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gatoru-sojo · 13 days ago

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Busy Woman

A/N: I do not wanna see ANY Minors in this bitch. Seriously. Like you'll get it when you get older I promise. This worm has been wiggling around in my brain for MONTHS. Things have been so busy that it's been a real struggle trying to write. I really hope you all like my excuse to write porn. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the border/dividers used. Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @alsofoundinpeas and practically the WHOLE discord server for letting me send this google docs to you and yapping with me about logistics (positions at one point I'm sure). Enjoy!

Link to the AO3: Busy Woman -> Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Smut with plot. Reader is a maneater, some she/her pronouns at one point or another, PinV sex yall, wrap it up!!!! condoms my beloved (they are not used here, reader and the team go out drinking, spencer reid yapping, reader is a dommy mommy idc Spencer Reid would have a mommy kink, he’s a whiner, SUB SUB SUB SUB Spencer, nothing too crazy sexually (in my eyes), i forget something else this is porn, no creampie for you!!! (I know... i know..).

Genre: Smut w/ Plot. Pairing: ManeaterBAUFem!Reader x Season4!SpencerReid

Plot: After spending countless months watching you break men's hearts, Spencer is surprised when you call a sudden dating hiatus. Amid your 'break,' you confide in your lanky coworker how much you miss certain physical intimacies. Spencer is quick to offer a solution.

Word count: 11,827

A man-eater… by definition, is a woman who uses men to have a series of sexual relationships but does not love the men. The thought of being one of those men has been lingering in the back of Spencer’s mind for the past eight months.

He knows, of course, that you’re more nuanced than that feeble definition. The team never misses the opportunity to tease you; your dating habits are an ongoing joke and mystery within the bureau. Derek often jokes that the two of you are peas in a pod, which, in turn, makes you respond that he’s the one with commitment issues, not you. You insist that you’re just picky.

You’d give any guy a chance until they disappoint you, and then you’re gone. You knew what you wanted from them, and if they couldn’t fulfill those ‘duties’ (as Emily jokingly puts it), then it wasn’t worth it. Spencer hates to admit it —to you or anyone else— but he loves how you detach from them.

He likes how you lure them in with honey and how they drop like flies at your feet— that trap of yours working effortlessly. It feels strangely voyeuristic, which makes him feel like a creep, but he swears it isn’t like that. If he could describe it better, he’d say it was more like a form of admiration. He likes that you know what you want out of your relationships. The way you don’t stick around and accept bad behavior. It’s exceptional and incredibly intimidating. Maybe femme fatale would be a better title, though he doubts you’ve ever destroyed a man’s life, as that definition suggests. Distress? Most definitely.

His eyes are glued to you now as you brush a stray hair behind your ear, how your brows knit together when you’re concentrating, watching as your left hand plays with the chain of your necklace. Tearing his eyes away from you, he focuses on the map on his desk, circling the location of the recent body discovered earlier that morning. JJ leans over his right shoulder, her blue eyes looking at the work-in-progress geographical profile with silent intrigue.

She leans away from him, folding her arms across her chest, getting lost in thought until her gaze lands on you. You were so focused a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking at one of the officers across the station. He was young, about the same age as Spencer, if she had to guess. His uniform is a little loose on him, the material around his arms droops, and his shirt hangs off his body in a way that makes it obvious he’s wearing a size too big for him.

She watches with you as he tucks it into his pants nervously, his fingers adjusting his collar as he mutters something under his breath. He’s handsome, boyish, with decently styled brunette hair. His dimples pop when he gives one of his fellow officers a slight grin— just your average prey. “Don’t give him that look.”

Your eyes are on her in seconds, and she holds back a laugh when she sees your offended expression. “What look?” You sound shocked, glancing at the young officer. “I was just people-watching.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hunting.” JJ counters as Emily walks in with a coffee in hand.

“Oh? She’s on the prowl away from home? Down girl, down!”

You frown, eyes narrowed as you look between the two women taunting you. “I’m not a dog. A girl can’t make an observation anymore?”

Emily shakes her head as she pulls her coffee cup away from her lips, “Not when the girl is you.”

Your frown deepens, looking at Spencer with a look that silently pleads for help. He can never resist that look— it’s one he knows well. He looks over his shoulder at JJ and gives her a light pout, “I don’t think that’s a fair assumption of her character.”

JJ’s eyes shine with amusement. This is how the dance usually went. You’d be selecting some poor gentleman as your next meal, they’d tease you about it, and then Spencer would come rushing in to protect your honor— assuming you had any, to begin with. “Spencer the Valiant enters into the arena, ladies and gentlemen.” Her hand comes up to playfully ruffle his hair.

Spencer fails to dodge her efforts. “Don’t,” he grumbles as he swats at her hand as it touches his already messy curls. “Do that.” He can never catch a break when it comes to being teased by the team.

