#how to do a good split dodge

[cathnospam]

Content Warning: College MHA AU, Reader is….weird(ish), Bakugo is somewhat clueless

You don’t know why, but your boyfriend being a crash out is hot.

Maybe it’s the toxicity in you, maybe you’re a sadomasochist, whatever the case may be, but Bakugo getting riled up is probably the top 5 hottest things you’ve seen.

Nobody understands why you like it so much, Mina thinks you’ve been brainwashed, Kiri tries not to judge, but calls you weird, Denki thinks it’s scary and you might be in danger, and Sero finds it hilarious.

Even Deku, he was the first to notice how you smirk and get all giggly when Bakugo is cursing someone out on the field and straight up blasting his heart out when he’s sparring with the poor bastard he’s against.

“Are you smiling?”

“What?”

“You’re smiling, a lot. When Kacchan blasted that wall down unnecessarily you started to smile—“

“Don’t worry about it, Izuku.”

Everybody notices it, but him.

He does notice how much clingier you are after a fight, or after he finishes yelling at someone, or even when he’s mad you’re just there stealing glances and grinning . It’s not that big of a deal to him, but he doesn’t know WHY you do it.

He’s always like this. He’s always been a hot head, that was your first impression of him.

But being a relationship with him made you see in him a new light.

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before, he still does, but it’s not similar to how he does Kaminari or even Deku. It’s usually just passive aggressive comments, mixed with grumbling.

Today was no different he was already annoyed Todoroki got the highest score during the exams and he had to spar with Monoma so of course that plus his taunt really had Bakugo in a mood.

You loved it.

Seeing him blast through walls, his fangs more prominent when he yells, the way his veins pop out of his shoulders and neck. You’re so sick in the head for liking it.

You watched, looking as dazed as you usually are when you see your Blondie fight around. You nearly began to bite your lip until Bakugo caught you.

His brows furrowed for a split second, before dodging Monoma’s move. You had to straight up.

Later that evening Bakugo began to watch you with a thoughtful look. In the common area he walked past you before saying, “Meet me outside. Now.”

“Alright what the hell is your problem. You have been staring at me all day like a fucking piece of meat. You horny…..~”

“No you dick.” You slap his arm, sitting beside him on the bench, “You just looked really good today.”

“I always look good—“

“You look AIIGHT?….You just….I like how you look when you’re fighting. And yelling. And mad—“

“You’re a damn masochist.”

“No I’m not!” You scoff making him break into a chuckle, he figured you liked SOMETHING he was doing he just couldn’t put him finger on it. He smirks at you, “Is that why you like pissing me off huh?” He playfully states while he wraps his arm around your neck and nudges you forehead with his knuckles, “Always fucking annoying the shit out me? Like seeing me mad?”

You share a laugh with him and push him off, “Maybe!..SO!? Who cares I’m complimenting you you bastard.”

“Right…” Bakugo ponders, studying your face as you both sit on the bench outside, “You’re a weird ass, is this your way of telling me I should yell at you more?”

“…” You side eye him and he immediately starts pointing at you in fake disbelief, as if he were about to insult you, “I’m kidding! I don’t want you GENUINELY angry at me.”

The blonde smirks, throwing his arm over your shoulder, he couldn’t ever be actually angry at you. He does however like to know that his outburst don’t annoy you as much as he thought they did.

[after-avenging-hours]

Pollinators Beware: Dante x Reader

Summary: While traveling with Dante and slicing through the roots of the Demon Tree, you accidentally cut through a flowering bud that sprays you with demonic sex pollen. Dante rushes you into a nearby, abandoned building and helps you burn the pollen out of your system.

Word Count: 13,844

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Dante's Devil Trigger, Sex Pollen, Dubcon-ish

Author's Notes: I started writing this while playing DMC5 when it first came out, and then never finished it. The new anime inspired me to pull it out of my drafts, and now we're here. Enjoy this absolute filth.

I do try to establish consent before the pollen sets in, but some might still consider this dubcon. Read at your own risk.

Additional Notes: Takes place during the beginning events of DMC5, before Dante's first battle with Urizen, so he's still in his normal Devil Trigger. Although, I've got plans for a Sin Devil Trigger follow-up to this }:]

“It’s a good thing we don’t have a garden,” you huff, jamming your sword into another glowing red section of the giant, demonic root. “Because I would probably burn the whole thing to ash after dealing with this damn demon tree.” You twist and shove the hilt of your sword, cutting a deep slice into the root. The color of it changes to a sickly grey before the whole thing turns to ash.

“Don’t think you could keep a cactus alive, let alone a whole garden,” Dante quips back, thrusting his own blade into the weak spot of a different root.

“Hey! I’ve managed to keep you alive this long. At least a plant won’t talk back.”

His mouth tilts to the side, beginning to form that devil-may-care grin he’s known for. He grips Rebellion’s hilt with both hands, jerking the blade to the side to create a horizontal gash down the length of the root. He pulls the sword back out right before the Qliphoth root turns to ash as well. He swings the blade upward, resting it casually against his shoulder as he saunters toward you.

“Tell you what… When we get out of this mess and kill whatever sorry excuse of a demon is lurking up in that tree, I’ll get you a plant and you can decide if you want to keep it or light it up. I’m sure it’ll be therapeutic for you either way.”

Your lips split into a matching grin. “I appreciate you saying when we get out of this and not if.”

He lifts his free hand up and shrugs his shoulder. “When have you ever known me to be lacking in confidence?”

“Good point,” you laugh.

The two of you make your way down the city street and turn the corner, only to find a whole other series of roots tangled together and blocking your path.

“Damn it,” you groan. “Better make it something cheap, because it’s getting more and more likely that I’ll torch the damn thing.”

Dante chuckles lowly. “Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ tired.”

You tighten your grip on your sword and make your way to the closest root. “Not tired. Just annoyed with how repetitive this is getting.” You raise the sword high above your head, and swing it straight down. You pierce directly through the weak spot and slice the root into two separate pieces.

Once the root has turned to ash, you find that three Riot demons have been waiting behind it for you. The tails on their reptilian-like bodies swish from side to side as they immediately begin to close in. Razor-sharp claws click against the pavement with their every step.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dante tells you with an amused smirk.

“What, this?” you smirk back. “This is just foreplay.” You shoot him a saucy wink before jumping right in and taking on the first demon to reach you.

You and Dante work together seamlessly, dispatching the demons and sending them back to the hell from whence they came. Dodging swipes of their claws and the swings of their tails, the two of you make quick work of them, along with the three others that spawn during the fight.

Dante finishes off the last one as you approach the next Qliphoth root.

“Well, this is new,” you mutter to yourself. Instead of glowing red, this root is glowing green and it has flowering buds growing off of it. Without much thought, you square your stance and raise your sword. “Let’s see if you come apart just as easily as the others.”

You dart forward just as Dante looks over. His eyes widen when he sees what you’re about to do. “No wait!” he shouts in warning, but it’s too late.

Your blade has already pierced directly through the middle of one of the flower buds and deep into the root. In an instant, the bud bursts from your attack and bright yellow powder shoots directly at you.

You gasp in shock, immediately inhaling a lungful of the sickly-sweet smelling powder.

“Shit!” you can vaguely hear Dante’s curse. He uses a burst of demonic energy to dart toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back.

You cough and hack for breath, but the yellow dust is all over your face and stuck to your hair and clothes. Dante grits his teeth, smelling the scent of it. His eyes dilate, and his mouth waters.

“Fuck, that’s not good.” He mutters under his breath. He takes a quick glance around the empty street before lifting your body into his arms and kicking the door down of a nearby building and carrying you inside.

It’s an empty bar. Dante quickly deposits you on the cushioned seat of a booth against the back wall. He then bee-lines straight for the bar, easily hopping over it, rather than going around. You continue trying to cough the powder from your lungs as he riffles around behind the bar.

When he comes back to the table, he sets down a bottle of expensive whiskey and holds a damp wash cloth in his other hand.

“What’s that for?” you question around your coughing.

“This is for you,” he raises the wash cloth up and sits next to you on the bench, reaching over to wipe the dust off your face. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. His touch is unusually gentle as he swipes the wet cloth over your features. Across your forehead, over your brows, down the slope of your nose. He’s close enough that you can hear his shallow breaths. It sounds like he’s intentionally trying not to breathe too deeply.

After he’s wiped the dust from your eyelids and cheeks, your eyes flicker open, catching the concentrated look on his own face as he finishes with a swipe over your chin and a light tug against your lips. He stares at your mouth for another moment, his blue eyes smoldering, before his gaze lifts to yours.

When he realizes you’d been watching, he swallows thickly and shifts back, tossing the cloth onto the tabletop. “This is for me,” he continues, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and uncorking the top. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes several long gulps.

His actions are a slight cause for concern. “Dante… what did I just inhale?” you ask, feeling your heartrate picking up slightly.

His face pulls into a grimace. “Fuck,” is all the response you get before he slams the bottle back onto the table and pushes himself out of the booth. He starts to pace back and forth, looking lost in thought as he absentmindedly runs his fingers through his snowy hair and across the stubble on his jaw.

“Dante.” You say again firmly, trying desperately to keep a level head, even when you feel the panic building inside you. “Am I going to die?” you ask, point blank. You weren’t exactly one for sugar coating and wanted to know exactly what you were up against.

Dante comes to a stop, releasing a long sigh and placing his hands on his hips. “No, you’re not going to die,” he informs you, finally meeting your gaze once more. “But you might feel like it.” His gaze remains serious as it holds yours, watching for your reaction. “You just inhaled a shit ton of demonic sex pollen.”

It takes a second for his words to register in your mind. Once they do, you release a shaky breath as you start to realize all that entails. “Well, fuck.” You reach for the bottle of whiskey and take several swigs of your own. The liquor burns even more than usual with your throat already raw from coughing up the pollen. You slam the bottle back down and wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “How long before it sets in?”

“Not long,” Dante shifts his stance from one foot to the next. “Which is why we need to come up with a game plan before it does.”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dante gives you a flat look. “Babe, you’re about to be hornier than a werewolf in heat. You will do and say just about anything to find some relief, so before that starts impacting your decision-making skills, I need to know now if you want me to, you know… get involved.”

You stare at him blankly, pretty sure that his implication may have short-circuited your brain.

He grimaces again, running his hands through his hair once more. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, even on a good day, but I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re hopped up on sex drugs. So, before the pollen takes effect, you gotta give me something.”

“Yes.” You manage to choke out, embarrassment making your face hot.

“Yes, what?” He coaxes, needing there to be absolutely no doubt.

“Yes, you have my permission to… help.”

“Okay,” he nods once. He holds your gaze for a long moment before moving back and stepping toward the next booth. He pulls Rebellion off his back and sets the sword down on the table. He shakes his head slowly and releases a long sigh, “Damn, this is not how I imagined this going.” He unholsters Ebony and Ivory next, setting the dual pistols down on either side of his blade.

“Imagined what?” you ask, desperate to keep him talking, to keep your mind distracted from what’s about to happen to your body.

He unsnaps the fastenings on the back of his leather gloves. “You and me finally breaking the sexual tension that’s been brewing since we started partnering up.” His eyes meet yours as he lifts a hand to his face. His lips soon part right before his teeth sink into the worn leather of the glove, and he uses that to leverage it free. He maintains the eye contact as he does the same with the other glove.

You squeeze your thighs together when a throb develops between them from watching the erotic sight in front of you. You’re the one to break the connection and look away this time, letting out a dry scoff. “I think you may be exaggerating that a little,” you play off. “As I recall, there was a good amount of hostility brewing in the beginning there.”

Dante shrugs his shoulders casually. “That’s because someone has an authority complex and can’t take orders for shit.”

You can’t help but smirk at that. “I’m glad to hear you can admit that about yourself now, Dante.”

He rolls his eyes, but is inwardly relieved that you seem to be falling back into your usual banter. He was fairly good at hiding it, but internally he was completely freaking out. He’d only had one other previous encounter with sex pollen in his life and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He’d also only inhaled a small fraction of what you’ve been exposed to. He had no idea what to expect from this.

“But seriously,” your voice startles him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that you had moved and were standing right next to him. You place your hand gently on his shoulder and meet his gaze. “There isn’t a single person on this earth that I trust more than you, Dante. You know that, right?”

He looks deep into your eyes, feeling your sincerity pour down into his soul. “I know,” he confirms.

You push lightly on his shoulder to get his body to turn to face yours. He does so without protest, watching as your other hand moves up to cup his cheek. His stubble tickles your palm as you cradle his jaw. You run your fingers over the coarse hairs for a moment before you begin to guide his face to yours.

You release another shaky breath right before your lips press to his. Dante’s lips are soft and warm. A contrast to the scratch of his stubble against your smooth cheeks, but even that is a pleasant sensation. It sends prickles of awareness through your whole body.

You feel his hands grip your hips and he begins to respond to your advances. He kisses back long and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. You feel your heartrate pick up, your body lighting up under his touch. You release a whimpering moan and pull him even closer.

You arch your back to knock your hips against his and rub up on him like a cat. You’re pressed close enough that you feel the erection beginning to form in his pants. A jolt of excitement runs up your spine, right before you feel a pang deep in your belly.

You pull out of the kiss with a gasp. “Dante,” your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, where you then grip the lapels of his coat. Another painful twinge rips through you. Your legs buckle as you hiss a breath through gritted teeth.

“Whoa! I’ve got you.” Dante pulls your body into his before you have the chance to fall. He grips the back of your thighs and lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist. He quickly moves back to the next booth, gently placing you on the empty tabletop. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips pressed to your temple.

“God, that hurts like a bitch,” you release a low whimper as another pang builds up. It feels like menstrual cramps on steroids. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” Dante quickly shrugs out of his signature red coat and tosses it onto the next booth with the rest of his belongings. “But that’s what you’ve got me here for.”

You reach out for him, trailing your fingers down the worn fabric of his black Henley and slipping them beneath the bottom hem. You drag your hands back up, over the hardened contours of his abs. “Take off your shirt,” you urge, wanting to explore him with more than just your hands.

He releases a low chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he complies, gripping the back of his collar and pulling the garment off in one fluid motion. “Now, don’t you think you might be a little overdres- Holy Hell!” His hips jerk forward, rocking against the juncture between your legs as his body reacts to the feel of your tongue licking a long, wet stripe from his collarbone and up the side of his neck, while your nails simultaneously rake down his pectorals. He blinks down at you in shock for half a second before a sly smirk tilts his lips. “Not sure if I should be getting turned on by that, but I’m totally into it.”

“I’ve kind of always wanted to do that,” you admit, your filter beginning to malfunction as the pollen takes even more effect. “God, you smell so good.” Your eyes close of their own accord as you breathe him in. The scent of his musky cologne, combined with leather and gun powder, makes your head spin. “Ah!” you cry out as another pang hits you, more powerful than the others. “Dante! I need you now!”

His smirk quickly falls and his hands move up your sides to rest on your waist. “Lay back and let me take care of you.” He guides your body down onto the tabletop.

You writhe on the hard surface, back arching as the pain and blistering need pounds between your legs. “Dante!”

“I know,” he soothes, lifting your tank top up enough to access the front of your pants. He works quickly, popping the top button and dragging down the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them halfway down your legs. “Oh fuck,” a jolt of electricity surges through him when the scent of your arousal hits him. Pulling back the denim reveals the significant wet patch that has developed in your panties and if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly was now.  He’s never smelled anything so divine.

He yanks off your boots and finishes removing your pants, tossing them quickly to the side. You spread your legs shamelessly, the cool air actually feeling somewhat nice against your heated flesh. Your hips jerk up of their own accord, feigning a sort of humping motion. “Dante, please!” you whine pitifully.

“I’m here,” he assures you, gripping your hips and dragging your ass to the edge of the table. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” Without wasting time, your panties are the next to go, getting flung somewhere behind him before he falls to his knees and guides your legs over his shoulders.

The table puts you at the perfect height, so he doesn’t have to strain his neck or hunch over you. This is normally the part where he would start teasing you with little nips and kisses on your thighs, but he knows that you’re in no state for getting teased. You need relief fast before you start getting sick from the pain.

So, he dives straight in, using the flat of his tongue to drag over your slick folds, getting his first taste of your wet heat. The two of you groan in unison, Dante from the taste of your sweet nectar on his tongue, and you from the first shred of relief coursing through your body. He continues to lave against your dripping entrance, back and forth, side to side.

You’re not normally this sensitive in that area, but with the pollen in your system, it feels like he’s painting a masterpiece with his tongue and your body is the canvas. Each brush stroke adds a burst of color and more wetness to the piece. “Oh God! Dante, don’t stop!” you plead. You lift your head to look down the length of your body.

Dante’s gaze flicks up to meet yours. His cerulean eyes seem to glow despite the dim lighting of the bar. The sight of him buried between your legs is enough to get another surge of wetness out of you. It’s a sight you’ve only been able to imagine so far. Dreams so filthy, you almost couldn’t look him in the eye when you saw him the next day. None of it compared to the real deal.

Your head falls to the table once more, eyes rolling back when Dante’s tongue moves up to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the tight bundle of nerves in languid strokes. You can’t help but rock your hips against him, your body begging for more. He’s more than happy to oblige, his grip tightening on your hips.

He feasts on your body like he hasn’t eaten in years. Lapping up your slick like it’s the only source sustaining his life. His hands slip down your hips to grip the tops of your thighs. With light pressure, he guides your legs open just a little more, while still keeping them pinned to his broad shoulders. This allows him to push his face that much closer, his prickly cheeks brushing right against the apex of your sex.

You reach down, weaving your fingers into his silver locks and grip them firmly. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he practically purrs with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. You thrust your hips against his tongue, guiding him to where you need him most. Your body thrums, soaring to heights you didn’t even know existed. Yet it’s still not quite enough to push you over the edge. The higher you seem to go, the more desperate you become for release.

“Dante. More! I’m so close!” you cry.

He focuses his mouth on your clit while one of his hands slips off your thigh. You feel the press of his fingers to your entrance. He circles the pad of his middle finger around and over your folds, collecting your arousal to slick the long digit. Your whole body quivers in anticipation before he slides his finger inside you. You release a low whine, hips jerking into his touch until he’s pushed completely into the knuckle.

“Damn,” Dante chuckles deeply. “If this is how tight you’re squeezing my finger, you’re going to absolutely strangle my dick.”

“Don’t stop,” you urge, tightening your grip on his hair in order to shove him back where you want him.

“Wait. Hold up,” Dante resists the pressure you’re putting on him. You lift your head back up to protest, but stop when you see the concerned furrow of his brow. His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. His pupils then completely dilate for one second before they shrink down into two thin, black, demonic slits. “Babe, you smell like-” he cuts himself off when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His lips twist into a smirk. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a guy when he’s going down on his lady?”

You look back at him, confused, before you hear the low growl of a demon nearby. You unweave your fingers out of Dante’s hair and push up onto your elbows. Sure enough, three large humanoid-looking demons carrying dual meat-cleavers, and two grim reaper-type demons have appeared inside the bar. Hell Antenoras and Hell Cainas. The Antenoras swing their giant cleavers to knock tables and chairs out of their path. While the Cainas follow in pursuit, their scythes raised high and at the ready.

Dante begins to extract himself from between your legs, a dark grin splitting his face. Your body grieves the loss almost instantly. “Sit tight. I’ll make this quick.” He winks, licking your slick from his middle finger. He stands fluidly, quickly re-holstering his guns and grabbing rebellion. He moves to stand defensively in front of you, his jeans hanging low on his hips and his back muscles tensing to ready for the fight. “Like hell am I going to let any of you near her.”

He darts forward, straight at one of the Antenoras. It swings one of its cleavers in anticipation of the attack, but at the last second, Dante drops to his knees, sliding against the floor underneath the swinging blade. As he slides past, Dante uses his own sword to slice at the Antenora’s legs.

It falls forward as Dante stands back up behind it. He jams Rebellion straight through its back and unloads Ebony into the back of its head until it’s defeated and sent back to hell.

Dante yanks Rebellion back up and turns just in time to block the falling scythe from the Caina behind him. Watching Dante fight was always a sight to behold. His movements are so effortless, smoothly transitioning between his blocks and attacks. It’s almost like watching a dance. Hypnotic on its own, but watching him fight shirtless had you salivating.

The clench and release of his muscles, strengthened by years of battle-hardened labor, draws your attention. The veins bulge in his arms and his abs tighten when he braces for an attack. Then his back muscles flex as he parries before he launches his counterattack.

You want to memorize every single inch of him. First with your eyes, then with your hands, and follow that up with your mouth. Everything from the tops of his shoulders down to where that V at his waist cuts into his jeans.

You’re so enraptured by him that it takes you a second to notice one of the other Caina demons has been approaching. The tip of its scythe drags against the wood flooring, leaving little curls of wood shavings in its wake. The jaw opens to its skull-like face and some sort of black liquid begins to ooze out of its mouth. Your face scrunches in disgust when you realize that the demon is drooling.

“Not in a million years, Pal,” Dante’s voice comes from directly behind the beast. You barely see the flash of metal as Dante cuts through its neck, detaching the head from the body in one quick swipe.

He meets your gaze as the demon falls and returns to hell. A light coating of sweat now dampens his skin and adds a slight sheen to his already defined muscles. “Dante, hurry,” you whine, your hand slipping between your legs to flick your engorged clit as another pang builds up inside you.

Dante's gaze darkens, and the bulge in his pants grows uncomfortably tight. “You heard the lady,” he announces, turning to the last two demons. “Time to wrap this up.”

He takes them both on at the same time. Shooting at one with one hand while parrying and attacking the other with Rebellion. He strikes a series of rapid jabs at the Antenora, not giving it enough time to block with its cleavers before jumping above the Caina and landing a harsh blow with his blade from above.

The two, even attempting to fight together, are no match for the legendary demon hunter, and soon they have both joined their friends back in hell. Dante wastes no time in making his way back to you, a determined march to his steps as he quickly sets his weapons aside once more and begins unbuckling his belt.

“We need to make this first round quick, because you’ve got this whole place smelling like a she-devil in heat and it’s only a matter of time before more demons come to investigate.”

“Wh-what? What does that mean?” Nearly delirious with need, his words are almost beyond your comprehension.

Once Dante is back in front of you, he grabs your hips and drags your ass back to the very edge of the table, wrapping your legs back around his waist. “Those demons came here to mate with you.” Dante looks deep into your eyes to make sure you’re listening. “And the only way to stop more from coming is to cover your scent with mine.”

There’s some tiny part deep in the back of your mind that knows the idea of mating with demons should disgust you, but you’re so fucking horny, all you can focus on is the fact that Dante wants to cover you in his delectable scent. You breathe in deeply once more and your eyes glaze over. “Yeah… I like your scent.”

His serious features melt into his devil-may-care grin. He knows it’s the pollen that’s making you more candid, but his ego still perks up at the praise. “Take off your shirt.”

You comply immediately, gripping the bottom hem of your top and peeling it off your body. Dante’s hands are already working at the clasp of your bra before you even had a chance to toss your shirt to the side. Both articles of clothing are thrown carelessly against the bench seat of the booth.

Dante’s hands press gently against your back until your bare front is molded against his. “Stay close. Wrap your arms around me. We want as much body contact as possible.”

You happily do as instructed, wrapping your arms around his neck and arching up into him. His hands leave your back to unfasten the buttons down the front of his pants and push the denim and his boxers halfway down his thighs.

He releases a sigh of relief, now that the strain of confinement has been lifted from his aching cock. “I had no idea how painful fighting with a hardon could be.” He gives himself a few smooth strokes before lining up with your entrance.

The pollen is truly starting to set in, making your blood run hot, while your core weeps with need. With a steady pressure applied against your entrance, Dante slips the head of his cock inside you. He intends to take things slow, wanting to give you time to adjust to his size, but you’re so fucking wet and ready for him that there’s practically zero resistance.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, it’s the pollen that’s made it so easy to get him exactly where it wants him. You’ve been perfectly primed for getting him in deep without struggle, like bait set out for prey. Before he even realizes, his hips have become flush with yours and he’s pushed in to the hilt, but like a spring-loaded trap, your walls suddenly clamp down on him from all sides.

“Holy shit,” Dante’s entire body shudders, not expecting that to have happened. You immediately begin swirling your hips in little circles to better feel his thickness inside you, which is devastating to the last shreds of his self-control. Your walls contract and flutter around his overly sensitive cock, squeezing and pulling at his length. “Babe,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit. Honey, you gotta ease up a little, or else I’m gonna-”

His hands tighten around your waist, but it’s not enough to stop your frenzied movements around his cock. Especially not the movements happening inside you. He huffs out a strained breath when one particular twinge of your walls hits him just right and sends him reeling. “Fuck! Fuckkk,” he tosses his head back, jaw slack as his cock twitches and fills your body with his sudden release.

His hips jerk against you for a few more seconds, the muscles in his jaw and neck straining.

Your movements halt, a brief flicker of clarity breaking through the desperation. “Dante, did you just…” you question, unsure if that really just happened.

“Come in two seconds flat like a teenage boy at his first strip club? Yeah,” he confirms through gritted teeth. “Damn that’s embarrassing.”

You can’t help the primal grin that you flash up at him. “I’ll take it as a compliment. The great Dante, brought low by some wet ass pussy.”

One of his hands gently cradles the back of your neck. There’s humor in his eyes when he speaks, “Just don’t hold it over my head, or I’ll say it was because of the she-devil pheromones you’re giving off. On the bright side, at least my early release should help with our demon problem. Nothing quite says ‘this one’s taken’ like a pussy full of cum.”

You have to fight your amused smile as you tighten your arms around him. “How romantic,” you quip sarcastically.

He grins openly. “Ain’t nothin’ romantic about sex pollen. We’re gonna fuck like rabbits until you pass out. If you want romance, you’ll need to take me out to dinner first.”

“Promises, promises, Dante. When are we getting to the ‘fuck like rabbits’ part?” your walls clench around his cock, more than ready. Your body very quickly starts to remind you that it has yet to reach its own climax.

Dante’s grin turns wicked. “You’re lucky half-demons don’t have much of a refractory period. I’m like the fucking Energizer bunny.” To prove his point, Dante snaps his hips against you, his rehardened length dragging against your walls and squelching back into your cum soaked cunt. “And besides, I’ve now got a reputation to salvage.”

“Oh yes!” you moan as he sets a brutal pace and the pangs in your core finally begin to ease. The steady thwack of his balls hitting your ass fills the empty bar, along with your panting breaths and heady mewls of pleasure. He fucks you hard, fast, and deep. It’s everything your body has been craving. “Yes! More. Dante, I need more!”

“I’ll give you everything I’ve got,” he vows. He keeps one arm tightly bound around your waist to keep your torso flush with his. The other moves to thread his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck. He cradles your head before slamming his lips over your own. He devours the decadent sounds that are coming out of your mouth like they’re lifesaving ambrosia.

He swallows your moans, tongue slipping between your parted lips. He explores your mouth with languid strokes, much like he had when his head was between your legs. Your hands desperately grip the back of his shoulders while you pull your body as close to his as physically possible. Even with him filling you from both ends, it still doesn’t seem to be enough. You still need more. More of him on you. More of him in you.

You’re not entirely sure if you want to completely consume him or be completely consumed by him; all you know is that you never want this to stop.

His hand at your neck slips down, fingers ghosting over your fevered skin before his palm closes around your breast. He molds the supple flesh with his whole hand then pinches your budding nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A helpless whimper escapes from your throat as the erogenous zone in your breasts seem to have become amplified tenfold by the pollen. His thumb swirls around the stiff peak and you feel the jolts of pleasure in your core as if he was directly stroking your clit.

Your entire body quivers and shakes, utterly helpless to the bombardment of pleasure that Dante is unleashing upon you. He continues to rut into your sopping wetness, like a man possessed, tongues battling for dominance, and hand fondling your breast. The pleasure builds like a snowball rolling downhill, growing in both speed and size. With a carefully timed tweak of your nipple and an angled slam of his cock into your g-spot, that giant snowball plows into you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Your mouth rips away from his when you throw your head back and you release the most carnal sounds you’ve made in your life. You can’t tell if they’re words, praises, or just incoherent ramblings from your utterly fucked out mind. You moan, and writhe, and scream, and pant, all while your orgasm shakes you to the core.

The gush of arousal that leaks out of you allows Dante to keep pounding into your pussy, despite the vice-like grip it has on his cock. The scent of wet, sloppy sex, along with the sounds coming out of you, are enough to push him back over the edge. Just a few more thrusts after you’ve come, Dante suddenly pulls out and grips the base of his cock while thick white spurts of cum splash against your thighs and stomach. He strokes himself until his cock is spent.

The next few seconds are blocked out by the blood rushing in your ears until you start to come down from your high. You meet Dante’s lidded gaze, both of your kiss-swollen lips parted and panting for breath. You release the grip you have on his shoulders and lean back enough to look at the mess he’s made across your skin. “Marking your territory?” you question, swiping a finger over a thick white glob before slipping that finger into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dante breathes, watching you suck his cum off the pad of your finger. He can’t help but imagine that pretty mouth sucking off his dick and drinking that cum from its source. Any softening that may have started to his cock is immediately reversed. He tries valiantly to push the thought out of his head, reminding himself that your needs and well-being come first. “How are you feeling now?”

You pull your finger out of your mouth with a wet pop and look back down at the mess between your legs. A steady, throbbing heat is still going strong inside your core and you’re just as wet and ready as ever. “Now?” you start, lifting your gaze back up to meet his. “Now I want you to cum all over my ass.”

With that, he’s definitely back to full mast. “That can be arranged.” He kicks off his boots and fully removes his pants and underwear, then he scoops your body back into his arms and moves to the bar. He sets you on your feet next to a plush barstool. The floor is surprisingly clean, though you’re certain it won’t remain that way for long.

With a gentle press to your back, Dante guides you in place until your torso is draped over the cushioned stool and you’re up on your tiptoes. He widens your stance with a slight kick to your ankles before he settles between them and sinks back into you from behind. The wet, greedy squelch of your body accepting his once more should embarrass you, but it only turns you on even more.

