, pulling your head up concisely just so he can see that pretty face one more time. “so f-fuckin’ big.”

“this is just y’er mouth, wait ‘till ya feel me from the inside.”

you roll your eyes at his cockiness, preparing to take him inside of your mouth again. your spit covered lips open up and he coos once he sees that you’re slobbering. you let a few amounts of your sheeny saliva pour onto his shaft, wetting it in the process. “play with y’er tits, use ‘em.”

you grab ahold of your plump mounds, brushing a thumb against your perked nipples before your head starts to bob. as he’s sinking his dick into your tight little throat, he groans.

toji could get used to the warmth of your mouth, your plush lips suffocating all around him — he was addicted, and so were you.

with your head resuming to jolt up and down, bobbing repeatedly from the decent pace, your tongue continues to flick against his leaky tip, relishing in the bitterly sweet pre-cum that resides against the very top. another muffled moan slips past your lips as you’re still playing with your breasts, feeling them bounce against each other in crude tandem.

“such a pretty mouth… ugh,” he tightens his grip against your hair, thrusting his hips into you a bit. you break your hands away from your tits to latch onto his thighs. immensely, your fingers dig into the cottony fabric of his sweatpants. toji starts to pant laboriously. heave after heave, you’ve got him sweating already. peeping down, his dick twitches at the sight of your spit dribbling down the corners of your pretty purses lips.

as it travels — it cascades like a waterfall, landing between the curvature of your chest. “mhm, jus’ like that. good girl. haah, ‘s good.”

as his hands rummage in your hair, it’s still maintaining its strengthening grip—you inhale through your nose as your head bounces in consistency. his fingers were still crispy cold, you’re feeling frosty all the way from the waist down.

not only were you feeling frosty though, you were throbbing..

it was no mistake. the sudden adds of multiplying throbs that pang against your pussy makes you start to whine as a hand of yours reaches between your thighs. your panties protect your slick arousal and a pout contorts against your lips as you’re still having your mouth stuffed full of ghostly cock.

“f-fuuuck, y’er fuckin’ nasty. play with y’erself while ya suck me off, do it.” he groans, it was as if he read right through your mind. toji’s breathing starts to pick up as he’s keeping strict eye contact with you. doe-eyed and all, your lashes suddenly shut close for a few seconds. toji meanly pistons his hips, and you moan as you drag your fingers against your sheathed pussy. peeling your laced panties to the side—you strum two digits against your slick entrance, starting to rut back and forth. toji snickers, ruffling the top of your head. “gonna fill this throat up with so much cum, you want that, sweets?”

abruptly, you pry your mouth away from his fattened dick before breathing in a gasp of fresh air. slyly, you hum, a hand wrapping around his hefty base. “don’t you mean with ectoplasm?”

“y’er mouth’s getting smart,” he sneers, grabbing ahold of your head before making you go back down.

toji started to get addicted to your frisky tongue. the way it’s so sloppy, slurping up every part of his fervor, he only wanted more.

he’s a ghost and well, it’s been a while..

as his dick perfectly tucks inside of your mouth, you take him even further. a clammy hand of yours starts to fondle with his balls and he groans. with his jaw tightening, he starts to feel his thigh pounce. “fuuuuck me,” he heaves lowly, knowing his finish was about to approach rather sooner than later. he was just so thick in your throat, tap-tapping away at your little uvula. toji stares at your pretty slobbering lips, your hands still crammed all up inside of your cunt before he presents a more thorough thrust into your mouth.

a familiar primal heat pools into the very depths of your tummy before you hear toji suck his teeth.

it’s a long, deep and sexy groan.

it bellows throughout the thin walls of your small apartment — his face turns sour and you start to feel a surprised guest get introduced on your tongue.

his cum tastes more sweet which was peculiar. usually it’s tastelessly bitter, bland and purely insipid.

but with him, it was sugary sweet. as he pours such volumes of satiny ropes into your mouth, your hands continue to cling onto his pants. it’s a lot, with the way the ghost’s cock erupts into your mouth it’s like a volcano. spitting out such gooey sums of seed. its warmth has you wanting more, as it fills the very inside of your mouth, your tongue swirls all around the savory uncanny mixture.

toji yokes your head back, taking his heavyset dick out of your mouth and you gawk at how red it was now. from the very top, a smile stretches against your lips knowing you did that. swollen, fat balls of his were all in your face, neglected and just desperate to be played with a bit more.