You grin, watching Spencer flatten out his hair carefully, rearranging it until it’s slightly neat and wavy. You silently motion to him that part of his hair is still sticking up and watch as he blindly tries to fix it. Watching him struggle with his hair, you break the usual respect you show for his personal space, leaning over and smoothing down the cowlick with a soft chuckle.

His cheeks are red, watching you lean away from him, his gaze awkwardly avoiding yours. “Besides,” You begin, looking at the young officer with a charming smile. “You and Will make it work, don’t you?” You ask, talking to JJ without looking at her.

JJ scoffs a little, watching as the young officer looks up from his desk and across the station— he won’t last. You give him a little wave and flirty smile combo before looking at JJ. “Don’t even think about it,” JJ warns, but you technically don’t have to do anything. You shrug a little, looking down at the evidence pile on your desk.

Not while the young officer stands up, smoothing out his too-big uniform and taking large strides over to you. You don’t have to look to know he’s coming. JJ shakes her head with Emily when he arrives at your side. When he clears his throat, you don’t look up from your task, twirling a pen around your fingers.

The way you look up with gentle doe eyes and a polite smile on your lips as you turn to face him has Emily holding back a giggle. You blink a little, eyes reading the name tag on his uniform— David Miller. “Can we help you with something, Mister…” You trail off, acting as though you hadn’t just read his name tag.

“Miller and I don’t need help from all of you, maybe just you.” His voice is slightly deeper than you expected, and he sounds confident— which is fine— you just thought he’d be the shy type.

You let out a soft ‘ah,’ nodding slowly like the idea just occurred to you. “Well, as sweet as that is,” you don’t even let the poor guy officially ask you out. You just openly assume. “I’m afraid we’re all swamped working on this case— myself included.” You watch his broad shoulders slump slightly— the action doesn’t even last a full second— and you sigh like you’re contemplating something. “But maybe we could get a coffee in the break room?”

His demeanor brightens, eyebrows raising as he asks, “Now?”

You shrug, looking at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes.” Standing, you brush off your jeans, as if this sudden coffee date weighs heavily on you. “You coming?” As you walk towards the breakroom, the question hangs in the air, and you don’t even bother looking back to see if he’s following you.

Three days later, Spencer watches you frown at David. Words can not describe how much he hates David. Well, many words could describe how much he dislikes David, but Spencer Reid is not a man to spit petty remarks at a man undeserving of them (though some may disagree). In truth, he only dislikes David because he envies him a little… he’s lying to himself. Spencer Reid envies that man with an intensity that rivals forest fires.

Spencer watches as David’s lips form words he cannot hear— words he’s sure you know all too well— Stay. He watches as you give David a small, sympathetic smile. His gaze lingers on your plump lips as you lean in to press a chaste kiss to another man’s lips, and he can imagine the sticky, sweet tone of your voice as you tell him that you have to leave.

Once you’re in the backseat, you relax your shoulders with a huff. Derek shakes his head at you in the front seat, staying quiet as the black SUV drives off towards the airport in this small Maryland town. Spencer knows that he should stop watching you, but it’s like he’s bewitched.

Your lip gloss is a faint pink— messy. You probably left some of David’s lips. Spencer wonders if it has a taste; he’s seen you use a cherry lip balm a handful of times. He can imagine kissing you, slow and sweet to start, if he had the time, getting hungrier and hungrier with each press of your lips on his. He wonders if you’d let him drag his tongue on your bottom lip and let him get a taste of cherries and skin. Could he pull on that full bottom lip with his teeth– “Spencer!”

He blinks, hazel eyes focus on yours. You chuckle, airy and slightly concerned, “Are you okay? You’re staring.”

Derek barks out a laugh from the driver’s seat, “When isn’t he?”

Spencer shakes his head, mainly at Derek’s idea of a joke, but also because he doesn’t want you to think something is wrong with him. His smile is unconvincing and quick: “I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Just thinking about you and David. H-He seems nice.”

You shrug, hair falling into your face, “I guess he’s nice, yeah.” Then you lift a hand, waving the idea off like it’s bothersome. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”

Derek groans out, “Surprise, surprise.”

Spencer manages to keep the smile off his face, but his voice gives him away: “Why not?” he sounds elated.

You move with your hands, throwing them up before letting them rest on your outer thighs, slumping a little in the seat. Your eyes search the car’s floor, as if it’ll help you find a good enough answer. Why not? He’s not what you envisioned in a romantic partner. He wasn’t gentle, well-spoken, or even stimulating.

He seemed like a good conversationalist during that ten-minute coffee break, but he kept pushing for a late dinner with you. When you finally relented, you found he lacked any real substance. He was… dull, hot, but bland. He didn’t have strong beliefs like you, lacked wit, and seemed entitled.

