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evangelicgrl · 5 days ago

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“turbulent passion”

huntr/x & saja boys x idol! reader

you’ve accepted the fact that reaching for the spotlight would never be easy, especially with huntr/x around. but when five seemingly perfect men suddenly came into the picture, it changed your life for the better. alas, you forgot that everything comes with a cost.

warnings: slight yandere undertones from the saja boys? nothing too crazy though, just canon typical violence we already know.

wc: 4,132

you bend down and take deep breaths. the choreography you’re practicing this time around was much more difficult than you’d anticipated. did the choreographer your company hired for this really think you could pull this off?

you scoff at the thought.

no, there’s no time for doubts now.

a distinct sound suddenly echoed in the room you're in. startled, you jump slightly. who in god’s green earth could be messaging you right now in the middle of the night? you sighed, you suppose you could use a break for now. your phone went off again, whoever it was, they’re persistent.

you jog towards the desk in the far end of the room where your phone was sitting all alone. when you grab it, you look at the time first. damn, it’s already this late.

you need to head to bed soon if you don’t want to miss out on the busking event you’re supposed to go to tomorrow morning. it’s not like you wanted to, but your manager got mad at you for being indifferent about it so he basically forced you to go. what difference would it make? you’re certainly cognizant of the fact that your idol career is flopping. to add salt to your wound, you were never popular in the first place as well. you’re considered a “nugu idol” for crying out loud.

your debt to your company was piling up and you don’t know how you’re ever gonna pay them back.

shaking off the negative thoughts that keep creeping into your mind nowadays, you read the spam of messages zoey sent you. that’s right, it’s none other than the zoey of huntr/x herself.

( HOLY CRAP have you heard???! a new season of that show you lovr so much just dropped TONIGHT!!!!!! )

( yoohooooo, you there?? )

( I was wondering if youd like tob brngr watch it with me one of these nights )

( *binge. Sorry im eating and ny fingers are slippery ijbol )

( HELLOOOO i know youre awake rn. answer me!!! )

you chuckled, you could always count on her to be energetic even in the dead of night. despite their popularity, you’re glad they still kept in touch with you. more often than not, you find yourself feeling disappointed when you reminisce about your disqualification from the trainee program you and the huntr/x girls were a part of all those years ago pre-debut. then again, you didn’t have that extraordinary “it” factor celine was looking for so you can’t really fault them for anything.

your shortcomings were simply too obvious.

“woah, watch out, [name]!” zoey’s hand instinctively darted out to grab your waist in time, preventing you from falling on the floor. rumi stood up in alarm, but you held up a hand to stop her. “don’t worry, i’m fine. i just slipped.”

“your eyebags beg to differ.” mira snapped at you. you only sighed in response. zoey let go of you when you stood upright again. “[name], what did i tell you about staying up late again?” rumi’s brows furrowed as she slowly walked up to the two of you. “it seems like we have to knock some sense into them if they want to be stubborn.” mira crossed her arms in her chest, still glaring at you.

“ignore mira, [name]. she’s just worried about you.” zoey dismissively waved a hand at mira’s biting remarks.

“damn right, i am!”

“okay, enough. let’s take a 30 minute break and huddle up,” rumi commanded in a steady tone. she may be carefree and goofy like the other two, but it’s times like this that you take notice of how she was… born to be the leader of huntr/x. you smiled. celine raised her well.

the four of you sat down in a circle on the floor. rumi cleared her throat before speaking up, “lately, it seems like all we ever do is practice and be the best huntr/x we can be, but when was the last time we got out to go try eating in different restaurants and cafés?”

your brows scrunched up in confusion. you thought this was going to be a serious meeting.

“yeah, we haven’t been spending some quality time with our dear [name] right here!” zoey giggled as she swung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in towards her, patting down your cheek teasingly. “but we are spending time with each other in this dance studio, aren’t we?” you said unsurely.

“nah, that’s totally different.”

“yep.”

“uh-huh.”

“huh?!” you yelled exasperatedly.

“imagine, [name]. this will be the last time we’ll get to spend time with each other as ourselves outside in public! after we debut, we’ll all have to wear disguises day in and day out,” rumi explained to you, her imploring gaze never leaving your face.

“i know you’re giving yourself a hard time lately, but you’re enough in our eyes, okay? we wouldn’t change you for the world,” mira spoke in a gentle and soft tone, with all of her bravado stripped away. you never told any of them about your insecurities, but mira somehow sees right through you, she always has; she can read your emotions like an open book and give you comfort whenever you need it.

they wished they could say more to you, reassure you that being a part of huntr/x was never going to be for you seeing as you're not a hunter like them. you're just... a human.

“that’s right, so… who wants to go to this underrated cat café I found out about yesterday?!” zoey instantly broke the somber mood, showing off a screenshot of a cute cat logo on her phone screen.

“me!” the three of you simultaneously cheered with zoey joining in shortly after.

looking back now, you’re grateful they always try to promote your new songs and new episodes of the many variety shows you were featured in even though it never really goes anywhere. their fans are too fixated on huntr/x, they don’t have any more room left nor love to give to another idol. in their eyes, rumi, mira, and zoey were enough.

you finally typed a reply to zoey.

( Yes i’m awake. Sorry, just practicing my new choreo lol )

not even two minutes pass by when zoey already replied back.

( bro what??? this late?? you need to take a break or something )

your eyes darkened.

You: ( can’t. my manager will be mad if he finds out i’m slacking off. I’m gonna attend a busking event at Seoul tomorrow morning )

Zoey: ( REALLY?? awwww i wish we could watch… but since a Certain Someone pushed our golden release early, we just started our promotions a few days ago! )

You: ( Lmao im guessing it was rumi?? anyway, its fine! good luck with the promotions! )

Zoey: ( girl yes ughhhh good luck to you too, babe!! LMK when youre up for that binge watch sesh once we wrap up our promotions though. dont thibk i forgot! <3 )

you smiled. the fact that you’re a nobody and they’re korea’s beloved girl group now doesn’t change the bond that blossomed between the four of you when you were just trainees, back when you were naive enough to believe you could make an impact on the cruel world that is the k-pop industry.

zoey was right, you did need a break, but the crippling disappointment and shame you’ll feel after it won’t be worth it. you think you don’t deserve one unless you work harder to impress your manager and subsequently, your company who invested in your talents.

the weather wasn’t doing you any favors while you withstand the heat. was it ever this hot in seoul?

you murmured complaints under your breath as you fanned yourself with both of your hands. when the speaker of the event mentioned your stage name, you snapped out of your reverie and stepped up to the stage. the very few fans you currently have cheered you on while the rest stared at you with silent scrutiny; you cringed inwardly at that.

all things considered, you thought you were doing a pretty good job with your performance. there weren’t any slip-ups nor mistakes on your part. it’s only when you spotted huntr/x among the crowd while they’re in disguise that messed everything up.

your eyes widened.

you missed a key point of your choreography, pulling you out of your groove altogether. your heart beats erratically in your chest and you gasp for air, already feeling an incoming panic attack. before you know it, you were ushered out by the organizers when the crowd started booing you.

when you stepped down from the stage, the three of them grabbed you and dragged you to a nearby alleyway.

“hey, hey [name]! are you alright?” the first one to speak up was rumi, her worried gaze flitting over to your face while she pats you down, feeling for any sort of injuries you might have. you nodded wordlessly. “that was rough, it was a relief the organizers pulled you out before the situation escalated.” you know mira never wants to lie to you, but her blunt remarks sometimes hurt you more than they should.

“yeah… do you want to go to a nearby café and cool off? not a lot of people are around today, that’s how we managed to sneak out.” zoey smiled unsurely. when rumi let go of you, zoey instantly grabbed your hands and brought them closer to her chest, an attempt to ground you to reality and focus on her.

“sure, that would be nice,” you finally replied. zoey beamed at you as she linked arms with you, rumi and mira walking closely in tow.

unbeknownst to the four of you, five pairs of glowing yellow eyes were intently observing you in the dark.

“found your number one weakness.” a certain raven-haired demon chuckled darkly.

“zoey told me the three of you weren’t gonna come and watch?” now that you’ve ordered your respective drinks, you managed to calm yourself down for a proper conversation with them. “well, about that… i wasn’t lying! but we really wanted to watch you so we begged for bobby to let us go this once and fortunately, he did!” zoey clapped cheerfully while the other two smiled and nodded in confirmation, looking proud of themselves.

they were lucky they have a kind and loving man like bobby around; managers like him are hard to find.

the thought was bittersweet.

“your singing has improved a lot, [name]. your tone is much more prominent,” rumi complimented you, a shy smile making its way on her face as she starts to blush. “yeah, your choreo’s getting hotter too. i like it,” mira chimed in, smirking as she sends a cheeky wink your way. “and your expressions! they’re bright and cute!” zoey piled on more compliments.

your face started heating up, compliments from them—from huntr/x—always leave you feeling overwhelmed.

“aw, come on guys. i still have more room for improvement!”

“right, but so do we, you know?” rumi mused. she squeezes your shoulder, the comforting weight making you feel less tense. you nodded and smiled at her in appreciation. the four of you continued to catch up with each other’s lives, work stressors, and other mundane things. you even managed to rope rumi and mira into your binge watch session with zoey.

when mira looked at the clock on the café’s walls, her eyes widened in surprise. “shit, it’s already evening. bobby might get worried if we come later than we promised.”

“oh my god, you’re right! time flew so fast, i didn’t even notice!” zoey exclaimed, hands flying up to her face.

“it was fun hanging out with you today, [name].” rumi wrapped her hands around you in a bear hug, zoey squealed and joined in. “yes! i’m soooo gonna miss this once we start going all in on our promotions!” when the two let go of you, mira walks up to you. she grabs your waist and plants a brief kiss on your forehead. “call us whenever you need anything, ‘kay?” you blushed from the bold intimate action.

“will do! goodbye huntr/x, knock ‘em out dead!” with a teasing smile on your lips, you joked. the three of them laughed, waving goodbye to you before they finally left the café. your smile dropped and you sighed as you sat down on the plush cushion of your seat. you were just about to start packing up your things when suddenly, your phone started blowing up with hundreds of notifications.

what the fuck?

you instantly pulled it out of your bag, clammy hands unlocking the lockscreen. you opened all of your social media accounts, looking for the main source of these notifications, and once you found it, you were aghast.

a member of the saja boys—romance—posted a clip of your performance today at the busking event on his official account.

( I adoreee the way they dance, and they’re gorgeous up there on stage! The Saja Boys would personally love to meet this gem for a potential collab♡♡ )

the comments were flooded with mentions of your official social handles, both your fans and non-fans alike agreeing with romance and complimenting your dancing skills. your jaw dropped.

what the fuck?

you didn’t even know the saja boys were watching you. you thought you’ve had enough heart attacks for today, but fate had other plans. while you were busy having an internal crisis over the fact that you’re going viral right now because of the saja boys, one of them sent you a personal message on social media.

( hey, i watched your performance today. and i think you’re an excellent performer ^__^ are you up for some dancing and possibly a collab with us? if you are, meet us at club icarus tomorrow @ 12am. we’ll be there during our free time. )

you gasp out loud. did fucking jinu of the saja boys just invited you out?! oh god, this is too much to handle for your frazzled nerves right now. it’s all coming too fast for your liking; you need a moment to breathe.

what should you do?

no, actually fuck it, what more do you have to lose, anyway?

You: ( oh my god, thank you!! i would LOVE to have a collab with you five omg. i’ll be there sharp!! )

Jinu: ( great! can’t wait to see you, lovely. ♡ )

you grabbed a random pillow from the seat beside you and started screaming into it. just a few hours ago you thought your idol career was gone for good when you messed up at the busking event, but not only did you get to hang out with huntr/x today, the saja boys took notice of you and decided to personally invite you out!

i mean, this has to be a fan’s number one dream come true, right?!

feeling overwhelmed yet elated all at once, you had a hard time trying to sleep peacefully tonight when you got home.

you could smell the sweat and the intoxicating perfume wafting from the people on the dance floor across from you; you didn't expect this club to be packed. fiddling with the angel wings you wore on your back—apparently, it was the dress code for this club—you quietly scanned the room, looking for any sign of the saja boys.

you stopped when you noticed a tuft of hair with a familiar shade of pink behind some dancers. you squinted your eyes to get a closer look until you realize it was one of the members of saja boys; it was abby!

you sprang to action, running towards his general direction while squeezing through the sweaty dancers on the dance floor. when you manage to get out of the throng of people, you spotted the saja boys huddled up together in a quiet corner, talking amongst themselves while they’re away from prying eyes.

you took a deep breath and steeled yourself to face them. when you came into view, they instantly quieted down and turned their heads around. “hi, saja boys, right? i’m [name]!”

“sunbaenim! it’s great to finally meet you!” abby cheered, bounding up towards you to eagerly shake your hand. you were surprised by his sudden enthusiasm, but you returned it with the same fervor nonetheless.

“i’m mystery. nice to meet you, [name],” the member whose lavender hair covers his eyes introduced himself to you with a shy smile.

“romance at your service, dear [name],” the member whose hair has a lighter shade of pink purred, gently grabbing your hand and bringing it close to his lips to kiss it. his intense gaze on you never falters. you gulped. damn, he’s smooth.

“i’m baby, the cutest maknae in korea!” the blue-haired member with a baby face exclaimed in delight. weird, despite his childish looks, there’s a cold glint in his eye that you can’t quite describe; you shrugged it off.

“i’m abby! my abs make all my fans pass out. don’t stare at them too hard or you’ll be the same.” the member you saw from afar introduced himself with a smirk and a flirtatious wink. it’s funny, he kinda reminds you of a cocky golden retriever somehow.

“and i’m the leader, jinu. we’re pleased to be in your presence today, [name]. we can only hope you’ll feel the same,” the leader of the saja boys spoke up last, his innocent smile doesn’t betray the knowing look on his face. of course, you were oblivious to this fact.

“hey, guys! i wasn’t expecting to meet up with you at all, but i’m very honored!” you happily greeted them. you were holding back your inner fan, scared they might think you’re one of those creepy sasaengs they hate so much. they only debuted recently with “soda pop”, and yet they already took korea by storm. the catchy pop song went viral on social media with everyone doing the dance challenge. and honestly? they deserve it. you see great potential in them, so it didn’t take long for you to become a fan of them too.

jinu chuckled. “no need to be uptight, we’re all colleagues here. and we’ve admired you for the longest time now before we debuted, [name].”

“huh? really?” you stuttered, breaking eye contact with jinu, feeling exposed under his gaze. “yes! which was why we were excited to debut, it’s our dream to meet you in person and make music with you.” woah, he was really laying it on thick. and while you still can’t believe the prospect of the saja boys being your fans, all this praise is making you feel dizzy. “thank you, i appreciate that… to be honest, this is all so crazy to me. but i’ll be lying if i say i didn’t want a collab with you too.” you replied with a smile, jinu’s grin grew wider while the other boys cheered in the background.

“awesome! then i suppose we would be seeing each other often starting from now on.”

“that we will!”

spending time with the saja boys in and outside work hours has been a whirlwind of chaos if you put it lightly. you didn’t hate it, it was a nice change of pace in your life; ever since that fateful day, your popularity steadily grew and you gained more fans each day. what was once a pipe dream to you is now becoming reality, and you can’t wait for the day you stand on equal ground with huntr/x.

speaking of, they’ve been distant with you lately. with the vague messages zoey sent you almost two weeks ago, you figure they must be having a fight. whether it was a serious one or not was none of your concern, you didn’t want to pry into their private lives.