“shit,” he sighs, taking a moment to breathe. toji looks down at your dumb expression, more smug than anything. a hand of his cups underneath your chin before he bends down, pulling you into a deep kiss. again, you return the favor, glissading your tongue against his. it tickles and tangos together, enjoying each other’s wet company. he grunts, reveling in the sweetened taste of his own cum that’s just residing inside your mouth. no shame, no shame at all. the kiss was much sloppier this time—toji pulls away to lick near the corner of your lips, capturing a few remnants of his own seed that tries to stream down from your mouth and below toward your chin. breaking away, he grabs your neck softly, giving you an intimating stare. “you,” the ghost murmurs, his eyes flickering towards your bed. “i wanna break you.”

“you’ll have to pay for that you kn-”

“don’t make me drag you, human.”

you let off a soft playful ‘oof’ once you’re faintly tossed on your own bed. his strength was out of this world— quite literally though,

you look at toji and he inches himself closer towards you. as he leans in for another warm kiss, his body presses up against yours. he starts to grind against you, the friction leaves a wave of fuzz in your ears that never seems to go away. cold glacial lips squashing against your own as you flick your tongue against his, moaning for more. as he’s claiming your mouth in such a rough way, you start to paw at his pants. you feel a simper tug against his lips as he makes out with you, feeling the weight of the bed collapse and shriek a bit in ponderous discomfort.

“taste so good,” he grouses, withdrawing his lips to nip chaste kisses near your neck. you moan, feeling him prop between your thighs. he then licks all against the hidden crevices of your collarbone. “ever fucked a ghost before?”

“usually i’m more into humans,” you pant, and he gives you a subtle eye roll. if you knew a ghost such as toji would look this good — perhaps you’d summon him a long time ago on that stupid link.

“really, oh,” he plays along, prying your legs open a bit to take a quick peek at what he was about to destroy. with low hooded eyes, toji grunts as he sees your soaked pussy all open and on display for him. a padded thumb of his runs down your puffy slit and your legs twitch slightly as a greeting response. “mhm, such a pretty cunt. tell me though,” he huffs, enveloping all five digits around his cock to give it two single pumps. he prods his leaky cockhead against your entrance, watching you writhe underneath him. “before you summoned me, were ya playin’ with her?”

her as in between your legs, your pussy,

for some reason, toji addressing your cunt as her made you throb profusely. you felt it. an annoying ring screams through your ears as you slump back against your bed, your ankles making an attempt to lock around him. “n- no.”

“y- yea,” he mimicks your little stutter. your mouth drops as you feel yourself starting to gape open for him the moment he starts delve his dick into your pussy. he was so big, you feel the curve of the head and it’s just voluntarily crooking inside of you. toji gives you a side eye with misty peripherals, watching as you make an attempt to hide your face within the crack of your elbow. “nah, girl. don’t hide that pretty face from me. i wanna see you while i stretch you out.”

you moan, feeling his frigid fingers peel your arm away and he’s got a full face view of you.

already, your toes started to center with feelings of pure numbness. his thick cock splits inside of you so good that it’s already got you whimpering out elongated syllables. your voice was a euphony, “oh my g-goddd,” you whimper out, grabbing ahold of his shoulders. toji falls into your chest, still easing his way into your accepting walls. it’s relatively hot inside, smoldering gummy walls of yours entrap him, holding him hostage. he sibilates out a single hiss as you’re still trying to adjust to his massive size. his sack hangs from the base down and you let off a lusty giggle, already cockdrunk. “s-so the rumor’s true that ghosts have big dicks, f-fuck you’re gonna split me open.”