Sure, you could have let him take you home and given him something to remember you by. But, considering how dull he was over dinner, you doubted he could impress you in the bedroom. Why go looking for disappointment?

You force a small smile, gentle eyes leaving the SUV’s flooring to look at Spencer. “Didn’t pass the benchmark, I’m afraid.” It’s meant to be a joke, but your delivery is slightly off. You sound somewhat saddened by the fact, and Spencer debates asking you what’s wrong. However, discussing your dating life is not his strong suit. Instead, he simply delivers a curt nod, lips drawn into a tight line as the car falls silent on the way to the tarmac.

A week later, it’s one of those rare days when the BAU team stays in DC. Indeed, this week is a way to make up for lost time. Spencer has heard about two coffee dates, one dinner date, and how you’re going on a lunch date this upcoming Saturday. Not that you’re telling him necessarily; he tries his hardest not to ask about your dating habits out of fear that you’ll eventually catch on to his hopeless crush on you and break his heart before he’s mentally prepared for such a tragedy.

No, he hears about your escapades from Penelope, Emily, or JJ. Mostly in passing gossip sessions, he hears when he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He’s not the biggest fan of gossip, especially when said gossip is about a coworker, but he can’t stop listening when it’s about you.

The second he hears your name leave one of their lips, he pours his coffee a little slower in the break room or takes smaller bites of his lunch. He even held the elevator doors for the group of women on a handful of occasions so he could silently listen in. Morgan says he’s whipped (and after Spencer gets clarification on what that terminology entails, he nervously disagrees).

He’s just a naturally curious person. His high IQ can be blamed here— you’re a constant question on his mind. He cannot solve you, and every time he thinks he’s close, you switch it up on him.

Penelope is trying to be discreet—genuinely— she’s walking at a normal pace, a rested smile on her face, and the feathered flower pinned into her blonde curls shakes slightly as she approaches Emily’s desk. Her eyes look towards your desk, glad to find you lost in conversation with Anderson. Spencer watches her anyway.

Emily’s eyebrows raise as Penelope leans down and whispers something into the small space between them, which is effective because Spencer can’t hear anything (much to his dismay). Emily reels her head back, shocked as she mutters in disbelief, “No way.”

Penelope beams, nodding quickly and letting out a drawn-out “Mhm!”

Spencer wonders if it has anything to do with Anderson. Could they be alluding to the two of you getting together? Spencer would feel nervous about the idea, but you never dated coworkers. Besides, Anderson didn’t have that boyish charm you so adore. Spencer thinks he can mark him as safe.

But what else could it be? He’s trying his hardest not to stare at Penelope and Emily as they whisper to each other a few feet away, his eyes darting around the case file in his hands as his mind runs away with him. His gaze occasionally flits over to your desk, taking note of that polite smile you’re sporting. Yeah, you’re definitely not into Anderson.

Something work-related? No, that sounds ridiculous the second he thinks it. He blinks, forcing himself to set down the case file and mull over all the probabilities. He feels like it’s too obvious to be a date. You go on those all the time. And he doubts it's a second date update because those never end well for you. However, there is a slight chance that this time, it did.

He’s still in the process of analyzing every bit of information related to you when he hears an open laugh from Penelope as she follows Emily over to your desk. Anderson is nowhere to be seen as you settle back into your desk chair, barely looking up when Emily asks, “You’re taking a break from dating?”

“Derek is such a gossip.”

“Don’t blame him, he can’t resist me.” Penelope sighs out.

Emily dismisses the comment with a slight wave, “For how long?”

You shrug, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I don’t know. Until I feel like talking to a man again?”

“Oh my god, an indefinite hiatus!”

You chuckle a little, “Why do you care so much?” You couldn’t imagine your dating life being that interesting. Then again, you have dated some questionable people.

Penelope gasps, hands reaching her chest, “Why do we care? You’re the only thing that saves us from boredom. You’re water in this gossip dessert. Don’t let us dehydrate, please, please.” Her palms press together as she begs you.

A strange laugh escapes you, your shoulders shaking as you giggle. “Listen, I really need—” You gently swat at Penelope’s still clasped hands, “I need a break from all the disingenuous compliments and ploys to get into my pants—” you scoff. Spencer’s heart stutters in his chest; he’s empathetic towards your feelings. He wants what’s best for you, of course (that and this could be his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you be wholly unattached, his chance). “I need to be alone and work on some things before I date again, simple as that.” Well, so much for his chance.

“She’s so wise.” Emily turns to Penelope, her tone mocking. “Isn’t she so wise?”

“Oh, on par with Buddha.”

Your eyes shine with amusement, though you keep your tone serious, “Yes, laugh at me all you want for being a healthy person.”