“earth to [name]! hellooooo?” baby mockingly knocked on your forehead with a closed fist and a shit-eating grin on his face. you swatted his hand away and playfully rolled your eyes at him. “what is it, baby?”

the blue-haired man sighed. “jinu said you should watch our performance and give us proper feedback about it. i don’t know what the big deal is, but you’re more experienced than us so we trust your word.”

“sure, where is he?”

baby jutted out a thumb to his left, pointing to the door. “jinu and the rest are all there in the living room… they’re waiting for you, so let’s go already!” he whined and clinged to your arm.

“alright, alright… i’ll be there in a few minutes. just let me pack up our stuff here.” you gently threaded your hand through his soft blue locks. baby closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “fine, but don’t take too long.” he pouts and finally lets go of you.

“oh my god, romance, did you seriously just send a flying kiss to the camera after drinking hot sauce?” you groaned. the man in question laughed, he leaned to your right side and twirled a lock of his light pink hair as he giggled. “mhm, the fans loved it, no?”

“sure, but you still looked ridiculous.”

“hey! don’t be mean!” romance pouted as he gingerly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “i can give you a private show if that’s what you’d prefer,” he seductively whispered in your ear.

suddenly, you felt a protective hold on your arm. mystery growled from your left. “stop making them uncomfortable, romance,” mystery warned. romance only rolls his eyes in response.

“what, you jealous?”

“no. hog them all you want, but [name] will have a one-on-one session with me later so they can teach me their new choreography.”

“why, you!”

with a deep sigh, you pinched both of their cheeks at the same time. “that’s enough, what would jinu say when he finds you two all beaten up for nothing? control yourselves.”

“mystery started it!”

“and it’s all because you decided to be a stupid ass.”

“that’s not a valid reason!”

“nuh-uh.”

you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. god, when will jinu come home? these two are unbelievably immature.

“let me help you with that, [name]!” abby confidently grabs the heavy cardboard boxes you were struggling to lift, holding them up in his arms with ease as he puffs out his chest with pride, expecting that compliment he oh-so craved from you.

“thanks, abby! you’re very strong. with you moving our equipment to the studio, we’ll be done in no time!” you smiled at him brightly, and he who doesn’t know any better, continues to stare at you in a daze.

“right, so let’s get moving, shall we?” abby snapped out of it when jinu bumped shoulders with him roughly. “hey, what’s the big deal, man?” abby glared at jinu, the former’s blatant hostility and change of attitude not being lost on the latter.

“nothing, man. we’re in a rush, so we need to do this fast.”

“whatever.”

jinu frowned at abby’s flippant response. once the pink-haired man was out of view, jinu sent an apologetic look your way and mouthed “i’m sorry about him” to you. you shook your head and laughed it off, telling him you’re used to the saja boys’ antics by now.

“no, but seriously. thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” in a flash, you suddenly found yourself in jinu’s arms. the boxes he was holding a few moments ago were long forgotten on the ground. you jerked in surprise, startled by the raven-haired man’s heartfelt confession. where did this come from?

his hold on you tightened a little bit more, as if he was scared he’ll lose you any second now if he lets go of you. he couldn’t say it then, but you were someone who has become important to him, to the other saja boys as well. in the beginning, talking to you was only a means to an end—you were simply a pawn in jinu’s plan—the saja boys did not care for your wellbeing one bit, they couldn’t give a rat’s ass if you died in a ditch somewhere.

however, overtime that changed. they now know you’re the one soul they won’t give up to gwi-ma no matter what it takes. they can only hope you’ll come to accept their demonic nature as well once they tell you.

your growing popularity now was all thanks to them and the fans they’ve managed to brainwash into liking you.

really, you should be grateful to them. but no, oh no! don’t worry, they won’t harm a hair on your pretty little head. in fact, once everything goes according to plan and they manage to take over seoul successfully, you’ll be in their grasp for a long, long time without gwi-ma and huntr/x in the picture.

they just have to be patient as they tempt you into sweet salvation.

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sleep-0-deprived · 3 months ago

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Yandere male sea nymph x sailor reader drabble~! ૮꒰,,>﹏<,,꒱ა

WC:. 1.8k

Tags: pnp, double penetration, , sea nymphs have two cocks??, filthy smut, dub con, monster slime at as lube, dark themes, anal, mentions of mpreg, monster x human, Amab reader, monster anatomy, bottom male reader, no protection, anal creampies, cw lil blood, belly bulges <333

Taglist: @miyaisastar @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs

A/N: M’ sorry if my descriptions of tha monster aren’t accurate, S’ all jus m’ personal thoughts ! ( ≧ᗜ≦)

The feeling of cold water rushes your body all at once- the sea swallowing you up whole along with your ship, your arms reach up trying to make it to the top gasping out in desperate strides feeling the cold liquid fill your lungs when another wave crashes over you bringing you back to square one in the endless fight— this storm wasn’t supposed to come for another week.

You were supposed to have had time to make up enough money to live to last the durations of the storm but it didn’t work out that way seemingly. The sound of a calling filled your ears, it rang loud almost like a high pitch melody of wave splashing over each-other while it rained, the only thing to be seen was a old lighthouse giving light in the distance, you tried to swim closer fighting the tides.

The lighthouse shines light onto the water showing a cove off to the other side. You had no choice but to try to reach it for shelter from the storms before you got drowned and your muscles gave way to the force of the water. The light becomes more distant the further you make it towards the cove, it was dark and wet with the rocks being jagged in places but atleast you were standing on something solid that gave a reminder of the land you were very much missing right now.

“Such a pretty little thing you are”

As soon as you hear a voice your body goes stiff feeling all the blood in your veins just stop pumping, you look around quickly seeing a figure lurking in the darkness of the cove. A strange allure washed over you almost as if the monsters green eyes were calling out to you for you to come towards it?..why were you giving in- before you could think your legs took long strides forwards walking towards the nymph in a trance.

“What are you?”

“I am a creature of the waters, a nymph...I’ve seen you since you set sail on these waters whatever it takes to get you I would’ve- even if I had to rid of you of those wretched men”

“You had something to do with this- my crew is lost because of this”

“I am no god boy, but I do have enough strength to conjure up a storm, whatever I must do to catch you”

The words fell from the creatures lips like venom, his skin was cold to the touch with scales up his arms his face went unseen in the dark but his eyes were always felt he pushed you up against the wall of the wet cove leaving you nothing to grab or hold for comfort, he pressed his mouth to the side of your neck pulling your tunic down enough to expose the s/c flesh.

“You’re mine now- I don’t plan to ever let you escape me”

You felt sharp shark like teeth start to dig into you bringing a trickle of blood that spread across the wet fabric of your shirt. His hands held your hips pulling you back to him holding you against him with no chance of escaping.

The feeling of two lumps pressed to your ass was clear but you were too lost in the hot feeling in your neck, it was painful and rough but it brought pleasure too, his snake like tongue licked over the bite mark licking up the blood like it was ambrosia.

“You’re the sweetest thing to grace my tongue boy”

“Fuck-“

You hiss feeling one of his webbed hands slide down from your hip into your pants grabbing your soft cock and gripping it firm while he kisses your bruised and bitten neck. You buck your hips back into him pressing your ass up against the creature like a needy whore when your body gets forcefully aroused, you couldn’t help it even if it wasn’t in your wants your body reacted- your hormones were high and your body needed this.

You couldn’t even remember when the last time you had been properly fucked was, being out at sea never left the time for sex to be In your life. The sea monsters touches had you feeling like some horny teen all over again when you felt his nail poke at the tender tip of your cock earning a loud hiss to leave your lips. Whatever the two bulges were you rubbed your ass all over them creating friction between the sea nymphs groin and your pants.

“You want it so fucking bad don’t you, don’t even know my face an you already want my cocks”

“Cocks..?”

You could practically feel the grin your confused question got out of him, the kisses and licks on your neck halted but the touches your cock was receiving didn’t, in a moment of desperation you dig your nails into the stone wall of the cove and close your eyes meekly.

“You’ve never been mated by a sea creature, normally we don’t fuck humans but you’re the exception”

His hand slipped off your cock leaving you all stiff and disappointed at the loss of touch, his hands pull your pants down letting them fall around your ankles while he guides you pressing you down bending you over a rock with your cock bobbing between your thighs, then you feel them.

One slimy cock pressed between your cheeks and another between your thighs, you felt glad it was pitch because your mouth was watering at the thought of having them both stuffing you so full! Your rim puckered up like a rose bud expanding and opening again.

One of the monsters hands reaches down pressing between your shoulder blades forcing you to be pressed flat down against the rock all defenseless while the slickness tip of his first cock prods its way past your gummy walls making you cry out in pain and pleasure, you felt so full and on fire all at once arching your back deep.

“You’re as tight as a virgin aren’t you”

He coos out while you try to adjust to the size not being given any time before the sea monster starts fucking into you with his other cock slapping all hard against your thigh dripping precum and slime all over the floor of the cove, your walls open up wide accepting the cock that was being forced inside rubbing every ridge of your cavern, he was exploring you and groaning. The hand on your back sliding down back to your hip to hold it.

“O-h- hm so big~”

You can practically feel your stomach expand when you take his cock getting pulled back and fucked into it, you start rolling your hips giving a little wiggle to your ass trying to get him to fuck you harder while you pout and let your eyes rock back into your head. The sounds of waves from the outside becomes background noise compared to the moans that rolled off your tongue, you were splaying yourself in a wanton way on his dick.

“Don’t start acting like a girl in a pleasure house on me here- you’re a sailor act like one”

The words fall from his lips cooing and cunning leaving down with his hot breath on your neck pounding away at your insides having your hole stretched now taking him with ease. Your cock was painfully hard and untouched and you wanted to whine and complain of it but you felt his hand slipping down to his second cock pushing it against your pucker.

“T’mush- t’mush it huurts-!”

“Shh you can take it, I know you can”

Your mind becomes mush feeling your body taking more than it ever has before making your legs go like jello, if it wasn’t for the rock you were in top you would’ve fallen to the ground from how weak you felt. Once both cocks make their way inside you, the bulge in your stomach was unnatural almost looking knocked up with the monsters slime being used as lube dripping down your thighs on your balls all messy getting on the floor of the cove while his hand finally works its way to your cock pressing his chest to your back making out with your neck.

“Your hole is so greedy, you think it wants a baby. Is that what it is, do you need a few eggs inside you?”

“Close- so close”

You do your best to muster up coherent words feeling weak ready to cum at any moment, the two cocks split you open leaving you with a sense of knowing that you’ll never feel as stuffed in another man’s cock as you feel with his.

“You can cum all you want but I’m not stopping until I finish”

The sea creatures words make you pout a little leaking like a faucet in his hand with your neck drenched in his saliva having York prostate rammed and nailed into harshly making you jolt forward each time you feel him. Your rim starts burning again from being spread for so long but the pleasure is so high you can’t seem to care about the pain- the only thing in your mind anymore is orgasming.

He knew you were close when your walls clenched up tight and started spamming, shortly after hot ropes spurt from your tip making a mess on the rock. The thrusts continued in sync with his strokes, the nymph milked your cock like a milk cow getting the last drops out of you leaving your cock used up and tender twitching warmly in his palm.

“Gods, just look at the way you’re swallowing me boy, you’re hole is so greedy for dick”

You feel the vibrations of his groan against your neck. The way the veins on his cocks start to rub against your insides more harshly fucking you like he needs it, you can tell he’s on the verge and you can’t bring yourself to mind the thought..if he’s a monster then is his seed potent enough to give you a baby?..do you want to have his baby?

Your thoughts are cut short by the feeling of his first cock pressing to your prostate flooding you with thick ropes like he was trying to stuff a womb, his hips stutter pressing flushed against your ass holding still before his other cock starts shooting cum inside you bloating you up from the seed stuffing you.

Your insides overflow feeling cum dripping out of your ass down your thighs mixing in with his slime making a mess but his hands hold your waist letting your cock go as he presses as close as he can and continues humping his cum inside you.

You feel the cocks inside you twitching— they were already hard again and ready for the next round, you don’t know if you can take it you’re already so fucked out with your eyes glossed over, your hole so wrecked it can’t clench properly.

“You can take it, I’ve been waiting so long for you I can’t even help it mortal”

His voice sounded feral, you knew you weren’t going to find a way out of this one.

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sonrium · 10 months ago

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DP X DC: A Minor Drinking Problem

Phantom is a relatively new member of the JLA, but it's been a few months, and things are settling in well. He's shy and polite but is a master of the snark with villains.

Before a big mission, the all hands on deck kind, everyone is talking about scars and the crazy stories behind them to distract from the coming fight. Danny, finally feeling like he can join in the conversation with all these adult heroes, pulls off his right glove to show a pretty gnarly scar on the back of his wrist. “I got this one when I fought a guy from the Revolutionary War a few weeks ago! Didn't think he'd charge me with a bayonet.” He shares a couple more stories and scars, but only the ones that he can easily show off.

Because of stories like that and some historical depictions of Phantom from different time periods, they think he's this ancient and powerful immortal that just looks like a teenager, it wouldnt be the first time. He's powerful enough to go toe to toe with Superman, so there's no way he's actually a kid. He even sometimes has the haunted, world weary eyes that their most hardened members only get after experiencing too much. Danny, being our lovable, obliviously dense idiot, has not realized that they think he's an ancient being.

After the mission concludes -it was a rough one-, the JLA celebrate their victory with a couple drinks back at the watch tower. Danny is understandably uncomfortable with this whole situation and keeps asking, “Are you sure I should be here?” They reassure him it's fine as they pass around beers, which Danny politely declines several times. Danny eventually sees this as the perfect chance to pad his blackmail folders on his inebriated coworkers.

Anyway, as the night goes on, they have a good time, but Phantom still hasn't gotten a drink like the rest of them, and Green Lantern (or hero of your choice) really wants their shy friend to come out of his shell. So, he slams an open beer bottle on the coffee table in front of Phantom. “Come on Phantom! Let loose a little. Celebrate!”

“Dude! What the hell?! I'm 16! That's illegal!” Phantom squeaks in shock.

“We don't care how old you were when you died. It's how long you've been a ghost that counts.” Flash slings an arm around Danny's shoulders from where he’s sat next to him on the couch. Flash can't get drunk, but he also thinks it would be fun to see their uptight new member drunk.

“That's even worse! You'd be giving alcohol to a two year old!” Phantom is horrified that his coworkers are so casually breaking the law.

“But you said you fought in the Revolutionary War this morning!” Green Lantern said with his eyebrows knit in confusion.

“No, I said I fought someone from the Revolutionary War. As in, the ghost of someone from the revolutionary war!”

“You can't pull that on us. There's murals and stuff of you from thousands of years ago.” The Flash waves off with a laugh.

Phantom’s finger presses painfully hard into Flash’s chest. “I do not need to explain time travel to you of all people. My mentor hates you, and I'm STILL sent on missions constantly to clean up your messes.” Phantom's clear and low. Flash liked it better when he was shouting and not staring him down like a predator with narrowed eyes.

