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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Mage x Menace || Jade Leech

You, a struggling mage-in-training, tried to summon a majestic beast to escape your cursed fate in the botany stream.

Instead, you got Jade Leech—chaos incarnate, collector of mysterious jars, and disturbingly enthusiastic about plants.

He now lives in your dorm, calls you "Master" with a straight face and might be seducing you via herbal tea.

this is a present for @hyperfixating-rn <3 I'm very late but happy belated birthday!!

You were going to be a great mage. A legendary one. The kind they wrote poems about—long, rhyming ones with unnecessarily dramatic metaphors. You had dreams. Ambitions. A Pinterest board titled "Epic Wizard Core." You practiced basic spells in your room, blew up your mirror once, and were 96% sure your magical aura was purple (which is obviously the most powerful one, everyone knows that).

So imagine your surprise when your entrance exam results came back and you were… sorted into the Botany stream.

Botany.

As in, plants.

As in, dirt and roots and sunlight and “communing with nature.”

You had never communed with nature. You had once tried to grow a cactus—the most resilient plant known to humankind—and it had withered in protest within a week. You had named that cactus Spiky. Its death was a tragedy. A murder, some said. By you.

So naturally, you stood there on orientation day, holding your shiny new textbook titled “Green is the Heart’s Color: Love and Magic in Leaves”, with the same vibe as someone who had been given a live grenade and told to hug it.

Your fellow classmates looked excited. Eager. Too green, in more ways than one. You watched one of them gently cradle a sproutling like it was a newborn. Another was crying over the “beautiful potential” of transpiration. Meanwhile, you were googling "can you accidentally poison poison ivy."

And then, of course, came your professor. You don’t remember much from the orientation speech because you were too busy having a silent breakdown about the phrase "the gentle whisper of chlorophyll." But you do remember one very important thing:

You’re in so much trouble.

You raised your hand at one point to ask if you were allowed to… switch majors. The professor smiled.

A warm, benevolent, lethal smile.

“Oh, dear. The plants have chosen you.”

What does that even mean???

You don’t know. But the tiny seedling on your desk keeps wiggling like it’s happy to see you. You don’t trust it. You name it Vermin and pray it doesn’t unionize with the moss on your windowsill.

You are a mage in training. A powerful wizard in the making.

And now you are at war… with horticulture.

After a week of trying to bond with leaves like they were long-lost family and nearly getting strangled by a particularly enthusiastic vine, you decided you’d had enough.

You needed a way out.

Not in the dramatic “storm out of class, set fire to the greenhouse, and flee into the mountains” way. (Though it was on the table.)

You needed a loophole. An escape clause. A forbidden back door in the curriculum forged in ancient times by other students who had also accidentally murdered cacti.

So you did what any desperate, dignity-depleted mage-in-training would do.

You found a senior.

Now, seniors in mage school are like cryptids. Powerful. Elusive. Sleep-deprived. And terrifying in the way only people who’ve once accidentally turned themselves into a plant can be. Your chosen senior was sitting under a tree, drinking coffee from a mug that said “I survived Magical Ecology II and all I got was this mug and lifelong trauma.”

You approached, clinging to your textbook like it was a lifeline. “Hi. I’m—uh. I’m not vibing with the flora.”

They looked up, eyes dark with knowledge and probably caffeine. “Botany stream?”

“Against my will.”

A pause. A long, sympathetic sip. Then: “You have two options.”

Your heart fluttered. Hope! Salvation! Maybe—

“One: Fail everything, get held back a year, reapply next cycle. Pray the plants forget your face.”

“I can’t afford that. Option two?”

“Summon a familiar so powerful, the faculty has to bump you into a combat-heavy stream for your own safety. And theirs.”

You blinked. “Like. A dragon?”

The senior shrugged. “Sure. Or a demon. Or a vengeful raccoon. Anything above ‘mildly homicidal housecat’ works.”

“And then they’ll just… change my stream?”

“If your familiar is terrifying enough, yes. Preferably something with fire. Fire fixes everything. Except greenhouses.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the stirrings of a Plan™. A terrible, beautiful, questionable plan.

"How hard is it to summon a familiar?" you asked.

They smiled, and it was not comforting.

“Not hard. Doing it without summoning something that wants to eat you is the tricky part.”

You thanked them and walked off into the distance, muttering under your breath and already flipping through your grimoires.

You were going to get out of this stream or die trying.

Hopefully neither.

But if a hellbeast had to be involved, well…

You were prepared to negotiate.

You had one job.

Just one.

Summon a powerful familiar. Save your future career path. Escape the dreaded Botany Stream before you're eaten alive by carnivorous radishes with anger issues and questionable ethics.

You’d studied forbidden texts. You’d drawn your summoning circle to perfect mathematical proportions using a protractor, three compasses, and something called “Manifestation Oil” you bought off a sketchy alchemy influencer.

You even lit candles by hand like a peasant. That’s how serious this was.

You had one last step: focus your intent. Picture what you wanted. Channel all your magic and will into the ritual. A dragon, perhaps. A fearsome spirit. A beast of legend. Maybe even a war general.

Instead, the unagi you were saving for dinner—your actual, literal eel—slid off the table mid-chant and splat landed right in the center of the summoning circle.

The summoning circle hissed.