Two months later, your hiatus is still going strong. Spencer has not seen or heard of any flirty endeavors surrounding you, much to the other’s dismay. It’s true in a way, gossip is drier during your dry spell. There’s been no mention of terrible dates nor any mention of bad kisses on first dates, or worse, lousy lays.

Spencer has never had any issues talking to you, but lately, he’s noticed you’re prone to daydreaming. You’ll stare off sometimes during a lull or mutter to yourself in the breakroom. He wants to ask how you're feeling amidst your break from dating, but it feels like such an intimate topic that he’s hesitant to approach it.

So now, he’s watching you watch Emily flirt with some stranger at the bar. This week has been grueling, with case after case. It never gets easier, but moments like these—the whole team spending time together—make it less painful at the end of the day. Spencer’s nursing his whiskey, always a slow drinker, but his attentions are on you as you roll the straw of your mojito between your fingers.

Eventually, after a quick sip of whisky, he gains the courage to ask, “Everything alright?”

You jump at the sound of his voice beside you, but you still smile at him when you turn to look at him. You open your mouth for a moment, then close it again, then open it again, “Yes.” You say in a strange voice— a twisted mixture of confident and drained.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, his expression letting you know that he doesn’t truly believe you. You laugh a little at that look of disbelief before your shoulders slump, and you mutter a soft, “I sort of miss dating.”

“Sort of?” It's more confident, more teasing than he’d like, but it just slips out of him. His cheeks are tinted the prettiest shade of pink, and you try your hardest not to stare at him.

Your eyes shift to the drink in your hands, fingers leaving the straw as you elaborate on the topic. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would miss the flirty conversations or feeling wanted.” You trail off for a moment, eyes not meeting his for a moment. “Does that make me sound,” Your eyes finally reach his, “Conceited?” Your gaze is so full of worry that he has to stop himself from shouting his answer upon impact.

Instead, he swallows down a shocked breath, shaking his head. “No! No, you’re not conceited. That’s normal, considering all the attention you…well, attract.”

“Great,” You murmur, frowning. “You think that I’m some shameless, attention-seeking seductress,” gazing downcast at your mojito.

Spencer laughs nervously, “What?” He can’t deny that the seductress part might be true— you could seduce a saint, he’s sure. “I think a lot of things about you when I think about you, but shameless, attention-seeking seductress is not one of them.”

He’s melting at the look you give him. Head slightly bowed, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, full lips in a slight pout. “Really?”

“Really.” He squeaks, much to your delight— the alcohol is messing with your head.

You sit a little straighter at that, sighing, “So, what do you think about when you think about me?” You ask, teasing Spencer wasn’t something you did often. The team teases him so much that you feel bad joining in. But you can’t help yourself, not when he’s looking at you with his gorgeous, honey eyes. All wide and deer-like, fuck, he’s pretty.

You would feel bad for thinking about your coworker like this, but in the dim lighting of this bar, you find that you don’t mind. Truth be told, if Spencer Reid weren’t your coworker, you would have worked some charms on him a long time ago. He was so pretty, so receptive to new ideas, a genius, a man of his word. God, he was so sincere. Why is that such a turn-on?

You drag your tongue along your bottom lip, lost in thought, a movement not lost on Spencer as he can’t seem to take his eyes off your lips. His mouth is dry, and his voice is caught in his throat as he stammers out a gentle, “What–” he clears his throat, trying to stop his voice from sounding so high, “What do I think about?”

That slow smile makes his heartbeat skip a beat, he’s seen that smile before, and he’s screwed if you decide to do anything more than teasing him. “Yeah, you said you think lots of things when you think about me. I’m curious.”

“Well, I, uhm,” He swallows, his tongue feels like sandpaper. His eyes shift down to his whiskey, his gaze shifting between you, his drink, and the table. “ I think you’re kind. You’re always willing to help a friend, like when you made all those meals for Penelope after she got shot.” Your expression softens at that, your teasing smile melting into something warmer. He takes this as a sign to keep going, “You’re considerate. I think you could make Hotch smile, I’m sure you have, all because of your sense of humor. You rarely judge people; you’ve never judged me. You’re empathetic, seeing you connect with people so easily, it’s— you have this gift for shifting your perspective, and I—”

“Spencer,” You cut him off with a gentle touch of your hand on his. You’re quiet for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for some kind of sign of deception, but finding none. Your gaze warms him to his core, melting away anything cold residing within him. “Thank you.”

He lets out a soft stammer of confusion, about to ask you why you’re thanking him, but instead, he regains some of his composure and nods. “Anytime.” He hates how cold his hand feels when your fingers leave his skin. Everything about you is so warm: your smile, your laugh, your touch— and against all reason— he’s sure he could survive frigid winters as long as he spends them by your side.