(This random idea popped into my head. It made me laugh, so I thought you might, too. Here you go!)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #plot bunny #the flash #green lantern #time travel

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desideriumwriter · 23 days ago

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Baby girl?

summary: Derek and Emily find out about Spencer’s (unintentionally) secret kid.

wc: 0.5k

“You have a kid?” Derek gawked, Emily at the desk opposite with the same look on her face. Both staring at Reid.

“A daughter. She’s about to turn two.”

“Almost two years? And you never told us?

“The topic never came up.” Reid shrugged.

“Well you never showed- you don’t even have a photo of her on your desk!”

“Yes I do! Right here.” Reid picked up a framed photo that sat right next to his computer he rarely used.

The image was the Aurora Borealis, bright purple and green waves displayed in the sky.

Reid pointed to the corner of the image, it was him, you, and your daughter posing and smiling. You’d really have to look to notice you all in the corner, it’s not something your eye could pick up if you passed by the photo.

“Oh come on, you can barely see that. Don’t you have any other photos of her?”

Reid shifted in his seat, moving to grab his wallet out his back pocket.

Once it got it, he opened it and turned it to face the two across from him, the clear slot showing a small photo of a baby girl, wrapped up in a soft quilt and smiling.

Emily and Derek both looked at it with dropped jaws. Their eyes darted to Reid’s unbothered face, then back to the photo, then back to his face, then back to the photo again.

They were shocked at how unbothered Reid was by this. It was never a secret though, the conversation just really never came up. He’d let them know when he wanted to.

“You know Garcias gonna be pissed she never got to set up a baby shower for you.” Derek scoffed, breaking the trance he was in. Reid put his wallet back in his pocket.

“Well you said she’s gonna turn two soon, maybe she can help out with her birthday.” Emily added in.

“So you were there for all the big moments? Birth, first steps, first words? Even with all the cases we had?”

“I guess I got lucky.” Spencer shrugged.

“Lucky? I thought you didn’t believe in that, thought you were a man of science.” Derek mocked.

“I guess I was there at all the right times.”

It all began to click in Emily and Derek’s heads. All the days Reid was given a pass to do paperwork at home rather than being stuck in the office. Checking his cell phone more often. Seeming more busy on the weekends. Looking happier even though he was tired.

They knew it’d be something personal. They knew he had a partner, they knew you. They’ve met you before. But they never thought you’d have a child together.

“Wait, does Hotch know?” Emily said after stumbling over her words first, looking at Hotch's cracked open office door.

“Sharing details about Reid’s personal life is up to him, not me.” Hotch spoke, keeping his eyes focused on the papers he was writing on.

“Oh Garcia is gonna flip when she finds out you told him and not her!” Emily laughed while Garcia walked into the room.

“What? What am I gonna flip out about?” Garcia said, looking back and forth between everyone.

“Pretty boy over here has his own babygirl.”

“Babygirl? I thought we all knew you had a partner? Baby-girl. Baby girl? Oh. My. God!” Garcia's face dropped in shock and realization, she began to move around trying to find a place to put down her mug so she could properly freak out. “You have a daughter?”

back in business writing spencer fics!!!! oh yeah baby!!!!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dad!spencer #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

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rin-may-1103 · 2 months ago

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Aspiring Escape Artist

(DCxDP) | Masterpost | Next

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," his newest social worker started, turning in her seat so she might actually get him to look at her. Danny continued looking out the window and up at the gigantic building they were parked in front of.

"This is your last chance before the system declares you unfit for foster homes and sends you off to juvie. And before you get all uppitty about it, know this is as much your fault as it is the system's."

Danny rolled his eyes, watching as shadows rushed past windows too tinted to actually see into. Another shadow darted past a lower one, dragging his eyes down and toward the door. The shadow was quickly followed by three more, one of them waving something over their head.

Allowing his hearing to spread out from its usual range, Danny listened as muffled shouts filled the air, quickly turning into clear words.

"GET THE MASK, GET THE MASK!"

"SHIT!" fallowed by a thump and the sound of a large piece of furniture tipping backward and landing.

"I GOT IT!" another voice cried.

"HEY, I HAd that, you little shit-"

Danny quickly pulled his hearing back, not wanting to listen anymore. He already knew he was going to hate it here.

"Now, Mr. Wayne has taken in a lot of kids and has been very gracious to open his home to you. Make no mistakes, young man. You will listen to what he tells you, and so help me, if you cause this man any trouble whatsoever, you will regret it. Stay in the car until I tell you you can get out. I need to go over your file with Mr. Wayne first."

She was acting like Danny was some delinquent picked up fresh from a gang fight. He was half tempted to act like it just to spite her, but bit his tongue and continued looking around the place.

The large garden surrounding the building was obviously well taken care of, the green hummed happily as the (what Danny's gathered) rare sunlight and clear sky.

His control over plants still needs work, but he's gotten good enough to connect to the green and get the general feelings. Like how the man who just walked out the front doors was greatly loved by the plants, which meant he was the one taking care of them.

"Are you even listening to me?" the lady huffed, unbuckling herself and shoving the car door open. She was already standing and greating the old man before Danny could respond.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, was it? Hi, I'm Ms. Clance, I'm Danny's social worker. Is Mr. Wayne home?" she slammed the door shut and held her hand out for a handshake.

The older man eyed her hand but otherwise ignored it, instead turning to look at Danny, who was still in the car. "That is correct, Ms. Clance. Master Wayne is in his study; he'll be down in a moment to discuss any last minute things you need to cover. Now, why don't we get Mr. fenton inside and aquanted with the others?"

"Hold on for just a moment," Ms. Clance cut in, sending Danny a nervous glance. Danny raised his brow, but continued to pretend he couldn't hear a word they were saying, 'waiting' for her signal to get out of the car.

The front door opened behind them, three heads popping out in an obvious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, a blond girl, still in her teens, and a guy with eyebags. Though Danny's were definitely worse, he might have Tucker beat. which was worrying, because what could this guy possibly need to pull three all-nighters for?

"I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne before letting the kid settle in. No offence, but I want to make sure Mr. Wayne is serious in wanting to house the kid. We've already had three other families agree to take him on and then drop him in less than a month."

"I see," Mr. Pennyworth hummed, studying Danny with a sharp eye. Danny studied him back; he had good posture, and his graying hair was slicked back. He had a mustache but no other facial hair, so he obviously kept himself well-maintained. Jazz said people like that were more likely to be well-disciplined and lean toward being blunt and honest.

His stance didn't lean toward classic butler, though; it leaned toward fighting and alert. He had experience in the army or something then, which meant Danny would have to keep an eye on this guy. he probably was the one running the house when Mr. Wayne wasn't around. which meant he'd be the one watching Danny the most.

"I still believe the young man should come inside, master wayne doesn't go back on his word, and he'll unlikely do so now."

Ms. Clance warily glanced at Danny, then back at Mr. Pennyworth, a fake smile plastered on her face, before one of the three spying on the cut in," yeah! I want to meet the little guy!"

The door swung open, allowing even more people to crowd around and watch the scene in front of them.

"And you will," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to face the growing group. "Once I speak to Mr. Wayne. We have to go over a few things in Daniel's file before I can sign off on all of this."

"Like, what?" the blond one asked, her eyes meeting danny's as she skipped down the stairs. Danny could just tell she'd be down for all sorts of chaos. And he could also tell she'd be glued to his side until her interest died, which would take only clockwork knows how long.

Instinctively, Danny reached out and grabbed the door, just as someone tried opening it. Glancing up and to the side, Danny met gray eyes. It was the other girl he had spotted wandering the garden a few minutes before.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling and stepping back. 'You can come out,' she signed. Danny glanced back at Ms. Clance, then back to the girl before sighing and getting out.

Her eyes lit up once he closed the door and turned back to her.

"You know sign," she asked, her voice quiet but not obviously disused.

'absoltly not', danny signed just to be a little shit. Turning back, he stared at his social worker, who was watching them in confused frustration.

"Daniel, what did I say about staying in the car?" She looked ready to march over and smack him.

"I thought you decided I wasn't listening?" Danny pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car. If she wanted to waste time, then that was perfectly alright with him.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning back to the butler. (he had to be a butler; he looked just like the one at Sam's place or the one his parents employed when they had made that deal with the GIW. And the fact that he referred to Mr. Wayne as master wayne.)

"You never answered my question," Blondy cut in, smiling sweetly at the frustrated woman.

"Like the plethora of misdemeanors?" Danny asked, watching as everyone turned to look at him. (probably because he wasn't supposed to know what the question was, considering he was literally just in the car.) The gray-eyed girl had slowly made her way back to join the others, though she still looked happy for some reason.

"no," ms. Clance huffed, obviously starting to get overwhelmed for some reason. she needed to take a step back and breath, there was literally no reason for her to be this agitated.

"More like we need to go over how many times you snuck out, got seriously injured, seriously injured someone else, and sent your last foster parent to a mental facility."

"All classified as misdemeanors, so obviously not that bad," Danny waved off, rolling his eyes. "And Mr. Thompson deserved it."

"You drove that man insane!" she hissed, swatting a piece of her hair out of her face.

Danny blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion, "He was already insane before I got there, though?" which was actually quite annoying. Danny's dealt with enough insane people at this point; he'd rather hug Vlad than deal with another one.

"He was not," Ms. Clance sniffed, trying to straighten herself out.

"he definitely was," Danny argued, pulling his backpack tighter against his back in annoyance. "The dude thought locking me in a room and feeding me white rice once a day was perfectly fine."

Danny ignored the sudden stilted silence at his words, choosing to instead focus on the man slowly making his way outside and over to them.

"Would you stop making things up already?" Ms. Clance huffed, "We've already gone over this. There wasn't a lock on your door, and there was plenty of food in the pantry."

Danny rolled his eyes, going back to studying the gray-eyed girl. The happy sparkle was gone, and she was making hand signals that the others around her were focused on. It wasn't a dialect of sign he knew, most likely a self-made code then.

"Don't need a lock to lock someone up," Danny grumbled, turning back to Ms. Clance, "and if that doesn't count as insane, then talking to the shadows on the wall and claiming to be immortal does. Do you know how many times that man tried jumping in front of cars or out of a window? Way too many. So yeah, he deserved to go to the mental institution, where he'll get some actual help."

"right," ms. clance waved off, turning to continue talking to Mr. pennyworth. danny cut in before she could, "so, do you guys make it a habit; lingering back and listening to conversations?"

The rest blinked, then turned to see who exactly he was talking to, their eyes following his as they finally spotted the man they were all waiting for.

"ah," mr. wayne chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "sorry, I didn't want to interup. it sounded important."

"Right," Danny huffed, glaring at the man. Honestly, all the eavesdropping and being loud as hell was turning out to be a regular thing based on the fact that no one else was acting like it wasn't.

Yeah, he was going to hate it here if that was true.

#danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #batfamily #part one #danny just wants to leave and meet up with his friends #this is not what the batfam was expecting #Aspiring Escape Artist Au

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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Betraying the Gods in Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Step 1: Befriend the Demon King.

Step 2: Fall in love.

Step 3: Quit your hero job.

The first thing you learned upon being chosen as the hero was that the gods were, in fact, morons.

This revelation came to you as you stood in their grand celestial court, bathed in holy light, staring at the pantheon of divine beings who had just bestowed upon you a sword that actively whispered threats into your ear.

"Go forth, O Chosen One," boomed the god of war, his six eyes burning with sacred fire. "You must slay the Demon King who lurks in his cursed lair atop the Black Hills!"

You shifted your weight and cleared your throat. "Okay, so... question. Just a tiny one. What, exactly, has the Demon King done?"

The gods exchanged glances.

"He is evil," the goddess of fate offered.

"Uh-huh. Examples?"

"He... exists," the god of light said, waving a golden hand vaguely.

There was an awkward silence. You rubbed your temples. "Right. But, like, has he pillaged villages? Enslaved kingdoms? Kicked a puppy?"

"He has refused to die despite our many attempts to kill him," the god of judgment said gravely.

You squinted. "So you're mad that he’s alive."

"YES," they all said in unison.

Fantastic. You had been chosen to carry out a divine grudge match.

Still, you weren’t in any position to argue. The gods had given you a bunch of ridiculously overpowered artifacts, including a holy sword, an indestructible shield, and a cloak that supposedly made you invisible but mostly just made you look like a very blurry ghost. They also kind of expected you to die like all the previous heroes, but that was a problem for later.

So here you were, standing at the edge of the Black Hills, staring up at the Demon King’s lair—a suspiciously well-maintained castle that looked less like a fortress of darkness and more like the summer home of someone who enjoyed gardening.

This whole thing reeked of bureaucracy.

With a deep sigh, you tightened your grip on your murderously sentient sword and marched forward, fully prepared to commit deicide if this entire mission turned out to be as dumb as you suspected.

You had braced yourself for a dark, ominous fortress filled with twisted creatures, rivers of lava, and at least one chandelier made of bones. Instead, you walked into what could only be described as a cozy study.

The room was warm, lit by a fireplace that crackled gently in the corner. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged tomes, some of which looked suspiciously like romance novels. A tea set rested on the table, next to an open book. And sitting in an armchair, casually flipping through the pages, was a man.

A very tall, very elegant man with sharp green eyes and black horns curling from his head.

He blinked at you, clearly just as surprised as you were. "Oh," he said. "Hello."

You stared at him. "Uh. Hi?"

There was a long pause. He looked at your very dramatic hero attire, then at the glimmering, divinely blessed sword in your hand, then back at you. "I assume you’re here for a reason?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so, the gods sent me to kill the Demon King, but like… lowkey? I don’t know what he looks like."

The man nodded, as if this was a completely reasonable statement. "I see." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like some tea?"

You squinted at him. "I feel like you’re not taking this whole ‘assassination attempt’ thing very seriously."

"Should I?" he asked, pouring tea into a cup with unnerving grace. "You don't seem particularly invested in it yourself."

You couldn't exactly argue with that, so you sat down, placing your god-blessed weapon awkwardly on your lap. The man slid a cup toward you. The tea smelled… nice. Suspiciously nice. You sniffed it. "This isn’t, like, drugged or cursed, is it?"

He looked amused. "Only if you consider chamomile a powerful sedative."

You took a cautious sip. It was delicious.

"So," he said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Tell me about the outside world. It’s been a while since I last left these hills."

You shrugged. "Nothing much. The gods are idiots, as usual."

His lips curled in interest. "Oh?"

You leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so get this. When they summoned me, they gave me this holy sword, right?" You tapped the weapon resting on your lap. "Only problem? It won’t shut up. The gods literally forgot to turn off its voice function, so now it just screams battle cries at all hours of the day. I had to wrap it in three layers of cloth just to get some sleep."

He let out a chuckle, eyes gleaming. "That is… incredible."

"Right? And that’s not even the worst part. The god of wisdom—actual title, by the way—accidentally set fire to their own temple last year because they miscalculated a lightning spell. They blamed it on ‘mystical forces’ but everyone knows they just got their math wrong."

The man—who, now that you were really looking at him, was ridiculously attractive in a dark-and-mysterious way—laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just told the best joke in the world.

You grinned, feeling oddly comfortable. "Oh, and don’t even get me started on the god of fate. She got into a brawl with the god of harvest because she made a prophecy that all the wheat fields would burn down, and then the god of harvest was like, ‘You know that’s literally my job, right?’ and cursed her with hay fever. Now she sneezes every time she tries to predict the future."