You had precisely one second to scream “NO, YOU STUPID SLIPPERY FISH—” before the circle detonated.

There was light. Screaming wind. Something smelled vaguely of seaweed and crime.

When your retinas finally stopped sizzling and your ears recovered from their astral slapping, you looked up.

And there he was.

A tall, elegant man standing in the still-smoking circle, dusting off his sleeves like he hadn’t just been yanked across the realms by an overcooked eel. His teal hair shimmered like deep water. Heterochromatic eyes. He looked like a minor sea god and a professional tax evader all rolled into one.

He tilted his head. Smiled. “That was… dramatic.”

You stared. Still holding the empty microwave-safe eel tray like a sacrificial relic.

“I was trying to summon a dragon,” you croaked.

“Ah,” he said, eyeing the smear of soy sauce in the center of the runes. “Then why the seafood?”

You didn’t have an answer. Mostly because you were too busy silently screaming.

“I suppose I’m what happens when your spell gets rerouted mid-delivery,” he continued, delight practically oozing off him. “Fascinating. I'm Jade. Jade Leech.”

You, a mage of great ambition and even greater regret, took a deep breath and said the only thing that made sense.

“…Are you allergic to plants?”

Jade Leech, freshly yanked from the dark, swirling depths of somewhere much cooler than here, watched with the amused detachment of a man who had just witnessed his summoner go through all five stages of grief in under forty seconds.

You cursed the gods.

You cursed the stars.

You cursed your entrance exam, your cactus, your birth, and at one point—yourself in third person.

He said nothing. Simply folded his hands behind his back and watched with the kind of serene interest normally reserved for people observing an exotic animal fling itself against glass.

Eventually, once your vocal cords began to shred from impassioned screaming (and possibly mild sobbing), you whirled toward him, red-eyed and wild-haired, and gestured at him in disbelief.

“Are you—” you wheezed, dragging a sleeve across your face, “perchance a dragon?”

He blinked slowly. His smile widened.

“Perchance?”

“I don’t know!” you shouted. “You’re tall! You appeared in a bunch of smoke! Your hair defies gravity! That could be dragon behavior!”

“Hm.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And if I say yes?”

You squinted. “...Do you breathe fire?”

“I’m more of a ‘poison your tea and watch what happens’ sort of creature,” he replied, pleasantly.

You screamed again—this time in cosmic betrayal—and stomped your foot so hard the candles trembled.

He made a note of this. You had good stomping technique.

“Well then what are you?!” you demanded.

He shrugged, like this wasn’t a magical emergency and more of a casual day.

“A Moray Eel, technically.”

You stared at him. Then at the summoning circle. Then at the empty microwave eel tray still on the floor. Then back at him.

“Oh my gods,” you whispered in horror. “The unagi redirected the target circle. I was summoning a power dragon and the ritual downgraded to ‘long sea worm.’”

He chuckled. “How dare you.”

“I wanted to cheat the system,” you whispered, falling to your knees like a tragic protagonist. “And the gods sent me seafood.”

“I’m standing right here, you know.”

You threw yourself to the ground and started sobbing into the floor.

Jade’s smile grew wider. He might stay. This was already more entertaining than anything back home.

And honestly, watching you spiral was kind of charming.

Jade made tea.

You weren’t entirely sure how or when. One moment, you were crumpled on the floor, dramatically mourning your dreams of becoming a cool elemental mage with a dragon familiar. The next, he was handing you a dainty teacup on a saucer you definitely didn’t own.

There was a slice of lemon in it. The mug was warm. You were terrified.

“…Did you summon this tea set too?” you asked, eyeing the porcelain like it was going to explode.

“No,” he said pleasantly. “It was in your cupboard.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He smiled wider. “Was it not?”

You stared at him. He stared back, sipping his tea with the calm of someone who knew exactly where every spoon in your home was and wouldn’t hesitate to replace them with slightly longer spoons just to gaslight you.

You took a sip of the tea to assert dominance. It was delicious. You hated that it was delicious.

He watched you, unblinking. “So. Why the desperate summoning?”

You groaned, slouching like the tea had robbed you of whatever spine you had left. “I got sorted into the botany stream.”

There was a silence. You sipped your tea again to drown in the shame.

Then his eyes sparkled.

You felt it. Like a shift in the atmosphere. Like the moment before a lightning strike. Like the second someone said, “Trust me,” and you woke up four hours later in a tree, covered in glitter and mild regret.

“Oh,” he said, delighted. “Botany.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Don’t do that. Don’t say it like that.”

“Fascinating field, truly.”

“Nope. You’re not going to help me switch out, are you?”

He leaned forward, chin in his hand, elbow balanced too gracefully for someone who had appeared out of eel magic and poor life choices. “Why would I do that? I think you’ll thrive.”

“You don’t understand,” you said, pleading now. “I killed a cactus.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” he said. “And I'm going to help you fulfill your potential.”

You froze. “…You mean, like, help me survive until I transfer?”

“No,” he said.

You dropped your cup. He caught it without looking. You wanted to scream.

The only thing worse than being a botany student… was being a botany student with a chaos eel who found fungi romantically intriguing as your familiar.

You were so doomed.

Unfortunately for everyone involved—and by everyone, specifically you—magic law was a clingy little thing. Once the summoning circle did its sparkly flashbang thing and delivered you one (1) butler-themed eel man, the universe basically clapped its hands, said “it is what it is,” and slapped a contract in your face.