An hour later, you’ve ditched the idea of feeling sorry for yourself. You were seemingly determined to make your own fun. And you were. Penelope had bought a second round of drinks, and you chose something a little stronger than the mojito from before, and drank it fast. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but it did give you a slight buzz, feeling looser now as you spun around the dance floor with Penelope.

Penelope’s sure that your voice will be gone from how loud you’re singing to the song the DJ just started playing, laughing harder as you place a finger to her lips, grab hold of both of her shoulders, and dance to the beat.

Spencer isn’t a dancer, well, he can slow dance, but he doubts he could keep up with you right now. So, he lingers on the sidelines of the bar. He —like many of the men at this bar— can’t take his eyes off of you as you spin around in a sloppy circle. The way you move your hips in a circle has his head cocking to the side, focusing on the slope of your lower—

A chuckle can be heard beside him, making Spencer stand up straight, turning to look at Derek. Derek, who has the biggest grin on his face, is shaking his finger at Spencer. Spencer rears back his head, giving his friend an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing.” Okay, so he’s lying. Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, acting aloof as Spencer stares him down. Derek, however, has his attention on you and Penelope. “You know,” there it is, “She’s gonna need someone to walk her home.”

“Who?” For a genius, Spencer can be incredibly dense at times.

Derek sends a deadpanned look his way, eyebrows raising, waiting for Spencer to catch on. Spencer blinks, his brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to what Derek is saying. Derek groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down his face.

He then points over to you, Spencer’s gaze following his finger. “Ms. Vixen, Pretty Girl, the Man-eater of the BAU, the temptress of the —” Spencer holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“I get it, okay?” Even though he knows that Derek’s joking, Spencer’s tone still comes out clipped. He forces his shoulders to relax.

“She’s going to need someone to walk her home,” Derek says in a calmer tone, his shoulders shrugging slightly.

Spencer stammers, flustered with the idea of walking you home. To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wouldn’t let it. His imagination runs wild when it comes to you, and he daydreams about the oddest things— the taste of your skin, his palm on your lower back. “Didn’t she come with you and Penelope?”

Derek clicks his tongue, “Nope, she lives two blocks over, walked here.”

“Oh,” He responds lamely, his arms crossing over his chest. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thinking it over. He had his whiskey over an hour ago and had been nursing a water, but it didn’t matter much, considering he, too, walked here. “Well, I mean, I can’t assume, wouldn’t it be rude to think she’d,” He bounces around before he drops his arms at his sides. “You think she‘d say yes?”

“What makes you think she’d say no?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer tries to think of a good reason as to why he’s worried you’d turn him down, but finds nothing but his own insecurities. He knows that you’re kind; he knows if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t. Spencer finds that very reassuring. “Just don’t want her to think I’m weird.”

Derek barks out a sharp laugh as if he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer wants to ask why, but Derek looks away from him before he gets the chance. Spencer steals a glance over to the dance floor, watching as Penelope and you giggle yourselves away from the crowd.

Your pupils are dilated, and Spencer is sure that if he pressed a hand to your cheek, your skin would be warm, either from the alcohol or light giggles still leaving your lips. He feels his lips twitch upwards at the sound of them, broken up with soft gasps of air as you and Penelope hold onto each other in front of them. His heart clenches in his chest as he hears your giggles die away, and your gaze meets his. He wishes he could keep you this giddy all the time.

Your face relaxes into a gentle smile, and you let out a slow sigh. “Hi,” you motioned between Derek and Spencer with a wave of your hand. “What are we talking about?”

Derek cuts Spencer off before he has the chance to embarrass himself. “We were actually discussing leaving,” Derek says, much to Penelope’s dismay.

She’s frowning, and Derek knows he can’t tell the blonde his plan to get these two together, not yet, anyway. Spencer’s pining is evident to anyone with eyes, and you aren’t exactly smooth either, always choosing men who look strikingly similar to your lanky coworker.

“It is getting pretty late,” You mutter, sobering up a little at the idea of walking yourself home at this late hour.

Worry must be written across your face because Spencer is softly clearing his throat. “I can walk you home,” he offers in a soft voice. You don’t even question how he knew that you walked here. Instead, you can feel your cheeks flush. The idea is tempting, but it feels somewhat… intimate.

“That’s okay,” You begin, “You don’t have to go out of your way–”

“I don’t mind!” He’s leaning into you, nodding his head slowly. “I’d sleep better knowing you got home safe.”

A little tiny voice inside of you is shrieking with delight at that, but you answer him in a reasonably calm voice. “Well,” you tsk, “if it’ll help you sleep better.” Your tone is flirtier than you’d like it to be. You’ll be the first to admit it: It’s hard controlling yourself around him, and being dehydrated and tipsy isn’t helping. “Let me grab my things.”