The tightening of his hands on your hips is your only warning before he’s pounding into you again. Balanced on your toes, there’s not much you can do other than just take the full force of his thrusts. He ruts into you like a beast in heat, which drives you wild. There’s nothing sweet or gentle about it, only carnal desire in its rawest form.

Dante watches your pussy stretch around his cock with every thrust and knows this sight will be seared into his memories for the rest of his life. The lights behind the bar reflect on the wet sheen covering his length before it disappears back inside you. He feels a hot trail of his earlier cum dripping down his balls before it splatters to the floor between your spread legs. Where he should feel guilt over the mess you’re both making, he only feels anticipation and excitement, wondering how much more of a mess there will be by the time you’re both done.

The steady thwack of his balls slapping against your clit becomes even faster as Dante works himself up into a frenzy. He’s spent so long wanting you and now that he has you, he doesn’t want to waste a single second. Your body feels like it was made for him, so hot and wet and supple and perfect.

He’s so wrapped up in how amazing you feel around him that he realizes too late when his balls have pulled in tight and the first spurt of cum is already shooting out of him again. He pulls out with a startled jolt and hurriedly jacks off the remaining shots of milky white cum over the globes of your ass.

“Dante…” his name comes out as a needy whine, tinged with disappointment. Your empty cunt throbs angrily, not even close to her next release.

“Fuck, babe,” he releases a low groan. “I’m so fucking sorry.” How the fuck has he already come three times when you’ve barely had one?

He normally prides himself on his stamina, but the tiny dose of pollen he got seems to have absolutely destroyed his ability to hold off his climax. Whereas you seem to be having the complete opposite problem, and the pollen has pushed your limits so far out, it’s getting harder and harder for you to reach them. You press yourself back up to standing and turn to face Dante with a determined gleam in your eyes.

“Get up on the bar.”

His eyes widen at the order, but he complies without a fuss. You follow him up onto the polished wooden surface and push his chest until he lays fully back, then you’re instantly straddling his thighs. As promised, it only takes a few jerks of your hand around his cock before he’s fully hardened once again. You line yourself up and sink back down onto his length. Once fully seated, you steady your hands on his chest and begin to slam your hips up and down.

You ride him like he’s a prized stallion and chase after that pleasure that continuously flutters just out of your grasp. He grips the back of your thighs and meets you thrust for thrust. You might be the one on top, but he’s not going to make you do all the work. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip as he watches the way your tits bounce. “You’re so fucking sexy,” his head has become clouded with such overwhelming pleasure, and apparently three mind blowing orgasms are all that’s needed for him to open his mouth and start spilling his deepest secrets. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?”

You continue bouncing on his cock, lips parted to release your panting breaths as you hold his gaze. “How long?”

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows thickly. A tiny part in the back of his head can’t believe the confession he’s about to make, but any inhibitions that might have stopped him before seem to have completely flown out the window. “Ever since that time I stole your demon bounty and you got so pissed, you kicked me in the chin and I bit my tongue hard enough it started bleeding.” It’s a struggle to get the full sentence out while you’re relentlessly fucking yourself above him, but he manages it through clenched teeth.

Your bouncing slows before coming to a complete stop as you stare down at him. Surely, he can’t mean what you think he means. And yet, even after all these years of knowing each other, it’s unmistakable what time he’s referring to. “Dante… that’s literally the first day we met.”

He swallows once more. “I know.” There’s a flash of uncharacteristic vulnerability in the depths of his crystalline gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. His hands squeeze your hips like he’s scared you’re about to extract yourself from him and bolt out the front door. “And I spent nearly every day after that trying to figure out how I might get you to like me back.”

You release an incredulous laugh and raise a brow. “You were an insufferable asshole for months after we first met.” Your fingers trace the lines of his abdominals, an unconscious gesture of reassurance to let him know you’re not going anywhere.

He gives you a tilted half-grin, “Never said I was smart about it.” He waits with baited breath for your full response to his confession. It’s impossible for him to build up any sort of defense when neither his heart, nor his cock, fully belongs to him in this exact moment. You have full possession of his most sensitive pieces and all he can hope for is that you won’t break them. Break him.

You run your nails over the coarse, silvery hairs on his chest while you begin to swirl your hips torturously around his cock. “Wanna know how long I’ve wanted you?” A sultry smile slides languidly across your lips

Dante grits his teeth to prevent his eyes from rolling back while you tease him relentlessly with your rolling hips. He’s both desperate and terrified of the answer to your question. “How long?” he huffs out eventually.

You move to place your hands on either side of his head and lean down until your nose is nearly brushing his. Mercifully, your hips still their movements so that Dante can hear your own confession without any distractions. “Ever since the first time you apologized by taking me to get strawberry sundaes.”

His gaze flickers between your eyes while he takes a moment to process your words. It’s not hard to trace back to what time you’re referring to. In fact, it’s quite easy. “…That’s also the first day we met.”

The look of pure, tender affection on your face makes him forget how to breathe. “I know,” you respond before leaning the rest of the way down and pressing your lips to his. He grips the back of your head and kisses you back, moaning deep and low when you start moving your hips again.

This time, it’s a little less hurried and a lot more sensual, your bodies pressed together and moving as one. You feel the hair on his chest tickling your nipples. The hard cut of his hips flush against yours. Every place where you meet, flesh against flesh, burns with awareness. Years of secretive pining, aching longing, and pretending not to want each other have culminated into this very moment. The line has been crossed, and there would be no going back.

Dante’s free hand grips your ass while he rocks against your movements. A zing of pleasure jolts up your spine when your clit catches against the ridge of his pelvic bone. Your mouth rips away from his as you release the most delicious sounds he’s ever heard. “That feel good, babe?” he questions, rocking his hips the same way again.

Your breath shudders next to his ear, as the stubble on his jaw scrapes against your bare cheek. “Dante…” You can no longer think, yet alone formulate a response. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat coming off of him. Feel the brush of skin on skin. Feel the rush of blood in your veins. The stretch of your pussy around the cock that’s practically tattooed inside of you at this point. “Oh, Dante!” You find that spot that makes your clit go haywire and you grind into it like there’s no tomorrow.

“That’s it, babe,” he encourages, both hands gripping your ass now. “Use me. I wanna make you feel so good.”

“Right there. Ah!” you release a breathless whimper, hips circling even faster. You can feel the pleasure building in your system, but the peak still flutters out of reach. “Dante, I’m so close!”

“Touch yourself,” he grunts from the back of his throat. “Show me how you like it.”

You sit back up and with his assistance, start bouncing on his cock once more. Your middle finger swipes through the mess of cum still splattered across your lower stomach to use as a lubricant against your aching clit. You rub yourself in quick feverish circles, too keyed up to even consider any light teasing stokes. You use your thumb to push back the hooded skin, exposing even more of the rosy bud to the onslaught of your touch. “Fuck!” you cry out, the sensations in your clit so intense, they’re nearly painful.

“So fucking hot.” Dante doesn’t know how absolutely everything you do could be such a damn turn on. Watching you pleasure yourself while riding his cock is so fucking sexy, he’s going out of his mind. “Fuck yes! Just like that. Wanna feel you come around my cock.”

Your heart is pounding, your thighs are burning, and your clit throbs, but you don’t let up. You’re so fucking close! Dante’s hands grip your ass even tighter and he slams you down so hard onto his cock that it has you seeing stars. “Oh fuck! Dante!” you scream his name as you’re finally catapulted into your release. The fire that had been growing low in your belly explodes into an inferno, consuming you from the inside out.

Pleasure licks up your spine in waves, causing you to shudder and writhe above him. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Just a few more thrusts up into you and he’s following you over the precipice. The sensations of your climax are too much for him to ignore and he’s soon filling you with even more cum from his aching balls.

The muscles in your body strain against your heady orgasm before losing their strength altogether as soon as it starts to ebb away. You collapse forward onto Dante’s chest, both of you panting and heaving for desperately needed air. The sweat on your bodies has your skin nearly fusing together, but neither of you seems to mind. You hear the rapid beat of his heart with your ear pressed to his chest. The sound of it is grounding, along with the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

“That… was pretty damn incredible,” he mutters as soon as his thoughts begin to function again.

You hum in agreement, watching your fingers as they trace feathery patterns across his chest. They follow the line of his collarbone and down the middle of his pectoral muscles before diverting course to circle around his nipple.

He sucks in a breath and shifts slightly beneath you. “Okay, I know I said earlier that I’m like the Energizer bunny, but I think I need a ten-minute breather after that last round.”

You swirl your fingers around him once more before lifting your head and sucking that nipple into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Dante’s hips buck of their own accord. “Okay, just like 5 minutes and I promise I’ll be good to go,” he all but begs for mercy.

Your tongue flicks over the hardened bud. “Dante…” you coo his name so disastrously tempting.

“Two minutes!” he counters. “Just two and I swear-”

“Dante… I want to fuck your demon cock.” You sit back up and look down at him with a molten stare.

That sure as hell shuts him up. He gapes, slack-jawed, at you for a long moment. “Come again?” Your comment has completely fried his mental circuits, that he doesn’t even notice the double entendre behind his question.

“Fuck me in your devil trigger,” you tell him in a way that can’t be misinterpreted.

He blinks once before releasing a heavy breath and moves to sit up. His hands are firm but gentle as he lifts you off of his lap, his soaked cock sliding out of you and landing against his thigh with a wet thwack. He reaches behind the bar for a clean hand towel and presses it between your legs.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me.” There’s no trace of humor on his face and he won’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to focus on cleaning the cum off your skin.

“Yes, I do,” you insist. “It’s not just the pollen talking.”

He finally meets your gaze with a dubiously raised brow.

“Okay, fine,” you admit with a sigh. “Maybe the pollen is influencing this, but I absolutely know what I’m asking here.” You cup the sides of his face with your hands to keep his gaze locked with yours. “I may not have as much demon fighting experience as you, but I know my own body. It feels like an itch so deep under the skin that no amount of scratching can reach it. What we’ve been doing is providing temporary relief, but it’s not the treatment. There’s a reason why I’m giving off she-devil pheromones and why those lesser demons came running. We need a demon’s essence to counteract this demonic pollen.”

He reaches up to pull one hand from his cheek and places a stubbly kiss to your palm. “This sounds like a really bad idea. I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit before, but this is a bit extreme, even for me. Honestly, I don’t even know if I can,” Dante tries to get you to see reason. He laces his fingers between yours and holds your hand in his firm grip. “I know you’ve seen me in that form, it’s not like there’s anything dangling between my legs. And even if I could, it would be so fucking easy to lose control. Not only could I hurt you, I might accidentally end you. That’s not a fucking risk I’m willing to take.”

“Dante, I know you would never hurt me.” You try to argue, but you recognize the stubborn glint in his eyes.

“Not intentionally maybe, but even if it wasn’t on purpose… I would never forgive myself.” The thought of causing you pain is more terrifying than facing a thousand demons.

You want to continue arguing, but then you notice the distress hiding behind the stubborn tilt of his jaw. You decide to relent. “Okay,” you turn your joined hands and place a kiss to his knuckles. “Then we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing and wait it out.”

Dante releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. You wiggle your hand loose from his grasp and jump off the bar top. “Where’re you going?” he asks, following your movements with his eyes.

“Ten-minute breather, right?” You glance at him over your shoulder before moving across the room. “I’m gonna clean up a bit in the bathroom. No offense, but wiping me down with a dry cloth isn’t really-” You’re cut off by a pained gasp and stumble against the wall while your hands clench your abdomen. Rippling pain and heat claw at you from the inside.

“What the hell?” Dante is by your side just in time before your knees give out. “What’s wrong? Fuck, you’re burning up!” As Dante lifts your body into his arms, he can feel how hot to the touch your skin has suddenly become. “Hey, look at me,” he urges, using the wall to help keep your body propped up, but your eyes are unfocused and your head lulls to the side. “No. No, stay with me,” he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth to keep you awake. He realizes that the pollen must be hitting its peak potency and it’s too much for your body to handle. If he doesn’t do something fast, you’re going to pass out from the pain.

“Fuck! Okay. You win. I’ll fucking do it. Just stay the fuck awake.”

“D-Dante?” his voice sounds far away, and you can’t entirely understand what he’s saying. Your vision goes hazy for a moment and you’re seeing two of him. You blink slowly and try to shake your head, but it takes too much effort. When you open your eyes, the silver-haired man you expect to see is no longer the being in front of you. In his place stands a hulking figure with dark, leathery skin and glowing red eyes. You gasp, eyes widening in shock, before you realize it’s still him.

He towers an extra foot above you, the heat rising off his body rivaling your own feverish skin. The scent that wafts over you isn’t what you expect. Where before he smelled like fire and brimstone, now he smells like burning incense, warm spices, and smokey oud. You’re tempted to press your nose to the orange glowing center on his chest and inhale a lungful of the tantalizing scent.

You realize that the pollen must be playing some sort of mental trick on you, because you’d never considered yourself a monster fucker before, and you’ve fought by Dante’s side a long time without ever thinking about how attractive his devil trigger is… and yet, here we are. Your hands reach out, ghosting over the horn-like protrusions along his jaw. They then fall from his face to his chest, just to either side of his molten glowing center. His skin, though tough, is smooth like aged leather stretched taught over something very solid and very warm.

“You still with me?” he asks, leaning gently into your touch.

You swallow the mouthful of saliva in your mouth before responding. “Yeah.” Were you seriously about to drool over the idea of fucking Dante’s devil trigger? You mentally scream to get a hold of yourself, but your body is in full demon seduction mode. It seems to recognize the nearness of a potential demonic mate, as the pain temporarily eases. A part of you wants to mention the “I told you so” about needing demonic essence to fight against the pollen, but that would start another argument and be counterintuitive to your current end goal.

“Babe, you know I can’t keep this up for long, so we need to figure out how to do whatever it is we’re going to do and quick.”

You meet his dragon-like gaze, “Do I still smell like a she-devil in heat?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. You notice the black slit in his eyes dilate. “Yeah, you sure fucking do. But you also smell like me, which is making the primal part in the back of my brain go crazy.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in pure female satisfaction. “Good. Focus on that.”

One of your hands immediately falls to the armored plating over his groin and you start exploring. “Fucking hell!” he exclaims, rocking into your touch. You feel around for a few seconds before you find the hidden slit tucked between two plates of armored skin. His wings flutter anxiously behind him, but the rest of his body goes perfectly still.

You sense the tension rising in him, so you stop your probing and look back up at him. “Dante, do you want to fuck me?”

His entire body shudders. “I don’t know, but this is making me feel really fucking weird.”

“Dante,” your fingers start moving over his slit again, coaxing whatever might be tucked inside. “Are you going to fuck me?”

He makes a tortured sound from the back of his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he reiterates, but his hips are still grinding into your touch.

You feel something move beneath the skin, something hard and thick. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you say with a confidence you’re not entirely sure you can back up now that you’ve got the barest hint at what you might be working with. Your other hand tilts his chin down so you can place a chaste kiss against his lower lip, being careful not to cut yourself on the sharp teeth peeking out from the permanent grimace on his demonic face. “I trust you, Dante. I know you’ll stay in control.”

One clawed hand slams into the wall above your head, rattling the trinkets and pictures hanging there. He releases a long exhale that almost feels like steam from how hot it is. “Fuck. You’ve got me quite literally in the palm of your hand,” he admits right as you feel the slit open against your fingers and something begins to poke through.

The head of his cock glows the same glowing ember color as his chest before tapering to a dark leathery red and then to black at the base. His veins pulse with that same glowing light from root to tip. He’s fucking massive and if it weren’t for the pollen in your system making you salivate at the sight, you might have actually turned tail and ran. You hope that all your previous rounds with him have made you loose enough to take in this new girth.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat that’s both pained and relieved once the whole of his length has been unsheathed. “Gotta admit, staring at my own demon dick was not on my bingo card for this year.”

You scoff out a dry laugh and then hike up one leg to rest it atop his thigh. The dragon-like scaling over his leg feels hot against your bare skin, but is otherwise smooth. “Less staring and more shoving,” your patience is growing thin.

His hand quickly moves to support your lifted leg, being mindful of his claws. “First of all, there will be no shoving. Only a nice, gentle insertion of the very tip-”

With a quick hop, you’re wrapping your other leg around him. “Dante, if you don’t put that inside me right now, I’m going to climb you like a tree and ride you till the cows come home.”

He pins you to the wall with his chest before you have the chance to fall. “Whoa, slow down there, cowgirl.” He gets that you’re eager for this, but his mind is still wrapping around the fact that he actually has a cock in this form. Yet alone that it’s a weird ass retractable cock.

You reach down and touch a finger to the liquid pre-cum dribbling out of his tip. It has a luminescent-orange sheen that sticks to your fingers like honey. You spread that wetness across the glowing head of his cock and Dante nearly loses the will power to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “That’s really fucking sensitive.” He knows that his senses get dialed up to eleven when he’s triggered, but just the simplest touch from you seems enough to bring him to his knees.

If you weren’t in such a hurry to get him inside you, you’d thoroughly enjoy taking your time exploring every inch of him, but your body knows what it wants, and there’s no time for leisure explorations. You tilt your hips and drag your dripping folds against the underside of his cock. “Oh fuck, Dante!” your entire body shivers in delight. The bulbous head of his cock catches against your clit and the glowing fluid coming out of the tip evokes a tingling sensation where it meets your tender flesh. Your clit pulses with renewed vigor and the need to get him inside you becomes the very core of your existence.

“Holy fuck!” An animalistic growl escapes him, five clawed indentations piercing through the plaster of the wall where his hand rests above your head. His steaming breath wafts across your face as he leans in a little closer.

You glide the head of his cock between your folds, mixing your slick with his own fluids and delighting in the way that tingling sensation spreads. “I need you,” nearly delirious with desire, you rub yourself all over his cock.

“I can’t,” he grunts, claw marks dragging down the wall. “If I move right now, I’m gonna fucking rip you open.” He’s barely hanging on by a thread. Your pussy is so close, so inviting, so wet, and it’s right fucking there, ready for the taking. But his control is slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and soon there will be nothing left. “You have to do it. Guide me inside you. But please… be fucking careful,” he begs with the last shred of his humanity.

You don’t have to be told twice. Gripping the base of his shaft, you keep him steady and align his tip with your entrance. You sink down and feel the stretch instantly as your folds spread wide to accommodate the larger cock. There’s a bit of resistance, but the pollen has prepped you enough that soon the head of his cock slips passed your pulsing muscles and is finally nestled into your velvety softness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling of being breached by something so massive, and yet somehow, it’s not horribly painful. You certainly feel like your cunt is stretched to its limit, but it’s so fucking good!

It feels so incredible, in fact, that you find yourself shifting your hips back until you’re empty once more, just so you can immediately slide back down to feel him penetrate your walls all over again. The warning growl that rips out of Dante’s throat stops you from doing it a third time. Although a part of you wants to ignore his warnings and keep teasing at the head of his cock, a bigger part of you is more eager to see how that stretched feeling of fullness will increase once he’s fully seated as deep as your body will allow.

You hook your ankles around his back and brace yourself before steadily sinking further and further down his ribbed length. “Oh fuck!” you whine, your pussy stretched so taut that a fleeting flicker of panic manages to push past the sadistic need from the pollen. You slap three fingers over your clit and rub so frantically that your hand nearly vibrates. The tingling fluid from Dante’s cock has made your clit so engorged and sensitive that the ripples of pleasure from your touch are able to get your muscles to relax just enough that he sinks in another inch without tearing you apart.

You continue in this manner until he’s completely sheathed inside your body and you’re fully seated against the valley of his thighs. You’re both panting heavily, but for entirely different reasons. You’ve never felt so full in your life. It’s like your insides have been rearranged to make room for him, and you practically feel him settled against the base of your throat. His cock pulses and thrums inside of you and he’s so hot. The simmering heat of your core is like a flickering candle compared to the molten heat of him.

Meanwhile, Dante isn’t entirely sure how he’s remaining upright. You’re so fucking tight! Every clench and tug and squeeze from your cunt can be felt all along his length from base to tip. Every single inch where he’s buried in you is in both pleasurable agony and devastating ecstasy. The muscles in his neck, arms, and abs are all tensed, bracing against the instinct to rut into you like a wild beast. He wants to fuck you so bad. He wants to fuck you so good.

“Dante…” The way you say his name is utterly ruinous. “You’re so fucking big!”

He can’t help the single shallow thrust that follows. Pure male pride is like kerosene to the blazing inferno heating his blood. “Don’t fucking say shit like that right now,��� the threat of the destruction he will wreak upon you can be heard in his voice.

But you’re too far gone. Too high on lust and pollen and demonic sex pheromones. “I’m so full with your cock! You’re so deep! Fuck me, Dante! I need to feel you wreck my pussy.”

The growl of a monster pushed past its limits reverberates throughout the entire bar, making glasses clink and liquid ripple within their bottles. Flecks of paint and drywall powder flutter to the floor as Dante extracts his claws from the wall and moves to evenly grip both globes of your ass. You feel the very tips of his claws against your skin, not enough to cut or draw blood, but the promise of danger sends a thrill through you.

“I told you to shut the hell up.” No more warnings, no more sifting sand, no more threads of control.

His hips snap back until only the head of his cock is still notched within your quivering heat. You’re given no time to brace before he’s surging forward and filling you once more. A frame clatters off its hook, glass shattering as it hits the floor. You hardly notice. Dante doesn’t stop, continuing to pound you against the wall as more objects come to a crashing end. Pictures of celebrities, various trophies and medallions, signed jerseys from the local sports teams, everything clatters one by one, worked loose by Dante’s brutal thrusts into your supple frame. His leathery wing flare before those clawed tips right at the first joint hook up into the already ruined wall. They serve the purpose of entirely caging you in while simultaneously protecting you from any of the debris showering down.

The screaming voice in the back of his mind begging him to be careful with you, that you’re so fucking tiny compared to his massive frame, is so far away, it might as well be a whisper. Primal instinct and carnal desire are all that drive him right now. The need to fuck. The need to claim. The need to breed. There’s no stopping now. Not until he’s filled you with his seed. Filled you with his spawn.

The thought should horrify him. God knows he’s already got enough family drama that just the idea of bringing in another fucked up, part-demon kid into this world should be more than enough to kill his libido. It should be kick-starting his common sense. And yet, his demon lizard brain wants what it wants, and instead of slowing down, he starts rutting into you even faster.

You’re not fairing much better. If someone with their logic and reasoning still intact were to suddenly switch places with you, they would probably be worried about their spine shattering from the destructive onslaught of Dante’s thrusts. But all you can do is moan and wail and scream your praises about how good he’s fucking you. “Ah! Yes, Dante! Wreck me with your massive demon cock. Filling me so good! So fucking deep!”

The ridges of his cock grind against your g-spot with every frenzied thrust. Feral, raw, untethered pleasure clouds every single one of your senses. Dante’s own demonic mating pheromones start mixing with the ones coming from the pollen. It’s a volatile cocktail of savage cravings and endless appetite. The heady scent of burning incense and warm spices is so thick, it coats your tongue. It compels you into wanting to taste even more of him.

Your hand reaches up, fingers clasping around one of the devil horns protruding past his temple and you angle his face closer to yours. He yields to your touch until your scattered breath tickles his cheeks. Your tongue darts out, licking a wet stripe across his lower lip. He purrs at your boldness. You slip further into his mouth, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sharpened point of a fang. With a steaming exhale, his jaw opens and his own tongue slides out to greet yours. It’s thick and rough and wet as it slips passed your parted lips.

Your moan is muffled against the thick appendage now exploring your mouth. Dante’s already proven that his tongue is rather dexterous, but this one is almost prehensile. It seems to wrap around your own and fills your mouth in ways you didn’t know were possible. He fucks your mouth with its unimaginable length. There’s no battling for dominance between you, just complete and utter subjugation. The conqueror and the conquered.

Dante has taken the direct source of your body’s pleasure and has crushed it within a clawed fist. It feels like a lightning strike shooting through you before your entire body starts to convulse. Pure, white-hot ecstasy fills you from head to clenching toes. Your hips buck wildly against the ruthless assault of his thrusts into you. Your breasts scrape against the rough, leathery armor of his chest. Drool slides down your chin, and your eyes lose their focus. Your mind has been fucked into oblivion.

Dante pulls his tongue out of your mouth when your jaw goes slack. He takes in the mindlessly blissed out expression on your face before a flood of fresh wetness soaks his cock. He looks down and realizes you’ve just cum so hard; you’ve squirted all over him. Your walls squeeze him so tight, he’s almost forced out of your tight hole.

His eyes blaze with determination as he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. He pounds into your drenched cunt, the sounds too obscene to describe. Choked cries of pleasure leak from your raw throat every time he slams home. He’s so fucking close. All the blood and heat and energy in his body seem to concentrate at the very base of him. It pulses and throbs and grows until it’s too much for him to contain.

With a mighty roar, Dante hits his final release. Energy explodes out of him, knocking over tables and chairs, shattering glass, and splattering the walls with various types of liquor. His wings stretch and twitch with every spurt of his cock as he empties himself into the deepest parts of you. Your womb fills with his demonic seed until you’re so full that it starts to force its way passed the cock that’s blocking your entrance. Golden and luminescent, it’s thick like molasses and sticks to your skin rather than running down it.

From your understanding of higher demon biology, you know that fertility is rare, so you figure the extra sticky cum must have evolved as a way to boost the chances for fertilization. You realize a bit too late that you’re not sure how well your birth control will fend against demonic sperm. The thought gets pushed from your mind as a wave of heat envelops Dante’s body, and then he’s back in his human form. His legs immediately lose all remaining strength, and he sinks to his knees, your body still connected, sliding down the wall with him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, holding his shuddering body close. Damp tendrils of white hair brush at your cheeks when he rests his forehead against yours. His cock is completely spent, though it continues to twitch from overstimulation inside you. His balls are pulled in so tight, he’s almost afraid they’re about to shrivel up and fall off. His arms barely have the strength to leave the curve of your ass before they’re curling around your back and are crushing you against his chest.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” his words are barely a whisper, ghosting over your lips, mere inches away.

“I’m okay,” you respond immediately between hastened breaths.

His eyes blink open, the blue so bright it’s like the skies after a heavy rain has cleared all the haze away. He takes in your features. Swollen, spit soaked lips. Cheeks flushed with heat. Hair sweaty and tangled all around you, sticking to the wall and your face. You’re a god damn mess, and yet, still so devastatingly beautiful. “Are you sure?”

A single breathless laugh is like a balm to his soul as you reach up and push his own sweaty bangs off his forehead. “I’m sure.” Tomorrow you might feel like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck, but for now you’re good. Well and truly satisfied. “The she-devil has been satiated.”

His own huff of amusement feels cool against your heated cheeks. “Good,” he remarks, nose brushing playfully against yours. “Because I’m completely tapped out.”

You release a low hum, feigning disappointment. “We might need to ask the Energizer Bunny for a refund.”

His laughter is lighthearted in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. “When we’ve finished dealing with this damn demon tree, I’m gonna take you home and make you eat those words. Let's see how long you last against me when you’re not all hopped up on sex pollen.”

You meet his challenging stare with a vicious grin. “I’d rather you make me eat your cock.”

The smirk slides right off his smug face. “Fucking hell, babe. Can you please have some damn mercy on me?!” His dick twitches valiantly inside you before going flaccid. It’s like the final death rattle of the last remaining soldier to die on a battlefield.

He can feel your joy as you laugh against him. “Sorry!” You don’t sound apologetic at all.

You’re too damn beautiful as you look up at him, eyes sparkling in post-coital bliss. He doesn’t even bother to resist the urge to slant his lips over yours and kiss that beautiful look right off your pretty mouth. You moan helplessly against him.

He pulls away and you find yourself chasing after him until your eyes reopen. “What was that for?” you ask blearily.

“Because I wanted to.” He grins at the surprise widening your eyes. “Because you’re fucking beautiful.”

Your hand grips the back of his neck to pull his mouth back to yours. He complies without fail, kissing you long and slow. It feels so damn good to be able to do this with you that he can’t believe how long he’s resisted it. How much longer would he have gone ignoring his feelings for you? How long denying himself from the privilege of getting to cradle your body between his arms?

His lungs feel tight with emotion and the need to breathe when he pulls back once more. He could spend the rest of the day within this bubble of bliss you both have found yourselves in, but he knows there are more pressing matters waiting beyond these four walls. He summons the strength to stand, still cradling you close. When he’s sure that he’s not going to immediately collapse back to the floor, he steps uncaringly over the bits of broken glass and splintered frames to take you back to the table where all of your things are. He sets you down on the polished wooden surface before finally pulling his limp cock out from between your legs. Your thoroughly abused cunt gapes open for a moment and he can see how full you are with glowing golden cum.

His brain seems to short-circuit and all he can do is stare until you clamp your thighs together. Embarrassment prevents you from being able to look him in the eye. “Somehow, I don’t think a wet washcloth is going to be enough for this, Dante.”

His gaze softens immediately, and he reaches a gentle hand out to lift your chin. “I’m still going to do the best I can.” He leaves a parting kiss on your lips before moving back behind the bar. He fills a large bowl with warm water and grabs a stack of towels. You try not to count how many need to be used in order to get the both of you at least somewhat decent.

Once you’re feeling mostly human again, you hop off the table and start shuffling back into your clothes. Dante does the same, keeping one protective eye on you the entire time. When you’re fully dressed, you move to grab your sword where it was haphazardly left when you both busted in here, but Dante reaches for your outstretched hand instead.

“Why don’t you head back to the shop?” he asks, his voice a little too steady. “You can use my shower to finish washing up. Power’s on, so there’ll be hot water.”

You stare at him incredulously. “Dante, what the hell are you talking about? We need to go after Urizen.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the only sign of his desperate plea. “I’ll rendezvous with Trish and Lady at the tree. The three of us will be enough to take him out.”

You square your shoulders and your gaze turns icy. “Don’t do this. Don’t start pulling some over protective bullshit just because our relationship has changed. You know we fight better together. We always have.”

“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath and then drops all pretenses and steps closer. His hand cradles the side of your neck, “I swear I’m not doubting your abilities. I know how fucking badass you are. But this guy is different. He’s going to be like nothing we’ve ever faced before. The moment he smells my demonic essence on you, he’ll see it as a challenge and will hunt you down without mercy.”