Your new tea-drinking companion actually had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter.

You took another sip of tea, feeling very proud of yourself. "Anyway," you said, stretching your arms. "By the way, have you seen the Demon King? Because, like, technically, I’m still supposed to be doing that job."

The man calmly pointed to himself.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What."

"Malleus Draconia," he said, setting his teacup down with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an unwashed peasant. "And you are?"

You were still reeling from the realization that you had spent the last half hour drinking tea with the exact person you were supposed to kill, so it took you a second to answer. You introduce yourself. "Hero chosen by the gods. Here to, you know…" You made a vague stabbing motion.

Malleus nodded, completely unfazed. "Ah. Yes. That would explain the weaponry." He glanced at your holy sword, which had mercifully remained silent for the past few minutes. "Though, I must say, you don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about your mission."

You sighed and set your cup down. "Yeah, well. I don’t really get why the gods have it out for you. I mean, do you actually do evil stuff? Are you stealing souls? Raising the dead? Kicking puppies?"

Malleus tilted his head, considering. "No, no, and—well, I suppose there was one incident with a puppy, but in my defense, I was trying to return it to its owner, and it misunderstood my intentions."

"That’s a really vague way to say 'I accidentally terrified it.'"

He sipped his tea, saying nothing.

You squinted at him. "So you’re telling me the gods declared a holy crusade against you for… what? Vibes?"

Malleus shrugged. "I assume so. They don’t seem to like my existence very much."

"Wow. Must be nice not giving a shit."

"It is quite freeing," he agreed. "Would you like a tour?"

You blinked. "A tour? Of your evil lair?"

"My home," he corrected, as if you were the unreasonable one. "I assume you have never seen it before."

"You assume correctly." You rubbed your chin. "Eh. What the hell. Show me around, mighty Demon King."

And so, instead of assassinating him, you spent the next hour wandering through the halls of his "evil lair" (read: very fancy castle), learning about his book collection, admiring the admittedly cool-looking stained-glass windows, and getting distracted by a particularly fluffy cat lounging on one of the rugs.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen into easy conversation, sharing more absurd stories about the gods’ incompetence while Malleus listened with increasing amusement. You barely even noticed how natural it felt, how quickly you forgot the whole "mortal enemies" thing.

It wasn’t until you were about to leave that you remembered why you had come in the first place.

"Ah, right," you said, gripping the hilt of your holy sword. "The whole… uh, slaying thing."

Malleus lifted an eyebrow.

You exhaled and held the sword out to him. "Here. Take this."

He looked at you, then at the sword, then back at you. "You are giving me your divine weapon?"

"Look, man, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am very bad at this job."

Malleus took the sword, examining it with mild curiosity. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the weapon, which had remained blissfully quiet all day, suddenly came to life.

"FOUL BEAST! UNHAND ME AT ONCE—"

Malleus flicked his wrist, and the sword immediately went silent.

You gaped at him. "You can do that?!"

He hummed. "It appears so."

You put your hands on your hips. "You know what? Yeah. You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore."

Malleus smiled. "How generous of you."

You waved him off and turned toward the exit. "Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I should probably get going before the gods smite me for treason. I’ll, uh… I’ll get the job done next time."

Malleus watched you with that same unreadable expression, something like quiet amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Of course. Next time."

You nodded, totally believing yourself, and left.

The gods were getting suspicious.

You could tell by the way they kept summoning you more frequently, their celestial faces lined with divine skepticism, their glowing, omnipotent eyes narrowing just a little more each time you gave your mission report.

So you did what any responsible, chosen-by-the-heavens hero would do: you doubled down on the lies.

“I’m gathering intel on the enemy.”

A few gods murmured in approval, nodding at your strategic foresight.

(The truth? You had spent the last four days sprawled across an absolutely sinful couch in Malleus’s absurdly cozy castle, debating whether a dragon could, theoretically, play the lute. Malleus had very strong opinions about claw dexterity and string tension. You were just trying to figure out how to smuggle the couch home.)

“I need to study his weaknesses.”

More nods. One god even stroked their beard, looking impressed.

(The reality? You were currently studying how many cookies you could consume before he started looking mildly concerned for your well-being. The number was high. Concerningly high. You were probably committing a sin against your own digestive system, but that was Future You’s problem.)

“He’s probably planning something evil, so I need to keep an eye on him.”

Now the gods were practically glowing with approval. One clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you off your feet.

(Meanwhile, in the demon king’s lair, Malleus was sitting in his massive library, sipping tea like a distinguished nobleman who had never even considered jaywalking, much less world domination. At one point, he sighed dramatically and looked out the window, the very picture of a wistful poet pondering the meaning of life. You had watched him do this for ten whole minutes, waiting for a sign of villainy. Nothing. The man was the least demonic demon king you had ever seen.)

The gods, thoroughly convinced that you were hard at work, dismissed you with a vague warning to “stay vigilant” and “not fall for any demonic tricks.”

You barely made it back to the castle before collapsing onto your new favorite couch with a groan. “They think I’m doing such a good job,” you mumbled, stuffing another cookie into your mouth. “I could probably ask for a raise.”

Malleus looked up from his book, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. “A raise? What exactly would they be paying you for?”

“For my noble heroism,” you said around a mouthful of cookie. “My unwavering dedication. My strategic mind. My—” You gestured vaguely. “—efforts.”

Malleus hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah, yes. Your valiant efforts. Lounging on my furniture. Eating my desserts. Entertaining me with tales of divine incompetence.”

You wagged a finger at him. “You say that like it isn’t an important job.”

He smirked. “Oh, I quite enjoy your company. But I do wonder how long you plan to keep up this charade.”

“As long as I can,” you said without hesitation, grabbing another cookie. “At this point, I think I deserve an award for Best Hero in the Field of Procrastination.”

Malleus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with what was definitely, absolutely, 100% not fondness. Probably. “Indeed.”

Getting Malleus out of his lair was easier than expected. Getting him to wear the disguise, however, was a battle of wills.

“It is absurd,” he said flatly, staring at the comically large hat in your hands.

“Absurdly effective,” you countered.

“It looks like it belongs to a—”

“Fashion icon?”

“A cursed scarecrow,” he finished, unimpressed.

“Okay, rude. But listen, if you walk into town looking like that—” you gestured vaguely at his horns, “—people will either think you're about to declare war or host a very dramatic poetry reading. The hat helps.”

Malleus gave you a long, contemplative look, then, to your eternal delight, sighed and took the hat. It sat atop his head with the solemn dignity of a royal crown, though the sheer size of it made him look like he was about to start selling potions out of a roadside wagon.

“Very well,” he declared. “Let us proceed.”

Thus began the grand adventure of sneaking the Demon King into town.

Turns out, no one even noticed.

Which, to be fair, was kind of expected. This was a town where a man once tried to pay his taxes in live chickens and where the local bard wore sunglasses at night “because it added to his mystique.” Some guy in a huge hat? Not even in the top ten weirdest things people had seen this week.

Still, you felt an odd sense of pride as you dragged Malleus through the bustling streets. The Demon King, who had spent untold centuries isolated in his ominous gothic estate, was now watching a juggler toss flaming batons while a street vendor tried to sell you “cursed amulets” that were clearly just painted rocks.

He was fascinated.

His first stop was the bakery, where he became personally and spiritually invested in the concept of croissants.

“These are quite remarkable,” he murmured, carefully inspecting the flaky layers. “It is as if the very essence of light and air has been woven into dough.”

“You’re making it sound way fancier than it is,” you snorted. “It’s just bread.”

“A divine bread,” he corrected.

“You’re literally a demon.”

“I can still appreciate divinity when I taste it.”

Next, you took him to the bookstore, where he spent an unreasonable amount of time debating which tomes to purchase. At one point, you caught him flipping through something called One Hundred and One Curses to Ensure Your Enemies Remember You Fondly, which felt both deeply specific and incredibly on-brand.

While he was distracted by a book of poetry so dramatic it might as well have been personally written for him, you slipped away for a moment. A nearby flower stall caught your eye, and on impulse, you picked up a delicate bloom, its color strikingly similar to Malleus’s eyes.

You returned just as he was still deep in thought over which book to buy. Without a second thought, you reached up and tucked the flower behind his ear.

Malleus froze.

His expression didn’t change immediately—he just stared at you, his usual unreadable gaze flickering with something… complicated. His fingers hesitantly brushed against the petals, and for a moment, he looked genuinely baffled, as if no one had ever done something like this before.

You grinned at him. “Looks good on you, Your Evilness.”

Malleus exhaled a short, amused huff. “I must admit, I do not often receive accessories from my sworn enemies.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, already dragging him towards the next store. “Now come on, I still need to introduce you to the single greatest achievement of human civilization.”

He tilted his head, intrigue sparking in his expression. “Oh?”

“Fried food.”

For the first time in centuries, the Demon King of Darkness, Terror of the Gods, Eternal Wielder of Unholy Power… was genuinely excited.

You were not bringing Malleus more books because you liked him. Obviously. That would be ridiculous. You were simply executing a strategic maneuver—an information-gathering mission, if you will. The more books he had, the more he would talk, and the more he talked, the more you learned.

This was all very professional. A tactical decision. Absolutely nothing to do with the way his eyes lit up whenever you brought him something new or the fact that you may or may not have started associating his lair with peace instead of doom.

So, with arms full of books that were definitely not handpicked to match his interests (including one on celestial phenomena, which was coincidental and not an attempt to make him happy), you strolled into his lair like you owned the place.

And that was when you met him.

Lilia Vanrouge.

You knew the name. You’d heard it whispered in the temples, spoken with the kind of reverence usually reserved for plagues and natural disasters. The Scourge of the Battlefield. The War Demon. The Dark General Who Consumed Kingdoms Whole.

You had also heard it from Malleus, who described him as eccentric, mischievous, and one of the few people he respected.

And the moment you laid eyes on him, you realized once again that the gods were complete and utter morons.

Because standing before you was not a nightmarish harbinger of destruction. No, the man currently floating upside down in the air, cheerfully snacking on something, looked more like an impish uncle who would absolutely teach children how to commit tax fraud for fun.

He looked at you. You looked at him. He grinned. You immediately braced for impact.

“Well, well! So you’re the fabled Chosen Hero,” Lilia chirped, righting himself mid-air and landing gracefully before you. “How fascinating! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I—” you began.

“I must say, this is not what I expected!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “From what I’ve heard, heroes usually barge in with righteous fury, divine proclamations, and very little self-preservation! Yet here you are, standing in the Demon King’s domain, casually handing him books.”

You turned to Malleus, who looked completely unbothered, still examining the latest tome you had brought him. “You told him?”

Malleus, without looking up: “He asked.”

You turned back to Lilia. “And you’re not freaking out?”

Lilia tilted his head, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed one of Malleus’s generals would take issue with me being, you know, the divinely ordained slayer of your king?”

Lilia snorted. “Oh, please. Do you have any idea how many so-called ‘heroes’ I’ve seen storm in here? You’re already my favorite.”

“…Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s just so refreshing to see one of you actually using your head for once.” He floated up again, upside down, resting his chin on his hands. “Though I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… impressive.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilia smirked and gestured to the table where you and Malleus had been previously engaged in very serious discussions. Your stomach dropped. You had left out your papers.

Specifically, the ones where you had been doodling different armor designs and asking Malleus for his fashion advice.

Malleus, the traitor, casually picked one up. “I am partial to this one,” he said, holding up a particularly elaborate sketch. “The embroidery detailing is quite striking.”

Lilia laughed.

You buried your face in your hands as the War Demon, the Living Nightmare of the Battlefield, the Eternal Scourge of Kingdoms—wiped away tears of laughter over the fact that instead of slaying the Demon King, you had apparently made him your personal stylist.

It was, all things considered, not your proudest moment.

It had been months since you first stepped foot into Malleus’s lair, and, well… things had progressed.

Not in the way the gods wanted, obviously. If they had their way, Malleus’s severed head would be mounted on a sacred altar by now. Technically, you were still on your holy mission to vanquish the Demon King. Technically, you were gathering information. Technically, you had every intention of fulfilling your duty.

But, if one were to take a completely unbiased look at your current situation… it might appear that you were just hanging out.

A lot.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Malleus now made your drink exactly the way you liked it—sometimes before you even asked. You didn’t even have to tell him anymore. You’d wander into his lair after a long day of doing absolutely nothing related to demon slaying, and he’d already have your favorite drink ready, at the exact right temperature.

And you? You, the so-called “Divine Champion of Justice,” the god-appointed warrior of destiny? You had, against all logic and reason, started bringing him gifts. It wasn’t even a conscious decision at first. But every time a merchant came through town, you found yourself idly picking up little trinkets or books that looked like they’d interest him.

You told yourself it was just diplomacy. A strategic bribery effort. It had absolutely nothing to do with how much you enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever you presented him with something new.

You weren’t even sure when the shift had happened.

One day, you were the brave hero, standing before the terrifying Demon King with divine orders to smite him. And now? Now, you were practically living in his lair. Casually.

You’d gotten comfortable here, a fact that you refused to acknowledge out loud. Malleus’s lair was peaceful, quiet, and—to your horror—pleasant. The enormous gothic windows, the soft candlelight, the bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes… It was all just so much nicer than the gods’ temples, which were always cold, sterile, and filled with divine bureaucrats who asked too many questions.

And worse—worse—when you weren’t here, you were usually thinking about what to do for Malleus next.

Should you bring him something from the next merchant caravan? Maybe take him to another festival? He liked those. Maybe introduce him to the weird little bakery in town that sold those oddly-shaped pastries you kept seeing. He might find them amusing.

You were planning surprises for him.

Like a friend.

No. Not just a friend.

A best friend.

You slammed your head onto the nearest table with a thud.

The gods could never find out about this.

You were having an existential crisis. A real one. The kind that made you stare at your reflection in a soup bowl and wonder if you had any meaningful purpose in life beyond being the divine equivalent of a glorified errand runner.

Lilia, of course, noticed. Because he was an agent of chaos and probably fed off emotional turmoil like some sort of tiny, ancient demon bat.

“You seem troubled,” he had said, watching as you slumped dramatically over Malleus’ very fancy dining table, exhaling the world’s most pitiful sigh. “Why don’t you and Malleus spar?”

Your head lifted slightly. “What?”

Lilia smirked, clearly pleased that he had successfully baited you out of your misery. “It’s been months, has it not? If the gods ask, you can tell them you’ve been honing your skills, preparing for the final battle.”

That… actually wasn’t a bad excuse. The gods had been getting nosy again, demanding updates. Maybe you could make this work.

Which was how you ended up here.

Standing in the grand, sprawling courtyard of Malleus’ lair, stretching out your limbs while he calmly removed his cloak, draping it over a bench like he was about to have a casual stroll instead of engaging in combat.

“You sure about this?” you asked, gripping the hilt of your sword.

Malleus tilted his head, looking amused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smirked. “Just saying, if I win, I demand tribute.”

Malleus chuckled. “And if I win?”

“… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Lilia was off to the side, grinning like this was the best form of entertainment he’d seen in centuries.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself. Okay. This was it. You were going to fight the Demon King, and it was going to be serious. No more cozy tea parties. No more lighthearted book shopping trips. It was time to—

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Malleus asked.

You scoffed. “Pfft. No. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Malleus hummed, looking almost pleased at your confidence. “Very well.”