Spencer is nodding, discarding his plastic cup of water and ensuring he has everything on his person before he looks at Derek, who has very clearly filled Penelope in by now in fast whispers. Derek gently taps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Breathe. You’re just walking her home. Remember, you’re already friends with her. She won’t bite… hopefully.”

Spencer prepares to shoot back that he doesn’t need the pep talk because nothing is going to happen, but his mouth snaps shut as you materialize by Penelope’s side. “Ready?” You rock back and forth on your heels, eyes shining.

Spencer’s brows raise, smiling nervously as he hums a shaky-sounding, “Mhm.”

The night air smells fresh and clean with the promise of summer, warm and refreshing. You dragged in a slow inhale through the nose and hummed. A cool breeze brushed over your shoulders for a moment, and you felt awake again, your slight from earlier replaced with a second wind of energy. You glance over at Spencer, who is still holding the bar’s exit door for Penelope and Derek.

He doesn’t look bored or annoyed by the task, and though it’s the tiniest act of kindness, it makes you smile. You hug Penelope, tight and secure around her middle, muttering gentle goodbyes to her in a playful tone. Derek laughs when you bid him farewell in the same style, pulling away from the hug, smiling widely, and shaking his head. He then points at Spencer, “Stay safe,” his gaze moving to you. “Both of you.”

You wave his worries off, nodding, “Dr. Reid, lead the way.”

Spencer lets out a tiny scoff, waving his friends goodbye before doing exactly as you say. You seem incredibly awake, despite the last hour. His eyes are so focused on you as the two of you begin the short walk back to your respective apartments that he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk, not even ten minutes in, and he’s already making a fool of himself.

You pause your movements, hands raising in the air as if you’re preparing to catch him, “Everything okay?” Your tone gives away your amusement.

He nods, “Yeah, yes, just distracted.”

“How out of character for you.” You tease lightly, sighing out as you lower your hands. You let out a soft hum, thinking about a tune they played at the bar, when you see two bodies pressed up against a wall in the not-so-far distance.

Your shoulders feel tense as you try your hardest not to stare at the couple as they kiss, soft sighs and moans of pleasure leaving one lover’s lips as you force your eyes straight ahead. Spencer, however, is staring. His eyes don’t stay on the couple long as he hears a frustrated sounding exhale from you.

His lips quirk up when he sees you walking with a rigid posture. “Does PDA bother you?” He asks curiously, keeping his voice low as he passes the couple to his right.

You shake your head, cheeks feeling warm at the sound of his voice. “What? No. I just,” You pause, unsure about how much you should be sharing with him anyway. Would he want to hear about how much you missed it, dating, kissing, sex, the touch of someone’s hand in your hair? Your eyes nervously glance at him, then the sidewalk, a soft laugh leaving you. “It’s going to sound so pathetic.”

Spencer finds that highly unlikely, “Try me.”

You bite your lower lip, considering it for a moment. It had only been two months, how could you be so… needy? You can feel the edges of your ears grow warm as the night air— you were so pathetic. How could someone become so touch-starved in such a short amount of time? How could you tell that to him? Then again, Spencer Reid was not quick to judge… though maybe he would be if he knew what you were thinking about right now.

You're slow to smile, and your face looks a little shy and awkward. You speak in a hushed tone, “I think I miss it.”

“Kissing?”

“No, I mean yes, but more than kissing. Touching, heavy-petting, dates,” You dare not glance at him, “Sex.” You can’t stop yourself now, the words leaving you against your will. “I’ve just been stressed, irritable lately, and I think sex… took my mind off things.”

Spencer’s throat fills with cotton, and he tries to swallow normally, going shockingly quiet for someone who always seems to have something to say. It doesn’t last long as he feels the growing silence crawl under his skin— he can’t stand it. “That’s normal, for someone— well, anyone who hasn’t had it, sex, I mean, in a while.” He stops himself from asking how long it has been before continuing. “Regular sex can boost your immune system, am-among other things.”

You grin, “Of course, it does.” You feel lighter hearing Spencer nervously ramble about sex, less judged, more listened to. You glance to your side, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw, the ends of his brown hair curling against his smooth skin. “Don’t stop on my account; I love learning.”

Of course, you do.

It seems to be Spencer’s turn to stare daggers into the distance, following you as you take a left turn. “In some women, sex can lower the risk of heart attacks. Which is funny, Men’s likelihood of a heart attack goes up with continuous sexual activity.” He chuckles lightly, sparing a glance over his left shoulder at you.

His knees feel weak seeing the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze occasionally glances at the sidewalk, but your eyes shine with curiosity. He’s always liked that about you. You’re always willing to listen to his random rants, never poking fun at him. No, it's not like you to laugh at someone for something as direct as knowledge, but you still smile at him.

He keeps going, his hazel eyes focused on you. “Rhythmic stimulation,” He should not look at you as he says this, “During an orgasm, has similar brain activity to dancing.” Your eyebrows raise at that, mouthing a gentle ‘huh’.