Minimum term of servitude: one year.

“But I didn’t mean to summon him,” you argued to literally no one who cared. “There was fish involved! It was a mishap, not a magical invocation!”

Jade, very unhelpfully sipping tea that you definitely hadn’t bought, slid the scroll across the table toward you like a cheerful IRS agent. “Intent is only one part of the ritual,” he said with the infinite patience of someone who enjoyed watching trainwrecks in slow motion. “The contract is already half-formed. You really should sign it before your house explodes.”

You stared at the scroll.

Then at him.

Then at the scroll again.

“Do I at least get a trial period?” you tried.

“No,” he said, smiling.

“A free return policy?”

“No.”

“Is there, like, an eel clause I can exploit?”

He chuckled. You were going to die in this major.

With the kind of reluctant grace that only someone who’d just accidentally legally bound themselves to a smug sea-creature man could muster, you signed.

The moment the pen left the paper, the air shifted with a cozy little pop, as if magic itself was tucking you both in and whispering “congratulations on your joint custody of chaos.” A faint glow danced around Jade’s shoulders. Your window exploded.

(You’d ask questions about that later.)

“There we are,” Jade said, clasping his hands. “Familiar and mage, officially contracted. Shall I begin compiling a weekly schedule for our fieldwork?”

“Field—oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he beamed. “We’ll be revisiting the entire kingdom flora catalogue, starting with mosses.”

You suddenly understood the reason why some mages went mad.

And unfortunately, you’d just handed yours the clipboard.

The next morning, you dragged yourself to class like a condemned soul to the gallows, weighed down by a sense of impending doom and also by the deeply unsettling realization that your familiar had organized your bookshelf by spore reproduction categories sometime during the night.

Everyone else looked so normal. There was someone with a fire spirit coiled lazily around their shoulders, someone else with a giant spectral wolf that radiated unbothered energy, and even one smug jerk with a miniature dragon who was definitely using it to cheat on practical tests.

And then there was you.

With him.

Jade stood a respectful half-step behind you, dressed like a mildly menacing butler who might also commit tax fraud if given the opportunity. He carried your books. He bowed to your professor. He smiled at your classmates.

You didn’t trust that smile. That was the smile of a man who had definitely poisoned a royal court and got away with it by turning the queen into a toadstool.

Someone asked what type of spirit you’d summoned.

You opened your mouth to lie.

Jade answered for you. “They were aiming for a dragon,” he said, serene as ever. “But an eel will have to do.”

The entire class stared at you. You stared into the void.

“It was the unagi,” you muttered, already defeated.

No one knew what that meant, but it sounded stupid, so they all laughed.

Jade patted your back like a supportive guardian. You were ninety percent sure it was to check your spine for eventual harvesting.

Gods help you. It was only the first period.

The Academy was in shambles.

Centuries of magical history. Thousands of successfully summoned fire spirits, storm wolves, mildly angry raccoons. And you—a botany major with a dead cactus on your record—had gone and summoned a person.

Not a ghost.

Not an illusion.

Not even a creepy guy pretending to be summonable.

No. A fully functional person.

“Technically,” the Dean said, staring at the magical contract hovering over your heads, “you… own him now.”

You almost threw up on the ornate rug.

Jade Leech, the man in question, just smiled—sharp, calm, entirely too pleased.

“This is so cursed,” you whispered.

“Oh no,” he replied sweetly. “This is fate.”

And that was only the beginning of your descent into contractual hell.

Because Jade? Oh, he thrived under magical servitude. Took to it like a duck to water. Like an eel to crime.

He started calling you Master.

In public. Loudly. With emphasis.

“Good morning, Master,” he purred on the way to breakfast, gliding past stunned first-years who immediately assumed you were either very powerful or very into some stuff they weren’t ready to Google.

“Jade. Stop.”

“As you command, Master.”

You tried reasoning with him. You begged. You threatened to cry in front of the Headmistress.

Didn’t matter.

In fact, the more embarrassed you got, the worse it became.

“Master, shall I carry your books?”

“No.”

“Your lunch?”

“No.”

“Your emotional baggage?”

“Jade—”

“Ah, but you summoned me, Master. Now we’re bonded.”

You looked around, desperate for help, but every professor just kind of shrugged. Magical contracts were sacred. Breakable only through death, divine intervention, or, apparently, a system of interpretive dances before the moon goddess during a blood eclipse. None of which were happening before finals.

So now this was your life.

You were the “owner” of a smug eel man in a waistcoat who made you do your homework, made better tea than your own grandmother, and insisted on calling you Master while looking like a very polite threat.

You used to be a normal student with no future in botany.

You should've just failed your exams like a normal student.

Jade settled into your dorm room like he’d been planning it for years. Which was frankly insane, considering you’d only accidentally summoned him a day ago.

You woke up the morning after signing the magically binding familiar contract to find your room… different. Not horrifyingly so, just enough to make your eye twitch. Your desk had moved three inches to the left. Your bookshelf now had labels. Your cactus—previously deceased—was somehow thriving in a suspiciously fancy ceramic pot.