And then, without warning, he disappeared from sight.

You barely had time to register the movement before a gust of wind slammed into you at full force, sending you flying backwards like a poorly thrown ragdoll.

You crashed into a bush.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the sky, contemplating every choice that had led you to this moment.

Then, groaning, you rolled out of the shrubbery, shaking off the twigs as you picked up your sword. “Okay,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “That was just a warm-up round.”

Malleus was still standing in the same spot, looking entirely unbothered.

And his hands were behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you—” You took a deep breath. “Are you fighting me with your hands behind your back?"

“Of course,” Malleus said pleasantly. “You told me not to go easy on you.”

You could hear Lilia choking on laughter in the background.

You squinted at Malleus, wondering if you should feel honored or insulted.

Fine. You could work with this. You charged again, ducking low, aiming for his legs. A flicker of green magic intercepted you, sending a harmless but powerful shockwave that knocked your weapon out of your hands.

You stared at your empty hands.

Malleus looked mildly impressed. “Good attempt.”

You retrieved your sword. Tried again. And again. And again.

Malleus never used his hands. Never lifted a finger. He just sidestepped your attacks with casual ease, occasionally flicking his magic at you, like you were a mildly annoying housecat trying to pounce on a much larger, much more powerful predator.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to win and just started having fun.

And then, eventually, your energy gave out. You collapsed onto the ground, spread-eagled, arms outstretched, staring up at the sky as you caught your breath.

Malleus stepped closer, looming over you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I do believe you’re my favorite hero,” he mused.

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face.

The gods were going to kill you if they ever found out about this.

You couldn’t sleep.

Which was fine. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to sleep. Heroes were supposed to lie awake at night, tormented by the burden of their destiny, haunted by the weight of their mission, plagued by—

"What if I let him win?"

You bolted upright so fast you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on your headrest. You slapped a hand over your mouth like you had just spoken a heresy so foul the gods would strike you down immediately.

That was not a normal thought for a hero to have. That was the most absurd, blasphemous, outrageous, morally reprehensible—

"Am I technically dating the Demon King???"

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—

Your hands went to your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just thought hard enough, you could physically remove this thought from your brain. Or maybe, if you focused, the gods would finally smite you like they had always threatened to do.

You flopped back down onto your mattress, dragging a pillow over your face, as if that would smother the absolute nonsense your mind was generating tonight. But the problem was, now that the thought had entered your brain, it had built a home there. It had a mailbox. It was paying taxes. And now it was decorating with even worse thoughts.

Because now you were remembering the way Malleus had smiled when you let him talk for two whole hours about gargoyles. How his eyes had lit up like you were the first person to ever listen. The way he carefully, deliberately made your tea exactly how you liked it, as if he had memorized it from the very first time. The way he always tilted his head when he listened to you, genuinely fascinated by even the stupidest things you said.

The way he let you exist in his space. Not as an enemy. Not as a hero. But as…

… oh no.

OH NO.

You slapped a hand over your mouth again. Your other hand clenched into the sheets like you were physically trying to hold onto your sanity.

You were NOT—this was NOT—

You rolled over, kicking your legs violently under the covers. Maybe if you shook your entire body hard enough, you could dislodge this thought from existence. Yeet it into the void. Purge it from reality. But all that happened was that you pulled a muscle in your back and now you were lying there, in agony, emotionally and physically, because you were starting to realize something terrible.

You weren’t just fond of Malleus. You didn’t just enjoy his company.

You liked him.

You LIKED him.

YOU LIKED THE DEMON KING.

You sat up again, legs crossed, hands clasped together in front of you. “Dear gods,” you whispered, voice trembling, “please smite me where I sit. I have failed you.”

Nothing happened.

“…Cowards,” you muttered.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in pure despair.

You were going to bed. You were going to sleep, and when you woke up, you would not be in love with the Demon King. You would be normal. You would be reasonable. You would be a good hero.

You closed your eyes.

Five seconds passed.

You opened them again.

Gods help me.

Literally.

You were having the time of your goddamn life.

Malleus' lair—again, as usual. You were halfway draped across his lap, leisurely popping fruit into your mouth while Lilia spun some absolutely deranged tale about the time he tricked a king into believing he was a vengeful forest spirit. Malleus sipped his tea, vaguely amused, and you? You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a grape.

The atmosphere? Immaculate. Life? Good. Everything? Perfection.

And then the door SLAMMED open.

You flinched so hard you nearly tumbled off Malleus’ lap. The tea cups rattled. The room’s easygoing tension evaporated as you stared at the figure in the doorway—some guy, just some guy—storming in with his sword drawn, looking like he was about to say the most dramatic thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I HAVE COME TO SLAY YOU, DEMON KING—”

He stopped.

Because you—the actual hero—were very much not slaying the Demon King. You were, instead, sprawled across him like a spoiled house cat, eating his fruit and giggling like an idiot.

A horrifically long pause followed as this budget hero—who was not chosen by the gods, by the way—took in the scene.

Scrambling upright, you waved your hands frantically. “This—this is not what it looks like—”

“It is exactly what it looks like,” Lilia corrected, taking a dainty sip of tea. “Please, continue.”

Budget Hero looked insulted. Absolutely offended. “You—you’re supposed to be a hero! You’re supposed to be fighting him, not—” He gestured at you and Malleus with a face of pure betrayal. “—whatever this is!”

Panic surged. “I am fighting him!”

Budget Hero squinted.

You cleared your throat. “It’s just—” A vague gesture at Malleus. “A mental battle.”

Lilia snickered. Malleus lifted a brow, deeply entertained.

Budget Hero wasn’t buying it. His face hardened with righteous fury as he turned his sword back on Malleus. “No matter! If the gods will not choose a proper hero to strike you down, then I shall—”

And that’s when it happened.

Before Malleus could even think about obliterating him, you moved first. Instinctively. Violently. Viscerally.

Budget Hero never saw it coming. His weapon went flying in a single fluid motion, and before he could process it, he was done. Just absolutely demolished.

Silence.

Then:

Lilia. Wheezing. “Oh, that was brutal.”

You stared down at Budget Hero’s crumpled form, still gripping your weapon, stunned.

Because here’s the thing. That wasn’t a calculated attack. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even to protect Malleus, exactly.

It was pure, unfiltered spite.

Who did this guy think he was? Marching in, sword drawn, acting like he was Malleus’ sworn enemy? That was your job. Your dynamic. The thought of anyone else trying to take that place—trying to take any place in Malleus’ life that wasn’t yours—was so disgusting, so offensive, that your body moved before your brain did.

…Oh no.

Quickly sheathing your weapon, you coughed into your fist. “Welp. That’s enough murder for today! I should get going!”

Malleus blinked at you, unbothered. “You only just arrived.”

Lilia, still recovering from laughter, wiped a tear from his eye. “Stay! We haven’t even finished discussing your new armor—”

“Nope!” You laughed—too forcefully. “Nooope! I just—I have to, uh—cleanse myself. Spiritually. From, um. Today’s events.”

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

You sweat. “Yeah, but this one was just, uh, really emotionally charged. You know how it is.”

Lilia’s grin was so knowing it made you ill. “Do we?”

You needed to leave immediately.

“Anyway, see you later, besties!” Backing toward the door, you threw up a hand. “Malleus, you’re great, Lilia, you’re also great, I’m normal, and definitely not in any sort of crisis! Bye!”

And then you fled. Like a coward.

You had been avoiding him.

Technically speaking, you had only been gone for a week. But considering you usually barged into his lair daily—arms full of books, or pastries, or some weird trinket you thought he’d like—it was an absence that did not go unnoticed.

After all, you had never run before.

Even when you first met him, when you had been sent to kill him, you had walked right up to him and said, "Hey, so the gods told me to kill you, but honestly, I don’t feel like it." And he had smiled, slow and intrigued, and offered you tea. That had been the beginning of everything.

You had stayed. You always stayed.

But yesterday, after that absolute disaster of an encounter with that third-rate hero, after watching yourself cut him down before Malleus could even lift a hand, after realizing with gut-wrenching horror that you had reacted viscerally to the mere idea of someone else claiming that they were destined to fight him, to be his rival, you had fled.

Because what the fuck did that mean?

Because why had your stomach turned in disgust at the thought of someone else standing in your place?

Because you had looked at Malleus, and something inside you had snarled mine, and the weight of that realization had nearly knocked you off your feet.

So you ran.

Cowardly. Embarrassing. You, the so-called chosen hero, the one who had spent months dragging Malleus through town, shoving hats over his horns, feeding him sweet treats, listening to him ramble about gargoyles with the fondest expression on your face—you had panicked and run away like a flustered maiden in a fairytale.

You didn’t even have the excuse of battle wounds. The only wounds were entirely self-inflicted, entirely emotional, and entirely stupid.

So today, after daysof pacing and telling yourself to get it together, you forced yourself to return.

You spent the entire week gaslighting yourself into thinking nothing happened.

That reaction? Not weird. You were just… caught off guard! Maybe a tiny bit possessive. Maybe incredibly deranged about Malleus to the point where you instinctively obliterated someone for even thinking about taking your role as his arch-nemesis—but that was normal. That was just healthy rival dynamics!

So when you walked into Malleus’ lair the next week, it was with the confidence of someone absolutely not having a mental breakdown over their supposed mortal enemy.

“Yo,” you greeted, hands in your pockets, a casual whistle leaving your lips. “What’s up, big guy? Ready for some classic, good old-fashioned, not-at-all suspicious hero vs. villain conflict today?”

No answer.

It was silent. Too silent.

Usually, Lilia was there to greet you with some teasing remark. Usually, Malleus could sense you the moment you entered his territory, and you’d be met with a soft “You’ve returned.” Usually, there was some kind of warmth, a quiet hum of life in these ancient halls.

But today, there was only cold stone.

Your stomach twisted as you searched for him.

You found him by one of the enormous windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky with an expression you’d never seen before. His shoulders—usually poised with an almost arrogant regality—were slack. His jaw, tight. His eyes, distant.

For the first time since you met him, he looked exhausted.

“…Malleus?”

Your voice came out softer than you expected. Almost hesitant. As if part of you already knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t turn, didn’t shift, didn’t react right away. Just stood there, gazing out at the vast horizon like he was searching for something.

Finally, after a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

“…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

You had been gone for a week. You figured skipping a few visits wouldn’t matter much. That you could collect yourself, sort out whatever this was, and return once you weren’t a flustered disaster.

But standing here now, staring at him, it hit you just how much he had felt your absence.

His fingers curled a little tighter behind his back. His voice, barely above a whisper—

“If someone were to kill me,” he murmured, “I think I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, you understood.

He wasn’t just speaking in hypotheticals. He wasn’t musing about battle. He wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t provoking you, wasn’t setting the stage for a dramatic clash between hero and demon king.

No.

Malleus had lived centuries watching heroes march to his doorstep, brandishing divine weapons, shouting righteous declarations, vowing to end him. And yet, he had never once fallen. Never once faltered. Never once let a blade even graze his skin.

But yesterday, when you hadn’t returned, he had thought—ah. So this is how it ends.

If he had to be slain, he wanted it to be by your hand.

If he had to see someone for the last time, he had hoped it would be you.

You broke.

Instantaneous. No hesitation. No rational thought. No clever quip or theatrical deflection. No last-minute is this a good idea? self-reflection. Just a sharp inhale, a rapid closing of distance, and then—

You kissed him. Hard.

Not soft, not slow, not gentle. Desperate. Raw. Months of pent-up feelings, of endless late nights spent thinking about him, of hands brushing and shared laughter and quiet understanding and—fuck. You were so gone for him.

Malleus stiffened—but only for a second.

Then he melted into you.

His hands rose—one tangling in your hair, the other curling around your waist, pulling you so close you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. He kissed back just as desperately, just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting just as helplessly as you had.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared like he’d never seen you before. Wide-eyed. Lips parted. His grip on you so tight, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

“…I suppose that was your way of saying you refuse?” His voice, unsteady.

A breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I refuse.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your lips. His hands didn’t loosen their hold.

“…Then don’t ever leave me.”

You closed your eyes. Gripped his shoulders.

Nodded.

“Never.”

The celestial being—divine embodiment of justice and order, an ancient force revered throughout history—descended upon Malleus’ lair in a blinding display of light and holy power.

Wings of pure radiance unfurled. A golden staff crackled with divine energy. A voice, imbued with the might of the cosmos, boomed across the chamber:

“CHOSEN HERO. DEMON KING. IT IS TIME FOR YOUR DESTINED BATTLE.”

You blinked. Looked up from where you were curled against Malleus, sipping tea and reading a book titled 1,001 Architectural Wonders (That Are Not Gargoyles, Please Stop Asking).

Malleus glanced up from the game of chess he was currently losing against Lilia. “Oh?” he said, perfectly unbothered. “Has it truly been that long?”

“Yes, it has been that long!” the celestial being thundered. “You were sent here to vanquish the Demon King, not—” their eye twitched as they took in the scene, “—play house with him.”

You frowned. “Okay, first of all, rude.”

"Rude? RUDE?!" The celestial being practically vibrated with fury. "YOU LIED TO US!"

“I did not lie,” you said, deeply offended. “I gave you very detailed mission updates.”

“‘I’m gathering intel on the enemy’?”

“I was!” you huffed. “Did you know Malleus actually prefers honey in his tea instead of sugar? Crucial information.”

The celestial being sputtered. “You literally wrote, and I quote—” they conjured a glowing scroll and read aloud, “‘I need to study his weaknesses.’”

“Well,” you said, nodding toward Malleus, “he is weak to compliments. Call him ‘awe-inspiring’ and he gets all flustered. It’s very endearing.”

The being looked one breath away from smiting you. “AND ‘HE’S PROBABLY PLANNING SOMETHING EVIL, I NEED TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM’??”

You pointed at Malleus, who was currently sipping tea with perfect elegance, staring at you like you personally hung the moon in the sky.

“Look at him,” you said dryly. “He’s clearly up to something.”

Malleus delicately set down his teacup. “Indeed,” he mused. “I was just plotting whether to have scones or biscuits with my tea tomorrow.”

The celestial being’s golden aura flickered like a candle in the wind. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!”

Malleus frowned. “That seems excessive for a difference in snack preference.”

The celestial being inhaled sharply, hands trembling. You were pretty sure you just heard them whisper I hate my job.

“Enough!” they roared. “FIGHT! NOW!”

You and Malleus exchanged a long glance.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with all the excitement of two overworked employees being forced into another useless meeting, you both sighed and reached for the nearest decorative swords.

You lifted your sword. Malleus did the same.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of two toddlers being told to pretend-fight for Grandma’s amusement—

—you both half-heartedly tapped your swords together.

clink.

“There,” you said, monotone. “We fought. Can we go back to cuddling now?”

The celestial being screamed.

The celestial being didn’t so much escort you to the heavens as haul you there like a parent dragging a misbehaving child to a disciplinary hearing. You barely had time to adjust to the blinding light before being unceremoniously dropped onto the cold marble floor.

Above you, the gods loomed from their gilded thrones, their divine radiance pulsing with something that was not quite anger—because gods did not feel anger, only divine disappointment, which was so much worse.

The celestial being, standing smugly beside them, crossed their arms. “I told you they weren’t taking this seriously.”

The first god spoke, voice like rolling thunder. “Chosen hero.”