“So, what, like birds?”

“Yes! Dancing has been a long-standing method of seduction, so I suppose it stands to reason that muscular stimulation, in that way, would make our brain activity act that way.”

Your head tilts, trying to get the mental image of Spencer’s hands on your waist as you dance against him out of your mind. “I suppose it would. Though I wouldn’t consider orgasmic pulsing to have a steady rhythm.”

Spencer feels his heart stutter against his ribcage, his jaw clenching as his mind graces him with the mental image of you under him, shaking, hips stuttering against his roughly. He blinks, the tips of his ears turning red as he struggles to find something interesting to say. “W-Well,” he squeaks, and he feels panic flood his system, watching your grin widen when you hear such an embarrassing sound. He coughs, fixing his shirt collar, “Oxytocin— endorphins really— are released when dancing, same with uh,” His mouth hangs open for a second as his gaze dips down to your lips, “Climax.”

He’s your coworker, he’s your coworker, coworker, cowork— “Would you consider orgasms to have a steady rhythm?” Honestly? Not the worst question you could ask right now. You just hope that it comes off as you being curious instead of desperately horny.

Spencer needs someone to put him out of misery, cheeks hot as he answers you, “I suppose that maybe, possibly, they could, yes.”

Your chin tilts upwards, and a soft “Uh-huh” leaves you before the two of you are swept up in a slightly charged, albeit awkward, silence. You try to talk down the little voice in your head that seems to be screaming at you for making things so uncomfortable.

Why did you ask him that? What did you expect? Was Spencer supposed to drag you into an alleyway and immediately make you cum? Well, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea— enough! You try to think of a possible escape from this silence, but all your dirty mind can think about are more inappropriate questions and remarks— just your luck.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Spencer’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea––” He clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up, “Having sex, to help with your, uhm, stress problem.” He holds his breath, waiting for your reactions. Morgan told him that the worst thing a person can do is say no, but Spencer disagrees. Said person could scream at him, slap him for being brazen, or stop talking to him altogether. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Why did he have to say that? Why would he suggest something like that so openly—

Your laughter makes his brain short-circuit. What kind of reaction is that? Did you think he was joking, or did you find his suggestion so funny that you’re laughing at him? His laughter escapes him in a nervous attempt at self-preservation. If he can play this as a joke, maybe you won’t tell Penelope, and then Penelope won’t tell Derek, and Spencer can live another day free of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, “Is the Doctor Spencer Reid suggesting that we sleep together for a dopamine boost?”

He doesn��t know how to save himself from that; his poker face is not a good one, not when it comes to you. His emotions almost always show on his face; there’s no way you’d believe him if he lied. So, he mentally prepares himself for rejection. “Not necessarily, strictly, suggesting anything. I’m just saying that it could be beneficial to you— both of us— if you needed some help with your irritability, since you’re free.”

“Are you saying that I have nothing better going on, so I might as well have sex with you?” He’s not exactly wrong, but you don’t need to admit it.

His cheeks feel hot, burning as he rasps out a shrill, “No! No, speaking from a scientific standpoint, biologically it is one solution to your problem.”

You let out a soft chuckle, breathy and short-lived. He can’t be serious, there’s no way he’s serious. Not Spencer Reid. And if he wasn’t joking, what would you even say? Sure, sounds like a great plan. Do you have a condom, or should we stop at the store? Better yet! Let’s do it raw to reap the full biological benefits of sex together.

It’s not realistic.

Spencer says odd things all the time. Once, he told you about how the spread of ringworms between animals and humans works, solely because of one off-handed comment. Not that you mind, you do enjoy learning, that was no lie. Spencer was a plethora of knowledge, and you trusted every little word that came out of that pretty mouth of his.

He’s grown to be more than just your favorite walking, talking, human encyclopedia. Spencer Reid had the biggest heart, the best laugh, and the softest hazel eyes. He cares about other people intensely, is always willing to go out of his way to listen and help others, and is borderline selfless sometimes. Sure, that was part of the job, but Spencer made it into something more, something raw.

So, no, he couldn’t be suggesting such a thing. Not your Spencer Reid. “You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Reid.” You mutter, your feet falling into sync beside him. You can see your apartment building coming into view and feel your body beginning to long for your bed.

The rest of the walk is quiet, with soft mentions of summer plans and idle chatter. Spencer shouldn’t be so disappointed. You’re still talking to him, still laughing at his jokes, listening to his random facts mid-conversation. You’re willing to make everything go back to normal, ignore his odd suggestion, and go to bed. He should be grateful, and maybe a small part of him is, but the rest of him? The rest of him is so disappointed.

Not because you ignored him, but because you didn’t give him a proper yes or no. Even without a direct answer, he feels rejected, and he’s kicking himself for not being able to make a move like a normal person.