“heh, oh? that’s a fact, not a rumor,” he playfully flicks your forehead. a hand of his then clasps around your thigh. he spreads it apart, sinking into you further. he’s so deep, halfway in that your stomach’s already seizing. it was his tip that made you feel everything at once. the girth he has, he makes sure you feel every inch, every part. toji’s filling every area of your orifice with his spectral shaft. “ugh, clampin’ around me so good,” and he presses a palm against your tummy. “feel me here, yeah?”

and you do, as his hand gingerly brushes against the outer skirts of your stomach, your lips part into an ‘o’ shape of surprise. “y- yesss, fuck. ‘s deep, toji.”

“fuck,” he groans, and you let off a cute astounded, ‘oh’ once you feel him fully plug you all the way in. it’s a popping noise that you’ll never forget. heavy balls of his creates a single thrust and you jolt all the way back. clawing at the backsides of his skin, you whimper out a sweet melodic hum. “pussy’s gonna get me addicted, girl.”

your legs lock and ensnare around toji’s slim waist as he starts up a pace—he’s slow and steady at first. slow and steady wins the race, but with a dick as big as his, you’re already losing. not so much physically, at least not yet.

just a few fathomless thrusts from the ghost and you were whipped, starving for more. hungry even.

perhaps if this was some sort of dream, you didn’t wanna wake up. it all felt to real to just be your imagination anyway,

his hits against you were just so good that it was brutal. toji’s got you laid against your back so he can stare right into your eyes. he’s panting, gawking openly as he feels you bare down on him. your dense walls squeeze around him before he’s starting up a more salacious tempo. you could barely even keep up. you whine, craning your neck to the left a bit — to the right, then to the left for the umpteenth time. your legs were already shuddering, your cunt feels so stuffed of his shaft that you’re already flumped against the mattress. not even before long, it’s stares to bounce and judder from the clumps of weight on top of it. you dig your teeth into toji’s shoulder, whimpering at how he repeatedly thwacks his tip against that forbidden g-spot. “t- toji, tojiiii,” you hiccup, cross eyed and doe-eyed.

he could listen to your voice all day, a tune he could forever hum.

for the nth time within seven seconds, your pussy squelches from the parching sensations of pleasure. you’re so wet, sopping so much that you put faucets to shame. toji feels your slick trying to snail its way all the way down to his base. “that’s it, mhm. fuck against me, girl. c’mon, yeah,” he shushes up against your ear, licking against your lobe. you shiver, his voice all deep with a slight hint of rasp in it. a raw moan grabs itself from the back of your throat and you feel a hand of his snakes its way towards your jouncing tits. toji groans—leaning in to suck against your neglected nipples, feverish breath ghosting against your sweet skin before you whine. “god, you taste so mmf, good.”

as he’s still jerking his sharp hips into you at full might, his tongue swirls around your pretty nubs, savoring it. another ear splitting ‘pop’ leaves his lips each time he breaks away from your mounds. “could eat you up.”

“f- fuck, ‘s good, toji. harder p-pleaseee,” you mewl out, his weight that hovers over you sends you shivers all throughout your spine and body. strained deep inhales escape from your heavy lungs as you feel his calloused fingertips dance against your skin. a big hand of toji’s caresses alongside the curvilinear juncture of your body, your pretty physique—taking in your humanly beauty. oh, a sight for sore eyes.

toji was almost positive he was addicted to you, he’s fucking you so deep that he makes it so easy for you to jerk away from from your attentions. he even has a scent to him. despite his phantom being, his aurora alone was just enticing. its strong. the musk infiltrates the insides of your flared up nostrils and you whine again. your whine was more of a choke, clinging onto his back, scraping your nails down his tense back muscles.