Another voice, this one like a windstorm, joined in. “You were sent to slay the Demon King.”

A third, calm and cold as deep water. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the celestial being snapped their fingers, and suddenly, an image materialized before you. A glowing vision of you, fully reclined across Malleus’ lap, popping fruit into his mouth while he read a book.

You stared.

“…Okay,” you admitted, “this looks bad.”

The celestial being glared. “Because it is bad!”

The gods ignored them, their voices deepening into something more final.

“This war against the Demon King has lasted centuries,” one intoned.

“You were our last hope,” another added. “If you do not complete your duty, there will be no other hero for another hundred years.”

“Without a hero,” the celestial being hissed, “there will be no one to protect the world from his inevitable destruction.”

Their words should have shaken you. You should have felt the weight of them pressing into your spine, the consequences of this moment sinking into your bones.

Instead, you just felt tired.

Tired of this war you never understood. Tired of the gods, who sat safe in their gilded heavens, while they sent hero after hero to their deaths.

Tired of pretending that Malleus was something he wasn’t.

You took a slow breath. Then, you reached up and began unbuckling the divine armor. The metal rang loud as it clattered to the ground, reverberating through the silent chamber. You ripped the sacred amulet from around your neck, tossing it aside like an afterthought. The enchanted boots that carried you here? Gone.

The gods watched, speechless, as you stripped away everything that bound you to them.

Then, you stood taller than you ever had before.

“I quit,” you said simply.

The chamber erupted. The celestial being choked. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, stretching your arms, reveling in the freedom of it. “And I am. You want a hero? Find another poor fool. I’m done.”

The gods stared, as if they truly couldn’t comprehend your audacity.

“There will be no other hero for a century,” one god reminded you. “Do you understand what you are forsaking?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Unnecessary slaying.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, the celestial doors parting effortlessly before you. The gods did not stop you. Perhaps they couldn’t.

You returned to Malleus’ lair lighter than you had ever felt.

He was waiting for you when you arrived, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those impossibly green eyes—watched you carefully, searching for something.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

Something flickered in his expression—something relieved, something like hope.

You exhaled, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “I’m free now, Malleus. No more gods. No more divine duty. Just… me.”

For the first time, you saw it—true joy in his gaze. He stepped forward, closer, until there was nothing between you.

And then he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. Not questioning. It was certain, like he had always known this moment was inevitable, like he had only been waiting for you to realize it too.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips curling into a smile.

“I was hoping you’d choose me,” he murmured.

You smiled back, fingers threading through his.

“I always would have.”

It happened over tea, as most of your most life-altering conversations with Malleus tended to.

You had been lounging on his absurdly comfortable sofa, sipping something floral he had brewed just for you, feeling very much like a person who had absolutely no idea that their entire life was about to be rearranged.

Malleus, ever composed, set down his own cup and regarded you with something almost too fond.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about how long we’ve been together.”

You blinked. “How long?”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Since you gave me your sword, of course.”

You continued blinking, because surely, surely you had misheard him.

“…My sword?”

Malleus nodded, utterly serene. “Yes. It was an elegant proposal.”

You made a sound. It wasn’t a word, exactly, but it conveyed your confusion well enough.

Malleus watched you, waiting patiently for what he must have assumed was joyous realization.

You, meanwhile, were still trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

“…Proposal,” you echoed, because maybe if you repeated it, reality would shift into something that made sense.

Malleus offered a rare, knowing smile. “A symbol of devotion. Offering one’s most treasured possession to another—it is an unbreakable vow, a declaration of lifelong commitment. The moment you placed your sword in my hands, you became mine.”

A long pause.

You stared at him. He continued to look pleased.

You, meanwhile, were experiencing an entire existential crisis.

“Hold on,” you said slowly. “So you’re telling me that, in demon culture, giving you my sword meant—”

“A proposal,” Malleus finished, nodding. “It was quite romantic.”

Your brain short-circuited. You thought back to that moment, a year ago, when you had so casually handed him your holy sword, thinking haha, maybe he can make this thing shut up.

In reality, you had apparently gotten engaged like an absolute moron.

You set down your tea with the careful precision of someone trying very, very hard not to spiral. “Malleus,” you said, voice deceptively calm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked, puzzled. “I thought you knew.”

“Malleus, I’m human.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Ah. I see the problem now.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “So, in your mind, we’ve been betrothed this whole time?”

“Yes,” he said, utterly unbothered.

You stared at him. He stared back, composed as ever.

And then you just—laughed. Because of course. Of course you had accidentally proposed to the Demon King like an idiot.

“Well,” you said between snickers, wiping at your eyes. “Since we’re apparently already engaged, wanna just go ahead and get hitched?”

Malleus’ grin was blinding.

“Absolutely.”

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus

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bunni-v1 · 27 days ago

Note

wellll since you are taking requests! Can I request Sylus, Caleb, and Zayne with a fem reader who's playful and loves to tease them in public but when their having sex, she's all shy and that?? <33 (I haven't requested something in such a long time, I forgot how this works 😭😭)

Don't Hide~

Pt. 2

🍓Baby, you fucking know you can. My little MC is exactly like this, so thank you soooo much for allowing me to write her vicariously through this ask. I have sooo much fun with brat taming, you have no idea, I should write it wayyyyy more. Anyway, I really tried not to let my favoritism for Caleb show here, but he still has more than the other two. Sue me, I love my man.

TW: Intense eye contact in Caleb's; Brat taming; cat ears mentioned but not relevant in Sylus' part; Sylus is crazy big; teasing; softcore otherwise; editing/grammar errors (i am one college student)

Info: Sylus, Zayne, Caleb x Reader (Separate); NSFW

Word Count(s): Zayne (1.2k); Sylus (1.2k); Caleb (1.5k)

MDNI

ZAYNE

You loved to just push, didn't you? It was an annoyingly charming part of you, one that Zayne just adored in most situations. Playful poking and prodding was part of your daily routine, something he expected and honestly needed from you. If you weren't causing some kind of problem for him, you weren't doing well. He would rather you annoy him than see you sad and quiet.

Still, you really could get under his skin when you tried. Bonuses of knowing each other so well, he guessed. Even framing it like a positive was hard when you were trying your very best to get him to react.

Having your arms wrapped around him was a more than welcome experience in most cases. He loved it when you were so openly affectionate in public; it made him feel better about how badly he wanted to hold you, too. What he was not a fan of was the way your sneaky little hands seemed to be creeping lower and lower down his back. It was cute, at first. Easily mistaken as a comforting gesture when your fingers drew themselves back up after dipping just a little lower.

Yet, they didn't stop dipping a little lower. Each stroke got longer, went further down his back, until your fingers were dancing along the hem of his pants. If that weren't bad enough, you were doing it in front of a colleague of yours. Tara, you'd excitedly introduced. Chirping along happily together like two birds of a feather, like you weren't pushing your luck with each passing second. You knew that, though, didn't you?

He shoots you the subtlest look when your hand hovers over his behind, a warning. One, you do not heed, clamping your hand down and pinching his cheek with a Cheshire grin. And he squeaks, despite expecting it, the feeling still takes him off guard. Your grin only widens, especially when Tara blinks in surprise.

"Are you okay, Mr. Li?" She asks, befuddled at how such a stoic man could make such a noise.

He clears his throat, glancing at you, less subtly, "Fine. We should be going, though."

"Aww," you and Tara pout at the same time, though yours is far less genuine than hers.

"Well, it was nice to see you. Have fun with the rest of your day!" She waves, skipping away, oblivious to the tension between you.

Zayne lets out a deep and heavy breath, annoyance leaving him all at once. His eyes zero in on your smirking face, expression even despite the intent clouding his green eyes. He tugs your hand away, wrapping it around his waist in a firm grip so you don't do the same thing again.

"You can't behave for a second, can you?" He sighs.

Another self-satisfied smirk, "It's not my fault you have such a cute butt! It's just begging me to grab it."

He hums, pulling you along with him without another word. He can feel the excitement rolling off you in waves, practically leaping and bounding at his side to get home. How obnoxiously adorable. Your ability to manipulate him into giving you what you want was admirable; he'll give you that. Besides, it's not as though he'd be the one feeling embarrassed by the end of the night, so he'd let you have your little victories.

He'd had you on your knees before the front door could even fully close. Shaky hands struggling with his belt, fumbling futilely a few times before finally wriggling it out enough to unzip his pants and slide his member out. It bobs uselessly in front of your mouth, begging for some semblance of friction. Naturally, as if magnetically attracted, you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

A firm hand stops you before you can, making your face scrunch up in confusion, fluttering up to his. The intensity in his eyes is enough to burn you up from the inside, heated and full of intent. You look away quickly, trying to ignore the heat searing beneath your skin. He doesn't allow you to run, gripping your chin and bringing your eyes back to him.

"Use your hands," He commands, "and look at me. Understood."

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. Not good enough.

"Words."

You swallow, "Yes, Zayne."

The grip on your chin softens, stroking the skin there as if apologizing for the roughness, "Good."

Your shaky hands come up, spitting on them for lubricant, then carefully wrap around his cock. Gentle, easy, practiced. You know what he likes, slow and easy. You watch the way your hands glide along his shaft, smiling when the sticky pre-cum coats your fingers. So pretty.

He clears his throat, and you correct your mistake like you've been Pavloved. Looking up at his flushed face, chest heaving, and body, eyes watching your every move. Nervousness tends to build up in your chest when he looks at you like that. No walls or hidden meaning, just sheer desire. You want to hide away from it, but you know he won't let you. All you can do is swallow the ever-growing lump in your throat and let your face burn hotter and hotter.

You watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate some of the need between your legs. It's useless, as expected, and only serves to make you feel more pathetic. You don't stop, though, obediently tugging his member at an even pace. His breath grows more shaky with each stroke, mouth slightly ajar and puffing the hot air out unevenly. Much prettier.

His fingers trace along your chin, down the sensitive column of your neck, and back up again. Mirroring your movements from earlier, giving you a taste of your own medicine. It makes you shy away a little, flinching back when they dip between your collarbones. He spreads them out as he comes back up, pausing in the center of your throat and giving the smallest press, prompting you to swallow against them. He shudders when you do, having to use the door to keep himself upright.

He was close, so close. It made you want to speed up, but you don't. Not unless he tells you to.

"Are you sorry?" He suddenly asks, low and gravely, like it was hard to get out in the first place.

You bite your lip, shrinking into yourself as you mumble, "'m sorry..."

"Clearly," he commands, "or else I'll make you stop right now."

You jolt, shaking your head adamantly, "I-I'm sorry. I am! I promise, please?"

He scoffs a laugh, "Brat... open your mouth, now."

You comply, sticking your tongue out, and within a few moments, he's spurting out onto it. You lap up his release obediently, never breaking eye contact, no matter how much it drives you insane. The hand on your chin comes up to pet your hair, a silent praise for your good work.

"Did you learn your lesson?" He asks lowly, scratching your scalp gently.

You nod, proud to please. It's cute. Really cute. But he's not quite satisfied. With a low hum, he helps you off your knees, nudging you through the house on a straight path to the bedroom.

"Why don't we test that theory, then?" He whispers, a promise that you were in for a long night of behavioral correction.

SYLUS

Sylus was a tease at heart, always pushing your buttons and getting on your nerves with little to no effort at all. He'd admitted to you on more than one occasion that he found your feisty reactions positively adorable. You were his little kitten, after all, what kind of man would he be if he didn't get you swatting your claws at him?

However, teasing him was a difficult endeavor. One that you'd become an expert in. See, you couldn't just whisper sweet nothings into his ear or draw your hands along him sensually. He didn't react to that; he found it more funny than alluring. Calling you needy, which you weren't. No, if you wanted to get something out of him you had to be smarter than just sheer sex appeal.

You had to be cute.

Not so cute that you came off as childish and stupid, he would catch on to things too fast and ruin your fun. Just cute enough that it would get his heart racing, make him pause, and take a second to admire you. When he did that, you knew you got what you wanted.

Which is why you were walking hand in hand with him now, swinging your arm just slightly between your bodies. You were in some expensive shopping district, looking around for something to wear for a mission you were assigned to. He'd insisted on buying you a dress when you'd mentioned it offhand. Who were you to deny him the privilege of seeing you spin around in glittering dresses like a teenager picking out a prom dress?

You'd gotten a bit... off track, though. Purposefully, of course, not that he needed to know that. Excitedly bounding from shop window to shop window, gazing in at the silly souvenirs and cute little stuffed animals like a kid on Christmas. Sylus allowed you to tug him around, a soft smile on his face as you rambled about how cute that little teddy bear is, then in the same breath refused to let him buy it for you.

You stopped short when you came across a little standee outside of a costume shop, laughing at its contents. Cat ears of various types hung on the little turnstile, the perfect killer. You bounded up to it, scanning across the different types before plucking two off the rack. You turn back to Sylus then, a giddy smile as you show him your little treasure, lifting it up with pride.

He leans down without another word, letting you set the white pair on his head. His eyes softening when you clap your hands. You know you've got him right where you want him. You just needed the finishing blow. You set the second pair on your head, pointing your chin to the sky like a proud lion.

He smirks at the sight, petting your head like he would a regular cat, "Aren't you cute?"

You bite your lip, going in for the throat, "Now I really am your kitten, huh?"

He pauses, visibly processing your words and realizing just what you were up to. A scoff tumbles out of his mouth, eyes rolling from the sheer idiocy. He'd fallen for your cutesy little antics, again, just like he always did. Steady fingers grip your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes settled on him.

"I wasn't aware she was so prone to misbehavior. Tell me, are you looking for punishment, kitten?" He purrs lowly.

Mission successful, "I'dunno what you mean, Sy..."

Riding Sylus always felt impossible thanks to his incredible size. You always managed to fit it, but it was more than just a little fight. This is what you asked for, though. Your little cry for attention earlier rewarded with a brand new pair of cat ears, and Sylus’ lazy smirk as you struggled to adjust to him.

Your hands weakly kneaded at his chest, trying to ground yourself from the intensity of the stretch. He merely watched you, red eyes drawing across your figure slow and steady, pleased to have you on display for him. His calloused hands rested at your waist, thumbing over the skin there in approval as you settled down.

It was impossible to hide from him like this, making the burning sensation across your body all the more apparent. You just couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the way he seemed to drink you in, savoring you with every sense at his disposal. You were sure he had a secret sixth one made just to relish in your humiliation. Yet, he does not say a word to shame you or make you feel less than. Just watches and appreciates you as you are.

Somehow, that was worse than degradation, melting your mind to a mushy pile of nervousness.

Still, you’d practically begged for this, and as always Sylus had given it to you as you wished. You wouldn’t want to disappoint both of you, so you took a deep breath and began rolling your hips. Slow little circles at first. Unsure, but gradually building as you grew more comfortable in your place on top of him.

Each movement set your nerves alight, sending shocks of pleasure across each inch of your skin. The heat building in your core, spanning across every nook and cranny of your body, wrapping you in a blanket of warm pleasure. Sylus seems to track it with his eyes, drawing up from the sensual roll of your hips, to the way your muscles tense, across your bouncing tits, and landing on your scrunched up little face.

You could practically hear him purring — no, he was purring. A low grumble shaking his chest, traveling through your trembling fingertips and sending the signals directly to the heat between your legs. To be admired so much was just too much for you to handle right now.