Your hand lifts up to cup over his. “If that’s true, then shouldn’t both of us go home and shower?” you ask dubiously.

He laughs without humor. “Doesn’t quite work like that. A claimed female is much more appetizing than a claimed male.”

Is that what happened here? Did you claim him? And did he claim you? In a way, you guess that maybe you have…

“Okay,” you relent just enough to try to come up with a compromise. “I’ll run home, shower really quick, then meet you back at the tree.”

He releases a low sigh and drops his forehead to yours. His actions make you feel like you’re not going to like his next words. And he knows it. “I need you to intercept Nero.”

You try to reel back, but his grip on your neck keeps you in place. You grab a fistful of his shirt instead and yank threateningly. “Are you seriously planning to keep me completely out of this fight?”

His gaze flickers between yours. “You know what he’s like. He won’t listen to me, but he’s sure as hell not strong enough to get involved in this. You’re the only one I can trust to keep him safe. You know what the kid means to me.”

“Fuck you, Dante.” Your words might be harsh, but he can tell his request is pulling on your heartstrings, and you’re starting to sway.

“Just this once,” he begs. “Stay out of the fight just this once and protect Nero.”

You bite your lip to stop the words you want to lash out at him. You understand exactly where he’s coming from regarding Nero. He may only be 1/4 Sparda, but he’s just as stubborn and blockheaded as the lot of them. “Damn it,” you huff, already feeling yourself giving into him. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

If you weren’t staring at him so closely, you might have missed the relief easing some of the tension in his brow. He grins in that devil-may-care manner you’ve grown all too familiar with. “Haven’t come across an opponent that could beat me yet.”

You roll your eyes. “I just did about 10 minutes ago.”

He huffs out a short laugh, his forehead rocking against yours as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t count when you’re already my ultimate weakness.” And you realize that this is what Dante’s request is truly about. He scared. Not because he thinks you’re weak, but because you make him weak. You are the chink in his armor. The second Urizen realizes this, he will exploit that weakness until it becomes Dante’s undoing.

“Fine,” you release with a long breath. “I’ll stay out of the fight with Urizen. But as soon as this is all over, you and I are going to have a much longer conversation about this new dynamic. And we will be setting some ground rules.”

“Sounds like a wonderful conversation to be coming home to…” he mutters sarcastically.

“Dante, I’m being serious.”

“Oh, I know,” he responds lightly. “And I’m seriously going to be reimagining what it feels like to be inside of you, the entire time we’re apart.”

You make a sound of disgust and shove him away from you. “Ugh, you’re a pig.” He releases a low chuckle as you finally take hold of your discarded sword and attach it to the holster on your back.

He’s still smirking to himself while he finishes reholstering his own weapons.

Once the two of you are fully geared up, you move to the door and step back out into the hellscape that has become of Red Grave City. You look toward the giant demon tree looming in the distance. You know that whatever’s waiting up there… It’s going to bring one hell of a fight. Then you turn and look back toward the direction you’d come. Toward the direction of home. You clench your fists but resolve yourself to following Dante’s request.

You turn your gaze once more to find him already staring down at you. His gaze is carefully neutral, but there’s an anxious tick in his jaw as he waits to see what decision you’re going to make.

“You’ll come back to me, right?” you finally ask.

His shoulders drop slightly with released tension. “Always.”

You nod your head once, then turn a final time and begin heading back to the shop. Dante watches your first few steps, then turns and begins walking in the opposite direction. Neither of you looks back. You have no idea what the future has in store, but you trust Dante to give it his all. If he says he’s coming back, then by Hell or high water, he will. And you’ll be there, waiting for his return.

Part 2

[uramakimochi]

SHUT UP MOM

James Potter x Reader

WARNINGS: nothing just fluff, FEM!R but no use of Y/n, this is based on the tiktok trend, dilf!James + protective brother-in-law Sirius bc we love them, noVoldemort!au.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

"Harry are you sure?"

"I'm sure mom, after all, what could happen?"

You shrugged, looking at your son with a look of uncertainty.

"I don't know, darling... You're not the kind of person who would do that and i wouldn't want James to take it badly..."

"Mom" Harry said. "Knowing dad i honestly think he'll probably be too busy snogging you to care how i talk to you so i don't think our little prank will be successful"

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at his words and smiled sheepishly.

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry chuckled and before you could give him a little swat on the shoulder, he deftly dodged you and ran into the living room.

-

The little prank in question was born from Harry's simple curiosity, who one day was thinking about the love life of his beloved parents and wondered how his father would've reacted if he responded badly to his mother.

Harry's idea didn't seem particularly intelligent to you, but you still decided to play along since by now your curiosity about James' reaction had also been stimulated. So as you and your son agreed, on that same evening everything was ready.

The only thing you hadn't taken into account was the presence of Sirius and Remus, who had been invited to dinner by James at the last moment, but Harry wasn't discouraged.

At that moment, all of you were in the living room: you and James were sitting on the sofa next to each other, with his arm around your shoulders holding you close to him; Remus occupied the seat in the armchair and while he read the Daily Prophet, he also managed to listen to the conversation, occasionally interjecting and giving his opinion; Sirius, on the other hand, was smoking a cigarette standing at the window, since he preferred not to fill the room with the smell of smoke (you always told him that it wasn't a problem if he smoked in the house, but everyone knew arguing with Sirius was useless and so you let him do it).

While James and Sirius chatted animatedly, you noticed Harry coming down the stairs and that was your cue to start the prank.

"Harry, darling" you called, poking your head out of the couch cushion. "Could you set the table, please?"

"I can't, i have to write Ron and Hermione's letters" he said hastily, while pretending to look for what he needed to write letters to his friends.

"You can do it later" you replied calmly. "You could set the table first and then-"

"Mom shut up"

Harry interrupted you abruptly and so the bomb was dropped. Three voices rose immediately after his comment.

"I beg your pardon!?" James'.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Remus'.

"Oi!" Sirius'.

Harry thought it would've been fun to see James' reaction, but when he found the wide eyes of all three of the Marauders, plus yours, trained on him, he realized that maybe you were right and that this hadn't been a good idea.

In a split second, before you could even stop him, James jumped up and marched towards him. But what shocked you and Harry more was the fact that even Sirius himself had moved away from the window, after having put out the cigarette he hadn't even finished, to join James. Remus simply closed the newspaper and gave you a worried look, remaining silently seated in the armchair.

"Excuse me? Could you repeat that please?" James asked menacingly. "And could you also tell me where you learned that tone, because i know for a fact that none of the people in this room taught it to you, young man"

"Harry James Potter!" Sirius' voice boomed, coming to stand beside your husband. "If you think that just because i'm your godfather i'll let it slide after you talked to your mother like that, you're sorely mistaken"

Harry backed away hastily, intimidated by the two men who at that moment seemed not angry, but downright furious.

"Dad, Sirius-" he tried to say, but the latter interrupted him.

"Apologize to her" Sirius ordered, pointing a ringed finger at him and then pointing at your figure who was watching them from the sofa. "Now"

It was in that moment that you and Harry realized that the one in front of him was no longer his godfather, the chill and fun step-uncle who allowed him to do anything behind your and James' backs. In that instant, Sirius was your brother-in-law, the one who could be considered like James's blood brother and who had taken you under his wing since you had come into contact with the Marauders, loving and protecting you as if you were the sister he never had. And even though Sirius loved Harry as if he were his own son, there was no way he could let him act that way towards you. And James absolutely had no problems about it.

Harry swallowed nervously and James crossed his mighty arms, looking at him almost defiantly, as if he was waiting for Harry to have the courage to snap at you again.

But luckily for him, Harry heard your sweet voice echoing shyly in the living room.

"James, Sirius" you called, standing up. "It was a joke"

James and Sirius turned to look at you.

"What?" your husband asked, still not convinced.

You clasped your hands in front of you.

"It was a joke, honey. Harry and i planned it this afternoon. Don't get angry with him"

The two turned back to Harry.

"Is it true?" James asked again and you felt his tone of voice slightly relax.

Harry nodded frantically.

"I swear, dad. You know i'd never treat mom like that"

James and Sirius were silent for a few seconds until they let out breaths of relief.

"You're lucky, kid. Merlin's beard..." Sirius said, shaking his head with a small smile. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you know?"

"Harry" James called him back. "Why did you do that?"

While Sirius walked away taking another cigarette from his pack, deciding that it was ideal to release the tension that that prank had caused him, Harry lowered his gaze to the floor, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry. I just wondered how you would've reacted if i talked back to Mom. It was an innocent joke"

James let out a chuckle and ruffled his hair with one hand.

"An innocent joke, but a bit of a stupid one. And now you know that if you do it again, which i doubt because it's not like you, it will be Sirius you'll have to worry about, hm? But i won't be any less either"

All of you except Harry let out a small giggle and Sirius walked past you, leaving a quick kiss on your forehead, before lighting his new cigarette.

"If i ever hear you use that tone again, know that i will take away your title of my favorite nephew, my dear Harry" Sirius murmured, his lips tightened around his cigarette.

"But i'm your only nephew, Sirius" your son retorted, finally with a smile on his face too.

"And i'm proud of it" continued the other. "So don't make me change my mind, understood?"

You approached James and Harry and the latter gave you a hug, which you immediately returned, stroking his hair.

"For a moment i was afraid i was going to die" Harry whispered close to your ear and you giggled, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Well!" James clapped his hands for attention. "Now as punishment, my dear son, you will set the table"

Harry nodded.

"Without using magic"

Harry groaned and it was at that moment that Remus stood up too.

"Come on Harry, i'll help you"

Harry gave him a grateful smile and after the two had moved towards the kitchen, James wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you with your back against his chest.

"My love, why do you always encourage him when he proposes those stupid things?" he murmured, turning his face to leave a few kisses on your cheek.

You smiled, clasping your hands over his.

"It's not my fault" you replied innocently. "You guys were like that too at his age, if not worse. He got everything from you"

"Mhh"

James mumbled something against your skin, probably to say it wasn't true, but you ignored him and exchanged a look with Sirius, who blew smoke out the window with an amused smile.

[satellite-evans]

Panic

a/n : enjoy whatever this is lol

Warnings : fluff, giving birth

Lando had spent years perfecting his ability to handle high-pressure situations. Split-second decisions at 200 miles per hour? No problem. Dodging crashes? Easy. Keeping calm when his entire race strategy was turned upside down? He could manage that.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for this.

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS HAPPENING,” Lando screeched, pacing frantically around the hospital room as you gripped the bedrails, wincing through another contraction.

You turned your head toward him, sweat dripping down your forehead. “Lando, I swear to God—”

“I mean, I knew it was happening, obviously! Because that’s how babies work! But it’s really happening! Like right now!” Lando continued, running a shaky hand through his already-messy curls. “What if I say something stupid? What if I do something wrong? What if I—”

“You already are!” you snapped, gripping his hand with a force that made his knees buckle.

Lando yelped, barely holding himself together. “Okay, okay, you’re doing great, babe! So great! Best labor I’ve ever seen!”

The nurse beside you stifled a laugh. “Dad’s looking a little pale.”

“Oh, he does that,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

Lando gasped. “I do not!”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wild. “Lando, you gag when you had to change my nieces diaper. You nearly fainted when I had my blood drawn last week.”

He flinched. “That was… different! That needle was huge! Like a sword!”

The nurse snorted. “I’ve seen toddlers handle that better.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp inhale of pain cut him off. Instantly, his expression softened, panic giving way to concern. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping your hand in both of his. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m right here, love.”

You squeezed his hand—this time, just for comfort—and met his eyes. “I know.”

For a brief moment, the room quieted. The contractions were getting stronger, closer together. You knew this meant you were almost there, but exhaustion was beginning to weigh on you.

Lando noticed. “You got this, okay?” His voice was softer now, steadier. “Just think of it like a race. Last few laps. You’re leading. You just need to push to the finish line.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Did you just compare childbirth to a race?”

“I panicked,” he admitted sheepishly. “But… was it a good metaphor?”

You gave him a tired smile. “It wasn’t terrible.”

Before he could respond, the doctor clapped their hands. “Alright, Mom, you’re fully dilated. It’s time to push.”

Your heart pounded. This was it. Months of waiting, of preparing, of wondering what this moment would feel like—

And now, it was here.

Lando felt the shift in your energy, and instantly, he was back to full panic mode. “Okay. Okay! It’s happening! It’s really happening!” He turned to the doctor. “What do I do?! Where do I stand?! Do I—do I hold her leg? Do I—oh my god, do I catch the baby?!”

The doctor didn’t even blink. “Dad, just stand where you are and try not to pass out.”

Lando’s face paled even more. “Pass out? Who said anything about passing out?”

The nurse handed him a paper bag.

Lando stared at it in horror. “Oh my god, do people actually—”

“Lando!” you cut him off, your voice sharp with pain. “Less talking, more hand-holding!”

“Right, right! I got you, babe, I got you.” He quickly took your hand, bracing himself—

Then the nurses adjusted the bed, helping you sit up—

And as you moved into position, your elbow swung back—

—And smacked Lando directly in the forehead.

The entire room went silent.

Lando staggered back, clutching his head. “I’m okay! I’m okay!” he announced, though his eyes were definitely unfocused, and he was swaying like a driver who just took Eau Rouge at full speed with no grip. “You have no idea how much that hurts, though.”

The medical staff just stared at him.

No one spoke.

Lando blinked. “What?”

You, in the middle of active labor, shot him a look so sharp it could have cut through steel. Your voice was dangerously calm. “Lando.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re complaining about a little boo boo while I’m pushing a human out of my body.”

He gulped. “Right. Not about me. Got it. Carry on.”

The nurse patted his arm, barely holding back laughter. “Nice recovery, Dad.”

But before he could respond, the doctor’s voice cut through the moment. “Alright, Mom, one big push.”

Your breath came in short, labored gasps. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing down on you, but you knew this was it. You took a deep breath—

And pushed.

Lando held onto your hand, whispering encouragement—until he made the terrible decision of looking down.

His eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. That’s… um. That’s a lot—”

And then, like a driver who just experienced complete brake failure—

Lando hit the floor.

“Oh, for the love of—”

The doctor barely glanced at his unconscious body. “Nurse, should we wake him up?”

You, panting and literally pushing a human out of your body, groaned. “No. Let him miss it. He deserves it.”

Minutes later, as the baby’s cries filled the room, you felt a rush of relief so overwhelming it nearly brought you to tears. The doctor placed your newborn into your arms, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. The pain, the exhaustion, even your unconscious husband on the floor—it all faded away as you stared at your baby.

Tiny. Perfect. Yours.

A few minutes later, Lando groaned from the floor. “What… happened?”

“You fainted,” you muttered, still in awe as you cradled your baby.

Lando scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he took in the scene. “Wait—wait, did I miss it?!”

The nurse smirked. “Oh, you definitely missed it.”

Lando looked genuinely devastated. “Nooo! I was supposed to be there!”

“You were there,” you teased. “Just… unconscious.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his curls before looking down at the tiny bundle in your arms. His expression softened instantly. He sat beside you, completely transfixed.

“That’s… that’s our kid,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

For the first time since you arrived at the hospital, Lando was completely silent. He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers over the baby’s tiny hand. When her little fingers curled around his, he let out a shaky laugh.

“She is so small,” he murmured.

You leaned against him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. “I know.”

Lando swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly. “I love her so much already.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

After a beat of silence, Lando sighed. “Okay, but technically, I didn’t fully faint. I was just… resting my eyes.”

You chuckled. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and hold your baby.”

And with a sheepish grin, Lando took your child into his arms, staring at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

[heartsiebyul]

Hi! Another request, what about riddle, Leona, Floyd and Jamil reacting to you with your hair down for the first time? (Like the reader always wears it up in a bun and they've never seen it out of that style.) thank you! Have a good day! ❤️

જ⁀➴ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Twisted Wonderland characters reacting to seeing you with your hair down for the very first time.

featuring — Riddle : Leona : Floyd : Jamil x reader.

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle had always admired how tidy and put-together you looked with your hair up in that neat bun. It suited the disciplined image he respected so much—clean, rule-abiding, efficient. So when he walked into the Heartslabyul common room and saw you sitting by the window with your hair cascading freely down your shoulders, for a second, he thought he had mistaken you for someone else. The way the sunlight hit your now-loose locks, casting warm highlights across them, made his throat go dry. His steps faltered, and his mouth opened slightly, uncharacteristically caught off guard.

“You... changed your hair,” he finally managed, voice quieter than usual. There was a slight pink dusting on his cheeks, which only deepened when you smiled sheepishly and said you wanted to let it breathe for once. He cleared his throat, trying to regain composure, but couldn’t help the way his eyes kept flicking back to your hair. “It’s—It’s quite charming. You should... do it more often.” Riddle fumbled with his words a little before sitting beside you with a huff, trying to focus on the book he brought. But every so often, he'd peek at you from the corner of his eye, heart racing just a bit faster than usual.

Leona Kingscholar

It wasn’t unusual for Leona to be napping somewhere around the botanical gardens, half-buried in cushions or surrounded by sunshine. But when he cracked open an eye and saw you walking toward him with your hair down for the first time, it was the first moment he looked actually awake—alert, even. He didn’t sit up, but his eyes followed you closely, trailing from your loose strands to the way they shifted in the breeze. A slow smirk curled across his lips. “Well, well… look who finally decided to stop hiding all that.”

You rolled your eyes, but he sat up just enough to prop his head on his hand, watching you with newfound intensity. “You’ve been wasting all that softness keeping it in a bun. What, trying not to distract people?” His voice was teasing, but the heat in his gaze said he meant every word. “It suits you. Makes you look... softer.” You caught the brief pause in his voice and the way his tail lazily flicked against the grass. When you moved to sit next to him, Leona didn’t hesitate to reach out and twirl a strand around his finger, murmuring, “Might have to make you wear it down more often—strictly for selfish reasons.”

Floyd Leech

The moment Floyd saw you with your hair down, his eyes widened, and a mischievous, toothy grin split across his face like you’d just turned into his new favorite toy. “Ooooh~ Shrimpy looks completely different today,” he crooned, practically bouncing over to you in the hallway. Before you could react, his hands were already in your hair, fingers sifting through it with wild curiosity and zero respect for personal space. “It’s so soft! I didn’t know you had this much hair. You were hiding this from me, weren’t you~?”

You sputtered in embarrassment, trying to dodge his hands, but Floyd just giggled, entirely too entertained. “I kinda like this look. You look like a sleepy jellyfish. All floaty and... squishy.” He grinned wider and leaned down, nose brushing your cheek as he whispered, “It’s dangerous, y’know? You look real snatchable like this.” He tugged gently on a lock of your hair before dancing away with a laugh, already plotting how to convince you to leave it down more often. “I’m gonna get bored if you keep it up all the time! Let it down more! I wanna play!”

Jamil Viper

Jamil had grown so used to your signature bun that it had become synonymous with your presence in his mind—always practical, always put-together. So when he walked into the Scarabia lounge and saw you reading quietly with your hair down, it stopped him cold. The familiar composure he usually wore slipped, just for a second. He didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to lean against the doorway and just... observe. The way your hair framed your face, how it fell over your shoulders, the softness it added to your entire aura—it threw him off.

He finally stepped into the room and cleared his throat, trying not to show how you’d left him a little breathless. “Trying something new?” he asked casually, though his tone was more gentle than usual. When you looked up and smiled, he approached and knelt beside you, his fingers brushing against the ends of your hair. “It looks... unexpectedly beautiful.” His eyes held something softer, something reverent, as if he was seeing another side of you he hadn’t been allowed to until now. “You always looked nice,” he murmured, “but this... this is different. I like it.” And though he didn’t say it aloud, the change felt like a privilege—like you’d let down your guard, just a little, for him.

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

[c0sm1cp0tat0]

Yandere! Saja Boys x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

A part of you hadn't expected for them to still be lounging in your bed when you came back out. Your attire was less than professional; a lilac cami top and shorts. Your favourite pyjama set. A fluffy white towel over your damp locks of hair, that fell forward into your large dark eyes.

Blank faced and confused, you look at them. They were staring at you like you had given them everything they could ever want. Your lashes were actually still damp as well. That was annoying. You rub at your eye.

"Fuuuuuuuu--" Abby couldn't finish the word. Let alone the scentence. Beni slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Sexy." He spoke instead, deep voice breaking on the word.

Roman was on full panick mode. "Ah, fuck fuck fuck I want to see her eat like that-- Oh my god." Correction, he wanted to eat YOU like that but he didn't want to scare.

Jinu was staring blankly. He snapped out of it and made room on the bed and opened the pizza box back up.

"Care for a slice?" You wanted to say no. How on earth do demons know all the good places?

You stepped forward but were tackled by Malak. "Ahh!!" The small of your back slammed against the closed bathroom door. He brought his face closer and closer to yours until you realized what was being hinted at; the damn kisses he was promised. Fuck.

The others groaned in jealousy. Your waist was in his large arms. He was leaning down. You were, as always, alarmed.

"Wait-- right now?? Can we not--"

Too late, his lips were on yours. And it didn't start slow or anything. His lips were already moving. Fast and hard. You were straining yourself on keeping your mouth closed and your eyes open. But that would only draw out the process.

So, with a whimper, you let Mystery in.

The latter was on cloud nine. During the weeks that you stayed with them, he'd gotten some sort of oral fixation exclusive to you, his mouth needed to be on you, against you, without breaking apart for as long as possible. Now, he finally got his chance. You were caught in a snare, unable to even resist because of a promise made on your behalf.

Six minutes later, you were struggling to breathe through your nose. Your eyes were watering. Mystery, unknowingly had let the mouth part of him turn to its demonic form due to his need to taste more of you. his tongue had grown. Long and wide and was filling your cheeks. It was down your throat, absoulutely slithering, blocking airways.

You couldn't open your eyes. When you did, you saw spots. You tried and tried to pull away. He was too strong. When you did get away for a split second and gulped in a huge breath of air,

"Back, now." His voice dragged out in a snarl, guttural and bestial as he squeezes your face in one large palm to yank you back.

He's got you pushed down on the bed now, body weight crushing yours as his hips grinds on you. His elbows dug into the mattress on either sides of your head, fingers laced on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your own small hands gripped onto the back of his shirt for dear life, tugging in an attempt to convey you wanted him off.

Your muffled whines of protests were lost on him, too busy eating your face to care. Whenever you gagged on his tongue, he moaned and pushed it in deeper. Sending your body convulsing. All he could hear was your cute little whines and whimpers under him. He was feral.

When he finally, finally pulled back, your head was already thrown back, gulping in huge gulps of air, eyes reeling.

You didn't have time. When your boyfriend had died, you'd had too much time. Now you had too little. Every second you had to be on the ready. To dodge to kick and fight amd snark.

The Saja Boys kept you on your toes.

But right now, you were too helpless to even roll out of the way as Jinu took you up by the armpits as if you were a simple child. On his lap, you were seated. Your throat, which was raw from convulsing and being sucked over by Malak's tongue, was also too weak to convey your words properly.

"Wh-at-- are you do-ing??"

The ravenette smiled down at you. A cheesy, lovesick grin. A large pizza slice in his hand with the tip at your lips. The aromatic food was still warm, but not too warm. It smelled heavenly.

"Feeding you"

Oh no. Nonononono. This was not happening. You squirmed. He tightened his hold until your ribcage could barely move even to take breaths.

"Stop tryna take care of me, I'm not a child." You choked out after stilling.

Baby snickered. You glared at him. What are you laughing about, asshole? Look at your stage name.

Romance leaned forward and looked you dead in the eye. He was never this serious. Propped up forcefully in Jinu's lap like this, you were at eye level.

"Sweetheart, we don't know what your life was like before. As of now, we're going to take care of you. And you're going to take it all."

You flinched. But you were the one who always did the taking care of!! You were their manager. When you had your boyfriend, it was always you taking care of him. Its always that way. Always should stay that way.

Roman's promise sounded like a threat.

Abbott read your expression right away. His grin widened, "Oh you poor thing," He crooned, wicked. Sinister. "How are you going to escape now? You have five of us pining for you. And we're intent on spoiling you rotten with love and affection. Whether you want it or not." Smooth and syrupy was his tone. He hadn't even bothered to button his shirt, leaned back against your headboard with his arms folded behind his head, those intimidating biceps flexed.

You whimpered, legs squirming on instinct to back yourself up. To no avail, as you realised you were still in your position in Jinu's lap. He gave you a squeeze that was supposed to be reassuring but was mostly threatening. How could Abby, so dumb and sweet to the general public, sound so all-knowing and frightening to you?

"Come now, [Y/N]. One slice like this, and I'll let you eat the rest on your own." Jinu murmured way too sensually for your feeling safe.

You narrowed your eyes up at him. One slice? Not one bite would you take out of his hand. You struggled. You kicked and squirmed. You were weak from the kiss. That annoyed you further. So at one point you decided to take the extreme measure of biting his arm.

Which was a mistake

Because he let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard. You immediately retracted your teeth from his arm, deciding to never do that again.

And, in the end, they got what they wanted.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

The fan meet scheduled the very next week was insane. It was like the numbers who usually attended had doubled- no- tripled. And your profits had quadrupled.

Your table was more of a desk, out to the very side so that you could easily notify bodyguards of sasaengs, crazy fans who would try reach out and grab what they weren't offered or took pictures without permission.

But today, when you looked up from your desk, you were mortified to see a steady line of people growing. In front of you was a young woman, perhaps your own age. Younger, maybe.

"[Y/N]~?? I'm your biggest fan!! Sign my shirt??"

You swore there were actual tears of joy in her eyes as she pleaded with you. Dumbstruck, you looked down to her shirt to see a 4k print of one of your photos with Mystery. You yelped, scrambling back in your chair. "T-There's merch of this stuff??"

The girl in front of you squealed. You jumped. She smiled sheepishly "Your reaction was just so cute!!"

"Awww~ She's flustered everybody!!" One male fan called out and the entire room was filled with swooning noises. You stared, blanking out. What was going on??

The members leaned out to the side to watch. Roman and Abbott regarded you with these lovesick grins. Baby and Jinu had on cocky, complacent smirks. Malak was blank, but when he caught sight of the fan, he eagerly held up the shirt that he was signing to show you that it was an exact copy of the one that your fan possessed. You stared.

"Don't look so scared just by this. Those are in mass production. There's edits online of you with each of the boys and they have millions of views." The bodyguard standing next to you had the kindness to fill you in on all the atrocities happening to your name as he spoke.

"I don't really...have to...sign this. Do I??"

"Oh pleeeaaase [Y/N]. Pleeeaaase?? We love you so much!!" The fan was pleading by now. It was crazy, because she was being so respectful and you were just the manager.

Not knowing what to do, you hate to say you got a bit cranky. You rubbed your eyes. That action by itself sent waves of coos and giggles throughout the signing hall. You sat up rigid, not used to your actions causing a chain reaction.

Even this was not let slide. "She's not used to the fame!! I wish I could hug her!!"

A male fan shouts out, "I'm going to sue you [Y/N]!! Dangerous woman, you're stealing my heart!!"

The girl before you ignored that, continuing, "But...if you don't want to sign it...I guess its fine..." No it wasn't, her voice was going pillowy and sad by the second.

Okay, okay okay. [Y/N], focus. This isn't just going to sail by. You had to get through this. So you took a breath, smiled pleasantly at the girl and signed her top. She jumped excitedly. You supressed a flinch at her ecstatic movements.

You, surprisingly, had quite the chats with the fans before you. Though there were so many questions filling your head the whole time. You were gifted an assortment of headbands. Sweets. Drawings of you...and the members. But there were also wholesome moments that made your heart clench.

"My mum takes care of me the way you take care of the Saja Boys. I like you, [Y/N]." One little girl tells you, her voice sweet as she looks up at you over the desk.

The widest smile spread your lips at that. You swore you heard a camera clicking near you when you smiled. It didn't matter.

And then, there was that one. Damned. Question. That kept circulating and coming back to you.

"[Y/N], out of all the Saja boys who clearly like you so much, who do you prefer?" None.

"See, I'm just their manager. I respect them all the same." They giggled. You were clearly denying any sort of romance with the boys.

Your replies were pretty much the same all around.

"Who do you like better, [Y/N]?? I think you look so adorable between Abby and Jinu!!" They're the worst, no thanks.

"My bias is Baby!! Who's yours, [Y/N]??"

"Your pictures with Jinu had me squealing all night!! Which ones did you prefer better!?"

"[Y/N], how many times do you kiss Romance per day? Your favourite is totally him!! Right?? Right!!??"

....it could get intense.

You were exhausted. You went straight to Jinu after.

"How did the fans get through the barrier to me?? And why did you let them??"

He shrugged, "They were willing to pay double to meet you."

And you, the manager, knew nothing about this beforehand?? It was like he could read your mind.

"The pictures blew up while you were sleeping. They find you adorable. Like Baby, but without the snark. You're kinda like one of us now."

'One of us.'

'One of us.'

It rung in your mind. You stared at him but not really at him. More like, into space.

"I don't want to be." You suddenly burst out an hour later while submerged between them and the couch. It was this habit they had of dragging you everywhere in the house with them to do stuff. When you tried to run? A click of the fingers and they could merely teleport wherever you were headed to bring you back.

"Be what?" Beni asked patiently, aquamarine locks on your arm as he snuggled into it.

"One of you."

The barrier that seperated you and the Boys as their manager previously was now blurring according to the fans. You were not liking it. You were afraid.

"It's not that deep." Abby shrugged.

"Its very deep." You stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to take off.

For once, they remained slouched on the couch, letting you.

10 minutes later you were in your own bed, rocking back and forth. This was driving you mad. You'd never wanted to be famous. You didn't need this kind of attention while you were still grieving the passing of a loved one. You'd held up your front today. But how much longer could you hold out??

Your friends were blowing up your phone. You were on one of those front page articles online; 'Unestablished female member of Saja??' 'Saja Boys not just boys anymore??'