And then there were the jars. Oh gods, the jars. They lined the shelves now in neat, alphabetized rows. Some were normal—“Chamomile,” “Sea Salt,” “Lavender Sprigs.” Others were less so. “Tooth Collection (Domestic)” sat right next to “Rainwater (For Legal Use Only).” You wanted to ask, but Jade had a look in his eye that said whatever answer you get, you won’t like it.

He also brewed tea every morning. Not the relaxing kind. The existential crisis in a cup kind. You drank one (1) polite sip and suddenly understood what “the color eleven” looked like. Your body remained seated but your soul went on a brief vacation.

You had no idea how, but you were scoring higher in Botany. You still couldn’t identify a single plant, but Jade kept slipping you notes mid-lab with things like “This one bites. Do not sniff.” or “Lick at your own risk.”

So yes, your GPA was rising. Unfortunately, so was your blood pressure. And your heart rate. And your sense that you were, somehow, very much in danger.

Jade simply smiled every time you panicked. “You’re thriving, Master,” he’d say, and sip his tea like he wasn’t actively reorganizing your entire life.

You were not thriving. You were surviving. Barely.

The assignment was simple on paper: identify twenty local plants, label their genus, and list their magical and medicinal properties.

Which was all fine and dandy if you weren’t a person who had accidentally killed a cactus by underwatering it because you “didn’t want to overwhelm it.”

You’d gotten through most of your academic career via a potent combination of vibes, frantic late-night study sessions, and an almost supernatural level of spite. But this—this was science. With labels. And botanical terminology. And leaves that all looked the same.

So, you did what any sane, desperate mage-in-training with poor decision-making skills and a total lack of botanical knowledge would do.

You brewed a bathtub-sized cauldron of universal poison antidote and decided you’d taste-test each plant to figure out which one was lethal and, by process of elimination, identify the rest.

Jade found you leaning over the cauldron, mumbling something about statistical mortality rates and chewing on a leaf like a feral squirrel trying to beat natural selection.

“I thought you were joking,” he said, in that same unsettlingly pleasant tone he always used when you were actively concerning him.

“I wasn’t!” you declared. “This is science, Jade. And survival. I’ve made enough antidote to survive an assassination attempt—”

“You made it in your bathtub.”

“—and I’m going to lick nature into submission.”

Jade sat you down at the table, folded his hands neatly, and asked you—politely but with the weight of an ancient curse behind it—to repeat your plan.

You did.

He stared at you.

You shifted in your seat.

He continued to stare, like a disappointed headmaster.

“...Okay fine,” you finally muttered. “It is a bad plan.”

“Thank you,” he said calmly. “Would you like to identify your plants using logic, reference books, and assistance from your familiar, or would you prefer a slow and humiliating descent into gastrointestinal regret?”

“I mean, when you say it like that—”

“Wonderful. I’ll prepare the tea.”

You hated how soothing (mostly) his tea was.

You found out purely by accident.

Your friend sat down at lunch with a heavy sigh and a tear-streaked face, muttering something about how their fox familiar had gone limp and glassy-eyed after being ignored for two days straight in favor of midterms. Apparently, he needed “emotional engagement” and “frequent pets.”

You had not known this. You had not known any of this.

You returned to your dorm in a panic.

Jade, as always, was seated like an eerie portrait come to life, sipping tea and reading a book that looked suspiciously bound in scales. He raised one eyebrow as you burst through the door carrying three different types of fruits and a hand-sewn blanket you’d made in Home Ec two years ago.

“I heard that familiars need enrichment,” you blurted. “Do you—are you enriched? Are you feeling under-enriched? What’s your favorite snack enrichment type? Is it eels? Oh no wait, is that cannibalism? I don’t know your rules!”

Jade blinked slowly. “You believe I am in poor health?”

“I don’t know!” you wailed, thrusting the blanket at him. “I don’t know the maintenance routine for familiars! You could be dying from sadness and I wouldn’t know!”

He looked down at the blanket. It had uneven edges and a sewn-on mushroom that looked like it had witnessed terrible things. Slowly, he took it. Draped it over his lap. Sipped his tea again.

“You are a very considerate Master,” he said with a pleased little smile that absolutely shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d just earned an A+ in Familiar Wellness. “I feel much better already.”

You weren’t sure if he was messing with you or not. But then he let you tuck the blanket around his shoulders like a shawl, and even let you hand-feed him a strawberry.

You decided you didn’t care if he was messing with you. His ears were flushed. That was a win.

You needed Nightshade. Not the safe kind either—the real, reactive stuff that tended to hiss if the humidity wasn’t just right and once exploded in someone's bag for being stared at wrong.

Unfortunately, your professors had firmly, repeatedly, and increasingly frantically refused to let you anywhere near it. Something about “prior incidents,” “a trail of fire ants through the dorm hallway,” and “we are begging you to stop licking mystery leaves.”

But you had an experiment to finish, and a lack of official approval had never stopped a single mage in history. Which was how you found yourself sneaking into the restricted greenhouse under cover of darkness, with your overly smug eel-familiar following like he was on a stroll and not a felonious B&E.

“This is clearly illegal,” Jade said cheerfully, as he helped you pick the lock.

“You’re a summoned being. Laws don’t apply to you,” you muttered, shoving the door open.

“That’s speciesist,” he said mildly, and you ignored him on purpose.

The two of you tiptoed through rows of glowing plants, whisper-bickering the whole way.

“Don’t touch that. It screams.”