You lean over him, tucking your face into his shoulder. It’s a weak attempt to hide at best, not that you’d be able to hide no matter what you did, but you make it all too easy for him to pull you up with a gentleness that seemed too loving for the moment. All too Sylus as he eased your pouting visage back into his line of sight.

“Running away already?” He coos, fingers massaging your neck as if placating you.

You’re far too embarrassed to argue with him, so you just nod, “It’s too much.”

He hums, mocking thought as he takes in your weak excuses. You’re far too cute for him to know what to do with, but he would figure it out, “Do you need my help, kitten?”

In the second of clarity you have, you debate telling him no. Yet, he twitches inside of you when you open your eyes to take in his all consuming stare, and the thought evaporates from your mind. You do need his help, very badly. You’ll probably burn alive between the scorching pleasure and his fiery gaze without him there to placate the flames.

You give him a weak little teary eyed nod, and he eases your face back into his shoulder. He was always so accommodating with you, so gentle and loving that it made your stomach tie into knots. Only forgetting the feeling when he helped to work you along his length, humming sweet words of praise into your ears, letting you hide away from him all you wanted. That’s what you wanted after all, right?

CALEB

Teasing Caleb was an art form that only you had mastered. You would think that after knowing someone for so long, it would be easy to rile them up. Yet, Caleb was the most controlled man you had ever met when it came to handling your light-hearted jabs. Part of it was thanks to how well he knew you, but the other part was simply because he was good at ignoring his own feelings. He could push and push and push them down to the depths of his mind until they were practically non-existent, and your teasing was no different.

The most you'd get for your efforts was a smirk, maybe a ruffle of your hair as he scolds you, and if you were really annoying, he would chase you around the house and tickle you for your crimes. Rarely was it anything more intense than that.

Rarely. Not never.

There was one way to get Caleb hot and bothered enough to do something, and that was your favorite game of all time: Look, don't touch. It was fun to see just how far you could get, doing all his favorite things with an air of innocence, just to see how long it would take to get him to crack.

Your personal favorite method of torture was to find a shirt of his - dirty, preferably - slide it on and walk around the house with nothing but it and a lacy pair of red panties. (His favorite, judging from how often they go missing from the laundry.) It's a long game you have to play, because winning against Caleb's disciplined ability to pretend was always a long game. Luckily, you were just about the one weakness in his mental fortitude.

You start in the morning before he leaves for work, or else it won't work. If he's at home all day, he'll just take care of it without thought. You walk out of the room, and his eyes catch on your legs. They rake over the exposed skin like trying to burn it into his memory, as if he hadn't done that a million times before. Then, like clockwork, he realizes what he's doing and tries to look anywhere but you as you waltz around. Knowing he has a responsibility that he can't skimp on, even for you, keeps him stiff and robotic as you kiss him goodbye.

Then, step two kicks in: text him frequently. Keeping yourself at the forefront of his mind (which you always are, mind you) and letting him know you're thinking of him makes him squirm in a way that's unbefitting of a soldier. He can't stop himself from thinking about your legs, the way his shirt rested against your body, and what was beneath it. Waiting, begging him to get a peek as you stretched your arms over your head. His eye twitches when you send him yet another suspiciously worded text - never incriminating, but always implicative.

Then, when his shift is nearly over, when you spent your whole day playing coy, you reach the final phase of your plan. You send pictures. Nothing explicit. That would ruin the fun of it all. Just cute, mundane tasks. A downward angle of you cooking dinner, reading a book on his bed, or maybe just a picture of a movie you're watching with your bare legs in view. All visual reminders of what he left at home, all reminders of why he needs to get back now.

Normally, Caleb prefers you to tell him what you like in bed. He's soft, attentive, a little sloppy, but entirely obsessed with your pleasure. It's not as though he's neglecting that part of himself, quite the opposite, actually. You were the one who had made it abundantly clear that you wanted- needed him to put you in your place. He knows your little games, he knows you like no other person on the planet - in the galaxy, hell, the entire universe.

So, of course, he knew you wanted him to fold you in half and show you what happens to misbehaving, teasing little pipsqueaks like yourself for all your efforts. Who was he to deny you of what you'd been begging for all day? Wouldn't that make him a bad Caleb? It almost means that the way he makes you look at him, knowing full well that the eye contact sends you into a flurry of embarrassment. He's just so... intense, in every sense of the word, especially when he's having sex with you.

One leg bent up to your head, the other wrapped around his waist, and two strong arms boxing your head had you surrounded. Chest to chest, buried to the hilt, there was no escaping the little prison of pleasure Caleb had built for you. Your reward equaled your punishment, and you wished you could complain, but you knew your voice would catch in your throat and Caleb would tease you for it. You had no choice but to sit there and look up at him, hoping he'd be a little nicer than you were to him today.

His eyes are hot as they trace along the planes of your face, eating up the sight like his last meal on earth. The subtle shift in his expression as you squeeze around him, feeling the intensity of his gaze far more deeply than you'd ever admit out loud. His eyebrows twitch up in surprise, before a lazy smirk crawls over his face, leaning down to kiss along the apple of your cheek to the shell of your ear.

"Y'know," He starts in a low drawl, sending your head spinning, "If you want me to take care of you, you can just ask."

You shake your head, though there isn't a real purpose for it. You're just a little too flustered to think right when he's got you like this. His dominance really is something all-consuming, and it reminds you why you don't tease him like this often. You would be a dead man if you had to put up with his relentlessness every time you had sex.

"No?" He asks, as if he's confused, but the condescension in his voice gives him away.

He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing against your walls just enough to get you to tremble a little. Then, all at once, he pulls himself out to the tip and pushes his way back inside in a fluid motion, "You don't want me to do that? Then tell me what you need, won't you?"

You whimper, tossing your arms on your face like that might help you here. Nearly forgetting how easily he overpowers you in your hazy headspace until he seamlessly pulls your hands over your head, interlacing your fingers as if they belonged together.

"No, no, no. None of that, you gotta look at me, 'kay?" He hums so sickeningly sweet it makes you want to swing at him.

A whine tears through your throat, tossing your head to the side to bury into his arm. Defiant and bratty to the end, as always. He huffs out a laugh that's all too affectionate for how annoying he was being, then chases your face with his own. You feel the warm press of his sweat-slicked forehead against yours, heated breath fanning over your face. You don't budge, not even when he nudges your nose with his own as encouragement.

He's reaching the end of his limited patience; you can feel it in the way his fingers tremble around your wrists. He could hold back all day when you weren't physically near him, but he was inside you for god's sake. Any man - well trained soldier or not - would collapse under the extreme pressure of a nice warm pussy. Your nice warm pussy was simply one of the greatest weaknesses he had, second only to your oh so pretty eyes he was being deprived of right now.

"Pips," He whines, voice uncharacteristically squeaky, "Lemme see your pretty eyes, yeah?"

You curl your hands into tight fists, trying and failing to fight him off one last time. A little voice in your mind reminds you of how mean you were to him today. Listen to his voice, he needs you just as bad as you need him. It's okay to give in, Caleb will take care of everything, it whispers so sweetly. You can't refuse its logic, not when it seems so totally right as he twitches inside you again.

You slowly peel your eyes open, nearly jumping at the way he's staring so intently at you. Brows worried, lip caught between his teeth, and pretty purple eyes darting across your face. You expect some kind of comment from him, some words of praise or thanks, but all you get is his hips pulling back and slamming back into you. It gets your toes curling instantaneously, a moan ripping from your vocal cords in surprise.

You shouldn't be, though. This is what you wanted. Caleb was just giving it to you. He would always give it to you.

1K notes · View notes

imaginedisish · 11 months ago

Text

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade.

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!”

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines.

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have.

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts.

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you.

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan.

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy.

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously.

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp.

“Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in.

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle.

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted.

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle.

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest.

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun.

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name.

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform.

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan.

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open.

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot.

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him.

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes.

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you.

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan.

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist.

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh.

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

#Logan Howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #James Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x you #Wolverine x you #James Logan Howlett x you #Logan Howlett fluff #Wolverine fluff #James Logan Howlett fluff #Logan Howlett x reader fluff #Wolverine x reader fluff #James Logan Howlett x reader fluff #deadpool and wolverine #Logan Howlett imagine #Wolverine imagine #James Logan Howlett imagine

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deepspace-scenarios · 3 days ago

Text

[scenario/drabble] Not Like That

Summary: LIs react when you hum a breakup song around them, getting worried when they pick up on the lyrics about an unhappy relationship. You comfort them when you realise they misunderstood and got spooked. It all ends well <3 (based on a submitted prompt)

Genre: Fluff (mild hurt/comfort bc the men got terrified)

SYLUS

You hum the chorus while folding laundry, oblivious- until Sylus’s hand stops yours. “Interesting choice of lyrics.” His tone is light, but his crimson eyes are sharp. “Care to explain why you’re singing about replacing me?”

Your stomach drops. Oh, shit- the lyrics. “Wait- I just like the melody-”

He takes a step closer. “Because I hear you singing about... needing someone ‘inside’,”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “And if that's your wish, I’ll ruin you until you forget your own name.”

His words send a flurry of flashbacks to the night before- him carrying you from the living room to the bed, with you already kissed breathless at that point. And what happened after you got to the bed still brings a fresh wave of heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

“You’re thinking loudly again, kitten.”

“Yeah, of you.” You tiptoe, draping your arms on his shoulder to look into his eyes. “Only you,” you murmur, kissing him softly when he leans down, “You’re all I ever want and need, Sylus. I mean it.”

He nips your lip. “Mm. Why don't you say that again?”

You slap his chest lightly, “Don’t push your luck,”

His hands find your hips as he holds you against the dresser, closing the space between you. “Hm. But you owe me a proper apology, sweetie.”

Sylus never pouts, but this is the closest expression he’s ever made. And you see it- just barely hidden by his calm facade- is an earnest longing for reassurance. As if you'd ever, ever need anybody else when he is standing right in front of you. It tugs at your heartstrings.

You brush your thumb along his ear. “I’m sorry for scaring you, baby. I’ll make it up to you,”

His chest rumbles with a satisfied hum as he brings you closer to him.

_____

ZAYNE

Zayne pauses mid-sip of tea as you sing "He gives what he can~" under your breath, pouring yourself a second cup. His hazel-green eyes narrow. “Are you… unhappy?” The question is calm, but his knuckles tighten around his mug.

You open your mouth to explain, but he cuts you off. “I’d rather you tell me than sing it to a playlist.”

His bluntness speaks volumes- while he could be curt and straightforward, it’s rare for him to speak like this on lazy weekend mornings. You feel your heart sink when you see him watching you with unmasked concern. You hurriedly set the teapot down on the coffee table, turning to him.

You place your hands around his, guiding him to put his mug down. “Oh, Zaynie- I’m- it’s not that,”

He blinks, then exhales, gazing at his hands enclosed by yours. Only then, do you move closer to cup his face. “It’s just a random song. I promise. You make me happier than anything.”

He nods, pulling you into his chest. “... Please choose one that doesn’t make my pulse spike.”

You think of the cutest, cheesiest love ballad from animated movies- then you start singing, serenading him. You barely get to the pre-chorus when you see him struggle to fight off a growing smile, and you poke his cheeks, continuing to sing.

“Thank you,” He whispers when you stop, his smile gentle.

You tackle him in a hug, “Don’t thank me, you silly, beautiful man I love you so, so much”

_____

XAVIER

The last of the night’s dishes are cleared away from the table and stacked near the sink. Xavier’s blue eyes widen as you sing "Softer, harder, in between" while rinsing soap off some dishes he hands you.

“You- want that?” His voice cracks.

“Huh?” You freeze when realization hits- you’ve been singing for a while now, and the lyrics are hardly anything suitable for a cosy night in. It’s about intimacy, sure- but also about heartbreak, cheating, and things that you won’t ever relate to. “No! It’s just catchy!”

He steps closer, rinsing his hands under the tap and using the front of his shirt to dry them hastily. Fingers trembling as they brush your waist. “If there’s anything I’m doing wrong, or something I’m not doing… whatever you need. Just let me know.”

Pain squeezes your heart. “Xavier, you’re my everything. There’s nothing wrong with us, it’s just a song.”

With a shaky sigh, he buries his face in your neck. “My starlight, please don’t scare me like that. I don't think I can bear the thought of... whatever you were singing about,"

You wrap your arms around him, reaching up to stroke his hair. “Xavi- I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I really am,”

You feel him press a kiss to the side of your neck. “It's ‘kay,” he murmurs, soft lips brushing your skin as he speaks.

"I should've given you context-" you continue, but he shakes his head as he pulls away to look at you, his blue eyes as calm as ever.

His hands on your waist are steady now- firm, even. “There is only one context that matters. Which one are you requesting for tonight? Softer… or harder?”

_____

RAFAYEL

Rafayel drops his paintbrush when you murmur the lyrics "He is stable, you are deep."

“Excuse me? I’m the boring one?!” His eyes flash as whirls around, bristling with indignance.

You try to backtrack, but he’s already draping himself over you. “I’ll drown you in ‘deep,’” he huffs, covering your face in kisses as he nuzzles against you like a disgruntled cat marking his owner. As much as he hates cats, he does act like one in times like these.

“Raf, I'm sorry! It really mmmph–” he smothers you with another kiss, “it's just a song- I'm not-”

You get cut off by a flurry of kisses pressed to your cheeks, the corner of your lips, then your mouth.

You cup his face and squeeze his cheeks likely. “My love, I'm trying to apologize to you!”

He frowns, “And stable is not in my vocabulary. Glub glub,”

(He kisses you senseless, and only then does a satisfied smile return to grace his features.)

_____

CALEB

Caleb’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as you absentmindedly sing a tune that's been on your playlist for the past week.

When you get to the lyrics "Oh yeah, baby, touch me”, he stops you, voice quietly cutting through the cabin. “…Who.”

It’s not a question. You panic when understanding dawns on you. “Wait- it's not- It’s just a song, Caleb!”

He lets out a sharp exhale, keeping his eyes straight ahead and drives until you exit the highway.

He pulls over.

“Then why does it sound like a confession of sorts? Are we having a falling-out?” He grits out.

You gently place your hand over his white-knuckles, brushing your fingers over his. “This song's just been on my playlist… it means nothing to me. I promise, Caleb.”

He sighs, flexing his fingers to release his grip on the steering wheel. He catches your wrist softly, then presses a kiss onto your palm. “Just… tell me if there's something wrong, yeah? You can take it out on me, but just- just don't sing breakup songs like that,”

The desperate tinge in his voice makes your heart sink, and you pull him close to peck his cheek, then his lips. His shoulders loosen, yet his violet eyes glimmer with depths of unspoken fears.

“Okay,” you nod, then tap the tip of his nose lightly. “Mr Colonel, I'm guilty of making you worried, so- you can deal with me as you see fit when we get home,”

He breathes a shaky laugh, raking his fingers through his hair. “God damn, pips. You're really trying to give me cardiac arrest today,”

Note: This came from a submitted prompt <3 It was a little tricky to write bc i couldnt fully imagine how they'd react in that situation ngl?? Lmk what yall think :') also I have a few WIPS but atm my brain is playing kpdh songs all day and its a bit hard to think and write i keep wanting to write lads men as the saja boys ANYWAYS THANKS YALL FOR READING <33 Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3

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thekinslayed · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Disposition

summary | Gwayne is welcomed to King's Landing by his beloved niece.

pairing | gwayne hightower x niece!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), oral (f), just the tip, cum eating, reader has blue eyes and red hair, gwayne is a classist (and is in love with the niece that looks like him lol), incest, lotsa rubbing, lotsa yappin'

song rec | Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap

wordcount | 3.2k

note | welcome to the stage, gwayne hightower!!! i just had to, u guys. i’m not too sure how the age gap’s looking since idrk how old gwayne is, but do assume they did stuff the first time when the reader was of age :)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Ah, sweetling!”