You scrolled down more, and there was another article. One that made your eyes widen. A picture of a man from the fan meet. Specifically, the one who'd yelled up at you from the crowd. Under the highlighted words, 'Found dead'.

'This is the most recent picture taken of everyday accountant, Baek Jiseok before he was encountered lifeless in an alleyway. Right after fan meet with Saja Boys.'

Your eyebrows furrowed. You gulped. Tears welling in your eyes. You knew all too well how difficult it is to lose someone.

Even you missed him. The random fan of yours that you ignored in the meet.

"That's awful." You murmured, trailing shaky fingers down his photo. There was something more awful yet. There was a murderer on the loose

"What's wrong [Y/N]?"

"Ahh!!" You jumped violently at the sudden purr of a deep voice in your ear. Jinu stood behind you, leaned into you. He had with him his gigantic demon cat. Standing on the cat was the three-eyed magpie. You liked that magpie. Sassy queen. His three eyes could see all, but he mostly just used it to give the members dirty side looks. It was brilliant. But he was also a motif of how truly inhuman Jinu and the rest of them were. Of the power and imbalance they wielded against you.

You'd seen them around. The cat always approached you, curious. But you were always too frightened to let it get near. Now you'd seen them both so much, you didn't really mind. All it did was come up close and nuzzle it's head to your small palm.

"He really likes you."

"One of your fans died."

His gaze lowered downwards towards your screen, "No, one of your fans died." His eyes were glowing gold. You felt shivers down your spine. You failed to recognize why.

"Are you not sad? Even a little?"

He did the thing you least expected in this situation. He smiled. A warm, ominous smile. As if nothing was wrong and all was well.

"Guys like him deserve to die. He shouted out at you so crassly during the fansign." The way Jinu coiled around your small form was reminiscient of the twined vines of poison ivy that encircled a delicate pretty flower, preventing anyone, anything from taking it away from its rightful place.

Pulling you down to your worst ever nightmare.

He was without a shirt, demon patterns showing. He was exposing his full self to you. As if silently beseeching you to accept him. Accept them.

You could almost hear it. The agonized beggings and pleadings of the fan. The man; somebody's significant other. A brother. A father, maybe. As he implored them to let him live, that he didn't mean to shout his love to you. You, who was already taken.

"Do you hear it? It was all for you. That's how much we like you. We want you so much, [Y/N]. How could you detest us so blatantly like this?" He pressed benign kisses to your cheek. Each of them blooming over your skin like small catastrophes.

"Get it out. Get it out of my head!! GET IT OUT!!" You screamed, clawing at your head. You didn't want to hear, to see what was done in your name. Their love was a calamity. A tainting. A contamination.

Jinu clicked his fingers. The live audio of your former-fan's suffering and screams dissapeared in an instant from your head.

You cried. You leaned over and cried. They had told you many times the insane things they would do for you. They'd told you before that they would kill for you. But you didn't know, you'd never fathomed they would actually-- Fuck. You burst into fresh, heart-wrenching sobs.

Jinu hushed you and hugged you. He kissed you. He gave you words. "Everything will be fine, [Y/N], this doesn't need to affect anything."

It was affecting things for him. Not negatively. Gwi-ma was delighted about the fresh young souls being rained down on their realm, empowering him.

You finally looked up at him, into his molten gold eyes, and tried not to let your voice break on a sob as you spoke.

"How many?? How many have you killed!??"

He looked at you dumbstruck as if you'd caught him off guard with a difficult maths equation. "You...want me to count??"

There were so many, though. Men, and women who would look down at your darling form funny on the street. Whether it'd be in a patronizing way or an overly admiring way. Waiters who'd wink and slip you their phone number. Baristas, the same. You were an attractive person but you didn't realize it.

Poor naïve thing, had you not noticed the huge spike in numbers of people gone missing?? Namely around your area.

He looked apologetic. Not for what he'd done, but for the sole fact that he couldn't offer you a number. "I'd tell you, but even then, the boys have also done stuff that they haven't told me. They have a shorter temper than me, you see." Especially when it came to you.

Dazed and horrified, you just kept looking at him. He held you tighter, nuzzling himself into you. So did his blue tiger. It's purrs vibrated your whole body as it pressed it's head into your stomach. Together, they created some sort of a soft coocoon around you. A guilded cage.

To say in short, honey, you're cooked.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

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[pedriscroquettes]

𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 ꕥ MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary. celebrating max’s 4th title was not in your plans.

warnings. piastri!reader, max is kinda obsessed with reader, public s3x (?), unprotected pinv, fingering, just straight up dirty.

gabri speaks! i’ve been thinking about mexico gp max and las vegas sealed the deal for me.

THERE’S A BRIEF moment of silence, of anticipation, and of complete confusion. The DJ had paused the setlist less than an hour in announcing there was a special guest appearance. Then as if on cue tonight’s race is plastered on the giant screen behind him and the words, “Max Verstappen,” echo throughout the nightclub. You resist the urge to roll your eyes knowing someone might be recording you, or your brother at least.

“I thought he was flying back?” You cover your mouth with your hand as you talk with your brother.

“I thought so too.” Your brother hums in your ear trying to hide his annoyed tone. Your brother got along with Max just fine but all he wanted was one night without F1 getting mentioned.

You on the other hand…

You’d only been in the paddock a handful of times but every race weekend you had managed to have the worst encounter with the dutch man. The first time had been incidentally, you faintly recall the energy drink splashing all over your new dress. You knew from the get go that it had been an accident but when Max didn’t as so much as a muster a quick sorry and instead went on his way you had no choice but to hate him.

“He’s such a dick.” You murmur to yourself unaware your brother catches your words.

“Be nice.” Oscar motions towards the countless people recording him.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” You sigh.

The music resumes and you find yourself into a crowd of dancing couples. Your short orange dress sticks to you as you walk towards the bar. It’d been a long night with your brother not getting the result he hoped for. The post race recap inside the garage had been brutal as well. You had watched as the championship slipped from Lando’s hands and Max claimed victory once again. It had been the worst two hours of your life to say the least. You’re way too frustrated to even notice the man approaching you. In a split second you’re covered in something that smelled similar to…

“Asshole.” You mumble.

“Mini Piastri?” He gasps dramatically. “Why are you here? I wouldn’t think you’d be celebrating after tonight.”

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” You scoff. “Does it Max?”

“I’d argue that it does actually. Considering your mood, you’d be happier if your little boyfriend had actually managed to have a good race.” He taunts you.

“Look, can you get out of my way? I have to go clean up the mess you made.” You point towards the huge spots of alcohol on your dress.

You don’t even wait for him to respond before pushing past him, brushing shoulders in the process, to head straight to the bathroom. You do your best to dodge those who already have had a bit too much to drink, unaware that the dutchman is right behind you. It’s not until you’re opening the door and notice it takes a minute too long to close that you turn around and spot him. His white dress shirt is already half unbuttoned while his hair is a mess. You stare at him incredulously as he leaned against the sink.

“Max, you can’t be in here.” You state bluntly.

“I don’t recall you telling Lando to piss off when he followed you into the bathroom in Austin.” He counters.

“How do- What?” You’re taken aback by his words. How did he know?

He ignores your question choosing to walk towards you instead. You’re now face to face with the man that had taken away your team’s championship. His eye bags are dark and you can tell it’s been a while since he’s gotten a good needed break. His tousled hair falls perfectly on his head and by the way his arms flex you can tell he’s been putting extra effort into them at the gym. All of a sudden you’re nervous to be under his glare.

“Does your brother know what you and Lando do in secret?” He questions.

“You should leave.” You try to sound confident but your faltering voice exposes you.

Max just smirks at your words knowing he was getting under your skin. He still recalls the first time he ran into you, when he spilled half a can of red bull on you. He doesn’t know why he didn’t apologize but when he saw the anger in your face he realized why. You had looked so beautiful that day with the short orange sundress that did nothing to hide your cleavage. He still remembers the disappointment he felt when he saw you and Lando walk out of the restroom all disheveled. So, when he beat Lando tonight he felt absolutely no remorse.

His lips ghost yours for what feels like an eternity. You’re frozen in place wondering how his lips would taste against yours. Maybe it was the alcohol or the way his arms flex around you but suddenly you needed to know what he felt like. His arm tentatively grazes yours as it sneaks down to your knees. A gasp finds itself leaving your lips as your legs spread open instinctively. He wants to make fun of you, of the way you melt under him so easily, but he knows better. He can’t risk ruining the moment. It’s when Max inches his fingers closer to your thighs that you suddenly realize what’s happening. In a matter of seconds you push him off you and head out the door.

You’re barely four steps out when Max yanks you back and you hit his built chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate and grabs your jaw pulling your face towards his. Your lips meet in a heated kiss as his arms find their way around your waist. This time you’re the one that moves his hands from your wait to your ass. The confidence was beginning to build up and soon enough you’re tugging on his hair as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Max…” You moan and somehow it becomes the indicator that you want this. That you want him.

He pushes you flat against the cold brick of the hallway, the dimmed lights helping hide your bodies from the crowd. You’re lucky he holds you up because your legs feel like jello and if he lets go you might lose your balance. His hands roam your waist, back, and neck before he moves your hair out of the way. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses around your neck as his hands work their way down to your legs. They slowly glide up until he’s playing with the hem of your short dress. You can already feel his growing erection press against your ass.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He groans against your ear.

You really want to tell him to fuck off but your body reacts differently. You’re shocked when instead of telling him to call it a night all you murmur is keep going. In a matter of seconds your dress is being pulled up towards your waist. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips as he rubs your aching core through your panties.

“So wet already.” He groans. “For me or Lando?”

“Shut up.” You still find it in you to annoy him.

To your surprise he doesn’t hit you with another remark. Max had been an asshole to you long enough. Now, that you were in front of him practically falling apart he didn’t want to ruin the moment. There’s a brief moment of silence before his hand carefully moves your panties to the side exposing your core to the cool breeze. Your legs spread instinctively as his fingers tempt your folds. His fingers collect your slick as he explores you, the wet sound making him groan against you. Slowly, he brings one of his fingers to your hole entering it carefully.

“Fuck.” He moans against your ear as your cunt wraps tightly around his finger.

“Ma- Max. So close.” You’re barely able to say.

You let out a loud whine as he curls his finger inside of you leading to your climax. You come around his fingers as you coat them with your wetness. His fingers slowly move toward your mouth and you don’t hesitate as you take them into your mouth, tasting yourself. He almost comes undone as you lick his fingers seductively. Aggressively he grabs your jaw and kisses you. He groans as he tastes you.

You feel the tip of him first as he runs it up and down your folds teasing you. Your hands are weak against the wall as his tip approaches your aching hole. He enters you slowly, holding you tightly in the process. He stops halfway through not wanting to hurt you but when he hears your dirty moans he continues. Your nails dig tightly into his arms as he fills you up completely. He’s quite big and the new sensation has you spiraling trying your best to not fall against him. He takes advantage of your weakness and attacks your neck again making sure to leave love bites around your collarbone.

“Fuck, Max. You’re so big.” You whine without thinking.

You feel his dick twitch inside you at that. Your voice has him in a trance as he tries his best to not just start thrusting inside of you. It’s not until you start pushing your ass against him that he almost pulls out fully before thrusting back into you. His hands grip your ass tightly—surely leaving marks for tomorrow—as your cunt squeezes him. He’s never felt such a thrill, at least since Abu Dhabi, you were your own feeling. He couldn’t believe you had finally opened up to him in many ways you were way better than winning another trophy. Many curses escape your lips as he finds the perfect pace inside of you.

He manages to bend you over leading to the perfect position and somehow he’s even deeper inside of you. He grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he speeds up inside of you. His hand trails back to your cunt and slowly he starts playing with your folds. The feeling of his cock inside of you and fingers rubbing your folds is intense and you find a camisole feeling in your stomach approach you. You squeeze him tightly as his dick hits the right spot and you find yourself coming undone. You’ve never had an orgasm so intense in your life you don’t even notice how you coat his dick with your wetness.

Max isn’t far behind and speeds up at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him tightly. Your nails dig behind you at the overstimulation and stretch of his cock. Max hisses at the sensation finding it the tipping point. It’s not long before you feel his dick twitch inside of you and in a matter of seconds you feel him spill his seed inside of you. He grunts as he empties himself and as he pulls out. He pulls you up adjusting your dress in the process.

You bite your lip as he zips up his pants. The aftermath of your little rendezvous is different. Usually with others you don’t stay long enough to watch them dress themselves. But then you notice Max struggling with the buttons on his dress shirt and you find your hands on his chest again. You only button half of the shirt before stepping back. Neither of you say a word but the silence manages to speak for you both. You decide it’s time to go back but before you can take a step Max pulls you in for a final kiss before he leaves.

You’re barely able to walk back towards the VIP lounge and stumble multiple times in the process. You try your best to brush your hair down and fix your dress as you come closer to your brother’s booth. You sit down carefully unaware your brother is staring at you wide eyed and wondering why it took you almost an hour to get a drink. You shift awkwardly in your seat as Lily begins telling you both about her mixup at the airport. You turn around briefly as she goes into detail when you notice Max walking past your table. You keep your composure not wanting to expose your actions of the night but you should’ve known better. Oscar almost bursts out laughing at Max’s completely unbuttoned shirt.

“Lando’s gonna be pissed.” Your brother smirks.

“How do-” Did everyone know? “Oh, fuck off.”

The night progresses with your brother ordering countless bottles of Dom Pérignon. It’s almost five in the morning when Max takes the stage again with the DJ playing a remix of Super Max. As if on cue someone hands him a bottle of champagne and it doesn’t take long for him to start spraying it amongst those on the dance floor. You watch attentively as his chest shows the marks you left completely unaware of how your phone buzzes for the hundredth time that night.

9 missed calls from Lan

Lan: Tonight was shit.

Lan: Come over?

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃-𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 (𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡-𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐭).

there’s always a few hours where you live in blissful ignorance on your return to hogwarts. it never lasts.

eventual james x fem!reader | 2.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

CW | the marauders suck (it won’t last forever dw) and they bully people bc ofc they do, james is so annoying in this

The Hogwarts Express was packed as always, the air thick with the mingling scents of pasties, fresh parchment, and the damp wool of students’ robes.

You had barely set foot on the train before you were dragged into a compartment with Lily, who was already complaining about the boys.

“They’re insufferable,” she huffed, arms crossed. “I saw them at the station, and James was acting like he’d come back from summer with some grand revelation about himself,”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. What is it this time? A new Quidditch move? A newfound respect for the rules?”

Lily snorted. “Worse. He’s taller now,”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she said grimly. “And he won’t shut up about it.”

You shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

Lily gave you a look that told you everything you needed to know.

—

By the time you arrived at the castle and made your way into the Great Hall, it became painfully clear that she hadn’t been exaggerating.

James Potter was tall now, and he was making it everyone’s problem.

From the moment he stepped into the hall, he was on a mission. He strode over to the Gryffindor table like a man on a mission, and before Remus could sit down, James was pressing against him shoulder to shoulder. “Oi, Remus, hang on,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “Did you shrink over the summer?”

Remus didn’t even look up as he took his seat. “No, James,”

James leaned in, mock serious. “You sure? Because I swear you were at least this tall last term,” He held his hand up next to Remus’s head, shifting it ever so slightly higher than necessary.

Remus sighed and turned to Sirius. “Are we humouring this?”

Sirius, lounging in his seat, smirked. “Absolutely not. Don’t give him the satisfaction,”

James, undeterred, moved on to Peter. “Pete, my good man,” he said cheerfully, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “How’s the weather down there?”

Peter swatted him off. “You’re barely taller than me!”

“But I am taller,” James pointed out, practically buzzing with energy. “And that’s what matters,”

It didn’t take long for his newfound height to become the central theme of his personality. It was as if, over the course of one summer, he had discovered his life’s purpose: to loom over everyone who was even an inch shorter than him and let them know it.

And it wasn’t just his own friends he tormented. No, James was equal opportunity about it.

Throughout the first week, you saw him standing next to anyone and everyone, sizing them up with exaggerated curiosity. “Ah,” he would announce, stepping back and rubbing his chin as if making a great discovery. “Short. Tragic,”

Some people laughed. Others rolled their eyes. A few, like Severus, scowled and stalked away, though that only seemed to amuse James more.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter suffered the worst of it.

“You know this is just going to encourage him, right?” Remus muttered after Sirius nearly punched James for his latest “short people” joke.

“I don’t care,” Sirius growled, rubbing his temples. “I’ll break his stupid tall nose,”

James, now leaning casually against the Gryffindor table, grinned. “Merlin, it must be so hard being so small,”

Sirius lunged, and James yelped, dodging behind Remus. “James, I swear—”

“—that you’ll thank me one day when you realise you were standing next to greatness this whole time?” James finished smoothly, winking.

Peter groaned. “I hate this. I hate this so much,”

“It’s been five days,” Remus muttered. “How much longer can this possibly last?”

As if to answer that question, James caught sight of you across the room. His eyes lit up.

Uh-oh.

“Ah, excellent,” he said, striding over with purpose. “I haven’t tested my theory yet,”

Your fork was halfway to your mouth. You lowered it slowly. “What theory?”

“The one where you are also, tragically, shorter than me,”

Lily, sitting next to you, let out a long sigh and rubbed her temples.

You stared at James. “Potter, you just had to run from Sirius. Do you really want to start this with me?”

James beamed with all the brightness of the sun. “Absolutely,”

You glanced at Lily, who was already shaking her head.

Then, with all the calmness in the world, you turned back to James and said, “Would you like to be short again?”

James frowned. “What?”

Before he could react, you flicked your wand under the table and whispered a spell so quietly it was almost imperceptible.

James didn’t even have time to register what had happened before his calf seized up violently. His smug expression flickered—then his leg gave out entirely.

With an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp, he keeled over.

A few heads turned. Sirius, seeing his friend crumpled on the floor, burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”

James, groaning, pushed himself up onto his elbows. “My leg,”

Lily stifled a snicker. “What a tragedy,”

You speared a piece of roasted potato with your fork. “Hm. Not so tall now, are you?”

James glared up at you. “That was rude,”

“Was it?” you asked innocently. “I thought it was a very appropriate reaction.”

Sirius practically howled with laughter.

James groaned again, flopping dramatically onto his back. “This is bullying,”

Lily leaned down with a smug smile. “Welcome to our world, Potter,”

—

After the Great Height Incident—as Sirius had started calling it—James seemed to learn precisely one lesson: messing with you and Lily was fun. Unfortunately, that meant you, Lily, and Severus were now prime targets for the boys’ endless shenanigans.

It started subtly at first. You’d be in the library, peacefully reviewing your notes, and suddenly James would happen to walk by, stretching extravagantly. “Merlin, I keep forgetting how much taller I am than everyone now,” he’d say loudly, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

Sirius would nod solemnly beside him. “It’s tragic, really,”

Peter would sigh dramatically. “So difficult being so much better than everyone else,”

And then Remus, without even looking up from his book, would mutter, “You lot are insufferable,”

But that was only the beginning.

Soon enough, they were showing up everywhere. You, Lily, and Severus had your usual study spot under the large bay window in the library—a quiet, peaceful place where you could actually focus. Or at least, it used to be.

Now, the second you pulled out your books, the four troublemakers of Gryffindor would materialise.

“Alright, what’s on the syllabus today?” James asked one afternoon, plopping himself unceremoniously onto the bench across from you.

You sighed, not looking up from your parchment. “Potter. Go away.”

Sirius slid into the seat beside him. “That’s no way to talk to your study buddies,”

“You’re not our study buddies,” Lily said, exasperated.

James gasped, clutching his chest. “Evans, I’m hurt. You wound me.”

“I can fix that,” Severus muttered, reaching for his wand.

Remus—who, unlike the other three, had actual academic aspirations—had the decency to look somewhat guilty as he pulled up a chair. “I do actually need to study, but, er… I doubt they’ll leave if I don’t come with them,”

“Correct,” Sirius confirmed cheerfully.

You narrowed your eyes. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Sirius grinned. “Very much,”

They didn’t even pretend to study. James spent ten minutes balancing his quill on the tip of his nose. Sirius kept tossing sugar quills into Peter’s open mouth. Peter missed all of them. And Remus, bless him, tried to read, but his attempts were constantly interrupted by James tapping his shoulder every three minutes just to point out glaringly obvious things around the room.

By the time Lily slammed her book shut in frustration, you were about two seconds away from hexing the whole lot of them. “Honestly, can’t you go bother someone else?” she snapped.

James grinned. “Why would we, when you’re so fun to annoy?”

Severus shot him a glare so venomous it could’ve melted through stone. “You have a death wish.”

Sirius leaned back lazily, propping his feet up on the table. “Nah, we just have excellent taste in entertainment,”

You turned to Remus, the only reasonable one. “Can you control them?”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temple. “No,”

Lily groaned. “This is unbearable.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” James said. “We’re simply enriching your academic experience,”

“I will enrich you straight into the hospital wing,” you muttered.

Sirius cackled. “See? Fun.”

And just like that, your peaceful study sessions were gone.

—

It started, as most things did with James and Sirius, with boredom.

You were vaguely aware of their antics throughout the day—whispered conversations in the corridors, Sirius elbowing James in the ribs while the two of them barely suppressed their grins, Remus sighing deeply whenever they entered a room. The usual signs that something stupid was about to happen.

You just didn’t expect it to happen to Bertram Aubrey.

No one really knew why James and Sirius chose him. Maybe he’d said something mildly irritating in class. Maybe he’d taken the last good seat in the common room. Maybe he’d simply existed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever the case, Bertram became their next victim.

And unfortunately for him, James and Sirius had decided to test a rather bold hex.

It happened in the courtyard between classes. One moment, Bertram was minding his own business, chatting with a group of Ravenclaws. The next, James had flicked his wand and muttered, Engorgio Skullus!

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then Bertram’s head swelled.

Like a balloon.

A very large balloon.

His eyes widened—quite literally—his glasses stretching to accommodate his rapidly expanding skull. A strangled, horrified yelp escaped him as his head reached twice its original size. His expression twisted somewhere between panic and outrage as the entire courtyard exploded into laughter.

“Oh Merlin,” Peter wheezed, clutching his stomach.

Remus dragged a hand down his face despite being the one who supplied the two with the spell in the first place. “I am not involved in this,”

James, barely holding back his own laughter, clapped Sirius on the back. “Brilliant work,”

Sirius gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, thank you,”

Bertram, meanwhile, was screeching. “What have you done?!”

The laughter quickly turned into a scramble for safety as a very large-headed, very furious Bertram Aubrey came charging after James and Sirius.

James yelped. “Run!”

The two of them bolted, Bertram lumbering after them with the grace of an enraged troll. His head made it impossible for him to move properly—his balance was completely thrown off, his steps uneven, his weight shifting dangerously every time he turned a corner.

They didn’t make it far before a thunderous voice rang out across the courtyard.

“Potter! Black! Don’t even think about turning that corner.”

The laughter immediately died.

McGonagall had arrived.

By the time you heard about it, James and Sirius had already been sentenced to double detention.

You were sitting at dinner when the news broke, passed down through whispers and amused glances. James and Sirius trudged into the Great Hall, both looking exceedingly pleased with themselves despite the fact that James’s left hand was now stained entirely black from whatever punishment they’d been assigned.

You sighed, shaking your head as they collapsed onto the bench across from you. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Sirius smirked. “We were hoping for more running time, honestly,”

James flexed his ink-stained fingers with a dramatic wince. “But worth it,”

Lily scoffed. “You permanently traumatised Bertram Aubrey, and for what?”

James grinned. “For science,”

“For chaos,” Remus corrected, still looking exhausted from association alone.

You snorted despite yourself. “You deserve whatever detention McGonagall gave you.”

James shrugged. “Maybe. But admit it—you wish you’d seen it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

—

A sensible person might have learned their lesson by now.

James Potter, however, was not a sensible person.

It had been a few days since the Aubrey Incident, and though James and Sirius were still suffering through their detentions, neither of them seemed particularly remorseful*.* If anything, they were emboldened*.*

Which was why, despite multiple warnings, despite physical evidence that you were very capable of hexing him, James still thought it was a good idea to try the height joke again.

You were in the common room, comfortably curled up with a book, minding your own business. Lily was beside you, finishing up an essay, while Sirius lounged on the floor, flipping a stolen Chocolate Frog card between his fingers.

James, fresh from another detention and looking far too smug for someone who had just spent two hours scrubbing cauldrons, sauntered in and immediately made a beeline for you.

“Oh, excellent,” he announced dramatically. “My favorite short person,”

You didn’t even glance up. “Potter.”

“Just thought I’d remind you how tragically small you are,” he said, grinning as he loomed over you. “Must be so difficult, looking up at greatness all the time.”

Lily sighed. Sirius smirked.

You, still not looking up from your book, flicked your wand.

There was a sharp crack!—and then a very loud yelp*.*

James immediately stumbled, nearly toppling over as his knee buckled under him. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the couch, eyes wide. “Oi!”

Sirius howled with laughter.

“James,” he gasped between laughs, “I swear—you’re going to get hexed every single time you pull that.”

James groaned, rubbing his leg. “That was just plain mean,”

“You deserved it,” Lily said primly, dipping her quill into her inkpot.

James shot her an indignant look, then turned back to you. “You didn’t even look at me!”

You turned a page. “Didn’t have to,”

Sirius collapsed against the couch, still cackling. “Oh, that was beautiful,”

James sighed dramatically, dropping onto the floor beside him. “Still worth it,” he grumbled.

You hummed. “If you say so,”

He stretched his leg out with a wince. “I do,”

Sirius elbowed him. “Tell me, oh mighty tall one, how’s the view from down there?”

James groaned, flopping onto his back. “I hate you,”

Lily snorted. “You should hate yourself.”

James just sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “One day,” he muttered, “you’ll all see how truly tall I am.”

“Not if tour leg cramps permanently,” you replied absently.

Sirius grinned. “Brilliant. I can’t wait for next time,”

—next part.

[winterlico]

LATE NIGHT ᰔ sim jaeyun .ᐟ

﹙ masterlist﹚──── sim jaeyun x fem!reader ⚡︎ fluff , mention kiss , make out ⸝⸝ 運命 ◦ aprox 88303 wc ‼

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The night air feels cool against your skin as you walk alone across the quiet campus, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. You’ve stayed late at the library again, buried under the weight of microbiology textbooks and lab reports. It's almost 2 AM, and the campus is mostly empty, save for a few students rushing to their late-night study spots or the occasional campus security guard making their rounds.

You’d been lost in your thoughts when the sudden sound of crashing and fighting from a nearby alley snaps you out of your daze. It’s not the usual late-night chaos, though—it sounds… different. More intense. You hesitate for a moment, your curiosity pulling you toward the noise.

Just as you approach the corner of the campus building, you freeze. A figure, clad in a red-and-blue suit, is weaving in and out of shadows, effortlessly dodging punches from a group of thugs who clearly don’t stand a chance.

Spider-Man. You’ve heard the rumors, seen the viral videos online. You never thought you’d actually encounter him, especially not this close. And not this late.

Your heart races, half from excitement, half from fear, as you stand rooted to the spot. The way Spider-Man swings through the alley, his movements so smooth, almost like he’s dancing, makes your breath catch in your throat. You can’t look away. His webbing, gleaming in the dim light, zips around and disarms one of the attackers, sending him stumbling backward.

Your eyes follow his movements with awe, but then, something happens that you didn’t expect. Spider-Man pauses for a brief moment, his chest heaving as he pulls his mask off, just slightly, to take a breath. The alleyway is silent for a split second, and in that instant, you see his face.

You freeze, eyes widening. It’s him. The guy from your biology class—Jake. You’d noticed him before, his quiet confidence and the way he carried himself. You had never suspected him to be, well, Spider-Man.

Jake, realizing what he just did, seems to snap back to reality. His eyes meet yours across the alley. A brief, awkward moment hangs in the air before he swears under his breath, pulling the mask back over his face. “Uh… not what I meant to do,” he mutters, clearing his throat.

You stand there, frozen, unsure if you should say anything. His posture is tense, shoulders squared as he awkwardly shifts his weight. There’s no denying it now—he’s Spider-Man.

“Jake?” you say, voice barely above a whisper, still trying to process everything. "You... you're—"

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he says quickly, still trying to avoid eye contact. "I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. You should... probably head back to your dorm. It's not exactly safe around here."

You blink in disbelief, still not sure how to respond. “But… you just—” Your voice trails off, a thousand questions rushing to your mind. "You're—Spider-Man."

He nods, looking sheepish for a moment. “Yeah. I kinda have a thing for keeping the city safe.” His tone is casual, as though casually revealing his secret identity isn't the least bit weird. “Guess I’m not as good at this stealth thing as I thought.”

You take a step closer, still in shock. "You… you just fought off a group of guys. What are you—?"

“Just trying to keep things from going sideways,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You know how it is. Some nights, the bad guys just don’t want to stay in their lane.”

“I can’t believe this,” you mumble, a little breathless. “You’re Spider-Man. You’re, like, a superhero.”

Jake shrugs, his typical confident smirk returning to his lips. “Well, yeah, but I’d prefer ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,’ if you’re asking for preferences. It’s a bit less… dramatic.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “This is insane. How long have you been… doing this?”

He tilts his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief now. “Long enough to get pretty good at it. But I’ve always managed to keep my two worlds separate. Until now, I guess.”

“Yeah, now you’ve got me to keep a secret,” you reply, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He gives you a playful look, raising an eyebrow. “Guess you’ll have to be careful, princess. Not everyone can handle the truth. Especially when you’re not supposed to know.”

“You’re going to keep calling me that, aren’t you?” you ask, your smile widening.

“You bet,” he says with a grin, his tone light but affectionate. “Now that you know my secret, you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension from the strange situation beginning to ease. “I think I can handle a little teasing. You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you.”

Jake chuckles, clearly relieved. “I don’t think that would go over well. Besides, you wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun.” He shoots you a wink, his usual cocky self returning in full force.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart flutters at the way he looks at you, even with his mask on. You’ve always admired him from afar, but this? This was something else entirely.

As the sound of sirens approaches in the distance, Jake stands tall, ready to leave. “You should head back to your dorm, princess. I’ll take care of the rest here.”