“f-fuck, squeezin’ around me so good, baby,” he groans, leafy eyes staring into yours the entire time. toji leans in to nip kisses everywhere on your face, near your neck, and right back to your chest again. your body, he could get used to this,

to you.

maybe humans weren’t all that bad,

toji’s hips were rude, the perfect way to describe it. it really knew no bounds, he knew no bounds.

your glossy eyes glance up at him and he’s got nothing but a sly smirk plastered on his face. you study his features as he’s plowing you deeply into your own bed—the bed creeks and creeks that it sounds like it’s hanging onto his final hinges.

as you’re gazing into his features, the first thing you notice was that scar.

he’s got a slanting, slashing scar that runs down near the right side of his mouth. surprisingly, it makes him ten times more attractive than he already was. as you’re trapped in your own thoughts again, he moves his face closer to you to kiss an alluring slope down the side of your neck. just a few minutes with you and he was already memorizing each particular spot of yours.

an adorable lewd expression marinated against your features as your pussy continues to slosh and squeak against his thickened cock. he’s so big inside of you, your tummy ends up extending a bit from his angles he’s hitting. toji never misses a spot though, he’s a precise man, a precise ghost,

you’re left stupid with your tongue visibly lolling out. he can’t help but chuckle.

“look at that tongue, mhm,” and he takes the opportunity to suck against the limp muscle. you whine, hugging his beefy body tightly as you suddenly feel agitated with the pure feeling of your arousal. pretty soon, you were getting close.

he was too—he could feel it, warm bodies against each other, he was gonna lose it.

toji’s mouth goes against your neck, exposing his pearly whites and he bares a single fang. he buries it into the crook of your neck again, adam’s apple bobbing out from each guttural moan that detaches from him.

“f-fuck fuck,” you sob out, your ankles securely locking around his hips as he’s making more haste. you let off a tiny whine, his teeth gently nibbling against your flavorsome flesh. you tasted so sweet, he craved you. crimson lips of his twitch before he pulls you into another kiss. this time, it’s more passionate. as his tongue explores the very depths of your mouth, his tempo was now relentless. flimsy arms of yours continue to flop due to your weak grip against his wide shoulders before he gently bites your bottom lip. “inside,” you huff, licking the edge of his scar. a faint purr comes from toji once you do that and it’s a bit cute. “wanna feel you from the inside.”

“careful,” he groans into your neck, pressing a palm onto your tummy again. “you might get possessed after this.”

you pause, giving him a furrowed eyebrow look and he only sneers at you.

“joking, ghost cum ‘s harmless, baby. i think..”

he was nothing but a mere tease, you roll your eyes before you babble over and over in his ear for him to shoot inside of you. with ease, he’s emitting out all kinds of moans from you. you’re so loud, he’s got sensitive ears so it makes his ears twitch. your voice though, he’s so drawn in to hearing every little whine that departures from the backs of your precious throat.

welts of pleasure surge through your body as your chest recoils against his. gnawing down on your lip, you spasm once it finally approaches.

it’s a wave, pouring into you all at once. the crash was unexpected. expect the unexpected, they say.

your legs felt zealously numb, your eyes dramatically roll back as your high finally comes. it’s so much, you could still feel your cunt gaping. a whiney grunt cuts out of your throat before a squeal shortly follows. waves and waves of pleasure make way for you, pupils twinkling with stars, you were experiencing pure ecstasy.

shortly afterward, toji’s comes and when he cums, it’s a lot. he spurts into you in volumes, it dumps into you so good that you’re left twitching. suddenly, you grow quiet from the way his palm swats over your mouth. “listen to it with me. saved so much for you.”

and his words were slow, his breaths were slow, everything was ploddingly slow.

you don’t think you’ve ever felt more full in your life, your cunt constricts one more time around his length before you let off a dry whimper. “mmm,” you inhale a candied breath, he’s still buried balls deep. his hilt thrashes against your sodden entrance gently before he pulls out, staring at the mess. such goopy amounts of cum pour out of your slit, he brings two fingers to peel back against your sloppy folds. you’re covering him with your slick, viridescent eyes of his peer down to see the head of his cock still oozing out with gluey white masses of seed. “toji..”