You squealed at the sight of him, rising from your seat by the window to rush over to the door. Your uncle grunted in surprise as you jumped into his arms, chuckling amusedly in your embrace. You had waited all day for him. Worry began to fester in your gut when there was no sign of him as the day grew dark. Mother said they must’ve gotten held back by the impending storm that was painting the blue sky a desolate gray. However, the gods have granted you your wish. Soon enough, a flurry of green flashed through the gates of King’s Landing, and Gwayne Hightower made his way to find you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, pouting at him. His chest rumbled against yours in another chuckle, the rich sound of his amusement a lively song.

“My deepest apologies, princess. Some trouble down in the Kingsroad had us going a longer way. No worry now, I am here,” he explained, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “Brother dearest keeping you locked in here?”

You scoffed, pulling away from your uncle. His bright blues wandered around the expanse of your chambers, observing the various Valyrian tapestries decorating your walls. He admired you, as you trailed your hands over the cushions of the settee. Pure Targaryen, all except for the vibrant red of your curls. That was all Hightower, much to his delight.

“More so mother than Aegon, he doesn’t give two shits about me. Either way, it’s always him and mother huddled together in those council meetings. And Aemond, when he’s not off to gods know where. War feels pretty boring if you ask me,” you responded, earning a raise of the eyebrow from the redhead.

“It won’t be boring once thousands of men die for your cause, princess, all so you could stay here and sit prettily while we fight for you.” He remained standing as you plopped down onto the plush chaise, reaching for a cherry from the plate of fruit situated on the side table.

It was tart, bursting with its dark juices as you sunk your teeth into its plump flesh. Gwayne watched as you wrapped your lips around the round fruit. It tainted your lips a luscious red, utterly delectable.

Your brows furrowed in offense, while a frown turned your pretty lips downward. “Are you saying I’m useless? If only I were given the chance, I could fly off on my dragon and burn more than half the enemy’s army before you could even engage,” you said, to which Gwayne replied with an understanding nod.

“I know you would, darling, but we cannot have you harmed. You are too precious to be sent off to battle, take it from me,” your uncle replied, placating. You huffed, grumbling under your breath, making Gwayne bite back an amused smirk. Throwing away the cherry’s pit, you grabbed a strawberry this time, wrapping your fingers around its leaves to deliver it in one bite. Your cheeks had hollowed as you sucked on its juices, provocating… inviting. This had wiped the amusement off the elder Hightower’s face, making him clear his throat and shift where he stood, A smirk of your own rose on your lips at this success.

“How does Daeron fare?” you asked nonchalantly. Gwayne shrugged, waving a hand dismissively as he continued his exploration of your apartments. It was quite spacious, though the smallest out of the entire royal family, but it was comfortable enough. It was situated at the far end of the hall, farther away from prying eyes and curious ears.

“You know him, itching to fly back at a moment’s notice,” your uncle informed, to which you nodded in understanding. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time in King’s Landing, only in recent years. When the youngest was sent off to Oldtown to squire, you were tasked with accompanying him as his eldest sister. You were ten and five then, only returning after six years when your grandsire decided it was high time for you to be married off. In your time away from the capital, you had missed much, evidently enough. The war had put any courtship or marriage proposals on pause, which aggravated you. If only you had known, you would have spent your days back in Oldtown happily. With Daeron and your dragons. With Gwayne.

“Not curious as to how I’ve been, little red?” he mused. You smirked at him, tilting your head to the side in feigned curiosity.

“How are you then, uncle? Missing your little squire?” you queried, teasing. Gwayne narrowed his eyes at you, which you mimicked. You were no stranger to your uncle’s tastes. Being away from the careful watch of your grandsire allowed him much freedom to do as he liked, especially when the old codgers were asleep. It was why you hadn’t seen much of him in your first years in Oldtown. The elder Hightower used to barely show an interest in his sister’s children, kept occupied by the pursuit of his merriment. He remained detached from you, up until you accidentally came across some unknown servant stumbling out of his chambers late one night, doublet unbuttoned and breeches unlaced. It sparked your curiosity, had ignited a carnal hunger deep within you. He had opened your eyes to such proclivities, had broken away the conservative mold your faith had locked you in.

Gwayne feigned a sarcastic laugh, walking around you to your window. “Funny.”

One could see the vastness of the horizon past the Bay from this view. The breeze a salty, refreshing prickle. It held little of the nose-scrunching stench of Flea Bottom. You craned your head to watch your uncle face the wind. His hair had gotten longer, you noted. It looked better. “Though I am a bit peeved to travel all this way to not be welcomed by my whole family, but I suppose our new Hand has been keeping your mother company,” he said, a bite of bitterness in his tone.

You stood from your seat, approaching to stand by his side. The greens of your garments matched perfectly, and so did the reds of your tresses. You were always happy to look more Hightower than Targaryen, though your blood always ran hot, much like a dragon’s.

“Jealous much? Perhaps you could ask to join them,” you teased, bumping your elbow into his playfully. Gwayne merely rolled his eyes at your implication. The sight of the Dornishman leaning too close to his sister had confirmed the rising suspicions his father had made him aware of. How convenient it was for him to be made Hand too, granted a position that brought him closer to Alicent’s level. And to share her bed at night. How exhilarating it must be to a man like Ser Criston.

“I’d rather indulge with someone that stirred something in my loins without stepping on my shoulders for leverage in this society, thank you very much.”

“Anyone in mind?”

Gwayne turned to meet your gaze. The blues of your orbs were much like his, icy and deep. He could see the freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose from the proximity, could spend all day to count each one of them. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, as fast as a blink, before pursing.

He regarded you with a gaze so familiar, yet tantalizing enough to warm the meat underneath your skin. The hairs on the back of your head stood tall in attention, prickly underneath his stare. He turned his body to face yours, and you followed suit. Gwayne could almost feel the heat exuding from you, the dragon that you were, from this distance. Almost.

You watched him watch you. The momentary flicker of his eyes to your lips was not overlooked, igniting a spark of excitement deep in your chest. Your feet took a step closer to him, nearly closing the gap. Gwayne mimicked you, taking a step of his own. The air between the two of you grew thick, almost dizzying with tension, but neither of you made the move. This was a familiar game with your uncle. It always left you thirsting for more, had made you an addict. It had you almost sneaking off on your dragon back to Oldtown just for a taste.

“When are you to set off then?” you asked, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You felt his fingertip begin to trace the outline of your curves, though you paid them no mind.

“Well, it was supposed to be on the morrow, but this storm hasn’t worked out in our favor. In two days’ time, perhaps.” He had flattened his hand on the small of your back now, pulling you in subtly. You planted your hands on his chest, caressing the firm planes hidden underneath his doublet. His breath was hot on your face, bringing about a flush on your cheeks.

“So soon?” you pouted. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

A heavy sigh escaped Gwayne’s lips. The skin on his neck was pale as he tilted his head back, littered with a light dusting of freckles. He was close to tipping over, you could feel it.

“War waits for no one, I’m afraid,” he muttered. You hummed in agreement, taking a bolder step by wrapping your arms around his neck. He tutted in warning, to which you only responded with an innocent bat of your lashes.

“We should make most of our time then,” you suggested, preening up at him suggestively. Your uncle bit his lip, pondering, deciding whether it was time for him to succumb to the magnetic pull of his body to yours.

“Princess.” A warning.

“Uncle.” An invitation.

Gwayne pressed his lips to yours, sweet like cherry. You moaned in delight, a budding warmth in your chest bursting at the feel of his kiss. It was hungry, urgent, tainted with the promise of making up for the time you had spent away from each other’s warmth. Roaming hands found your rear, squeezing the plump flesh through your skirts. Your uncle’s wandering lips traveled their way downward, trailing to settle on the length of your neck. A whine echoed through your chambers as he bit on your neck, before smoothing over with his tongue. Something was starting to poke your hip, and your hand descended to cup it, earning a grunt from the redheaded man before you.

A breath was hitched into his throat when you dropped to your knees, making quick work to untie his breeches. The heady scent of his cock was familiar, albeit he was unwashed, and it almost felt like coming home. Gwayne was your home. You wasted no time to press kisses to reddening tip, licking a stripe down the underside of his length before taking him whole. Your desperation was evident in your movements, head bobbing up and down fervently while you kept your eyes on him. Above you, the knight could only grunt, running a hand through his ginger tresses to keep himself grounded.

“How is it you’ve gotten better at this in my absence, hm? Had done your own practice?” he groaned, placing a guiding hand on the back of your head. You hummed around his length, the vibrations of your cavern making his cock jump. A hand replaced your mouth when you pulled away, stroking at a uniform pace as you looked up at him.

“One of Aegon’s friends said I certainly do it quite well. I have you to thank for the knowledge, I suppose,” you bragged, smirking when his blues visibly darkened at your words. He pulled you up back to your feet, leading you back to lean against a sidetable before claiming your lips once more. He was unbothered by the taste of himself on your tongue, nor by the spit painting both your cheeks in this messy exchange. You took hold of one of his hands to guide up your skirt, past your smallclothes, and settling on your mound.

Gods, you were soaked. You had been the moment you felt his warmth, had pressed your nose into the familiar scent of his flesh.

His fingertips trailed down your slit to collect your essence, before taking it into his mouth for a taste. You watched, hypnotized as his lips wrapped around his fingers. Your skirts were then bunched up to your hips, your smallclothes falling to the floor once you untied the ribbons that held them together. The figurines on your table rattled as the wood accommodated your weight when you had shifted to lean further. You beckoned him closer by wrapping your leg around his trim waist, and an arm around his shoulders. It was almost like you readied to dance as he took hold of your waist, an embrace so rehearsed, so familiar. The underside of his cock pressed against your weeping cunny, and with the sway of his hips, the sweet song of your whines filled Gwayne’s ears. His cockhead snagged against your pearl when he pushed his hips at a perfect angle, making you both moan.

Calloused hands took hold of your thighs, dimpling the soft flesh under his hold. You gripped the edge of the table to ground yourself, throwing your head back as your uncle rubbed against you deliciously. He knew how much you liked this, well aware of how much power he held over you when he teased you with the promise of his claiming of your maidenhead. It stoked a fire deep within your loins, though today, it was not enough to burn you under.

“Gwayne…” you whined. “More… I need more!”

His red tresses swayed as he shook his head in refusal. His eyes were trained on the sight of your essence coating his cock, angling his hips to press against your pearl more. “I can’t… not yet, my love, you know this.”

You gripped his shoulders in frustration, urging him to look at you with your hands cupping his jaw. Your lips displayed your desperation as you kissed him. You have always asked little from him, naught but for one thing.

“This could be the last time we ever see each other. Please, uncle,” you pleaded, burying your head into his neck as you sobbed.

Your uncle had shown you much, had taught you much. However, there was one thing that was not for him to take. He dared not sully his niece, his beloved sister’s eldest girl. That kind of depravity is for Targaryens, and Gwayne thought himself a dignified man, honorable. Yet as you bit your lip temptingly at him, your brows furrowed adorably, the tight noose of virtue continued to loosen.

He grabbed hold of his cock, directing it to your slit. Gwayne kept his hand on the lower half of length to restrain himself, lest he lost all control. His tip breached your walls, reaching only far enough to feel your heat. “Just this much, and I promise when I return we will have so much more,” he panted into your ear. His thrusts were shallow, though some threatened to reach deeper, farther into your warmth. He alternated between rubbing and breaching, an assaulting tease to your senses.

You moaned his name like a prayer. Devoted pleading. Your grip on the back of his neck was grounding, keeping his head from floating to the heavens to be here with you. You were all over him, from your hands in his hair, your lips on his jaw down to your juices that coated his cock.

It was too late for him, he realized. To try and outrun a dragon’s fire was a futile attempt, and all he could do was welcome it with resignation. How ever could he deny himself this bliss? How could he deny you?

He came as his cockhead snagged on your folds once more, painting your mound with his pearly seed. Barely catching his breath, your hand on his shoulder ordered him to his knees. Like a devotee, the Hightower kneeled before you, descending his mouth onto your cunny. His own spend was salty as it coated his tongue, mixed with the sticky sweet nectar of your maiden core. The sight of his reds in between your thighs was a heavenly sight, and you could only pray to have him like this until the end of your days.

You were nearing your precipice, evident by the grinding of your hips against his face. With a thumb on your pearl and his tongue dipping in and out of your cunt, you came with a cry. Your uncle slurped up your release like a man starved, groaning against your mound.

When he had returned to his feet, Gwayne’s lips glistened with your essence. Breathless, you bit back a smile, but as his own flushed lips widened, a giggle bubbled from your chest. Your uncle chuckled, planting a small kiss to your forehead before taking you into his arms.

“How I’ve missed you, little red.”

“Why does it have a skirt?”

You poked the ornate metal decorating the horse, confused at such attire. It even had a matching mask on its head, and you wondered if the poor thing could even see.

“Tis armor. To ensure my royal steed is kept safe and no harm comes to it, and by extension, me, gods willing,” Gwayne explained, busied by the preparations of the move. Your uncle leaned closer to your ear, the distance between you tethering on violating propriety. “So I may find my way back to you.”

He was clad in his armor, silver steel paired by velvet Hightower green. He looked exquisite. If you were a lesser woman, there was no telling what you would have done right then and there, in the middle of the Keep’s courtyard. You regarded him with a dark gaze, uncaring of hiding your desire despite your mother and the Hand standing only a few paces away.

Your chest was heavy with dread. A worrying nagging in your head growing harder to ignore. Their journey was sure to be hard, and who knows what else they were to face other than harsh terrain. What if there were dragons? What were he to do to defend himself from such fire? You would beg your brother to let you fly with them, but the fucker barely spared a second of his day for you.

The prospect of losing Gwayne was daunting enough to drive you mad, yet there was little you could do. He could see it in your face, could feel the fear emanating from your anxious form as you watched him prepare. “Will you be careful?” you asked quietly.

He gave you a downturned smile, heart swelling. “I will, little red, I promise,” he replied. His vow did little to quench your apprehension, evident in the way you looked at anywhere but him. The knight took hold of your elbow, giving you a comforting squeeze. “And when I return, we could tell your mother,” he vowed.

Your orbs were bright in surprise as you looked up at him, making Gwayne smile. The passing of a stableboy reminded you of your surroundings, making you huddle closer to him. “You don’t jest?” you whispered.

“Never about you,” he responded, sincerity clear in his voice. He took hold of your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. “I shall win the king his army, and ask for his blessing. Until then, wait for me, my sweetling.”

The ground thumped as the knights marched out of the city’s gates. They made for a menacing sight, a symbol for the war that was starting to brew. As you stood with your mother, you uttered a silent prayer. You hoped the gods would hear you now, would let Gwayne find his way back to you.

#bella writes ✍️#gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #freddie fox

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