“Be careful, okay?” you say, your voice softening. There’s something about this whole situation—his vulnerability, his strength, the way he’s trying to keep it all together—that makes you want to say more, but you don’t.

He flashes a grin, nodding. “Always am. And hey… if you need anything, I’ll be around.” His wink is mischievous, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes your heart race even faster.

You watch as he swings up into the night, the distant sound of his webs twirling around filling the air. It all feels surreal, like you’re still caught in some strange dream. And yet, as you make your way back to your dorm, you can’t help but smile. Jake had just pulled off the biggest plot twist of your life, and you’re pretty sure this was only the beginning.

The air is still warm from the day’s heat, and the night feels like it’s just beginning to settle in as you walk back from the grocery store, your arms weighed down with bags. You’ve had a long day at the lab, and all you want now is to get back to your dorm, eat something quick, and maybe relax for a bit. The street is dimly lit, only a few other students walking to their own destinations, and the quiet of the campus feels peaceful, almost comforting. You hum softly to yourself, oblivious to the footsteps behind you that seem to follow just a little too closely.

As you round the corner near your dorm, a chill runs up your spine. You can feel it now, the tension in the air. Something isn’t right. You pick up your pace, glancing around, but it’s too late. The men step out from the shadows, blocking your way. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as one of them pulls a knife from his pocket, the blade gleaming under the streetlight.

“Hey, princess,” one of them sneers, his breath foul in the still night. “Looks like you’ve got some pretty nice bags there. Hand them over, and maybe we won’t make a mess.”

Your stomach drops. You can feel the panic rising, but you try to stay calm. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, and you’re not sure how to handle it. The knife in the man’s hand glints, and the other one takes a step forward, closing the distance between you.

“Please,” you say, your voice trembling. “I don’t want any trouble. Just take the bags.”

“Smart choice, but not enough,” the man with the knife growls. “You don’t get to decide anything here.”

You back up a little, but your mind is racing, trying to figure out how to escape. You know you can’t outrun them. You feel a familiar panic bubble in your chest—this is real, and there’s nowhere to hide.

But just as one of the men reaches for the bag, you hear it. A soft thwip sound in the air, followed by a loud crash as something crashes into the ground behind you. The men are distracted for just a second, looking over their shoulders, and in that moment, a figure swings down from the nearby building. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re pulled into the strong embrace of someone, their arm wrapping tightly around your waist.

“Did you miss me, princess?” Jake’s voice comes through the dark, warm and teasing, but there’s an edge of protectiveness in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

You look up at him, his familiar red-and-blue suit shining faintly in the streetlight, his mask pulled down just far enough that his eyes lock with yours.

“Jake?” you whisper, your breath caught in your throat. The realization hits you all at once. You almost can’t believe it—again. It’s him.

But there’s no time for explanations. The thugs are already recovering from the surprise of his sudden appearance. One of them lunges forward with the knife aimed right for Jake’s chest, but Jake’s quick, his reflexes honed from countless close calls. He dodges, twisting around and sending a webbing shot that wraps around the man’s wrist, pulling him off balance. With a swift motion, Jake kicks the man to the ground, leaving him groaning in pain.

The second attacker tries to make a run for it, but Jake doesn’t give him a chance. In one smooth move, he launches himself forward, webs shooting from his wrists and pinning the guy against the brick wall of the dorm. You watch in awe as Jake effortlessly takes control of the situation, even as the men struggle beneath his hold.

“Not so tough now, huh?” Jake taunts, his voice laced with playful confidence. He stands over the two thugs, surveying them with an almost casual expression. “You should know better than to mess with someone’s girlfriend. Especially my girlfriend.”

You blink, your heart skipping at the way he says it, the way he casually claims you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His tone isn’t possessive, but the tenderness behind the words is unmistakable.

But before you can respond, he turns his attention back to the criminals, his body moving in a blur as he effortlessly subdues them, tying them up with webbing and making sure they can’t escape. Within seconds, they’re left incapacitated, groaning on the ground, helpless.

“Done and done,” Jake says, his tone light as he walks back toward you. His mask pulls down over his face fully again, but his eyes still find yours. “You okay, princess?”

You nod, still stunned by everything happening so quickly. “Yeah. I think so. I just… I can’t believe you showed up. You saved me.”

Jake grins, that familiar mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got my eye on you, remember? You’re my responsibility now.”

You swallow, heart still racing from the adrenaline, but there's something comforting about his words, the way he stands in front of you, making you feel like you’re safe despite everything. His presence alone is enough to calm the storm in your chest.

“I guess this is part of your superhero gig, huh?” you say, trying to lighten the mood, even though you’re still a little shaken.

“You got it,” Jake says, chuckling as he steps closer.

“But you should know, I’ve got a pretty personal interest in protecting you now.” He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. “Don’t go wandering off at night again. It’s dangerous out here.”

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smirks, then without warning, he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you close to his side. “Good. Now, how about we get you home safe and sound, princess?”

Your heart skips again as you look up at him, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

You walk with him toward your dorm, the weight of the grocery bags almost forgotten, your mind still racing with everything that just happened. But as Jake keeps you close, his hand never leaving yours, the world suddenly feels a little safer. It’s not just about the bad guys anymore. It’s about him, and the way he makes you feel like nothing could ever go wrong with him by your side.

You’re still trying to process what just happened—your near-mugging, the way Jake swooped in, effortlessly neutralizing the threat, and now, standing in front of you with that signature grin of his. The adrenaline is still pumping in your veins, and your heart is pounding, not just from the close call but from the way Jake has completely thrown you off balance.

You should be taking a breath, maybe calling the authorities, or even just walking back to your dorm to recover. But instead, Jake is standing there, eyes gleaming with that mischievous spark, as if the world’s danger doesn’t even faze him. His tone is casual when he speaks, though there’s something more playful underneath it, something you can’t quite place.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, teasing, “since I’m already here… How about I take you home in style?”

Your heart skips a beat, the words barely registering in your brain before the rest of what he says sinks in.

“Style?” you repeat, blinking at him, still trying to catch your breath. “How… what do you mean?”

Jake’s grin widens, and before you can fully process the situation, before you can even think about arguing or running away, he does the last thing you expect.

One smooth motion, and you’re scooped up effortlessly in his arms. Your breath catches in your throat, panic flooding in as you instinctively grab onto his shoulder. “Jake—! Wait, no—!” You try to pull away, but his grip on you is firm, secure.

“Relax, princess,” he says, his voice teasing. “This will be fun, I promise.”

Your pulse races as the world shifts beneath you. You don’t have time to respond before Jake leaps off the ground. The wind rushes past you, your feet no longer touching the ground. The sharp sensation of flying fills your senses as he swings between buildings with you still cradled in his arms. You yelp in surprise, your heart leaping into your throat. You’ve never experienced anything like this—never thought you’d be soaring through the night sky like this.

“Jake!” you shout, gripping him tighter, your body instinctively tensing at the rush of the swing. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your heart races, the wind tearing past you too fast for your brain to keep up.

Jake’s laughter echoes above the sounds of the city, clear and carefree. “Don’t worry, princess, I’ve got you.” He shifts slightly, adjusting the way he’s holding you to make sure you feel secure, though the way your body is pressed so close to his only intensifies the wild thrumming in your chest.

It’s not until the next swing, when the world blurs in a rush of neon lights, that you dare open your eyes.

The city sprawls beneath you, like a million little lights scattered across a dark canvas. The buildings rise high, their sharp silhouettes glowing against the dark sky. The streets below are quiet, almost peaceful, and for a moment, it’s as if you’re outside of time. You can see everything—the bustling city, the people moving like tiny dots below you. It feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

The initial shock starts to wear off, replaced by something else, something more exciting, as your grip on Jake’s shoulder slowly loosens. Your eyes widen at the breathtaking view before you, and with the night air rushing past you, you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, the thrill of it all sinking in.

“This is… this is crazy,” you breathe, your voice trembling, but not from fear anymore. From exhilaration. You can feel your body relaxing into his arms as you start to get used to the rhythm, the swings between the buildings, the pull of gravity, and the rush of flying through the night.

Jake glances at you from the corner of his eye, still grinning, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Told you. It’s like nothing else, right?”

You nod, still wide-eyed. “I didn’t expect this. I’ve never—”

“Never flown between buildings like this, huh?” Jake interrupts with a playful tone. “It’s a first for everyone. But I’m glad you’re not freaking out.” He flashes you a wink, his cocky grin back in full force.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’m too dazed to freak out,” you mutter, looking down again at the city lights below you. It’s like you’re suspended in time, the whole world below you both still and peaceful.

Jake’s voice drops lower, more thoughtful now as you continue to swing. “There’s something about the city at night. Everything feels different from up here. Feels… right, you know?”

You look at him, a little surprised by the shift in his tone. There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks at you, something more than the usual teasing or playful banter. It’s just the two of you up here, suspended in the air, and for a moment, you feel a strange kind of connection—a shared understanding.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your heart still fluttering. “I think I get it now.”

Jake smiles, but it’s softer this time, a subtle warmth in the way his eyes linger on you. “You’re braver than I thought, princess. Not a lot of people could hang on this long without panicking.”

You can’t help but laugh, a little embarrassed. “Well, when you’re Spider-Man, I guess you kind of have to keep up, huh?”

Jake laughs with you, his voice light and carefree, and you feel the tension from earlier slip away. With every swing, the city below you seems more alive, the world seems more exciting, more full of possibility. In Jake’s arms, you feel a sense of comfort, despite the insanity of it all.

As you continue to swing through the night, you can’t help but wonder if maybe this crazy ride isn’t so bad after all.

The air feels charged as Jake swings through the city, his movements fluid, graceful, like a part of the night itself. You’re still wrapped up in his arms, the wind whipping around you as he deftly maneuvers between towering buildings. Every twist and turn has your heart racing again, but not out of fear this time—out of exhilaration. The grip you have on his shoulder has loosened entirely now, your arms still around him but relaxed, and you're actually enjoying the sensation of flying.

As you approach your apartment building, you can feel the change in the atmosphere, the pace slowing down as the towering structures of the city give way to smaller buildings and quieter streets. The lights here are softer, the night air a little cooler, and it feels more like you’re heading into a familiar place, not something far away or foreign like the dizzying heights of downtown.

Jake’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. "We’re almost there," he says, his tone relaxed, the usual mischievousness still present but softer now. He doesn’t need to remind you; you can tell by the way he adjusts his swings that he’s already figured out where your apartment is.

Your apartment building comes into view—a sleek, modern structure in the middle of the city, its glass windows reflecting the soft glow of streetlights. The familiar sight of it comforts you a little, grounding you after the wild ride.

"Hold on," Jake warns, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he starts to decelerate. You nod instinctively, your arms tightening around his neck just to make sure you don’t lose balance.

With expert precision, Jake swings to a stop just a few yards away from the entrance of your building. The motion is so smooth that, for a moment, you almost forget that you’ve been soaring through the air like Spider-Man’s sidekick. He sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist for just a second longer than necessary as he steadies you.

You stumble a little, catching your breath and trying to steady yourself. The world feels like it’s still moving even though your feet are back on solid ground. Jake watches you with a soft grin, his eyes warm, almost like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

"Not bad, huh?" he says, his tone teasing but affectionate.

You take a deep breath, still trying to get your bearings. “That was… insane,” you manage to say, your heart still racing, but the excitement isn’t fading. It’s lingering, buzzing beneath your skin.

You glance at him, trying to put your thoughts together. "I never thought I’d be doing that... not in a million years. It was... incredible."

Jake’s grin widens, and there’s a flash of pride in his eyes. "I told you, you’d get used to it. Besides, I make a pretty good tour guide, don’t I?" He winks, clearly amused by the situation.

You roll your eyes, but it’s playful. "You know, you’re insufferable," you say, trying to hide your smile, but it’s not really working. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart flutter.

Jake shrugs, his expression shifting to something softer, more genuine now. "Hey, I can’t help it if I’m good at what I do."

He gives you a quick, teasing nudge with his shoulder. "But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay. You’re… pretty tough for someone who looks so harmless."

Your heart skips at his words, and you look away quickly, not sure how to respond. But before you can think too much about it, Jake’s voice cuts through the silence again, playful but with a hint of something more.

"Well, I guess I better let you go inside now," he says, his smile lingering as he takes a small step back, allowing you to move toward your apartment’s door.

You hesitate, your fingers still curled slightly where they rested on his shoulder. The warmth of his presence is still there, lingering, and for a moment, you don’t want to let him go. You don’t know what to say—what to do—but the lingering tension between you both is undeniable.

"Jake…" you start, but the words trail off. You try to meet his gaze, but your cheeks flush, and you look down at your feet, still unsure of what to say.

He doesn’t rush you, though. Instead, he steps closer again, his hand reaching out for yours, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Yeah?"

His voice is soft now, and you can feel his proximity, his presence making everything feel just a little more intense. He looks at you with an unreadable expression, the teasing tone from before replaced with something else. Something quieter.

You feel your heartbeat quicken again, unsure of the moment but still wanting to say something—anything. But as you open your mouth, ready to speak, Jake cuts you off, his voice just barely above a whisper.

"You’re safe now, princess," he says, the words carrying more weight than before, as if he’s letting you know how much he means it. “I’ll always make sure of that.”

His gaze softens as he holds your eyes for a long moment, and something shifts between you. It’s like everything is finally clicking into place, like the chaos of the night has settled into a peaceful, if confusing, calm.

Before you can process it, Jake leans forward, his lips brushing your cheek in a soft, quick kiss. It's barely there, but the effect is immediate—your heart skips, your mind goes blank for a split second, and when you pull back, you see him grinning at you, that same mischievous spark back in his eyes.

“That’s my good deed for the night,” he teases, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, though there's something more in it now. His fingers linger on your hand for a moment before he steps back, giving you space.

You blink, still caught off guard by the sudden gesture. "Jake, what—" You start to say, but he’s already stepping back, that same cocky grin back on his face.

"I'll see you around, princess," he says casually, his voice full of that teasing warmth you’ve come to expect. "You’re safe now. You can head inside. Get some rest."

And before you can even respond, he’s already turning away, his figure melting into the shadows as he swings off into the night, leaving you standing there, feeling a little lost and a lot confused.

You stand there for a long moment, the cool night air pressing against your skin, the softness of his kiss still lingering on your cheek. What just happened? You shake your head, still feeling the rush, still caught in the mix of emotions. Maybe you will get some rest after all... but Jake definitely isn’t helping your mind settle.

With a sigh, you finally unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, your heart still racing, your thoughts swirling.

It’s late again, another night that started out mundane and calm, but turned into something far more chaotic. You’d been wrapping up a late-night study session in the library and decided to walk back to your apartment after grabbing a quick snack. The usual peace of the campus at night, the soft hum of the streetlights, is suddenly interrupted as you turn a corner and find yourself face to face with a group of men blocking your path.

It doesn’t take long to recognize the danger when one of them steps too close, a grin stretching across his face as his gaze lingers far too long on you. His tone is slow, deliberate, like he’s sizing you up. "Hey there, pretty thing. Out for a walk all alone at this hour?"

You freeze, heart racing, eyes darting around, trying to assess your options. But before you can react, another one of them steps forward, his hand reaching toward you. The touch is far too close, and your breath hitches in your throat. Panic begins to bubble in your chest.

And that’s when you hear it—the sound of a thud, followed by the unmistakable, familiar voice.

"You’re not going anywhere."

Jake. He’s here. Again.

You blink, and in the next moment, you’re already being pulled behind him, the sound of his web-slinging catching the air as he lands with a perfect crouch between you and the men.

“You should’ve stayed out of this,” Jake’s voice is dangerously low, filled with a sharp edge you’ve never heard before. The usual teasing lilt is gone, replaced by something possessive. You’re used to Jake’s antics, his mischievous grin, his cocky swagger—but this, this is different.

The group of men stumbles back a few steps, and one of them mutters something under his breath, clearly not prepared for this. The tension in the air is thick, every muscle in Jake’s body coiled with protective intent. You don’t need to see his face to know his jaw is clenched, his fists tight by his side, ready to act if necessary.

The one who had gotten too close to you sneers, stepping forward, but Jake is faster, his movements a blur. With a quick flick of his wrist, a strand of web shoots out, yanking the guy backward into a trash bin with a satisfying crash.

The remaining two men hesitate, clearly unsure if they should fight or run. They glance at each other, but before they can make their decision, Jake’s voice slices through the night again, steady, commanding.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” he says, the warning clear. "Leave. Now."

And just like that, they turn tail and bolt, disappearing into the shadows of the alley. Your heart is racing, but your body relaxes just a little as the threat disappears. You’ve been through this enough by now to know Jake’s got everything under control.

Still, your hands tremble slightly as you try to collect yourself, still shaken by the incident. You glance up at Jake, who’s standing just a few feet away, his posture rigid, his attention focused entirely on you.

He doesn’t move at first, only watches you with that intensity that always seems to make your heart skip. His gaze softens slightly when he sees how shaken you are, but the possessiveness is still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

You take a small step forward, your voice small but steady, “Jake, you— you didn’t have to… you didn’t need to go that far…”

Jake’s eyes flicker, and then his lips curl into a soft smirk, but there’s something in the way he looks at you now that makes your breath catch. He steps closer, reaching out for your hand, but it’s not to pull you in for a comforting hug like he usually does. No, this time, his fingers brush over the back of your hand, a subtle claim.

“I do what I want, princess,” he says, his voice lower than usual, thick with emotion you can’t quite place. “And you’re my responsibility. You think I’m going to let anyone touch you like that?”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. There’s something in his eyes, something protective that you’ve never seen this intensely before. You’re not sure how to react to it—how to process it, even.

Before you can say anything, Jake’s hand gently pulls you toward him. You step into him, your body instinctively seeking his warmth, his safety. He leans down slightly, his breath warm on your ear, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. The feeling is overwhelming, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling his heartbeat through his suit.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, the tension in his voice now softening. His fingers find your chin, lifting it gently so that your eyes meet his. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, though your voice trembles a little. You can feel his protective energy still surrounding you, but you don’t want to seem weak. Not now.

He doesn’t seem to believe you, though. His thumb brushes over your cheek, the touch gentle but deliberate. “I don’t like seeing you scared,” he mutters, his voice laced with an emotion you’re starting to understand. “Don’t like anyone laying a hand on you. You hear me?”

You nod, your breath catching again at the way his eyes darken with something more intense than you’re used to seeing. You’ve always known he cared for you, but this? This is different. This is possessive, raw… personal.

He steps back for a moment, and you watch as his posture shifts, like he’s about to leave. But before you can process it, Jake takes a step forward, his hands cupping your face carefully.

You don’t have time to react before his lips are pressed gently to your cheek, soft and lingering. It’s quick, but there’s something intense about it, like he’s reaffirming his presence in your life. The warmth of his lips makes your heart flutter, and you can’t help the little sigh that escapes you.

Before you can say anything, Jake pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. His grin is softer now, less cocky, and more… genuine. The possessive edge is still there, but there’s a tenderness now that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Get inside, princess,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s trying to ground himself after all the chaos. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”

You nod, your chest still tight from everything that happened. But there’s something reassuring about him, something in the way he holds you, in the way he never lets go. You start to walk toward the entrance of your building, but Jake follows closely behind, his presence never straying too far from you.

Before you reach the door, he stops you one last time.

"Hey," Jake says, his voice a little sheepish now, though his eyes are still burning with that protective fire. “A kiss on my cheek, princess? For a job well done?”

You stop and turn back toward him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking for a kiss now?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the playful twinkle in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a hero. I’m entitled to one.”

You stare at him for a second, the weight of everything still heavy between you two. But then, without thinking too much about it, you step forward and press a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

Jake’s eyes widen slightly, a pleased smile creeping across his face as you pull away. His eyes soften as he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, as if claiming it just as much as he claimed your heart.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe, princess,” he whispers softly, his voice barely audible now, but you hear the promise in it.

You smile, feeling your heart flutter for him all over again as you step inside your apartment, a strange warmth spreading through your chest as you close the door behind you. Jake may have been a hero tonight, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were becoming his hero, too.

It’s late, the kind of quiet that wraps around you like a soft, heavy blanket. You’ve just gotten into bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with you as you settle into the cozy warmth of your apartment. Your mind is still a little restless, running over thoughts of schoolwork, the things you need to do tomorrow, and of course, Jake. You haven’t seen him in a couple of days—he’s been elusive, but that’s nothing new. You understand; it’s his mysterious nature that makes him… well, him.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, a sound interrupts the silence—a soft, rhythmic tap-tap-tap at your window. You freeze, heart jumping in your chest, and for a split second, your mind runs through the list of possible explanations. Could it be an animal? Maybe the wind?

But then, another tap, a little louder this time, followed by a distinct creaking sound as something shifts in the air. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening, but when you finally do, your heart skips a beat.

You jump out of bed, rushing to the window. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Spiderman—Jake—is hanging upside down just outside your window. His suit is torn in multiple places, bruises marring his face and limbs, and blood is splattered across his chest, dripping down in thick streaks. His usually vibrant mask is barely hanging on, with one side of it barely clinging to his face.

Panic rises in your chest like a tidal wave. You don’t even think twice before pulling the window open, your hands shaking as you grip the edges.

“Jake!” you whisper-yell, trying to keep the panic in your voice at bay as you quickly push the window wider. “What the hell happened?”

He tilts his head slightly, his face still obscured by his mask, but you can see his eyes, faintly glowing in the dim light. His usual confident smirk is nowhere to be found. Instead, his lips are pressed into a thin line, his breathing heavy and labored. He swings himself inside, collapsing lightly onto your bed in an uncoordinated way.

“Could’ve warned me before you came crashing through the window,” you mutter, though your voice cracks with worry as you kneel beside him. “What happened to you, Jake? You look—you look awful.”

He gives you a weak, almost painful chuckle, but it sounds strained, as though even that small movement took everything out of him. “I’m fine, princess. Just… had a run-in with a couple of new guys,” he says, voice laced with exhaustion.

You ignore him, your hands already reaching for the nearby med kit you keep on the shelf for emergencies like this—though you never imagined this would be the reason you’d use it. As you pull out gauze, antiseptic, and bandages, your mind races. You’ve seen him hurt before, but this is different. This time, it feels personal. He looks vulnerable, and it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

You gently tug at the edge of his mask, and though he doesn’t protest, you can tell he’s trying to hold on to whatever pride he has left. You pull it off, revealing the familiar face you’ve come to know so well. His hair is messy, sweat beading on his forehead, and those sharp, alluring features are softened by exhaustion. His eyes are unfocused for a moment, as though he’s still struggling to come back to reality after whatever fight he’s just survived.

"Jake," you murmur, sitting next to him on the bed, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You’re hurt. I need to clean you up, okay?"

He gives you a soft nod, too tired to say anything, and you don’t waste another second. You start with his arm, gently cleaning the blood away as carefully as you can. The sight of him—torn, vulnerable, and trusting you enough to let you do this—pulls at your heartstrings. You can feel his muscles tense every now and then, but he doesn’t complain. You think he’s probably too exhausted to even speak.

“You really know how to make an entrance, don’t you?” you say softly, trying to inject some humor into the situation to lighten the mood.

Jake chuckles weakly, his voice hoarse. “Well, it’s not exactly my first choice of grand entrances… but it works.”

You let out a short laugh, your fingers moving to his chest next, carefully dabbing at the gashes and bruises there. He hisses a little as you touch one of the deeper cuts, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t pull away. You bite your lip, trying not to show how much his pain is affecting you.

“You’re not fine,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him, your fingers now gently pressing the gauze against his ribs to stop the bleeding. “You’re hurt… badly.”

He glances over at you, his eyes softening just a little, and for the first time, you see a flicker of vulnerability that he normally hides so well behind the mask. “You’re right,” he admits quietly. “But I’ll be fine. You always take care of me. I don’t know what I’d do without you, princess.”

Your heart swells at the softness in his voice, and you try to ignore the way his words make your stomach flutter. You focus instead on taking care of him, cleaning his wounds, bandaging him up with steady hands.

“There,” you say, pulling back and looking at your work, “that should hold for now. I’ll have to check your other injuries, but… you need to rest. And I need you to stop throwing yourself into dangerous situations.”

Jake leans back, leaning against the edge of the bed with a soft sigh of relief. “I’m not a kid, princess. I can take care of myself.” He pauses, glancing at you with a flicker of something behind his eyes. “But… I don’t mind you taking care of me.”

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. “Oh, you don’t mind, huh? Well, don’t get used to it.”

Jake smirks, though his expression is softer than usual, more grateful than teasing. “You know you love it,” he murmurs, his eyes almost sparkling with exhaustion and amusement.

You lean back slightly, still worried but trying to ease the tension. “I love making sure you don’t bleed out on my bed.”

He chuckles weakly, his head resting back against the wall behind him. “Fair enough.” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath. “Thanks, princess. You’re the best.”

Your chest warms, a mix of worry and fondness flooding you. You glance at him, taking in the sight of him sitting there, tired and bruised, but still him. Jake. Your Jake. You wish you could keep him out of harm’s way forever, but you know that’s impossible. He’s not just Jake; he’s Spider-Man. And no matter how much it hurts to see him like this, you know he wouldn’t change a thing.

But for now, you’re content to just sit next to him, making sure he’s okay, knowing that—no matter what comes next—you’ll always be here for him.

The soft moonlight filters in through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room. You’re still processing everything—the way he crashed through your window, his bruised and battered body, the way he insisted on being fine despite it all. But now, with him lying next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist and pulling you close, you can’t help but feel a strange mixture of relief and concern.

You let out a soft sigh, turning slightly to look at Jake, who’s still awake beside you, his head resting against the pillow. His eyes are closed, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s content to just be here, with you.

"Jake," you murmur softly, your fingers tracing small circles on his chest, trying to steady your thoughts. "Are you really okay?"

He exhales a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. "You’ve asked me that a thousand times tonight, princess," he teases lightly, his voice husky with exhaustion. "I told you I’m fine."

You roll your eyes, still not convinced. "You’re not fine. You’re covered in bruises and bleeding all over the place. Don’t lie to me." You feel the heat of his body against yours, his warmth strangely comforting. But the worry still lingers in the back of your mind, twisting your insides.

Jake opens his eyes then, his gaze soft but serious as he looks down at you. "I’m sorry, okay? I didn't want to worry you," he admits, his voice low. "But I guess I failed at that, huh?"

You nod, though your heart sinks a little at the vulnerability in his voice. "You always try to protect me, don’t you?" you say quietly, your voice almost a whisper. "But who’s gonna protect you when you get hurt like this?"

Jake’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, but then he gives you a soft, almost tender smile. "I’m the one who’s supposed to be the hero here, remember?" he jokes, though there’s no real humor in his tone this time. "Guess I can’t help it if I need saving every now and then."

You shake your head, the feeling of helplessness creeping up on you. "You’re not invincible, Jake. You can’t do it all alone."

He shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow so he can look at you better. "I’m not alone, princess," he says seriously. "I’ve got you. I’ll always have you."

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, warmth flooding your chest. You bite your lip, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d probably lecture you about taking better care of yourself," you tease, but your tone is softer now, more affectionate.

Jake grins, his expression relaxing as he leans in slightly, his forehead gently touching yours. "I know, I know. But I’ll let you lecture me when I’m not bleeding out." He laughs, a little chuckle that makes your heart flutter. "You’re the best, you know that? Even when you’re mad at me."

You push him lightly, though you can’t help but smile back at him. "I’m not mad, I’m just… worried. You scare me sometimes, you know that?" Your voice comes out more fragile than you intended, and you immediately regret it.

Jake’s smile falters for just a moment, a fleeting shadow crossing his features. Then, without warning, he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you. "I don’t want to scare you," he murmurs softly, his voice low and soothing. "I promise, I’ll try not to. I just… I have to do this. It’s who I am."

"I know," you say, your voice quieter now, the weight of everything finally hitting you. "I just… wish you didn’t have to do it alone."

You can feel his chest rise and fall with his breath, his fingers lightly brushing against the small of your back. "I’m not alone. Not anymore."

The words settle between you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Just the sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the night filling the room. It’s strange, but comforting. Like this moment, as fragile as it is, is enough.

You finally let yourself relax into his embrace, feeling his warmth and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. "Jake," you murmur, your voice soft, "stay with me tonight. Please."

He doesn’t hesitate. "I’m not going anywhere, princess."

You close your eyes, the steady rhythm of his breath lulling you into a calm that you didn’t know you needed. You feel his hand gently stroke the back of your hair, his touch soothing, his presence grounding you.

And as you drift off to sleep, you realize that, despite everything—despite the danger, despite the fear—having Jake here, safe beside you, is all that matters right now.

Hours later, you’re woken by the softest of movements beside you, a slight shift in the air that has you blinking your eyes open. You immediately feel the warmth next to you, and when your gaze flickers to Jake, you realize he’s no longer lying a safe distance from you. Instead, he’s shifted closer, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips as his arm slips around your waist, pulling you in against his chest.

At first, the shock of his closeness makes you freeze. Your body tenses instinctively, not sure how to react to the sudden intimacy. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, and you can feel his warmth, his body pressing gently against yours. He’s not unconscious anymore, but he’s still too hurt to move much.

He mumbles something against your hair, his voice barely audible, but it’s enough to send your heart skipping a beat. “I’ll be fine, princess… just needed you close.”

You let out a soft breath you didn’t even know you were holding, your mind still racing to catch up with the reality of the situation. The fact that he’s pulled you this close so effortlessly makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t explain. This is Jake. Your Jake. And even though his arms feel a little too tight around you, the weight of his closeness feels… right.

Slowly, you relax into his embrace, the warmth of his body soothing your nerves. The feeling of his fingers lightly brushing over the fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer feels so natural, despite the tension in the air. You can’t help but feel a little comforted by the fact that, in this moment, it’s not the superhero or the fighter beside you. It’s just Jake.

But the faint ache in your chest doesn’t go unnoticed as you shift slightly, adjusting to his position. You can’t help the little sigh that escapes you, not from discomfort, but from something deeper. Something more protective, more concerned. You don’t want to see him like this again. It scares you to think of him out there, fighting for lives—and for you—only to come back like this, broken and bruised.