“You scream.”

“Yes, and I have a great voice.”

He huffed a laugh. You tried not to grin. You failed.

Honestly, it would’ve been a perfectly stupid and smooth heist—until the Shrike Vine noticed you. Apparently it was pollination season and it was feeling bitey. You froze as a thick green tendril snapped toward you like a whip.

Except it never hit.

Jade moved faster than you thought was possible. One hand caught the vine mid-strike, the other calmly flicked a tiny blade across it like he was trimming hedges instead of saving your life.

And then, because he was a menace, he leaned in close—just enough for you to catch the sharp gleam in his mismatched eyes—and murmured:

“I’m very good at protecting what’s mine.”

You were not about to combust in a greenhouse. You were not. Absolutely not.

Still. Your face was hot. You blamed the bioluminescent plants.

“Wh—That’s not—you can’t just say things like that,” you hissed.

He tilted his head, looking unbothered and devastatingly pleased. “Why not?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Pointed at the vine. “Is that one safe to lick?”

“Absolutely not.”

“…Cool, cool, just checking.”

The incident itself wasn’t even your fault this time, which was frankly insulting, considering you usually caused at least 70% of the department's arcane emergencies.

No, this time it was Jeremy from Spell Calculus who accidentally overcharged a fire enhancement glyph and sent a wayward jet of magic careening through the lab like a feral gremlin. It ping-ponged off three protective wards, vaporized a desk plant, and promptly singed your familiar.

Specifically: Jade’s sleeve caught a little fire. For exactly three seconds.

The sleeve was barely charred. His skin wasn’t even red. He smirked.

You, however, reacted like you’d just watched him be stabbed in the heart by a divine lance.

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE BURNING—ARE YOU OKAY?! Is it fatal? It’s fatal, isn’t it?! What’s the protocol for familiar injury?! Do you need a resurrection spell?? Should I call the nurse or the exorcist—?!”

Jade, blinked once. Then calmly patted the faintest whiff of smoke from his robe and said, “I believe I’ll live.”

But the glint in his eyes said he smelled weakness. And he would absolutely exploit it.

The next morning, you showed up with a full care basket: enchanted cooling balm, a wonky scarf you’d panic-crocheted in the night, a potion for nerve regeneration (completely unnecessary), and a whole assortment of healing snacks from the infirmary vending machine.

You even hand-fed him a soothing honey drop.

That was your next mistake.

Because the very next day, Jade reclined across your bed like a drama major rehearsing for a role in “The Dying Swan: A Magical Tragedy.” He had a lukewarm towel across his forehead, your blanket wrapped dramatically around his shoulders like a cape, and a very deliberate look of fragile suffering.

“Alas,” he whispered, placing the back of his hand to his (completely fine) forehead, “I fear the lingering effects of the trauma are… worsening. There’s a tightness in my chest. I may never wield a kettle again. My tea senses are dulled.”

You squinted at him, deadpan. “You brewed two pots this morning.”

“For you, dearest Master,” he said, with an exaggerated wince. “But at what cost?”

You refused to indulge him. For about ten minutes.

Then he started coughing. Badly. Into a silk handkerchief. That you were pretty sure he’d dabbed with food coloring beforehand to resemble blood.

“Do you think you can bring… strawberry lollipops?” he asked, voice trembling. “Before I pass on to the next world.”

You shoved five into his mouth. “You’re not dying. But you are insufferable.”

He sucked dramatically on the sweets, sighing. “I find this treatment emotionally compromising.”

You fed him another one.

And started plotting your revenge with a very bitter herbal “recovery” tea. It smelled like wet moss and tasted like betrayal.

He drank it all. Smiled. Said it “added intrigue to the healing experience.”

You were no longer sure who was winning this war. But you were definitely losing your mind.

It started subtly. Jade would casually set a teacup in front of you in the mornings, unprompted. You’d ignore it. He’d raise an eyebrow. You’d argue that caffeine was a food group and you didn’t need anything else, thank you very much.

He’d say something cryptic like “I’d rather not have to explain malnutrition-related hallucinations to the administration,” and then slide you a plate of suspiciously elegant finger sandwiches.

Somehow, you’d end up eating them.

A week later, you found yourself sitting down for actual breakfast—tea, toast, even fruit—without remembering how it happened. He’d simply adjusted your routine. Quietly. Steadily. Like a moss infestation with an agenda.

He began packing you lunch. Bento-style. With little hand-drawn labels.

You didn’t even know when he started doing it. You just opened your bag one day, reached for your emergency gummy stash, and pulled out a thermos of miso soup and a side of rice balls shaped like sea creatures.

He started accompanying you to the dining hall under the excuse of "needing seaweed access." He monitored your meals. Commented on vitamin intake. Replaced your sugar gummies with dried fruit. Told you that if he caught you drinking energy drinks for dinner again, he’d report you to botanical safety for trying to poison a living plant (Vermin had still not recovered from the one time you tried to share a Monster with it).

Eventually, your friend—sweet, concerned, possibly one skipped breakfast away from passing out—cornered you between lectures.

"Hey," she said, tugging your sleeve with wide eyes. “I need to ask you something and I don’t want you to freak out.”

You, holding a bento box labeled ‘Don’t Forget to Finish Your Spinach, Master’ with a small smiling mushroom drawn on it, tilted your head. “Okay?”