“atta girl,” he whispers, hearing the little falter in your voice.

so cute,

he’s filled you up to the brim and that was only just the beginning. “i know. i kn—” and he pauses, being cut off as he feels you bedaub his sensitive tip against your greedy cunt. you move it against your opening slit, watching as it tries to swallow it hole before you pull it back outs you’re still oozing and his eyes flicker to white for a second. “fuuuck, ‘m still sensitive girl.” and he’s the one to let off a whine this time. toji’s weight still hangs against you before you drag him into a kiss while hearing his deprived whimpers feed into your mouth. jet black strands of his tickle against your forehead as he grinds his hips against you, already weak for you. the epitome of pussy drunk. whatever spell you had, he wanted to know what it was. perhaps your pussy was a curse he wasn’t aware of.

your taste was just too tasteful. with the way you linger on his tongue like a treat, he only wanted more. toji pulls away after a while, shaft still halfway into you—idle, not moving a single inch. he’s buried but remains still. a shimmery concoction of spit leaves each lips and toji pants as your lips stray away from his. toji’s lungs feel like they were on fire, each breath he takes feels like it’s being snatched away.

“you,” he exhales, a thumb curling underneath your chin. with a needy look, the ghost’s confidence throws itself out the window and his bottom lip quavers a bit. he pants, making you switch positions and he pats his lap, pouting. “you, on top of me. i- i want more of you. please.”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

You land hard, elbows hitting the ground with a jolt of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that someone is screaming—Blue is screaming. The heat in your veins fizzles, your heart jolting. Ghost has already sped off toward camp, pulling a knife from his ankle, and you scramble to your feet to follow.

Your movements are clumsy, your mind replaying the last few seconds, searching for any signs of trouble you might have missed. The air is clear, the trees are quiet, the ground is still. Yet, as you weave through the tall grasses that swipe at your ankles, you finally hear it—muffled voices, unmistakably human. They grow sharper with each step you take. 

Ghost reaches camp first, stopping in a lethal stance. You roll in just behind him, eyes snapping to where Blue stands behind the fence, alive and aiming one of her dad’s rifles at four strangers. Still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the rifle through a gap in the fortification. Two of the strangers are mounted on a brown horse, while the other two flank their sides, backs swollen with rucksacks and chests thick with gear. There is no doubt they have weapons.

"D-don't come any closer or I'll blow your heads off! I mean it!"

“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of them says calmly. A man.

“I don’t care why you’re here! You need to leave before my dad…” Her eyes flicker to you. “Dad!”

When their heads turn in your direction, you waste no time arching the knife over your head. You’re not much without your bow, but this is all you have.

In a split second, your eyes land on the burliest of the group, a man with a boonie hat and a dense, brown beard. He was the one speaking. The leader, maybe. You aim the knife for his head, but before you can throw it, Ghost grabs your wrist, wrenching you to his chest without warning, the knife falling to the ground.

"Wait," he says in your ear, his breath steady against your skin. There’s a detectable lilt of surprise in his voice. You try to squirm free, but he holds tight. "Stay here."

He lets go. Confusion reels through you. Everything in you screams to pick up the knife, but you hesitate as Ghost signals for Blue to lower the gun.

He calmly walks over to the intruders, heading to the man you were aiming for. The air feels thick as you watch with parted lips, stance still readied and breath racing. Ghost stops in front of him, and the two stare at each other strangely before the man smiles.

A strong hand reaches for Ghost’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.”

The clanking of metal against ceramic plates and the low murmurs of a fire fill the cabin.

Your spine presses into the wall.