Jake shifts again, his hand moving up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your hair as if trying to comfort you, even though you’re the one taking care of him. You meet his gaze, the softness in his eyes a stark contrast to the usual mischievous glint, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s just the two of you. No Spider-Man, no danger, just Jake… your Jake.

“You should get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice low and quiet, his hand gentle against your back as he pulls you even closer, your chest now flush against his. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this… again. But I’m glad you're here.”

You press your lips together, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through you at his words. You thought you might feel suffocated by his closeness, but instead, you feel something almost comforting. Even if you didn’t ask for this life, even if you never expected any of this to happen, Jake is here. And as much as he’s the one always looking out for you, it’s moments like this that make you want to look out for him, too.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, “but only because you’re impossible to get rid of.”

Jake chuckles softly, his breath tickling your ear, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “You know you love me, princess.”

You smirk, but there’s a warmth in your voice as you reply, “Maybe. Just don’t get used to it.”

His grip around you tightens just a little, and you can feel the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he pulls you closer again, not saying a word, just content to hold you close. The night settles back into a peaceful silence, save for the occasional sound of his breathing, deep and steady.

You drift off to sleep in his arms, the weight of everything finally starting to feel a little lighter. And even though you know there will be more challenges ahead, more times when he’ll get hurt, more nights spent worrying, you feel a quiet peace in the fact that, at least for tonight, you’re together. Safe.

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns - Part 1

PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2.5K Words.

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

There was a quiet kind of chaos that followed you wherever you went. Not the destructive kind—no, that was more John Walker’s flavor—but the kind that stirred a room like a gust of wind through curtains.

You weren’t even officially a Thunderbolt, just a freelance S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who showed up whenever the mission required you. But if you asked anyone in the Tower, they’d say the team didn’t really feel like a team until you were in the room.

Well, everyone except Bucky Barnes, who would say nothing at all. Not out loud, anyway.

He was perched at the edge of the strategy room table now, arms crossed, jaw tight. Watching.

You were laughing at something Bob had said - again. He had practically glued himself to your side the moment you walked in, his frame hunching just slightly to hear you better. And you let him. You laughed, touched his arm, asked him questions.

Bucky didn’t blame Bob, not really. Who wouldn’t want your attention?

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Yelena muttered under her breath from beside him.

Bucky blinked at her. “I talk to her.”

“You grunt at her. Sometimes nod. It’s tragic.”

“She’s always with someone else. I’m not interrupting that.”

“Oh no,” Yelena deadpanned. “Not the scary emotion man afraid of social interaction. How shocking.”

“Shut up.”

Across the room, you dodged John Walker’s attempt to toss a protein bar at your head and shot him a look.

“Really?” You said, “Are you twelve?”

“Just testing your reflexes, Agent,” John grinned. “That’s what we call combat preparedness.”

“Then maybe prepare not to get your ass handed to you next time I see you in the field.”

“Ouch. That one had some spice.”

“It’s called accuracy.”

Alexei’s voice boomed from the hallway as he entered mid-conversation. “Bah! All this fighting. You know what you need? A good man. Someone strong. Tall. Lots of biceps.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered on your lips. “Not the matchmaking again.”

“I’m telling you! You are too stunning to be walking around without boyfriend. You need love! You need someone worthy.”

“And you’re offering who? Yourself?”

Alexei blinked. “Do not be ridiculous. I’m too old. Too broken. No, you need someone special. Maybe someone on this team…” He turned slowly—too slowly—toward Bucky.

Bucky froze like a deer in the middle of a sniper’s scope.

Your brows arched in amusement, and you looked Bucky’s way. Your eyes met and his heart did that thing again. The skipping, the stalling, the full-body malfunction. And you smiled. He looked away first.

“Don’t make it weird,” you said casually to Alexei, still grinning. “We’re all just coworkers here.”

“Some coworkers are good for kissing,” Alexei replied like it was obvious. “Is science.”

You snorted and shook your head, walking past Bob, who promptly shadowed you like a happy satellite.

“I’m stealing him for a strategy session,” you called over your shoulder.

“Strategy?” Bob asked excitedly, bounding after you.

“Yup. You’re going to help me map out weak points in that compound wall, remember?”

Bucky watched you go, still unmoving. Every second you were around, he felt like he was holding his breath. Not because he was afraid you’d say something cruel - no, you were never cruel. It was worse. You were kind. Inclusive. Thoughtful.

You invited him into conversations he didn’t know how to join. Remembered tiny things he’d said offhand and brought them up weeks later. You saw him - more than the metal arm or the haunted past or the thousand-yard stare. And Bucky Barnes didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

“She’s not gonna bite, Barnes,” John said beside him, cracking open a bottle of water. “Unless you want her to.”

Bucky glared at him.

“I’m just saying. You’ve been crushing for, what, three missions now? Ask her out before Bob proposes.”

“I’m not crushing,” Bucky muttered.

John snorted. “Yeah, okay. You keep brooding from the corner. That’ll win her over.”

Later that night, you were the last to leave the strategy room, lingering over the holographic map display. The others had filtered out, but you hadn’t seemed to notice - or maybe you had.

“You always stay late?” Bucky’s voice was rough behind you.

You turned, surprised. He rarely sought you out on his own. “Only when the company’s good.”

He hesitated at the door, then walked in.

“You okay?” You asked softly, tilting your head. “You’ve been quiet. Well, quieter than usual.”

He wanted to tell you everything. That he couldn’t sleep half the time because his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the way you laughed. That when you touched his arm in the field to steady him, his whole body went static. That you made him feel like he could still be someone worth a damn.

But instead, all he said was, “I’m fine.”

You gave him a look that said you didn’t buy it, but you didn’t push. “Well, if you ever want to talk… I’m around.”

He nodded. Said nothing more.

But you smiled anyway. Small, warm, real. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“’ Night.”

He stayed behind long after you were gone, staring at the space you’d just occupied. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping. Quietly, stubbornly, impossibly hoping.

The Thunderbolts rarely got downtime. So when Val booked them a mandatory “team-building weekend” at a secure retreat site somewhere in the Catskills and invited you along, everyone assumed it was a joke. It wasn’t.

“We don’t do bonding,” Yelena had said flatly while stuffing clothes into her duffel.

“Speak for yourself,” Alexei had grinned, holding up a board game called Russian Conquest: Family Edition.

Now, 24 hours into their wilderness exile, things had somehow developed into a campfire, bad chili, worse storytelling, and Bob draping himself across your lap like an oversized golden retriever in flannel.

“Bob, you are crushing my legs,” you groaned, trying to shift out from under him.

“But you’re warm,” he said dreamily, eyes half-closed. “And your energy is calm. Like a star. Or one of those… lava lamps.”

Across the fire, Bucky sat stiffly on a log, watching with a barely concealed scowl as Bob grinned at you with that infuriating, sunbeam-level adoration. You just laughed and gently pushed his head off your thigh.

John passed you a beer from the cooler. “That makes five people on this team who’d die for her. Six, if you count the way Barnes stares like she’s the last donut on Earth.”

Bucky kicked him under the log.

“Ow. You’re just mad I said it out loud.”

You glanced over, catching only the tail end of that exchange. “What are you whispering about, Walker? Trying to plan your next tactical failure?”

“I was thinking of asking Bob to move so I could rest my head on your lap next.”

“Try it and you lose your teeth.”

Alexei cackled from where he was roasting a suspicious-looking sausage over the fire. “She is fierce! I told you all, she needs a man who can handle her. Someone who doesn’t crumble when she glares.”

Yelena pointed a stick at him. “She doesn’t need a man, Dad. She has us. We are superior to all men. Especially you.”

You laughed again, easily, genuinely.

Bucky’s heart did the now-familiar stutter-step. It was unbearable, this thing you did. The way you effortlessly slipped into every space, made it lighter, warmer. Home-like. And still, he couldn’t say more than five coherent words to you unless he rehearsed them mentally first.

But tonight, it felt different.

It was the soft kind of night - one where the stars showed up, and the fire crackled like an old lullaby. And maybe it was the low-pressure setting. Or maybe it was the beer. Or maybe it was the fact that everyone else was slowly crashing for the night, and you had stayed behind at the firepit, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists.

Bucky walked over before he could talk himself out of it. “Mind if I sit?”

You looked up, surprised - but pleasantly so. “Course not.”

He sat, a little too upright, elbows on his knees. There was a beat of quiet. Not awkward. Just full.

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder. “You’ve been kind of quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but today you’re, like… extra cryptid.”

He huffed out a laugh before he could stop it. “Cryptid, huh?”

“You absolutely lurk like one.”

Another pause. Your shoulder bumped his again.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you added softly. “But I like it when you do.”

That stopped him cold. You didn’t say it like it was a big deal. But it was. To him, it was everything.

He swallowed. “I don’t always know what to say.”

“You don’t have to impress anyone, Bucky.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Good. ‘Cause if you were, you’d be failing spectacularly.”

He blinked, and then your grin slipped out. Playful. Warm. He shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There it was. The moment again. That impossible, bone-deep hope.

Before he could speak again, a voice echoed from behind you.

“Are we sleeping outside now?” Bob called from the cabin porch, where he stood wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Because I want in.”

“Go back to bed, Bob!” You yelled without turning.

“But I miss your gravity!”

Bucky gave a bewildered side look. “Do you always attract this much chaos?” he asked, smiling despite himself.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting.”

You stood then, stretching your arms overhead. The firelight kissed your face in amber tones.

“I’m heading in. Try not to brood so hard you fall into the fire.”

He watched you go, silent again.

But you paused at the cabin door, looked back, and gave him a smile that made the whole damn night bend inward. “Night, Bucky.” He didn’t respond fast enough, so you added one more thing before disappearing inside: “Next time I call you a cryptid, I expect a better comeback.”

He chuckled under his breath, alone now, fire crackling at his feet.

He was going to need help. Or a script. Or both.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing a “Property of S.H.I.E.L.D.” T-shirt, sweatpants, and the kind of look that only appeared when one walked into a room and discovered exactly too much happening.

“What,” you said slowly, “is going on.”

Yelena was on the counter, holding a ladle like a weapon.

John was standing on a chair, aggressively flipping a pancake with a spatula in his non-dominant hand.

Alexei was arguing with the toaster.

And Bob—dear, wonderful Bob—was shirtless and wearing a pastel apron that said ‘Hot Stuff Coming Thru’, holding a blender overhead like it was Mjölnir.

“Breakfast battle royale,” Yelena said brightly - like that explained anything.

“What?” You repeated.

John jumped in. “We’re determining who gets cooking privileges for the rest of the month.”

“I voted for mortal combat,” Alexei growled, “but Walker insists on waffles.”

“Because waffles are democracy.”

“I made you a smoothie,” Bob interrupted, bounding over to you with a grin the size of Nebraska. “It has banana, peanut butter, and exactly 11 grams of love.”

You blinked at the pink plastic cup he handed you. “…Thanks, Bob.”

“You’re welcome. Please hydrate.”

Across the kitchen, Bucky hovered by the cabinets like a glitch in the Matrix. He wore a black hoodie and a wariness that only intensified as you laughed—again—at something Bob said about the molecular density of pancake batter.

You glanced his way. “Bucky, save me. I came in for coffee and now there’s smoothies and an apron situation.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Nodded.

“Helpful,” you said with a grin, brushing past him to open the cabinet.

He nearly dropped the mug in his hand when your arm accidentally touched his.

It was unfair how effortlessly you undid him.

Bob leaned closer to Bucky and stage-whispered: “You should offer to make her toast.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “You think toast is gonna fix everything?”

“No. But it’s the start of a breakfast-based romance. Like in the movies.”

“…You watch romance movies?”

“All the time. I cry every time the dog comes back.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Mostly because you were laughing again - this time at Alexei accidentally flinging a waffle at John.

“You were in the army!” John yelled. “How do you have the reflexes of a brick?”

“I was trained for war, not toaster physics!”

Yelena caught the flying waffle midair with the ladle. “I win.”

You raised your smoothie. “To chaos. And carbohydrates.”

Yelena smirked. “To the only person on this team who’s not legally insane.”

“Jury’s still out,” John said. “She did willingly come back after the last mission.”

“I came back for the drama,” you said.

Everyone laughed. Except Bucky. He just watched you. And this time you looked right at him, mid-laugh, and the smile softened into something gentler. Less amused. More… curious. Like you saw him watching. And didn’t mind. He looked down at his coffee before he could combust.

“Someone save me from feelings,” he muttered.

“I can punch you,” Yelena offered sweetly.

“Appreciate it.”

Later that day, you sat on the floor of the rec room with Yelena and Ava, all three of you surrounded by mismatched nail polish bottles, junk food, and one confused Russian man who’d never witnessed a girls’ night and looked like he was trying to understand a new language.

“You paint your nails before mission?” Alexei asked, genuinely baffled. “What if the enemy sees glitter?”

“They’ll be blinded by the fabulous,” you said, wiggling your toes.

Yelena reached over and added a stripe of blue polish to your middle finger. “This is for when you inevitably flip someone off.”

Ava smirked. “Perfect aim.”

Alexei shook his head in wonder. “You women are terrifying. I love it.”

John walked by, raised a brow, and muttered, “Is this a cult?”

“No,” you said. “But you can’t sit with us.”

Bob appeared from nowhere and sat crisscrossed in the middle of the polish like a devoted disciple. “Paint mine next?”

You held up a glittery gold bottle. “Only if you promise to stop drinking three energy drinks before noon.”

“No promises,” he said, holding out his hands.

From the hallway, Bucky paused at the door, watching again.

Yelena noticed him, rolled her eyes, and lobbed a pack of sour gummy worms at his head. “Stop creeping and come join the estrogen.”

He caught it reflexively, but didn’t step forward.

You looked up then. “C’mon, Barnes. You can be our official taste tester. I think this one’s radioactive.” You held up a neon green nail polish.

His heart did that collapsing thing again. But he stepped into the room.

Just a few feet. Sat down near the wall, close enough to see the curve of your smile as you joked with Ava and Yelena, as Bob dramatically gasped when you gave him a sparkly gold thumbnail.

And as the laughter rolled on, something about the moment didn’t feel like watching from the outside anymore. It felt… almost like being part of it.

Even if his heart still beat too fast every time you looked at him.

[uppersidedreaminnn]

CONFESSIONS ★ L.HS

SYNOPSIS: heeseung and you have always been inseparable, friends who feel like family. despite your friends noticing his lingering glances and touches, you dismiss their suspicions, believing your bond is platonic. but when heeseung confesses his feelings, you're forced to question if it was always something more.

PAIRING: basketball captain lee heeseung! x female reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

GENRE: friends to lovers, high school au.

WARNING: mentions of fainting and overworking.

likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. please let me know your thoughts!

you push open the gymnasium doors, the roar of the crowd hitting you instantly. the bleachers are packed, students leaning forward in their seats, voices echoing off the high ceilings. the buzz of excitement fills the air as the teams warm up on the court. your eyes scan the room, searching for your friends, and you spot them immediately—front row, right where they always are, with an empty seat waiting for you.

"finally," one of them teases as you slide into your spot. "you're late."

"yeah, yeah," you mumble, rolling your eyes. "heeseung forgot his sports bag in the locker room, so i had to go get it for him."

the second his name leaves your mouth, they exchange glances. a silent conversation you can’t decipher.

"what?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing.

"nothing," one of them says, shaking her head, but the smirk on her lips says otherwise.

"is that why you're wearing his jersey?" another chimes in, eyes flicking down to the fabric draped over you.

you glance down at yourself, the familiar number standing out against the dark material. "he had an extra one in his bag," you explain. "said i should wear it for good luck. interrogation over, okay?"

you push up from your seat before they can say anything else. "i'm going to wish him luck."

"lucky guy," one of them mutters as you walk away. "gets a good luck charm before every game."

the team is gathered on the bench, locked in conversation. heeseung stands in the middle, gesturing as he talks, his presence commanding even in casual moments. you tap his shoulder lightly, and he turns immediately, a grin spreading across his face the second he sees you.

"just wanted to say good luck before the game starts," you tell him, and the way his smile softens makes your heart do something weird in your chest.

"thanks, y/n," he says, eyes flickering down to his jersey on you for just a second too long.

you nod, pulling away before you start overthinking things. "okay, get ready now. you got this."

he doesn’t stop smiling even as you walk back to your seat.

when the buzzer goes off, the crowd erupts into cheers as both teams step onto the court. the game tips off with heeseung winning possession of the jump ball, and just like that, it’s chaos. minutes blur together in a mess of sneakers squeaking against polished floors, bodies colliding, and the constant echo of the referee’s whistle.

it’s a tight game—25-25 with barely a minute left. your nails dig into your palms as you watch heeseung weave through defenders, eyes locked on the basket. he leaps, arms stretching, and releases the ball. the gym holds its breath as the ball arcs perfectly through the air, sinking into the net with a clean swish.

the crowd explodes.

heeseung is unstoppable, completely in his element, but you see it—how hard he’s breathing, how his shoulders rise and fall too fast. his skin glistens under the fluorescent lights, drenched in sweat. the final buzzer is seconds away. if the other team doesn’t score, they win.

then, everything happens too fast.

the opposing team steals possession, sprinting down the court. you grip the hem of your jersey, barely breathing. they shoot, the ball sailing—

it bounces off the rim.

jungwon grabs the rebound, passes it to heeseung. he pushes forward, dodging, searching for an opening. the defense closes in. he hesitates—a split second of doubt. then, he spots it. his eyes flick to the hoop, determination flaring. he steps back, sets his feet, and takes the shot.

silence.

the ball arcs perfectly through the air. the net sways as the ball drops through.

the gym explodes into cheers.

you’re already halfway onto the court before you even realize you’re moving, heart pounding in your ears. you scan the floor for heeseung, but the moment you spot him, dread crashes over you.

his hands tremble at his sides, his chest rising and falling too fast, his eyes searching, unfocused. panic grips your stomach. he stumbles back once, twice—

then he collapses.

the celebration screeches to a halt. gasps ripple through the crowd. you don’t even think before you sprint forward, feet pounding against the polished wood as jake and jay reach him first, hauling him up between them.

"we need to get him to the nurse’s office," jake says urgently, and you don’t hesitate to follow.

you sit beside heeseung, watching his chest rise and fall steadily now. the nurse said he was just overwhelmed, the adrenaline and exhaustion hitting him all at once. still, the sight of him unconscious knocked the air from your lungs.

he stirs. his fingers twitch, his brows furrowing slightly before his eyes blink open. he blinks a few times, adjusting to the lights, before turning his head.

his gaze softens when he sees you. "y/n."

"you're awake," you breathe, relief flooding your chest. "how do you feel?"

he blinks at you, still groggy. "what happened?"

"you won the game," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "then you passed out. and scared the hell out of me. out of everyone."

his lips twitch into something like a smile, but you shake your head, gripping his hand without thinking. "heeseung, you shouldn’t push yourself that hard. you need to listen to your body more." you can't help but scold the boy.

he hums absently, but you can tell he’s not really listening. he’s staring at you like he’s thinking about something else entirely.

"i was looking for you," he says suddenly, voice quiet.

you blink. "what?"

"when i stepped away from the team. i was looking for you."

"you shouldn’t have," you mumble, shaking your head. "i was already coming to you anyway."

heeseung exhales sharply, drags a hand through his hair. he hesitates, then grabs your wrist before you can pull away. "i was looking for you because… i had something to tell you." he says voice strained. 

your breath catches. "what is it?"

he hesitates. you watch the emotions flicker across his face—uncertainty, frustration, something else you can’t quite place.

"i promised myself," he starts, voice low, "that if we won this game, i’d tell you."

"tell me what?"

he swallows, jaw tightening. then, finally, he says it.

"that i like you, y/n." 

your breath stutters.

"since we became friends, i kept it to myself because i didn’t know how you felt," he admits, voice steadier now. "i didn’t want to overstep."

the words crash over you like a tidal wave. your mind races through every moment you’ve shared with him. the way he’s always looked out for you. the way you always find yourself gravitating toward him. the way your heart clenched when you saw him fall.

all this time, had it been right in front of you?

maybe you just didn’t realize it before, never admitting it to yourself, but deep down, you knew. what you felt for heeseung went beyond friendship. his confession didn’t just surprise you—it gave you the confidence to finally acknowledge those thoughts you’d been pushing away.

heeseung watches you closely, noticing the way your brows furrow, the words caught in your throat. his voice is quiet when he speaks again. “you don’t have to return my feelings or anything,” he says quickly, almost like he’s afraid of what your silence means. “i just wanted to finally tell you.”

when you meet his gaze, there’s something so vulnerable in the way he looks at you—hopeful, pleading.

“i—” you start, but your voice falters. you swallow hard and try again. “i think i like you too, heeseung.”

his eyes widen slightly, breath hitching as you continue, words tumbling out in a rush. “i didn’t want to admit it to myself before, because we were just friends, and i didn’t want to overstep.” you exhale shakily. “but i like you so much too.” your voice is steady now, sure. “when you fainted, i swear my world stopped.”

his expression softens, like he never expected you to say those words. for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s memorizing every detail of this moment. then, his voice drops to a whisper.

“come here.”

you smile, a little shy, before shifting closer, resting against his chest. warmth spreads through you when his arms wrap around you, pulling you in.

“i guess my friends were right after all,” you chuckle, the vibration of your laughter sending shivers down his spine.

heeseung lets out a breathy laugh, pressing his face into your hair. “wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, holding you even closer, like he’s afraid to let go.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter seven

synopsis: you get into some shenanigans while on the run, reminders of your past coming back to haunt you in the process. and phosphorus comes to a life changing conclusion about you.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, this one's a doozy, reader deserves the world, mahalat is just... mahalat.

The sound of soft panting forced you to slowly come to, a faint groan leaving your lips as your eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sight of an irradiated back and the visible spine underneath.

'Phos...'

You attempted to move, but winced, your entire body aching from head to toe, and your strength not yet returned to break free from his hold.

Not to mention your mind was exhausted from the mental battle you fought to regain control over your body.

Healing be damned, you felt like you'd been hit by an eighteen-wheeler...

"Morning, sleepyhead," Phosphorus sang, looking both ways before quickly running across a back-alley street, just barely avoiding a Pokolistani jeep. "Sweet dreams?"

"Where the hell are we?" you grumbled, weakly lifting your head and turning to face him.

"A town, I think," he answered, making a sharp right turn. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's the last one before we reach the castle."

"Where are the others?"

"Couldn't tell ya. After we got split up, and you decided to drop by, I high-tailed it. The police were on my ass."

"Still are," you scoffed with a chuckle, nodding to the faint sirens in the background. "This your first time dodging the cops, princess?"

"I wouldn't be so quick to complain, snoozy. I'm still waiting for when it's time for us to switch."

"Like hell I'm carrying you. By the time I get back to prison, I'll be on chemo for the rest of my life."

"Demons don't get cancer."

"Skeletons don't have dicks."

"You gonna keep bringing that up?"

"I—" "Shush."

Sliding between two houses, he effortlessly hopped a brick wall, dropping the both of you into a bush just as two more jeeps drove past.

Using his hands, he put you down and pulled apart a few branches, peeking to see if the coast was clear.

You, on the other hand, were starting to really wake up, realizing that you seemed to have a fresher injury on your backside.

"Fuck, why does my ass hurt, too?" you groaned, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"Well... I may have smacked it once," Phosphorus admitted, suspiciously. "Or twice... possibly three times... a little over four? Honestly, I lost count after tenth or twelfth time."

SMACK!

"You keep doing that. It turns me on more than you think," he chuckled, adjusting his jaw.

"Pervert!" you whisper-yelled, pissed. "We talked about this! Hooker rules!"

"No kissing on the mouth?"

"Stripper rules."

"What was I supposed to do? You've seen your ass, you should be proud I held out as long as I did," he defended, the two of you standing up and pressing against the side of the house, using the roof as cover from the helicopters.

"Oh, yeah? And how long was that?"

"Five minutes."

"You're impossible."

Managing to reach the front door, Phosphorus melted the handle, unlocking it and allowing you both to slip inside before the search-light could catch you.

Panting, the two of you finally took a moment to breathe, looking around to familiarize yourselves with your surroundings.

"Here," you sighed, pulling off his lab coat and tossing it to him as you headed toward the living room. "I'm changing."

'Fuckin' Christ...'

He could practically feel his pants tightening at the sight of you, naked as the day you were born—save for your boots.

You looked so sexy in the moonlight, and your unabashed confidence only added to the appeal.

"Y'know..." he cleared his throat, shoving his arms through the sleeves before rolling them up. "I think now's a good a time as any to take a nice break. Relax... kick up your feet... let off a little steam..."

"Save it," you scoffed, opening the hallway closet and rummaging around until you found a black trash bag. "We've got enough to worry about."

In the bag was a secret stash of clothes, ranging on a scale of scandalous to downright slutty.

'Perfect.'

Fishing around, you managed to pull out a pair of black, open-stitch, boot-cut jeans, a matching jean jacket, and a black, leather bikini top.

"And just my size," you grinned, quickly tugging them on.

"How'd you know that stuff was there?" Phosphorus asked, confused.

"She's a pretty woman in a European country. Nine times out of ten, she was a party girl at some point," you explained, nodding to the photos on the wall as you tied up the pants. "But she grew up. Got a husband... bought a house... had a kid. They can't see this filth, but she doesn't have the heart to throw away the memories along with it. So she shoves it in a garbage bag and stuffs it in the back of the closet."

The man turned, examining the pictures, quite surprised to see that your educated guess was correct.

She was pretty, and she had a husband and daughter.

A daughter... whose face reminded him so much of his son.

"M'catchin a few more Zs before we move on," you announced, adjusting the jacket as you plopped yourself down on the couch, closing your eyes.

"Uh huh," he answered, mindlessly, as he continued to stare at the photo.

A daughter... whose face reminded him so much of his son.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"Please! Have mercy!" your mother wailed, frantically struggling against her binds as she looked around the room, searching for a kindred face past the velvet hoods. "I'll do anything!... Oh, God! I'll give you anything you want!"

But not a single one of them stopped, the entire room of cultists pressing on like she wasn't even there, continuing to bow in sync around the altar she rested upon.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"M-Money! I have money! Say whatever number, I'll give it to you!" she begged, gasping and choking for air as she attempted to get her words out, tears rolling down her cheeks in rivulets. "My house! Take my house! It's all yours! Please!"

Out from the darkness, the Grand Master emerged—along with his two attendants—a silver tray in hand.

On it were only two things:

A wooden bowl... and a ceremonial dagger.

"Oh, God!" your mother sobbed, pulling violently against the ropes that strapped her pregnant self to the table. "Please! Have mercy!... I haven't done anything wrong!"

But he drew nearer still, one of the attendants taking the tray as they reached the table, the Grand Master taking the dagger.

The handle was made entirely out of human bone, its carvings depicting the souls of the damned and their infinite torture in Hell.

Reverently, he grasped it with both hands, carrying it over until the dagger's pointed tip was aimed directly for your mother's heart.

"Please..." she pleaded for the final time, unable to stop the second wave of tears from flowing down her cheeks. "Not my baby."

But her pleas fell on deaf ears, the Master's face stone cold as he plunged the knife into her heart, her screams of pain muffled by the raging thunder and lightning outside.

Quickly taking the bowl, the Master used it to catch her blood as it spilled from her chest, waiting until the woman lost consciousness before pulling away.

"Tekchau ma'at tu na ekk bay pavak!" he bellowed, dipping his two fingers in the blood before drawing an intricate symbol over your mother's pregnant belly.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

Suddenly, the satanic markings on the wall began to glow dark red, illuminating the room with a presence that would make any sane person turn tail and run.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"TEKCHAU MA'AT TU NA EKK BAY PAVAK!"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA'AK KULA BAA NAT SU DA MAHALAT!"

Roaring with passion, the Master stabbed your mother in the stomach, violently tearing it open as the followers mimicked the sound.

And with a deafening, other-worldly shriek, a malevolent shadow burst from the wound, instantly slashing the Master's throat before moving on to the others.

Blood-curdling creams of panic and terror echoed throughout the room as the followers were murdered left and right, unable to escape as the being had locked all the doors and windows.

Amidst the chaos, one of the attendants rushed to your mother's side, dodging flying limbs and splattering blood.

Sadly, your mother was long dead, but the attendant was quick to reach her hands inside her stomach, quickly fishing around before grasping onto the reason for this whole ritual.

You.

Carefully, she pulled your tiny body out, a smile breaking out onto her face at the sight of your reddened skin, pointed ears, and tail.

You were beautiful...

But her happiness was short lived, the shadow-being finishing off the last follower before zooming over to you, entering your body through your nostrils and successfully possessing your infant self.

Instantly, your tail whipped up and stabbed the attendant in the neck, forcing her eyes wide.

With a sickening slice, you slashed her throat, dropping her to the ground.

She died almost immediately... but not without uttering two final words.

"Praise Mahalat."

"Ladies and Gentlemen! It is my pleasure tonight to show you an act that had never been performed in the history of the world!" the ringmaster announced, his proud statement met with the starry eyes of hundreds of children and parents.

"Tonight... I debut the newest headliner of my show! A marvel by which the likes of you have never seen!"

Nervously, a six year-old you shifted on your feet, waiting patiently on the riser for your cue.

This was going to be your first time performing in front of an audience...

"We've pulled out all the stops tonight! Of course, for the audience, but also for a very special guest we have this evening! Everyone! Please give a big, warm welcome to Mr. Vice President [REDACTED]! And his lovely wife!"

The crowd roared with applause as the spotlight moved to him, the Vice President giving a proud smile and a strong wave before the ringmaster returned to his introduction.

"Now without further ado, I present to you the Hellish Wonder! The Monstrous Spectacle! The Flying Demon of Gotham! (y/n)!"

Quickly, you grabbed your bar, pushing off and swinging directly into the spotlight, earning loud gasps of surprise and wild roars of applause.

Using your momentum, you dismounted, performing three forward flips before Greta—a fellow trapeze artist—caught you by your ankles, swinging in the other direction.