She glanced around, lowered her voice, and whispered, “Who’s the familiar here?”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

In the distance, Jade waved at you politely while handing a professor a jar of suspicious glowing jam.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Thought about how he’d reorganized your pantry by nutritional pyramid. Thought about how your life had improved and yet somehow spiraled out of your control in the exact same breath.

“I… don’t know anymore,” you whispered back.

And that was the beginning of your existential crisis about power dynamics, dietary fiber, and eel-based emotional manipulation.

The more you thought about it, the more the terrible, horrifying truth settled in: Jade had been slowly taming you.

Not in a leash-and-collar kind of way (though you weren’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t enjoy that visual), but in the slow, methodical way one might tame a particularly wild housecat. One that hissed at vegetables and believed microwaved instant noodles were the pinnacle of culinary achievement.

When you’d first summoned him—on accident, via unagi-induced chaos and a summoning circle that was technically illegal in five countries—you’d been expecting a fae general. A terrifying beast of war. A dragon, maybe.

What you got was a polite, well-dressed man with a smile that could curdle milk and the calm demeanor of someone who’d enjoy watching your academic career spontaneously combust.

You were sure he would spend his time reclining in your dorm like some cryptid, sipping tea while you panicked over assignments and singlehandedly ruined your chances at survival in botany.

That had been your first impression.

But it wasn’t what happened.

Instead, Jade made it his mission to ruin you in the most terrifying way imaginable: through care.

He made sure you ate. He brewed tea tailored to your stress levels. He reorganized your notebooks by topic and color-coded them while claiming he was “bored.” He calmly extracted you from five different poison ivy incidents. He taught you how to pronounce “photosynthesis” correctly after you spent an entire presentation calling it “plant vibes.”

And you hated to admit it—but it worked.

You stopped waking up in a panic. You stopped considering glitter glue a legitimate potion ingredient. You even passed a midterm without attempting to bribe a forest fairy.

It was subtle. Devious. Soft.

And worst of all, it was making you feel warm. Cared for. Grounded.

You used to dream of summoning a dragon—a grand, legendary familiar that would impress the entire academy and maybe light your homework on fire for dramatic effect. But now?

Now you watched Jade hum to himself in your kitchen, cooking something that smelled like lemon and dreams, and you didn’t care about dragons. Or status. Or changing streams.

You just wanted to figure out if there was a spell that could describe the exact way your heart skipped when he smiled at you and called you “Master” with that infuriating glint in his eye.

And if not… well. Maybe you’d make one.

From Jade’s point of view, your summoning had all the signs of an impending disaster—and thus, a highly enjoyable evening.

The circle was sloppy, the candles were the wrong color, and the ambient magical pressure was off by several kilopascals. The unagi that had plummeted into the center as a last-minute offering had been particularly concerning. Jade had arrived in a flash of light and fish-scented smoke, bracing for either mortal peril or at least a good laugh.

And then he saw you.

Wide-eyed. Covered in ink. Mumbling about “hoping for a dragon or something.” The perfect storm of magical desperation and zero planning skills. He had thought you’d be amusing. A novelty. A fun little side project to pass the time while bound by contract for a year.

And at first, that was exactly what you were. You were so spectacularly bad at botany that Jade was convinced you were a social experiment.

You called mushrooms “leaf meat.” You once referred to an entire genus of plants as “the crunchy ones.” And your plan to identify herbs by tasting them like a medieval poison tester had nearly given him a stroke. (Emotionally. He’s far too composed for physical symptoms.)

But somewhere between force-feeding you actual meals and dragging you out of exploding greenhouses, Jade started feeling… something. Not just amusement. Not just secondhand horror.

Affection.

It was awful.

So naturally, he did what any emotionally stunted eel-man would do—he ramped up the teasing. Called you “Master” in public. Smiled just a little too sharply. Hovered with a quiet attentiveness he pretended wasn’t genuine.

But when he thought back to that summoning—your hopeful eyes, the half-charred fish, the complete magical disaster—Jade realized something horrifying.

He owed his current happiness to a piece of grilled eel.

The next time he saw unagi on a menu, he gave it a respectful nod. After all, not every familiar bond is forged through fate, fire, and ancient prophecy.

Some are forged through sheer dumb luck and seafood.

You had always believed, deep in your feral little heart, that if you ever fell in love, it would be with the intensity of a meteor crashing into the earth. There would be pyrotechnics. An orchestra. Maybe a cursed bouquet of sentient mushrooms arranged in the shape of your initials. Something properly dramatic.

You were prepared for a sweeping romance. A declaration shouted from a balcony. A confession under a blood moon. At the very least, a sword fight followed by heavy breathing and an emotionally repressed kiss.

What you were not prepared for was... a random morning.

More specifically: today morning at 6:42 a.m., in your tragically unventilated dorm kitchen, where you shuffled in half-awake, wearing a blanket like a disgruntled ghost. Your hair looked like it had seen war. Your socks didn’t match. You were only conscious due to residual academic panic and caffeine withdrawal.

And there Jade was. Crisp and awake and annoyingly gorgeous, as usual, humming some eerie little tune while cooking god-knows-what on your stove. The sunlight framed him like he was in a toothpaste commercial. There were suspicious jars open on the counter labeled things like “Fenugreek??? (Maybe)” and “Do Not Inhale.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, amused. “Good morning, Master.”