There isn’t a free chair at the table, but you’re not sure you’d sit in one even if there was. Blue stands beside you, hands laced in front of her. She’s silent. You are, too. The cabin feels cramped with seven people in it. It makes your skin itch. 

You can inspect them more thoroughly now that you’re not thinking about who to kill first. 

There are two men—the older one you believe Ghost called Price, and a younger one you think he called Kyle. He’s fine-looking, you figure, underneath the overgrowth of facial hair and grime smudged on his dark skin. He had a tan cap on earlier but now a head of short, black hair is free for him to slick fingers through every now and then. Then there is a woman, some years older than you. She’s beautiful in a raw, Grecian sort of way, with long black hair and a violet undertone to her skin. Lastly, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. It doesn't take much to discern he is related to Kyle in some way.

They all look starving, though not as much as you once were. Nevertheless, Ghost is feeding them more than scraps. Canned beans, rice, and rabbit. They shovel it into their mouths. The men have muscles on them, so they can’t have been struggling much. Based on all the supplies they carry and the horse tied to a tree outside, you’ve figured they’ve been traveling for some time. A flurry of questions runs through your brain, but your lips remain in a tight line.

Ghost hasn’t said much yet. He hasn't even explained who they are. Your slitted eyes flicker to him. While the strangers fill up the table, he hovers beside it. His body speaks more than his expression. His shoulders are not tense and lethal as they'd been when you first sat at that table scarfing down food. But they're not relaxed, either; his arms crossed, still exposed from the black tee he'd put on for training, giving way to the slight flexes in his corded muscles that signal even he is thrown off by their presence. 

But he trusts them enough to let them in here. With the way they carry themselves, and the fact that Ghost hasn't killed them, they must've been in the military together. He doesn't seem like the type to have had normal friends. 

Kyle speaks first.

He thrums the pads of his fingertips against the wood and clears his throat, breaking your thoughts. "We were hoping you'd still be here, but it was a shot in the dark."

"I’ve never left," Ghost says, plainly.

Kyle sips from his mug and wipes his mouth, then his eyes shift toward you. You meet his gaze with a hardened look. 

"We're sorry for scaring you."

It takes a moment to realize his words aren't for you. Blue glances to her toes. "I wasn't scared." 

His lips lift. "Of course not. It's us who should've been scared of crossing paths with Simon Riley's kid. You did the right thing, you know. Protecting yourself."

"I didn't realize you knew my dad." She nibbles her lip and looks up. "My name is Blue, by the way. And this is..." Her eyes flick to you. "My friend, Twix."

Your tongue pokes your cheek as you look over the new faces. What are you supposed to say? 

"Hi," is all you settle on.

Ghost clears his throat. "Kid, why don't you clean some more water for them."

Blue nods dutifully, lingering only a second before pouring more river water into the pot over the fire.

"Thank you for your kindness. We haven't had a warm meal like this in days," the woman says kindly.

"It's a strong setup you've made for yourself," Price speaks, one hand stroking his beard while he pushes the cleared plate away with the other. He leans back, boonie hat still cradling his head and casting a shadow over his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of warm brown irises that might've comforted you in any other circumstance.

"It's lasted me this long." Ghost shifts his weight slightly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Near the base by the border, further north."

"Last I heard you were in Manchester."

"Once the radios went out, we picked up my wife," he touches the woman's shoulder, "Nereida, and Kyle's nephew here, Ari, from Newcastle. Made camp with a few others. Served us well for the past five years."

Ghost slowly nods and then drawls, "And Soap?”

Price leans his forearms on the table. "Not quite sure. The base was falling apart, but he stayed back, saying he'd meet up with us once he could. That was five years ago."

You're not sure who Soap is, someone else they worked with, maybe. There is a brief pause before Ghost asks, "Why did you leave?"

"More and more of 'em, Simon," Price replies with a slight shake of his head, emitting a low breath. "Made it difficult to even get food."