The crowd ooed and ahhed at your display, watching intently as you performed moves that had never been done before—with about as much effort as wiggling your pinky toe.

"You are doing wonderful, (y/n)!" Greta encouraged as she swung over, catching you by your ankles before gravity took her back the way she came.

"Really?!" you asked, eagerly, relieved to hear that you were doing well, and that the crowd was loving the show.

"Ja!" she laughed, warmed by your excitement. "A few more moves and you'll be done! Make me proud!"

As she swung forward again, you let go, doing five backflips in a row before grabbing onto a rope, using it to swing yourself around to the audience.

There, you leaned over, giving high-fives to all the kids as you flew past.

"Cool!"

"Awesome tail!"

"Look at her horns!"

You were over the moon, baffled by all the overwhelming positivity you were greeted with.

In fact, you were so over the moon that you'd failed to pay attention to the last kid, your nail grazing his palm a little too harshly and drawing blood.

"Ouchie!"

The instant you got a whiff... it was all over.

"Time to feed!" Mahalat's voice cackled in your mind, forcing you to gasp and lose focus.

She took over in an instant, launching you at the boy and clamping your fangs down on his arm, tearing it from his socket.

The surrounding crowd let out screams of horror as you began to feast right then and there, tearing into the limb like a feral animal.

But the demon wasn't one to let food go to waste.

Opening your mouth, she flew into the air, spinning around as she blew blazing hellfire in all directions.

The crowds of hundreds trying to escape the big top were immediately set aflame, shrieks of agony and torture bounding through the air.

"(y/n)!" Greta shouted, swinging over and landing on your back, throwing an arm around your neck. "Stop this! You are hurting them!"

But it all went in one ear and out the other, Mahalat grabbing her by her face before effortlessly tearing her head off her shoulders, preventing her from saying anything else.

In a bout of irony, the demon bit her lips off, taking the head as she flew through the roof of the tent, leaving the countless families to burn to death as she soared through the night sky.

Enjoying her midnight snack.

"What the—? Where am—AAAAAAAAAH!" you shrieked, eyes shooting wide as they landed on the sight before you.

An absolute massacre...

Viscera flooded the closed off street, slowly sinking into the city sewers as the rain attempted to wash it away.

Half-eaten, dismembered limbs were strewn everywhere—in the punch bowl, on the buffet table, hell, you had someone's leg in your arms.

Your mouth and hands were covered with blood, the taste of human meat fresh on your tongue.

And all you had done was leave to go to the store...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" you frantically threw away the leg, trembling violently as your hands moved to tightly grasp your hair.

Even the children weren't safe, a tiny hand with a Dora the Explorer watch sitting not too far away.

"These are the consequences of your rebellion, (y/n)..." Mahalat stated, coldly. "You forget your place."

Horrified, you turned around, utterly hysterical as you barfed up a bloody mess.

Eventually, though, you caved, racked with sobs as you crumpled into yourself, wanting nothing more than to be arrested and put to death.

But fate had other plans, the Dark Knight himself swooping in as your angel of mercy.

As he stood over you, surveying the scene, his expression dropped slightly in an uncharacteristic bout of pity.

Especially when you weakly grabbed onto his cape.

"Please..." you begged, voice barely above a whisper. "Kill me."

"Yana!" a voice shouted, snapping you out of your sleep.

Abruptly, you sat up, eyes frantically scanning over the room in search of Phosphorus.

But he was nowhere to be found.

'Shit.'

Jumping off the couch, you used your sense of smell, following his scent all the way to backyard.

The backyard... where he was playing with a little girl.

And the backyard... where her mother and father were less than pleased.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, carefully putting the girl down and letting her run back to her parents. "We were just... pretending to fly."

Sensing the sincerity in his voice, you saved the scolding, deciding not to ask questions.

'We gotta get moving.'

"C'mon," you sighed, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the fence as you turned to the parents. "Thank you for the clothes!"

You let him hop over first before following, waiting until you both got a good distance away from the house before you spoke up.

For the very first time since you'd known him, he was completely silent, not saying a word as you trudged over a grassy hill.

Not one pun.

Not one sex joke.

Not even a single pass at you.

Just... nothing.

It worried you, making an odd string to tug at your heart and force you to get to the bottom of it.

"Phos?" you started, softly, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Lifting his head, he turned to you, eyes widening as—for a split second—your expression morphed into that of his late wife.

Right then and there, it felt as if his whole paradigm shifted, the jigsaw pieces of his life seeming to fall into place right before him.

Taking the shape of you.

Your laugh... your smile... your warmth—they were things he wanted to be in the presence of well-past the end of the mission.

He wanted you, past a friend or a fuck, but as someone to stay by his side, someone to hold.

Someone to care about again...

"Alex..." he blurted, unable to take his eyes away from your face. "Call me Alex."

Surprised, your eyes widened slightly, a familiar burn rising to your cheeks at his intense stare.

But the shock was quick to subside, replaced with understanding as you stopped in your tracks, smoothly taking his hand in yours.

Intently, he watched, your touch singeing his skin as you held his hand, flashing him a coy smile.

"Alright, Alex... let's go kill a princess.

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[azsazz]

Shut Out

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @i-am-a-lost-girl16: Hockey Az and Figure Skater reader?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,493

Notes: See? I still write 😏

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“Hey! I still have the ice for another fifteen minutes,” you shout at the hockey players that are suddenly stampeding through the gate to the ice rink like animals.

You cut to a harsh stop, ice shavings spraying in your wake as you cross your arms over your chest and glare at the Velaris Bats hockey team gliding easily across the ice rink where you were just practicing your figure skating routine. Normally, you’d be ogling the broad players in their onyx and violet practice jerseys, already splitting into teams for a scrimmage as they ignore the fiery look on your face, but with only a few more weeks until nationals, you need every minute on the ice that you can get.

“Sorry, Princess,” Cassian “Bloodshed” Bailey says, flipping a puck onto the tip of his stick as he skates past, tossing it up and catching it again a few times as if it’s a display that should impress you. Right now, none of their tricks or flirtatious teases are doing anything of the sort. “Gotta big game against the Wolves this weekend. Coach wants us on extra ice time so we’re in tip-top shape.”

“I’m pretty sure when he said extra ice time, he didn’t mean to interrupt my ice time,” you growl at him, but he’s already distracted, bobbing the puck back and forth as he approaches the net. The sound of his stick on the ice echoes throughout the arena as he takes a slap shot.

You refrain from smiling smugly when the goalie stops his shot with a triumphant cackle.

You stubbornly want to stay on the ice, take up the time you’re allowed to practice your routine, but with all the pucks zipping around, it could be detrimental to your health if you were to trip or—Mother forbid—land on one as you come out of an axel.

Eyes flitting angrily around the colony of Bat’s players, you scour the ice for the team captain, Rhysand. The thing is, all dressed up in their pads and helmets, the players are a blur of clones, whipping by you on both sides as they warm up.

There’s always one player that never fails to stand out to you, no matter how much he tries to disappear from the crowd. He catches your eye as he skates by, the fallen strands of hair from your ponytail lifting with the speed that he’s moving, taking a puck down the ice as a breakaway ensues.

He dodges you easily, and your heart races in your chest at the fleeting glance he passes you. His hazel eyes have a hard, determined set to them, as if he knows before he’s even finished crossing the neutral line that he’s going to score a goal.

Azriel Teller.

He dips around the defensemen effortlessly, and if you were more well-versed in hockey to know if he was actually as good as he seems, you’d be sure that he’s a shoo-in for going to the big leagues after graduation.

Azriel feigns to the right, deking out the player in the violet practice jersey, before placing a well-aimed shot at the net.

It soars past the goalie, hitting the net and falling to the ice with a clatter that’s deafened by his teammates cheering and skating his way to clang their helmets together in celebration.

From the middle of the player puddle, those glittering hazel eyes find yours again and your breath whooshes from your chest at the smirk he pairs with it.

“(Y/N?) What are you still doing out here?” A voice startles you away from the glorious sight of Azriel. You flinch, teetering off balance as you whirl around, flailing your arms as you startle.

Rhysand catches you as you slip, steadying you against his chest. The sound of his hockey stick slapping the ice is loud in your ears and your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you clutch to the captain of the Velaris Bats jersey with an iron grip.

You were nearly born on the ice, your parents getting you into skating at a very early age, and here you are, tripping around like a newborn deer walking for the first time.

All in front of Azriel, too.

When you have your feet beneath you again, you slide back a pace, the frown returning to your face as you tilt your chin to address Rhysand.

“Your team cut into my time early,” you say sourly, but standing this close to Rhysand, you can’t seem to find that fire in the pit of your stomach that raged when the team first stepped onto the ice. The goal Azriel all but dedicated to you with that look snuffed it right out. “I don’t appreciate you guys barging in here on my time, thinking you own the damn place. I have nationals to practice for, you know.”

Rhysand grimaces in response. He’s someone you might even consider a friend, having run into the hockey boys on multiple occasions, the figure skaters and the hockey teams having to share one rink now that the other one is finally being updated with the generous donation the school received. He’s nice, a good team captain, if you’ve ever seen one, caring not only about his players, but the circumstances everyone at the Velaris Ice Center is facing with recent construction.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, and he means it. “I was in a call with coach and wasn’t able to stop Cassian from leading the charge out here.”

“This is the second time it’s happened in two weeks, Rhys.” You all but huff. You don’t want to act like the prissy figure skater they probably all think you are, but enough is enough. Winning Nationals is important to you, and you can’t become distracted by hockey players or lose any ice time.

Rhysand opens his mouth to reply but before he can say anything, Azriel is whizzing past, shoulder checking his captain as if the consequences of that don’t bother him in the slightest.

You gasp as Rhys recoils, even more so when you see the cross look on Azriel’s face when he shoots a warning glower over his shoulder.

Rhys glares, flipping his friend off, and you have to tuck your lips between your teeth to keep from bursting into laughter at the sight of his gloved fingers thick with padding flipping Azriel off.

Rolling his eyes, the captain turns back to you.

“What was that all about?” You ask tentatively, not sure you want to know the answer. Your eyes are still on Azriel who’s hopped over the fence into the team’s bench and is currently squirting some water into his mouth. It drips down his chin, gliding down the thick column of his throat and into the neckline of his pads.

The sight makes your throat dry.

“I’ll try better,” Rhysand says, hands on his hips as he looks around the rink. His perfectly plucked brows are furrowed as he thinks, and you can’t help but wonder if he gets them professionally done or not. “Hey, assholes,” he suddenly shouts, and you flinch when his voice echoes around the arena. “Get on the benches, now!”

You swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat as the team follows their captains’ orders with grumbles. They don’t seem to want whatever lecture they think they’re going to get from Rhysand, but he ignores their grousing, turning back to you when the last ass has hit the bench.

“You have fifteen minutes, (Y/N),” Rhys says, skating backwards towards the bench.  When your jaw drops, his grin turns wicked.

He wants you to finish practicing right now? While the entire team watches? Is he fucking crazy?

“You can’t be serious,” you shriek, almost stomping your skate-clad foot on the ice. Yes, you’re used to performing in front of a crowd even larger than the team, but these guys are like fiends. Half of them glower at you while the other half is looking at you like they want to fool around on center ice.

“Totally am,” Rhysand shouts back, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are hot enough to melt the ice beneath your skates. “C’mon now, you’re wasting precious practice time for the both of us!”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, but he’s right, you do want your time back. Preferably without a horde of horny college hockey players watching you, but you’ll take what you can get this time.

Skating over to where your phone is placed on the rail of the away team benches, you restart your song with a few beats of silence before so you can get into your starting position back in the middle of the rink.

When the first string of the violins starts, you’re off, determined now more than ever at getting this routine perfect.

You’re all too aware of the hazel eyes tracing your every move as you skate, though.

[goodeapple]

words on the page (aemond t. sex pollen pwp o.s.)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : PWP, dubcon- this is sex pollen (obvi) they are technically not fully consenting. might be hatesex but it also might not, uncle/niece incest, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, squirting, restraint, spanking & slapping, and a slighttt breeding kink (srry i couldn't help myself)

word count : 10,000+

note : hope everyone enjoys. ty for all the love, always. likes, reblogs, comments, anything is gas in my tank xx

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“This library is big enough for the both of us, Uncle. You stay on your side, and I, on mine.” Ysilla offers, already working on tuning out the One-Eyed Prince’s mutterings as she gets lost in the sprawling shelves. 

“What if I want a book that’s on your side?” Aemond’s voice echoes up to the grand ceilings from where he must be several rows over, his annoyance clearer than the windows in the Sept. 

Ysilla rolls her eyes so hard she fears they might stick. “Do you not understand the concept of my side and your side?”

“These are all my sides. I grew up in between these stacks- I’m sure the texts at Dragonstone are missing you terribly. Why don't you go back and see if I’m right.” 

That retort stabs at her, the mourning for her home still living on in the thick ball of grief that resides heavily in her heart. It’s been a year since her mother took her rightful place on the Iron Throne, a year since the King had passed, and a year where all members of the Targaryen family had to learn how to live amongst one another once more. Nobody was enjoying it. And there were more days than not that the Princess fantasized of stealing borrowing a boat and sailing back to her beloved pile of rocks. 

“Shouldn’t you be out, oh, I don’t know, swinging a sword or ducking under one? You know, what men do.” It’s childish but Ysilla doesn’t mind stooping lower than her years. Her brothers keep her young and nimble, each one bringing with him a fresh battle of wits and stubbornness.  

He goes silent, blessedly, and she resumes her stroll, picking and plucking titles off the shelves that join the burgeoning pile cradled tight in her arms. Her mind wanders, the endless catalogues of writings whispering their words, lulling her further and further into the scriptural maze. 

Ysilla spots a peculiar text on a shelf taller than her, the aphotic ruby binding and woven gold stitching calling her name. She reaches up, tiptoeing until her feet creak and attempts to hook her finger under the edge of the spine. The old book sticks in place, judging her with a faceless scowl. She grunts, wobbling slightly, pushing forward again and gives it a good strong tug. Too strong, as it flies freely through the air and  Ysilla yelps, jumping to the side to dodge it. Everything goes topsy turvy, her balance lost to her and the rest of her assembled collection clatters to the ground. 

She curses, deaf to the sound of approaching footsteps as she drops to her knees and starts to gather the fallen books. She’s considerate of the older ones, stacking them carefully off to the side of the walkway. The causer of the chaos had landed face down, the text split open as if the ground itself was interested in its contents. Ysilla grasps it gently and turns it over, causing a plume of dust to shift off the pages and billow directly into her face. 

She coughs, sputtering for a breath that isn’t made up of ancient soot. She scrubs at her nose, sniffling and groaning in discomfort as her sinuses burn and her throat grows parched. Her eyelids wrench shut, tears already hot and clumping in her lashes. 

A vice grip in the form of strong fingers finds her arm, and she latches onto them desperately. She’s pulled to her feet, and a downy cloth is pressed tightly into her hand. She pats her face with it, drying her tears and spittle, its perfume of oranges and smoke chasing away the moldered stink clinging to every sense she has. 

“You alright?” Aemond asks cautiously, still holding her elbow steady. Ysilla blinks blearily at him, her nose red at the tip. She nods after a pause, coughing softly into his handkerchief. 

“Couldn’t breathe there for a moment.” She croaks, chuckling weakly before she gently pulls her elbow away. Aemond drops his hold, clasping his arms behind him and taking a step backwards. 

“The library is all yours- I’m going to go lie down.” 

She offers his hanky back, feeling a bit dumb as she does and more than a little embarrassed. Her uncle waves her off, and she skirts around him, careful not to intrude into his space. 

“Niece,” Ysilla turns. Concern is not a look she’s accustomed to seeing on his face, and certainly not when it’s directed at her, but the sight of it sends little tingles through her tummy. “Do you need me to escort you to your room?” 

She smiles dimly, self-conscious in all the ways that turn her cheeks peachy. 

“I think I can manage… thank you, Aemond.” Ysilla curtsies in a silly show of thanks, but he can tell her sentiment is genuine. 

Aemond swallows thickly, bowing his head in acknowledgment, watching her keenly as she shuffles out the doors that lead to the rest of the castle. She never calls him by his name. Always Uncle, and even sometimes My Prince, but the mocking lilt of that one is not lost on him. Aemond though… it’s like he’s hearing a brand new word.  

Shrugging off his worriment, he sighs, squatting down to collect the strewn about books. He inspects them as he does, less so judging and more so learning about his niece’s interests through her chosen reading materials. There’s a collection of songs- one for Drowned Men and one for Northmen that he’s read before. Another about the Lion King, Tommen II Lannister and his adventures in Volantis and, most provocatively, the remaining charred pages of Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. Aemond holds onto it for longer than the others; she must’ve searched long and hard for it, he’s never even once stumbled across it in here. He tucks it carefully onto a shelf he’ll remember, and thinks of letting Ysilla know where she can find it later. 

Lastly, he comes to the one that sent her into a coughing fit and he regards it carefully. It isn’t smart, but even so, Aemond draws his dagger and nudges at it, angling up the flap so that he can read the title: Potions of Old Valyria. He lifts it too high, trying to see better in the dreary light of dusk and loses his leverage, the cover falling closed and puffing out a small cloud of dust in his direction. He snaps backwards but he’s not fast enough, the grit already coating the slick press of his lips. Aemond spits, growling, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. He winces as his nose stings, the watering in his eye blurring his vision. 

He shoots to his feet, gathering up the massive stack of books and tossing them onto an empty writing desk, kicking away the potion book in juvenile anger. He stalks out of the library, cursing blindly as he retreats to his room. 

The Prince does not read the page of which the dust had danced off of. But if he had, mayhaps he would have rethought the course of his actions that night. 

“Pollen of the flower Turnera diffusa- a specimen of which is contained in this very page- has a curious effect on the indulger. Found growing along the creeks of Honeyholt, symptoms noted are as follows: fever, delirium, lightheadedness, and most notably, a heightened state of arousal. The affected should take caution to whom they keep in their company while under the spell of this love plant.” 

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Aemond shucks off his jerkin, sending it flying across the room carelessly. 

It's still there- the rabid itch under his collar. He stalks to his mirror, tearing up his shirt to check his skin, looking for a bite, a scratch, anything to explain the scorching sting engulfing him in full. Nothing, not even a blemish, mars his pale chest. 

He curses, spinning on his heel and going for his table, seizing the wine pitcher so roughly the lit candles nearby shudder from his haste. He pours a full goblet, the deep burgundy trickle causing his mouth to flood with anticipation. He downs it in several gulps, gasping as he rips the cup away and lets it teeter on the table until it spins out, toppling over emptily. He might as well’ve drank from the Great Sand Sea, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He clutches at his stomach, a sharp shooting pain ripping up his insides. He groans, taking a knee as his legs wobble beneath his weight. 

Fuck, he wonders if it was the book, the dust he breathed in. If Ysilla is as bad off as he is. 

Ysilla. Worry spears through him, bringing with it a healthy dose of clarity. She breathed in more than he did, he’s sure of it. He needs to get her to a maester, lest she’s already staggered out of her own room in search of aid. 

He stumbles to his wall, finding the familiar crease in the stone and pushing. The path into the tunnels is one he knows well and he’s lucky he does, his mind fogging over and his pulse thumping in his temples. He’s never entered her chamber this way of course, so he can’t be sure when he comes to an unknown stone archway that he’s where he needs to be. 

He pushes until he feels the door give way, a slice of light pouring out through the crack. He edges it forward a little more, until he can see enough of the room to confirm it’s not a servant’s quarters. 

“Niece?” Aemond coughs, his tone gruffer than what he’s used to. His throat is arid, greedy for a nectar to soothe it. No one answers, but as he strains his hearing, shuffling feet and rustling bottles comes forth, confirming that someone is inside. 

“Ysilla?” He calls out. Another jolt of agony flares through him and he gasps, startling forward, catching himself on the door and accidentally making it swing open. Aemond stumbles through, colliding with an overstuffed armchair and making it screech terribly across the floor. His head shoots up, and he catches sight of his niece across the room. 

Ysilla wouldn’tve noticed if Vhagar herself trampled through the door. 

She’s… much more undone than she was before. Her curly raven locks, once pinned up and out of her face, spring madly from her head, cloaking her face in a dark flowing curtain. She scurries around the room, mouselike, pressing a wet rag to her throat and then to her forehead, and back again. Twenty or so books are open and strewn about on the long table, looking as if they were caught in a sweeping wind. Long gone are her slippers, and the sleeved pink gown she donned before is abandoned in a silky puddle by the door.

Her chemise, a pale yellow thing with capped sleeves, has gone transparent from the perspiration that has broken out all over her body. It clings to every dip, every curve, shadowing her in a gauzy golden haze. Her bronze nipples tent through the delicate fabric and the thatch of hair over her womanhood matches in color-

Aemond snaps his gaze away, cheeks flaming. 

“Ysilla.” He nearly shouts, stare finding his boots and staying there. 

The woman in question spins around, catching sight of her uncle in the corner of her room, the hidden door she had never had enough courage to use ajar behind him. 

“Aemond… you need to leave.” Her words rumble out of her, like there’s a beast in her belly, roaring through her skin and rattling her bones. “Leave!”

He doesn’t move and Ysilla hurls the rag in his direction.  

“Did you not hear me? I said go!” 

Annoyance chips away at Aemond’s embarrassment. He’s trying to help her, insufferable brat. “You don’t command me, Niece.” He responds, still refusing to look at her. 

She scoffs, happy to channel her discomfort into a much more satisfying emotion. “You sneak into my room, catch me in the middle of undress, and still, you act put out.” Ysilla spits, her temper raising with her temperature.

Gods, she’s miserable. The moment she stepped foot in her bedchamber, her dressings were off, and she drank down water until she felt the urge to spew. It’s as if she can’t catch her breath- she’s so dizzy and her uncle’s sudden company has somehow made it worse. Her belly cramps, and she crosses her legs tightly in search of relief. She cries out, the budding sultriness in her flower springing to life, and wetness coats her thighs in a rush. Gasping, she nearly trips as she collides with her bed’s edge. 

“Ysilla, breathe.” Aemond commands harshly.

His voice is so nice. Has it always been that nice? That soothing? Her snatch gives a happy thrum, her clit fluttering at the memory of his strong grip upon her arm. How he had held her steady in her dizziness, how he had towered over her, so imposing, so encapsulating, making sure she was well. Ysilla gasps, stunned at her body’s wanton reaction. 

“You don’t understand. Please, go.” He’s her uncle- her uncle that doesn’t even like her. This cannot- will not happen. 

“I need to get you to a maester. If you’re feeling what I’m feeling, if you’re feeling it worse, fuck, Ysilla, I need to get you help.”

He needs to stop saying her name like that, in that breathy, strained tone of his. He sounds exerted. He sounds exhausted. He sounds like he’s on the cusp of falling apart. It stokes the fire in her blood. 

“The things I want to do to you… the things I want you to do to me.” She whines quietly, terrified that he’ll hear her. 

A subtle knock-knock at her chamber door quiets them both, and they hold their breath. Again, a knock-knock echoes through, and Ysilla curses the diligence of her ladies. Aemond goes for it, stalking across the room in his usual strutting gait. 

Ysilla panics and rushes forward, latching onto his arm and pulling him to a stop. 

“Aemond, Uncle, please, send them away. I don’t want them to see me like this.” She begs, pleading with him through a glistening gaze. 

Aemond readies his denial, sharp and bitter on his tongue but he loses his voice as he looks at her. He keeps his eye on her face, hyper aware of the press of her nearly naked figure against his side. Her heart shaped face is drawn in a frantic frown, terror rich and vast in her eyes. She smells of the Essos oils in her hair and the coconut oil on her skin, and it all makes his head go a bit fuzzy. 

She squeezes his arm, again, a final silent plea. He nods his assent. Ysilla dashes behind him, slipping deeper into the room, blowing out candles until the bedchamber dims into darkness. She voices a small, urging hum, and Aemond takes his cue and yanks the door open. The visitor, a girl no older than three-and-ten, blinks at him in surprise.

“My Prince,” she curtsies hurriedly and Aemond nods his acceptance, but his face must spell out his impatience because she speaks so fast, her words stumble over one another. “I thought I heard the Princess in distress. I was coming to check on her, to make sure she’s alright.” 

Her eyes dart over his shoulder, her head bobbing to the side as if she were trying to peek in. Aemond moves with her, raising his arm so that it rests above him in the doorway, pulling the door nearly closed behind him. The maid swallows, dropping her eyes in apology.

“The Princess isn’t well- very sick. Keep the other maids away, guards too. She wishes for solitude.” He’s a pushover and he hates it. One look of Ysilla’s beseeching gaze and Aemond gave like a straw bridge. 

“Should I send a maester?” The maid asks worriedly, making to exit down the hall and find help. 

“No!” The young girl jolts to a stop, her eyes wide with alarm. Aemond curses himself, and he speaks softer through gritted teeth. “No, she just needs rest. I’ll see to her, since I’ve already been exposed. I’ll call upon you if I change my mind.” 

The maid eyes him cautiously, but she finally relents, dropping into a curtsy before hurrying down the wall. 

On the other side of the door, Ysilla feels as if she’s going fucking mental. 

She’s balled up her bedsheet, and wedged it between her quivering thighs. The fabric pressed so intimately against her cunt is unforgiving, soaking up her syrupy slick and giving little in return. But the friction along her clit makes her gasp, and it urges on her rutting in dreams of a release so sweet, she could cry. 

The low droll of Aemond’s voice slithers into her ears from across the room, her mind warping the words until he’s whispering to her. What a good girl she is, how desperate she is to find her pleasure, how angry he is that she’s fucking her bed and not him. Ysilla’s eyes shoot open as she hears the squeak of her door, her hopes crashing as she realizes he’s pulling it shut while he’s behind it, not in front of it. 

She collapses forward onto all fours, fisting the furs blanketing her duvet, smothering a broken moan into the softness. Her eyes peel open, her glassy gaze landing on her bedside table. Aemond’s handkerchief is still there- right where she’d left it- the emerald hue of it glowing midnight green in the candlelight. Suddenly, it’s in her grasp, even though she cannot recall moving for it. She presses it to her nose and draws in a shaky breath.

Oh, oh, it smells of him. Citrus and smoke and she’s drooling for it, mouth watering so quickly she has to swallow it down so she doesn’t slobber. She swings her hips forward before rolling backwards, dredging the sodden sheet through her sex. It’s so wet now, the smoothness almost feels like skin. And that’s too much for Ysilla- she can hear him, smell him, but the thought of Aemond in between her legs?- it sends her plummeting off the cliff of desire, her core pulsing vibrantly, pleasure buzzing through her whole body. 

A phantom hand finds the same spot where Aemond had handled her earlier, and rips her upwards. She’s pulled to her knees, still atop the bed, as someone presses up behind her. Ysilla peers over her shoulder, the handsome face of her uncle a welcome sight. He is an apparition appearing from her thoughts alone. He doesn’t even seem real.

Her thoughts are askew with an edge of delirium, her insides purring at his sudden return. Ghoul or not, she will not squander such a golden opportunity. She fists the front of his shirt and drags him in, their mouths joining together harshly. Aemond would be lying if he said he didn’t kiss her back at once. It gets intense. Fast. 

Ysilla melts into his chest, whimpering into his mouth while his grip goes from her elbow to sliding around her, dragging her in closer by her waist. His tongue finds her teeth and she opens up slowly, letting him feel the threat of them, as he slithers in and their tongues touch-

Aemond tears himself away, stumbling backwards, heaving for air and looking at her with a wide eye. Ysilla whimpers, her fantasy failing her, and she slips off the side of the bed to settle on wobbly legs. Her palm goes to press at her abdomen, hoping that the pressure will relieve the burrowing ache. 

They stare at one another, wild animals on alert, a standoff that neither Prince nor Princess can bear to lose. 

Ysilla’s gaze falls to his lips, and Aemond’s to hers. She bites her lip, sucking the meat into her wet, warm mouth before releasing it with a lurid pop. Aemond groans, an audible surrender. 

To Hell with it all. 

They crash into each other like lightning, hands mapping anywhere they can reach. Her body blooms for him, like a flower under the summer sky. He steers them back towards her bed, Ysilla blindly clamoring atop to sit while he stands tall. His touch on her skin has her thighs spreading, opening up and offering herself for his taking. 

“I can’t stop, I can't stop.” He presses kiss after kiss to her mouth, her closeness doing nothing to extinguish the burning in his blood. If anything, she makes it worse, the inferno raging deeper and into his very soul. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” She whines, snaking their legs together and threading her fingers through that beautiful hair of his.

She’ll enjoy this- him. Every inch of Aemond belongs to her tonight. She thinks of drawing the blade from his hip, and carving her name into his chest. Mark him up nice and neat, streak his pale powdery skin red with her desire. Whatever is happening to her- to them- summons something animalistic, something primitive out of the dark parts of their hearts. All tender fantasies of her future husband treating her with such a tame touch are cleaved in half and fed to the hounds. In their place, filthy, feral desires fester and warp her mind until one lone ambition remains: him inside of her, for the rest of their days.

“We don’t even like each other.” Aemond growls between their parting lips. Ysilla slides her way into his mouth, flirting with the sharpness of his teeth, suckling the sweetness out of his tongue. 

“We can’t stand each other.” She affirms, breaking their lips apart, her hands already under his tunic, letting her palms drink in the ridges and rises of his impressive physique. She kisses along the strong edge of his jaw, curling her fingers into clenched claws and rips her way down his chest. Not a blade, but he bloodys all the same. Aemond snarls, catching her by the throat so brutally her teeth clack. His eye pierces through her like a blade, and Ysilla relishes in the pain, his touch upon her skin soothing away her ache.

“Bitch.” He hisses, what little familial respect they harbor for each other crushed under lust and loathing. 

“Prick.” She bites back, grazing at his lip to send her point home. Gods, he’s so close but not close enough. 

Ysilla pulls his hand between her legs- the one not choking her out- and Aemond cups her sex readily. Her heat damn near blisters him, and he grinds his palm into her slick folds, coating his hand in her arousal.