You grunted. It was too early for sarcasm or formal titles.

So, with the sleep-deprived logic of a creature who had survived exclusively on coffee and academic desperation, you trudged over to him, latched onto his waist like a needy koala, and rested your cheek against his back.

You did not plan this. Your body moved on its own, possessed by the Spirit of Affection.

To his credit, he didn’t question it. Jade simply chuckled, adjusted his stance, and offered you a spoonful of something suspiciously green and steaming.

You tasted it. Your neurons barely fired. It was delicious and probably illegal.

And then, without thought, without warning, still pressed against him and one brain cell away from sleep, you mumbled, “I love you.”

There was a beat of silence.

You blinked.

Wait.

Wait—

What the hell did you just say—

YOU SAID THAT OUT LOUD—

Jade paused with the spoon still in his hand, his entire body going still like a predator that just heard something interesting. Then—slowly, like he was savoring it—he turned.

He looked at you. He really looked at you. And then, in true chaos spirit fashion, he grinned.

Not his usual polite smile. No. This was different. This one had teeth.

“Oh?” he said, softly. “Oh?”

And that was the moment you realized: you had said those three words to a man who considered emotional vulnerability an invitation to hunt.

You tried to backtrack. Tried to say you meant “I love you—r soup.”

Or “I love you as a friend. A colleague. A sentient eel.”

But before you could decide on your lie of choice, he leaned down and kissed you.

It started sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful, like maybe he was giving you time to flee.

You didn’t. That was your mistake.

Because then his hand slid around your waist, and the kiss deepened, and suddenly your kitchen felt too small, and too warm, and definitely not rated for public indecency. Your legs threatened to give out. Your brain flatlined.

When he pulled away, you were breathless and dazed. You looked at him, heart hammering, pupils blown wide.

He tilted his head, still grinning, and said, “You taste like honesty. How rare.”

You briefly considered combusting on the spot.

And as he turned back to the stove like nothing had happened, humming again, you realized something terrifying:

You were in love.

And you were the prey.

And you were kind of okay with that.

When familiar contract renewal season arrived—accompanied by the usual administrative chaos, enchanted paperwork that bit fingers, and panicked first-years realizing their mushroom toadlings had exploded again—you were… calm.

Weirdly, suspiciously calm.

You should have been stressed. You were, after all, still a mage in training with a botany grade being held together by duct tape, blind luck, and the sheer force of your familiar’s passive-aggressive hovering.

But no. You weren’t worried. Because somehow, over the past year of accidental poisonings, illegal greenhouse heists, and near-romantic tea-induced hallucinations, you and Jade had fallen into something far more dangerous than summoning magic: mutual affection. Possibly even love. Terrifying.

And yet, when the day came, you expected a conversation. A little back and forth. Maybe some dramatic flourish on his part—Jade had a flair for drama and mild emotional terrorism, after all. At the very least, you thought he’d present a contract with a smirk and some cryptic line about “servitude never being quite so delightful.”

But he didn’t.

You woke up one morning to find him already seated at your desk, as if he’d been waiting all night. The early sun filtered through your window, highlighting the soft teal of his hair and the amused glint in his eyes. You were still blinking the sleep out of yours, shuffling over in your raccoon-print pajamas with all the grace of a zombie when he slid the document toward you.

A thick, arcane-heavy contract. One that glowed softly at the edges. Titled:

“PERMANENT FAMILIAR CONTRACT — LIFELONG BOND”

Your eyes snagged on the signature line.

His name was already there.

Signed in an elegant, curling script with a wax seal that looked like an eel tail. No jokes. No teasing. No loopholes.

You stared at the paper. Then at him.

“…You want to be stuck with me forever?” you asked, because your brain short-circuited and apparently decided that was the most romantic response it could muster.

Jade raised a brow. “You make life—interesting,” he said, voice inflected with all the warmth and amusement of someone who once watched you attempt to eat a venomous berry “for science.”

You blinked again. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s a yes,” he said easily, his smile softening. “I’d like to be yours. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

You picked up the pen and signed your name beneath his. The moment the ink dried, the paper vanished in a swirl of moss-green smoke, the pact sealed with a pleasant little magical ding.

“So,” you said, heart thudding in your chest as you looked up at him, “we’re really doing this.”

“We are,” he said.

“Forever is a long time.”

“Not nearly long enough.”

And you had to kiss him after that, because what else do you do when your familiar—not-quite-boyfriend-but-very-possibly-soulmate says something like that?

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. And you let him, sinking into his arms like it was the only place you’d ever belonged.

You, a chaotic disaster of a botany student. Him, a merman familiar who brewed tea that could bend time.

A perfect, absurd, slightly terrifying match.

Later that evening, when you sat together on the windowsill, legs tangled and laughter echoing, you realized something else: you'd meant to find a way out of the botany stream. A bigger future. A stronger school of magic.

But with Jade by your side, maybe botany wasn’t a prison—it was just where you bloomed.

It started, as most disasters in your life did, with you tripping over your own feet. Specifically, you’d tripped face-first into a rare carnivorous plant while trying to impress your professor with your “innovative approach to hands-on learning.” (Your professor had screamed. The plant had screamed louder. You still didn’t know plants could do that.)