"Too many of them, not enough of us," Nereida murmurs distantly. Her hand slips under the table, out of view. You imagine it resting on Price's thigh as she leans into him with a weighted sigh. "They always seem to be moving. Not with a destination in mind, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they ruined our setup. We decided to leave before that could happen."

Kyles adds, "It wasn't an easy decision, but living in anticipation of the worst isn't really living at all."

Your brows lower. “Where exactly could you be headed that wouldn't mean living in anticipation of the worst?” you can't stop yourself from asking, the question burning in your mind. 

Price leans back, those warm brown eyes finding yours. A short heartbeat passes before he answers simply, "Switzerland."

The absurdity of that single word response forces a disbelieving, chuffed breath through your nose. Of all the things this stranger could have said, that would have to be the least expected. You anticipate an equally surprised reaction from Ghost, but he seems unnervingly unfazed. Blue, however, swivels her head from where she sits cross-legged in front of the fire.

"What the fuck is Switzerland?"

"It's another country," the boy—Ari—answers.

Blue glances between him and her dad. "Like... not in England?"

Ari snorts softly. "No, not in England. It's across the channel."

"The channel?" Blue frowns. "That's... far, isn't it?"

"Very far," Nereida confirms with a nod.

The subject is brusquely dropped when Ghost reaches for their cleared plates. "You must want to bathe while you're here. There's a river nearby."

Price clears his throat. "These two can go first." He gestures to the woman and child.

Soon enough, you become irritatingly aware of what's happening; you're being shooed away, along with the kids and Nereida, so the three of them can speak privately. There isn't much room to object as you shuffle out of the cabin, carrying a handful of rags for them to wash with along with the homemade soap that you once used to wash away the grime and earth that caked up from traveling. 

The sun beats hard, the river warmer now that spring has aged. Dried sweat clings to your spine from this morning, but bathing yourself is the last thing on your mind now, not when you're still reeling in the presence of people you don't know. You swing a glance at the cabin behind your shoulder, something in your gut twisting. Ghost doesn't want you there to hear whatever they're talking about. 

"This is a good spot," Blue says, stopping in front of a shallow part of the bank where the water is warmest. She hands Ari some soap and teeters on her toes. You realize why she keeps staring at him like that; he's probably the only other kid she's met in years. She is even more shy than when she first met you. "Twix and I will look away, don't worry."

You and Blue sit perched on a rock as they wash themselves. 

"This is weird," she admits quietly to you.

"Very," you mumble.

When they're done, you offer Nereida the only clean clothes you have at the moment: one of the oversized shirts Ghost gave you and some jeans. An annoyingly strange thought brandishes your brain... you don't like the way the black fabric sits on her bare chest, nipples poking through, and the hem hanging down to her knees as it does on you. You should've just given her the dirty blouse to wear.

She sits at the edge of the river, wringing her soaked hair with a rag. From the corner of your eye, you catch Blue helping Ari rinse his dirty clothes in the water. You want to keep an eye on him; your knife is still nestled around your ankle in case they try anything, though a woman and preteen don't heighten your paranoia as much. 

"How long have you two been together?"

Her soft voice makes you blink. "What?"

"You and Simon."

You're confused until you recall the revelation from earlier—the man you've known the past few months as Ghost, the one whose hard form laid beneath you just hours ago, is actually Simon. Simon Riley. You're tempted to say the name; try it out. But it is hard to reconcile with. It might taste strange on your tongue. The name fits a version of him that doesn't exist in this world now, you suppose. British. Simple. Like John or Kyle. The name of a lieutenant. The bits of his face you've witnessed crosses your mind; his nose, lips, and chin seem like Simon. The damn mask is Ghost, though.

"Jesus... I am not—" You shake your head, the sun even hotter on your neck. "I'm not with him like that. We're just allies." You glance back at the cabin in the distance and you fight a scowl. "If that."

She runs her fingers through ravenous tendrils. "Oh. I apologize for assuming."