“Yessss…” She hisses in sated victory, her blood pumping thick as her body finally gets a taste of what it's been craving. Even one finger of his is nearly too much as he slips it in, the stretch a tepid burn that only gives way as her body adjusts. 

“You need to be able to take more than that if you want to take my cock, Princess.” He whispers at her lips, already imagining how tight she’ll be around him. He won’t insult her by asking- he knows he’ll be her first. And the thought of that… of taking her maidenhead for his own, being the first man to be inside of her, searing himself into her memory that even time won’t take away… Aemond has to fucking focus. 

“I can take it.” She assures him, head nodding wildly, her thighs splitting open even further. His grip has loosened around her throat, and he strokes where it’s sure to bruise, trying to not grow hot at the vision of his mark marring her body. He hums his approval, letting his middle finger glide forward, her essence enough to ease the way into her hole. 

He scissors them, back and forth, working her pure channel open gently, basking in the silky tensing of her walls. The pained scrunch in her brow has disappeared, giving way to the pleasured furrow of her forehead, her hips beginning to roll up and meet his digits. She grabs ahold of his wrist, stopping his motions, and she pins him in place with a lavender leer. 

“Take off your clothes.” It’s a command, no matter if it is spoken in her soft honeyed voice. 

Aemond loses his shirt and unlatches his belt, tossing it and his sword onto the bench at the foot of her bed. His breeches slide off with Ysilla’s help, her eager fingers untying his laces. He kicks off his boots, not realizing how confined he felt with so many layers hindering him until his skin is bared. She moves backwards, further up her bed and he crawls after her, prowling like a wildcat, covetous sight trained on her. 

The little minx yanks on his elbow, and he crashes into the mattress and suddenly, he’s the one on his back. Aemond lets Ysilla pin his wrists on either side of him, her victorious smile just as comely as the rest of her. Her breasts pillow against his chest, and dammit, she needs to hover above him so he can catch one in his mouth. But she denies him that treat, squeezing his wrists to focus his attention.  

“Don’t move. That’s an order.” His cock twitches from where it’s pressed to her thigh and her lips twitch at his reaction. She kisses his throat, right at the base where his collar bones meet, and her whisper vibrates through to his heart. “Good boy.” 

Ysilla takes her time, voyaging down his body, a traveler on a sought after journey. Her tongue flicks out over each of his nipples, teasing the perked flesh with little swipes of her slick pink muscle. She traces her nose over the jutting contour of his rib cage, counts his muscled abdominals until there’s numbers on both hands, and kisses the scar on his hip, long healed from a tumble off of Vhagar’s saddle when he was just a boy. The fine silver hair trailing down his groin is wispy and it tickles her chin. 

Aemond’s cock is intimidating, even more so as she takes a lick from root to tip. The journey is longer than first guessed, and she thinks he grows even bigger after the swipe of her tongue, the jut of him swaying in the air as more blood thickens him out. The fact that all of that will be stuffed inside of her makes Ysilla shiver, her cunt yearning for the press of his long fingers. 

Fervently, she swallows him down until he greets the back of her throat. The salt of him is jarring but not unwelcome- nothing can be unwelcome about this as Aemond sucks in a ragged breath and fists the sheets. The muscles in his arms strain and bulge, a sight that only incentivises her to keep sucking. 

He’s a thick, velvety weight on her tongue, her mouth full even with inches still to spare. Her drool dribbles down his staff, and her hand wraps around what she cannot swallow. She glides her lips over his length rhythmically, jacking her fist over the rest of him, retreating with a pop to spit on his tip for more lubrication. 

Ysilla has always been one for sweets but this? This is a taste she can find herself hankering for. She suckles on the head, dipping her tongue into his slit, shivering at the sharp burst of his spunk on her taste buds. She dives forward again, gagging around him, the intrusion into her throat a strange feeling she forces herself to adjust to. 

Aemond keeps her hair pushed behind her ears, his thumbs stroking her temples as he fights to not thrust down her throat until she chokes. A familiar tightening in his sack has him voicing the exact opposite of what he wants her to do. 

“Silla, pull off.” She’s on her fucking knees for him, he doesn’t need to defile her like this. Doesn’t need to treat her like a common whore and make her stomach his load. 

She ignores him and he says her name again, more firmly, but she’s such a rebel, swallowing around him once more, letting him feel the constricting vice of her throat. He can’t take it- he gives her what she wishes. 

“Silla, qrugh.” Cursing, he keeps her head still as he empties his balls and fills her belly. He hooks his thumb into her mouth, breathless, breaking the suction and pulls out of her throat. Ysilla coughs, gulping down air and saliva before she gifts him a shiny smile. Aemond scoffs. Unbelievable. 

“You’re a nasty little thing.” He pants out, a compliment he means wholeheartedly. 

She chuckles hoarsely, and her lips are still gooey with his seed. 

“You love it.” 

The urge to fuck her returns tenfold and he sits up, hand at the back of her neck to wrench her up to his mouth. She whimpers, swapping his cum between their tongues. It’s sticky and vulgar and overwhelmingly erotic. 

Ysilla stumbles to her feet, pulling Aemond with her, leading him to the lounge area in front of her hearth. Their mouths remain intertwined, unwilling to part even for a moment. She pushes him into an armchair, the old velvet soft beneath him before following him down, and settling swiftly in his lap. 

“Off.” He demands but he can’t help but be an active partner in his niece’s undressing. Her hands dash to the hem of her shift, gathering up the skirt hurriedly. His hands glide up her body, caressing the naked skin that is revealed to him as she pulls it up and over her head. She’s so sleek with sweat she looks polished- an apple ready to eat, something to be devoured. 

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, not for lack of knowledge but to see how far she wishes to take this. 

Ysilla grins, ducking down and drawing him into an eager kiss. “Whatever you want to do. Just make me feel good.”

Loyal as a hound, Aemond’s mouth goes to her breast, her posture perfectly presenting her chest to him. He takes in as much as he can, greedily sucking and licking until her tender flesh blushes a bright sticky red. He rolls her pert nipple between his teeth, tugging just enough to make Ysilla gasp. She makes pretty sounds- he can’t wait to hear what she’ll sound like as he fucks her stupid. He switches to her other breast, feasting on her supple bosom like he’ll never eat again. His cock bobs upright, his body needing no time to rest, ready and racing to experience the delicacy of her cunt. 

The Princess whines, combing through his tousled hair, tugging on it like she would horse reins. Such a commanding queen she’ll be. 

“Need it, need you.” She whines, swinging her hips lower, searching for the weeping start of his prick.

“Easy, Ysilla.” He warns, even as his thoughts scream to grip her hips and teach her how to ride him, but she’s such a stubborn little dragon and her thoughts may be just as commanding as his. She leans back, reaching between her thighs until she brushes at the head of his cock and steadies him. Lining herself up, she sinks torturously slow, downdowndown every inch until she sits upon his thighs. 

“Oh, fuck.”

“Oh… my.”

They both breathe out, blinking away black stars that dance in their vision, the pollen tapping every nerve ending in each of them until they sputter and fizz uncontrollably. 

The discomfort fades for her faster than she’d thought, transforming into a pleasant fullness that she can feel heavily behind her stomach. Ysilla searches for what feels the best, moving faster and faster on Aemond’s lap as each new shift in position guides her further towards the liquid heat in her loins. She settles on swiveling up before dropping back down onto him, riding him like she’s saddled. Hot streaks of exhilaration engulf her insides, every pass of his cock adding to the ecstasy swirling inside of her. The stretch of him, not just from length but from width as well, itches the scratch left behind after the library disaster. Even as she tried to bring herself to pleasure earlier, there was something missing from her peak. Something that’s building, stacking, soaring fast in her belly. That final crest of a wave, ready to crash and drown anything that’s not pure, hot ecstasy-

Before it collapses back into a tidepool. The pitted feeling of falling through the air as you miss a step in the dark settles over her lust, and she jerks. Ysilla’s eyes snap open, her pupils blown so wide Aemond can barely see a ring of amethyst around them. She whines, bouncing on his cock faster, chasing a release she’s not sure she can find. 

“Qybor, kostilus. I can’t cum like this.” Almost to make her point, she circles her hips up, leaving only the head of him kissed by her tight hole before dropping down and taking every inch of him at once. Aemond holds strong to his stamina, refusing to empty inside of his niece so quickly. 

A shame though, he was so enjoying the view. He winds his arms around her hips, keeping her nice and close as he slips them off of the chair and onto the floor. Several furs keep them cushioned from the chilly stones below and he drags a pillow off the loveseat to ease her up on. 

“Turn for me, sweetling.” He maneuvers her onto her belly, his grip finding her hips and shepherding her into position onto her hands and knees.

Aemond stands corrected- this view is nice. The burnished copper of Ysilla’s coloring clashes deliciously with his own pale complexion. Her backside is plush and hefty, budding from her shape in a way that invites his attention. 

Whatever you want to do. Aemond slaps her right cheek, reveling in her sharp gasp, and the way a perfect red welt appears on the smooth skin. He lands another, on the opposite globe, hypnotized by the jiggle of the flesh. He strikes her again because he can, not ignorant to the way his rough treatment has her absolutely dripping down her thighs. Another for good measure, satisfied in the brilliant bruising he’s left behind.

Just make me feel good. He strokes his cock, still slick from her spit and her honey, and lines his head up at her opening. She arches up, dipping down onto her arms, raising her bottom to prop against him. The angle is too good not to take advantage of. Aemond spits, his foamy white saliva dripping viscously into her tight hole and he pushes it inside of her as he strokes forward. 

Ysilla voices her approval of the new position, wiggling back against him as he goes as deep as she’ll take him. He builds a tempo, in out in out, finding a pace that makes her clench impossibly tighter. His sack slaps intensely at her clit, drawing punchy little gasps out of her that he wants to devour. He digs his fingertips into her hips, thumbs fanning out to stroke the luscious bounce of her bottom. He goes to pause, planning on switching his angle so that some strain can be relieved from her spine.

“No! Aemond, stay there, right there, yessss.” Ysilla flails her hand behind her blindly, not stopping her begging until she smacks into his naked torso. Aemond stares down at his niece in confusion, catching sight of her profile, her eyes trained intently on something that is certainly not him. 

He looks up, and catches his reflection staring back at him from across the room. The giant wardrobe mirror is tucked into the corner, and the Gods are good because they're directly in its path, their coupling on display for their viewing pleasure. 

Aemond drops down, blanketing Ysilla with his body, watching his Other do the same. “Oh, I see.” He chuckles, driving into her slowly. 

It’s almost as if they’re watching someone else- surely the couple in the reflection cannot be them. No poise, no manners, not even an ounce of trepidation to be seen. In place, disheveled, howling, rutting animals grind against each other, naked and insouciant in search of their gratification. Aemond enjoys the portrait they make, admiring it so much that he stalls in his thrusting and stills completely inside of Ysilla.

“Aemond, come on.” She whines, moving impatiently against him. “Nākostōbā taoba, making me do all the work.” She mewls, riding down and humping his cock.

Aemond’s trance snaps, and he secures a fistful of her hair, forcing his niece into a backbend. He ignores her yelp, smacking her thigh to halt her gyrations. His lips go to her ear, and this close to her throat, he can hear the lifeblood rushing through her arteries. 

“What was that?” 

“I just thought, unhhh… just thought you would be a bit more… involved in this.” She giggles, fucking laughs even as her bones creak for mercy. It’s harder to breathe this way, and the lightheadedness spurs on her mouth. “Thought you wanted this as badly as I did.” 

Little fucking brat. He laughs too, because it’s funny. Funny because of how right she is- he should be more involved in this, a bit more committed. Ysilla stills at the sound, the audible swallow of her gulping nervously has his cock jumping in interest. Her fear is just as tasty as her willingness. 

He crosses both arms over her chest, his forearms thick bars over her throat and he forces her up, so he can fuck his cock into her belly and watch her tits bounce as he does so. Ysilla’s face contorts into a euphoric mask, her eyes rolling back into her head and her pouty mouth hanging open in slack-jawed pleasure as he pounds her ruthlessly.

“Something on your mind, Princess?” She doesn’t respond, her brain being fucked straight out of her head.

Aemond slaps her face, the sharp crack bringing her back to the present, and back to Aemond fucking her like he owns her. She moans again, her pussy spouting a wash of arousal around his bullying cock. He catches her by the jaw, digging his thumb into the bone and rubbing at the struck flesh of her cheek. His lips are wet at her ear, and she watches him through glossy eyes as he smirks, and bites down on her ear lobe. 

“Answer me, Ysilla.” His niece shouts but Aemond has no sympathy for her. If she can dish it out, she can take it. “You did want this? Or you do want this?” 

He’s searching for the willpower to pull out of her, and put her over his knee to send home his message when she babbles out her acquiescence.

“I want this! Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao!” Valyrian braids through her words without forethought, her focus aimed on Aemond’s cockhead tapping at her womb. 

“Sȳz riña.” She preens at the endearment, throwing her hips back against him frantically. A beautiful toothy smile has broken brightly over her face, Aemond catching sight of it in the mirror before he shatters the grin, nailing a spongy spot inside of her that makes her eyes cross.

“Sooo good, so fucking big, feel you right here.” She tries to gesture to her throat but she ends up digging her nails into the arms caging her in, hanging off of him desperately. Her poor battered cunny is still somehow famished for more, the squelch of his cock moving in and out of her a licentious lyric that lulls both lover’s into a trance. Aemond pulls her even tighter to his front, however possible that may be, and plunges repeatedly into her snug cunt, beating the walls of her swollen so she won’t be able to walk without thinking of him first. 

As if they miss each other, Aemond’s and Ysilla’s eyes meet in the mirror, violent violet and silver steel clashing and melding into one harmonious color. 

Their stares fall lower, where they meet over and over and over again so brutally. Her thighs glisten in the candlelight, her flesh rippling with every thwack of Aemond’s hips. It’s so dirty, so primal, so right. He’s going so deep, he could put a babe in her belly. Just a whisper of that fantasy, of her giving him a child, letting him have such a claim on her breaks her apart. 

She screams, Aemond’s palm smacking over her mouth as her thighs give out, and she sags to the floor. He follows her down, draping himself over her back, still fucking her in earnest, chasing his own blissful breaking point. He finds it, after three more punishing thrusts. But even as his balls release and he feels Ysilla grow slicker as his seed coats her insides until it leaks a white ring from where they’re joined, his cock is still hard and heaving from his body. 

He pulls out and Ysilla sobs at the loss, scrambling on the furs, but her cries disintegrate as she’s flipped onto her back. Aemond slings both of her legs into the crooks of his elbows, yanking her forward so he’s flush to her thighs, her pussy a pretty little jewel winking up at him. His seed oozes a pearl stream from her fluttering hole and he swipes it up with his cock, and it’s as slippery as oil as he bottoms out inside of her. 

Fucking Seven, she’s unreal. “Taking every inch of me… like you were made for this, ñuha pretty līve.”

“Made for you, I think.” Ysilla gasps, ripping at the furs, trying to anchor herself down so she doesn’t burst apart. 

Aemond nips at her chin, doing nothing to quell the smug smile on his niece’s lips. “Careful.” 

Careful for what? She wants to question so badly. Careful on what she voices aloud, even as they speak it in both of their minds? Careful on implying that her cunt will not weep for him anytime he passes by her? Careful to claim that the only place he should be after tonight is right where he is now?

But it is not the time for words of the heart, so she digs her nails into Aemond’s broad shoulders in a gnaw and throws her head back. 

“I’m right there. Yes, Aemond, yes!” 

Oh, is she now? Aemond grins, slowing his thrusts to purposefully watch her eyes shoot open incredulously. 

“Don’t stop! Fuck, why are you stopping?” Ysilla growls, circling her hips up against him, doing her best to fuck him herself. So desperate, so full of unadulterated desire, she cannot find it within herself to be appalled at her own salaciousness. 

“I thought you couldn’t cum like this?” Aemond mocks and oh, it’s fun to play with her. 

Her decorum deserting her, Ysilla lets anger lead her movements and her hand flies at his face to strike him. He catches her easily, still smiling that infuriatingly sexy smirk, and drops a modest kiss on the heel of her palm. She melts, her love bitten lips pouting dramatically. 

“Aemond, ñuha zaldrīzes, please.” He likes when she begs- she can see it in the way his jaw ticks, how his skin flushes, as if his body alights in her prayers to him. Aemond won’t acknowledge it, but somewhere deep in his chest, she’s already wormed her way in. He splits her in half, leaning over her until he can rest his palms by her shoulders, her legs still draped over each of his arms. 

He drags himself out, inch after inch, agonizingly slow before he lurches forward, making her pussy swallow his entire cock. He groans, finding himself burrowed in the valley of her breasts, letting his hips pummel her in an amorous hammering. 

“Scream for me, love.” 

She doesn’t need to be told twice- her lungs finding the air to blurt out,

“Aemond, fucking hell!”

Ysilla goes limp, her thighs butterflying open, giving him full reign to dictate her pleasure. She squirts, a wet spray soaking his abdomen that puddles beneath them. Her whole body heaves, appearing almost pained in euphoria. She’s a holy vision. 

Fuck, he’s losing his mind. “Do that again.” He demands. 

He cups the back of her neck, propping her up until they’re eye to eye. Ysilla’s are lidded, exhaustion heavy weights upon them, but she manages a tiny nod and curves herself upwards for his continued onslaught. 

Completely at his mercy, his to control, Aemond takes full advantage. Dragging her down by the back of her neck, he plunges himself brutally inside of her cunt over and over, again and again. She lies there and takes it like a good girl, witnessing her uncle destroy her in the name of desire until he grants her mercy, and he strokes her pearl with the sharp edge of his thumbnail and she blacks out.

He chokes, sparks shimmering in and out of his vision as she convulses around his cock. He pulls out of her, spurting striping streaks of white onto her belly. He cums so hard, it splashes over her tits and even pools in the hollow of her throat. 

Ysilla moans, coming to, rubbing her fingers over the soiled skin of her stomach, blending their releases together in a filthy film that coats her fingers. She pops one in her mouth, and relishes in the blossoming light brightening once more in Aemond’s lone eye.  

And just as quickly as their relief had come, the satisfaction fizzles out and ravenous blood boiling need takes root once more. 

They groan, barely taking time to catch their breath before they’re on each other again. Their mouths are sloppy, leaving trails of saliva down to their chins and along their throats. Ysilla finds a spot she likes over his pulse point and suckles, her left leg wound tight over his hip, rubbing herself off along the unyielding ridge of the bone. Aemond kneads her arse, an apology for his abuse, rolling the voluptuous flesh in his calloused grip all the while dipping his fingertips in and out of her weeping slit.

They tangle in each other’s webs, so caught up in salt and sin that they don’t realize they’re off the rugs and across the floor until the frigid chill rushes through them. 

It’s uncomfortable- their knees will be bruised by the morrow, scrapes along their backs will sting while in the bath, and a crick won’t leave Ysilla’s neck for half a moon. But the stone cools their overheated skin and together is where they still want to be, so all else falls to the wayside. 

Their mouths have drawn back to each other, Ysilla’s tongue dancing over his back teeth and the roof of his mouth, mapping a place she can only dream of revisiting after tonight. Aemond pulls away and Ysilla’s teeth in his bottom lip scold him for his interruption. He smirks, giving her a departing peck to soothe her sour mood. 

“I need to meet her properly, Princess.” He says with an uncharacteristic amount of mirth, leaning her back as he dips down to her lower body. 

Ysilla is bone-weary and dehydrated, but even she knows that doesn’t make any sense. She cocks her head in confusion, watching him as he settles on his front, his face so close to her center, the hot damp of his breath makes her quiver. 

“Who is her- oh! Oh, Seven Hells, Aemond, fucking please-”

Aemond eats her with a fervor she’s never known, a man starved before being offered the bounty between her legs. Shrill gasps and pitched moans are sounds she thought herself incapable of making, but they sing aloud, her walls stowing them in their stones. 

Her thighs are tight around his head, but the cushioned flesh does nothing to block out her calls of ecstasy. Music to his fucking ears, he slurps, undignified and ravenous, the parched dryness in his throat at last quenched as he swallows down Ysilla’s honey. No wine, no water could ever satisfy him like she does. 

She thrashes about on the unforgiving stone, her nails clawing at the ground so harshly that they chip. He’s sending her into madness, unrelenting in his licking even as she kicks at his sides. She’s too sensitive, it’s too much. 

And then, the realization that he is not only lapping up her arousal but his as well, zings up her spine and has her gushing all over his tongue. 

She can’t control herself anymore. Her worries have faded into nothingness as the night has gone on, as she had bounced on Aemond’s cock and came into his mouth and he into hers, and they’ve drank down one another’s spit and sweat and sex. She’s whimpering and whining, squeaky sounds with no words, only what her voice is capable of making. The pathetic, needy gasps draw Aemond’s attention immediately. He rises, hovering over her, pulling up her knees to frame his hips. He slides himself home, not being able to breathe until he bottoms out, fully planted inside of her. 

She whimpers louder as he faces her, the effects of the potion hitting their last peak. 

“Let me see you. Let me see you.” Ysilla begs, distraught that there’s still something keeping them apart. They should be bare- exposed and raw and free. They’ve already come this far- it’s all or nothing. 

Even with her few words, Aemond understands her completely. He doesn’t give himself time to think, time to let self-consciousness tear and twist him up as he rips off his eyepatch. 

Ysilla sees him- truly sees him- his scar, the jagged split of his brow, the brilliant blue sapphire twinkling a wink at her as it glitters in the low light.  

“You’re so handsome.” And then she cries- big, fat, bulbous tears that spill from the corner of her eyes and streak over her cheeks. 

Aemond wants to comfort her, shush her and stroke her hair. Do all the things he should do with a lover that’s not only a lover, but his kin as well. A sweet girl he remembers always drawing for him on his nameday, sketching pictures of fearsome dragons. And as the years dragged on, they continued to evolve, growing fiercer and more detailed and she would always say the same thing when she gifted it to him: “this year, Uncle, this year you’ll find your match, I know it.” And here he is now, the Queen of the Skies his dragon, as if Ysilla herself had manifested it to life. 

But that was so long ago now that it seems a different lifetime, and Aemond realizes he doesn’t really know his niece. He doesn’t know what she likes and what she doesn’t, and that worries him more than he’s comfortable with. 

“Can’t... take… much… more.” She gulps down a breath after each word. Aemond’s thrusts push so deeply into her guts, that there now seems to be no room for her lungs. He hums, the vibration tickling where they’re pressed chest-to-chest. 

“Yes you can, jorrāelagon. You’ve done so well, taken everything I’ve given you. You’ve made me so proud, sweet girl.” He may not know how to soothe her, but Aemond has a knack for telling someone just what they need to hear. Only with Ysilla, he speaks no falsehoods. He whispers his admiration in her ear, keeping her close by a hand cupping her jaw, forcing her to listen to all of his praises, all the while snaking his hand down between them to pinch at her pearl. 

Small hiccuping gasps couple with her agonized moans; the pride, the pleasure, the pain, all of it an elixir he drinks down his throat as she connects their lips once more, a soft tremble in hers that he soothes with his tongue. They cum together, less intense than their lasts, but still just as satisfying. Aemond spills inside of her, her silken walls milking him for every drop in his fucked out cock. He moans, long and loud into her neck and she peppers his cheek with kisses, her breathing heavy. He collapses, further down on her body so he doesn’t constrict her chest. 

The evening tempo of her breathing beneath his cheek has Aemond focusing on his own, and the two spent lovers take a much needed break to collect themselves. 

Tremors still shake her thighs, the creamy fawn flesh jumping from overstimulation. Aemond presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, a sweet assurance of relief hopefully not far behind their releases. She pets his hair, no energy left to even raise her head. He rises back up to look upon her face, wiping away a stray tear from her lash. She nuzzles into his hand and it all finally feels like enough. 

Until it isn’t. Until the lust fills them up once more, water in a pail, and it overflows and sloshes thickly in their bellies until they’re sick with it. 

Ysilla sobs brokenly, exhausted and at her wits end. Aemond shudders for breath, the pain in his stones throbbing incessantly for relief. They’ll lose their minds if they keep going- chasing an endgame that is unattainable. 

Aemond digs deep, attempting to collect himself and become the man Ysilla needs him to be. He tucks her legs around his hips, crossing her ankles behind him, and rises up to his feet with her draped around him. 

He carries them both on shaky legs, drifting along the wall for support until he rounds the corner to her privy. The golden casted tub is filled halfway with what was once steaming, boiled water but has now grown cool. He swings a leg over the edge, trying not to collapse, Ysilla still wrapped around him like a second skin and settles them both into the pool.

The Princess crumbles, falling to pieces as they’re engulfed by the water. Her heartbeat still thrums from between her legs, her nipples scraping at Aemond’s chest for attention, as if he had not lauded them with his tongue until they were bruised and sore. The undying urge to mate is at her throat, its teeth gnashing at her veins and claws piercing her hips, ushering her to fucklicksuckfuck again and again and again until her brain would be lost to the lust. 

But her body is done- every muscle expended, every limb weighted, every bone crushed to nothing but dust. All she can manage to do is whimper softly from where she’s pressed into her lover’s chest. 

Aemond cups her face, raising her up so that he can look upon her. She’s a sculpture of desire: lips puffy and rubbed red, cheeks flushed, eyes teared and heavy. He did this to her. 

“One more, love. One more and then we’ll stop.” He promises, the need too heavy in his cock, thickening his member until it lies straight up against her stomach. 

She nods stiffly, spreading her thighs until they mirror his hips. He taps the head of himself at her entrance, a gentleman waiting for the lady to make the first move. He doesn’t have to wait long, Ysilla pushing forward and taking his cock in full until their bellies rest flat against each other. She’s as tight as the first time, and the stretch is not lost on her either, her groan equal parts pained and pleased. 

Aemond’s hands are worshiping as he trails down the elegant column of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, the bloom of her breast, until he finds the small of her back and hugs her tight. They just dance, slow and steady, rolling their hips together, the water shifting with their union. They rest their foreheads against one another, eyes closed and noses brushing.

Aemond isn’t sure who leans in first- he thinks it may have been him but Ysilla will say the opposite. Their mouths slot together, innocent and vestal and it’s so much less eager than the times before, but it makes it all the more intimate. He moans weakly and she coos, her hands coming to cradle his face, the breaths they share one in the same. Somehow, it’s as if this exposes them more to each other than being joined so sensuously. A simple press of their lips, doing more for them than a thousand slippery tongues or nimble fingers. 

A gentle wash of pleasure, one that raises goosebumps along their arms and makes their breaths hitch is all that they get and then suddenly, finally, the call for gratification quiets and all prince and princess are left with is the drip of water off the edge of the tub. Ysilla sighs heavily, sounding every bit thankful and spent. Aemond takes a breath that feels like his first, and he sags against the resistance at his back. 

Everything is still, weariness seeping into them like ink to parchment. Aemond thinks he could doze off right here, Ysilla a comforting weight atop of him, his manhood still nestled in her center. 

Her palm is gentle on his cheek, her thumb rubbing back and forth in a tender sweep that stirs his eyelid to open. She’s beautiful, even in her enervation and he lets himself savor this moment. The world has paused for them, and it will not go on unless they will it to. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She whispers, afraid to shatter the silence. A final brush of her thumb over his bottom lip, softer than a feather, is her parting gift. She unseats herself from him, and even if she’s the one who wants to leave, her cunt does not agree. Her walls grasp at every ridge and vein of his prick, a caress goodbye until at last they part. Ysilla floats backwards, away from him, and the fact that he has an urge to catch her wrist and pull her back until she’s closer than skin terrifies him. 

She curls into a ball at the other side of the tub, an ocean away, and brings her knees to tuck under her chin. She stares at him unflinchingly and he stares back, tiredness glazing over them both. 

Aemond sighs deeply. One of them has to be the first to depart and since his quarters are on the other side of the castle, he begrudges that it is him who will have to make an exit. 

“I should go.”

Ysilla’s face is serene, every drop of willpower left in her battling the urge to slip beneath the water and fade away. She nods, a wooden lift and fall of her head.

“I think that’s best… I’m sure the whole castle knows what we’ve been up to.” 

Why her response stings, he won’t let himself dwell over. Nothing’s changed (everything has changed), they will soon return to their routines and carry on with their lives (neither one of them will be able to think of anything else but each other for the better part of a year). He rises from the water, stepping out and over the tub, reaching for a linen to at least try and make himself decent. 

It is she who catches his wrist in reality, her thin fingers looping over the bones until she surrounds him like shackles. 

“But… maybe…” Her eyes traverse their way down his body, revisiting the spots she had tasted, had bitten, had sucked. Her tongue snakes out, wetting her swollen flesh and he has to think of the night he lost his eye, the stench of manure, anything to keep the blood from rushing to his spent cock. 

“Gods, Aemond, what’s one more bad decision tonight?” She’s not looking for an answer, not out loud, looking deep into his eye instead. Searching for an understanding she’s not sure is there. 

“Stay? With me?” Even after all the carnal ways they’ve explored each other, it’s those three pleading words that send Ysilla’s heart galloping in her chest as she voices them. 

He stares at her, unanswering and still, and dread creeps up her neck in a cold chill. 

“Your chamber is a mess. We both need to eat and drink something other than wine. Not to mention sleep.” Aemond states stonily. Ysilla swallows passed the knot in her throat, sinking deeper into the water. Her fingers release him and she drifts away, in both body and mind. 

Aemond catches her fingers, and he threads his through hers like they’re meant to be there. He rubs small, soothing circles about her knuckles, and he brings them to his mouth on pure instinct, and presses a chaste kiss to the bones. 

“So I best bring you to my room then, to make sure all of that happens, no?” 

Aemond smiles first before Ysilla returns it widely. Hers is the sun appearing from behind a cloud, warmth bathing him, and welcoming him home. 

.

.

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qrugh . shit

Qybor, kostilus . Uncle, please

Nākostōbā taoba . Weak boy

(I want this!) Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao! . This, this, this, fuck, I do I do. I want you, Gods, I want you!

Sȳz riña . Good girl

ñuha pretty līve . my pretty whore 

ñuha zaldrīzes . my dragon

Jorrāelagon . love