And while you were nursing your slightly-bitten pride and applying salve to your dignity, some golden-haired, obnoxiously perfect fourth-year had wandered over, all pristine robes and condescending smiles.

“You know,” he said to Jade, completely ignoring you like you were a decorative shrub, “it’s a shame. A familiar with your magical potential? Tied to someone who’s clearly... not invested in their future.”

You scoffed. Loudly. “Excuse you. I am very invested in my future. I just think the universe should meet me halfway and stop putting venomous moss in my study patch.”

The student didn’t even blink. “You deserve a master who challenges you. Who brings out your best.”

Jade tilted his head, politely smiling the way a shark might if it had impeccable manners and was about to swallow a surfer whole.

“I see,” he said, sipping his tea. “And that would be… you?”

“Why not?” the student said, and you hated how confident he sounded. “They're wasting you.”

You froze.

You knew it wasn’t true. Jade had chosen you. Signed a lifelong contract. Literally brewed you soup after you set your eyebrows on fire.

But the words stung in a way you hadn’t expected.

You tried to play it cool. Shrugged. “If he wants to leave, he can. No one’s stopping him.”

Jade’s eyes flicked toward you, a tiny crease between his brows. “Is that what you think?”

You shrugged again. Forced a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be? Go ahead. Take your tea. Find a master who challenges you.”

And with that, you walked away, head high, hands clenched so tight your knuckles cracked.

You spent the rest of the night trying not to cry into your pillow.

The next morning, your pillow was suspiciously warm. And breathing.

You cracked open one eye to find Jade wrapped around you like a clingy snake with boundary issues and an attitude problem.

“What—Jade—get off—!”

“I’m sleeping,” he said.

“You are not! You’re emotionally ambushing me!”

He didn’t move. Just curled tighter.

You squirmed, shoved, flailed. Nothing worked. The man had the tensile strength of a vine and the stubbornness of ten toddlers.

Eventually, you gave up and pouted at him. “You were mean yesterday.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he admitted cheerfully, his tone dangerously close to smug. “But in my defense, I expected my master to realize I have taste.”

You sulked harder. “You owe me.”

“Oh?”

“And I’m cashing it in later.”

“Of course, Master.”

“…Stop calling me that in the dorm.”

“No.”

You didn’t bring it up again. But the next day, as you passed that fourth-year in the hallway, he looked pale, shaken, and was clutching a charm pouch so tightly it might’ve become a fossil.

You glanced at Jade. He looked serene. Suspiciously serene.

“…What did you do?” you whispered.

“Me?” he smiled. “Nothing serious.”

You stared at him. He sipped his tea.

You decided you definitely weren’t asking.

But later, when he draped himself across your bed again and offered you a cup of calming lavender-citrus tea with a wink, you realized one thing:

You may be a borderline disaster of a mage, but Jade Leech was yours. And gods help anyone who forgot it.

You'd been holding back.

It wasn't that you were scared. Okay, no—you were absolutely terrified. Because the “what are we” question carried the weight of galaxies, of shifting dynamics and possible heartbreak, and you weren’t emotionally prepared to deal with that when you were already behind on your fungal studies and had just accidentally set your robe on fire trying to dry herbs.

Still, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that Jade Leech, your familiar, your chaos partner, your maybe-something-more, had kissed you good morning again that day. Just a soft brush of lips while you were half-asleep, before you could even form coherent thought. And you’d just blinked at him, dazed and blushing and maybe a little dead inside.

And then that horrible, arrogant, no-chin-having senior from the advanced familiar studies track said—loudly—that if someone like Jade were his familiar, he’d “treat him properly” and “not waste potential on a person who still mistakes fertilizer for potion ingredients.”

You saw red. Possibly green. Maybe fuchsia, depending on how much of Jade’s tea was still in your system. But whatever the color, something snapped in your soul.

Because no one was taking Jade from you.

Not when he brewed you anti-headache tea with honey because he knew you hated bitter things. Not when he cleaned your desk with the gentleness of a man legally married to your organization system. Not when he smiled at you like you were a curious algae bloom he couldn't stop poking at. Not when he kissed your forehead, your temple, your nose, your cheek—like loving you was as natural as breathing.

So.

You marched.

You stormed into your dorm room where he was casually rearranging his jar collection (you didn’t ask, you'd learned not to the hard way.) and pointed an aggressively trembling finger at him.

“Be mine!” you shouted.

Jade blinked once. Then tilted his head, that infuriatingly pretty smile already forming. “I thought I already was, Master.”

Your brain combusted. You flailed. “Huh?!”

“I assumed the constant kissing and emotional intimacy might have been a clue.” His eyes sparkled. “Should I have drawn a diagram? I could make a chart—”

You launched yourself at him in mortified fury. “No charts!”

He caught you with practiced ease, laughed that horrible, lovely laugh of his, and kissed you again—this time slower, deeper, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

You melted. Fully collapsed like overwatered moss in his arms.

When you finally came up for air, dizzy and giddy and mildly offended at how good he was at this, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmured, “Now that we’ve established that… shall we discuss what we’re calling the wedding mushrooms?”

You screamed into his shoulder.

He laughed again.

And that night, you dreamed of rings made of sea glass and mushrooms that glowed softly in the dark.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #jade leech #jade leech x you #twst jade

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after-avenging-hours · 26 days ago

Text

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

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