You offer a small smile. "It's fine."

"How long have you been staying here then?"

"Um, a few months now. I used to stay with my sister and a friend, but they died."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You shrug. "Everyone has lost important people."

"Doesn't make it easier," she says. "Ari's mom and younger sister used to be with us," she adds quietly with a solemn downward cast of her eyes, as if a memory has taken her for a moment. "They passed two years ago during a really rough winter along with this other couple we knew. Then it was just the four of us."

You inhale through your nose and release, frowning. "No child should have to experience that."

"No," she agrees, nodding. "They shouldn't. Which is why we're looking for a better life for him."

"And you think you'll find it in... Switzerland."

Nereida offers a half-smile, as if reading your thoughts. "We'd heard of a commune there, up in the mountains."

"A commune? Like what, a town?" 

"Sort of. Just... more people, living together. Protected. Greys make awful climbers, and the mountains there are much higher than anything in the UK."

This catches your attention, and the divot between your brows deepens. "How do you know it exists?"

"Well, we can't know for certain. John heard about it at the beginning of the spread, but it was too difficult to make arrangements at the time, especially when he had to help out at the medical site and then come find me. Things were a mess, I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah, I do." You reel in her words, thinking. "That was... years ago, though. Aren't you taking a huge risk going there now? What if nothing is there?"

"Staying in England would be a risk, too," she counters. "There is nothing here except death and hardship. You can't hide from it forever."

You look down at the water. Cicadas fill your ears, the buzzing drowning out your voice. "No, you can't."

You go on a hunt that afternoon, itching for some space to breathe. Deer tracks are harder to spot without the snow, but you find the unmistakeable marks of antlers against a tree and follow them. You glance around the forest. It feels endless and like a cage at the same time. Which way did they come from? If they made it to camp by morning, that means they spent the night here somewhere. You don't like the idea that others could be so close by, like that car.

The sun has turned orange by the time a healthy doe skirts in your peripherals. You stalk it behind an oak. An arrow flies from your bow, but you miss; the deer flees. You return in the dark empty-handed. No doubt, the visitors are fatigued, with Ghost already setting blankets across the cabin's floor for them to sleep on. You offer Ari the couch, figuring an exhausted kid needs it more than you do. He knocks out the moment he lays down.

"Here. For the night." Ghost offers you a heavy blanket and nods to the only bare spot of floor left after they've all settled down. 

You avoid his eyes and accept it. The moment he's disappeared to his room, you slip outside under the starlit night, finding the flattest patch of ground to lay the blanket down, which happens to be only a few paces away from a sleeping horse. It's not the couch, but it'll do for a night or two, and you refuse to sleep in the shed again. 

You're in the midst of standing back up after straightening out your makeshift bed when you bump into something solid. A hand grips your bicep and whirls you around, a pair of darkened eyes glowering down at you.

"What are you doing?" you breathe up at him. "I don't like when you grab me like that."

"What are you doing?" he retorts, voice low and hard.

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Out here?"

You look away and shimmy out of his hold. "Does it matter where I sleep?"

"It's not safe out here."

"You had no problem sending me out here before."

"You have since earned your keep," he mutters, as if annoyed you're even mentioning the past. 

"My spot is taken for the night by your lovely friends, so for however long you plan to let them stay, I will sleep out here."

"There is a spot on the floor for you inside."

"I'm not sleeping in there." With them. 

The whites of his eyes flash as he darts his gaze over your face. His tone softens perceptibly. A mere breath. "They won't hurt you, Twix."

You roll your eyes away from him. "I would just rather sleep out here by myself, okay? I prefer solitude at my most vulnerable. And it's not like my experiences with militant men have been pleasant so far." You keep your tone neutral, but a chill touches your spine at the memory.

Ghost emits a low huff. He suddenly rips the blanket from the ground and turns his back to you. "What are you doing?" you gape at him.

"You'll take my bed," he throws over his shoulder.

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.