He walks you up to your door, staring at the number four on the outside of your apartment door for longer than necessary as you dig through your bag to find your keys. When you find them, you hold them up with a proud smile. “They materialize.” You muse, your back facing him as you push the key into the lock.

The last thing he wants tonight is for him to walk home regretting something. He could go home lamenting the fact that he didn’t make a move, or he could go home regretting the fact that he did. For him, one of those options is far worse than the other.

Pushing your apartment door open, you begin to turn back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home, Spence, I appreciate it—” A jolt of energy zips through you as Spencer’s lanky fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking your body closer to him. You barely have time to look down at your wrist before he’s inching closer, pressing his lips against yours in one swift movement.

The kiss is timid and far too quick for your liking, and when he pulls away from your lips, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have asked you first, but I got so nervous with everything I said earlier and—” The rest of his rushed apology is tuned out as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

In complete amazement, you stare at him like that for what feels like forever. You’d blame it on the alcohol for the way that you find his pathetic ramblings adorable, or for the way you’re reevaluating your conversation from earlier, when you laughed him off. And then there was that little, insistent voice in your head that demanded another kiss, claiming the feeling of a dim spark.

And who were you to deny it?

Spencer’s hands are moving with him as he talks, finger trembling as he explains that he “....couldn’t go home ruminating on the what-ifs and I needed to do something, and Morgan says that confidence is key and I was trying—” Your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level with a rough yank.

Your lips meet his in a sloppy kiss for just a moment before he kisses you back, and when his head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side, it becomes something else entirely. His lips are softer than you expected, hungrily meeting yours. Spencer kisses like he’s starved for attention, for touch. His hands find purchase on your hips, holding you in place with both hands, like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

The way the palms of his hands squeeze at your waist makes you weak at the knees. The kiss has seemingly shifted from tender to needy in a matter of seconds, his lips pressing against yours with a delicious roughness. When you pull away, you can feel your bottom lip tingling, a feeling that leaves you a little lightheaded.

The soft pink of Spencer’s lips is the first thing you’re looking at before pushing him deeper into your apartment. His feet stumble as you force him into your apartment, the flat of your palms on his chest. When the door shuts behind you, the two of you are left in the dark of your apartment. Moonlight seeps through your living room curtains, illuminating the room with a softness so close to ethereal that it leaves Spencer wondering if he’s dreaming.

He’s sure you’re about to tell him that this is a bad idea and send him home, before you let out a frustrated groan and ask him, “Are you sure this is alright?”

Holy shit.

He can feel a faint squeeze in his lower abdomen, licking his lips as he tries to think clearly, for your sake and his. “I want this.” He’s clear with his feelings for once. “And I can promise you I want this and much more.”

As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can see the shine in your eyes. You're staring up at him with the eyes of a woman lost between admiration and awe. You nod slowly, your left hand grabbing his right, “Then don’t keep me waiting.” And while your tone is playful, he can’t help but take it to heart, letting you guide him toward your bedroom.

A soft giggle can be heard from you as you press a quick kiss to his lips, then another, and another, until the back of his knees are hitting the edge of your bed. You lean in slower now, with the tempting promise of a sweeter, sensual kiss—one where Spencer can enjoy the taste of your lips in full. Your lips brush against his as your hands press against his chest, his balance wavering, and then he’s pushed down on the edge of your bed with a light groan of disappointment.

His head is spinning from the teasing brush of your lips, his eyes lingering on them as you smile down at him, the look of innocence. “Did you think I’d make this easy for you?” Your teasing words shoot an electric shiver down his spine, a breathless laugh leaving him as your hands rub his shoulders.

“I don’t believe easy is in your vocabulary.”

“Oh?” You muse, your hands stopping the gentle massage of his shoulders, your left hand leaves a trail of fire up his neck to his chin, tilting it up slowly. Your head cocks to the side, he’s never seen you this smug. Were you like this with everyone else? Or is this just for him? He’s too scared to ask. “Care to elaborate?”

Spencer swallows slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You like the challenge. You like having to work for it. I used to think it was because you wanted to be intellectually stimulated, but seeing you like this makes me think that you get off on it. ”

You try to hide your smile, the grip on his chin slacking as your thumb traces a soft pattern on his lower jaw. “God forbid a girl has a bit of fun.” He cracks a smile with that, letting out a low hum as he raises his hands to pull you closer towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the bed that lies between his thighs.

Spencer’s pleading eyes almost make you cave, those soft chocolate pools of desire almost too alluring to resist. Almost. Although you guess he deserves a little treat before the night begins. You lean down, cupping both cheeks to press a slow kiss to his lips. Spencer matches your energy, not taking the kiss up a notch until you do, one of your hands straying to the root of his hair and pulling lightly at his brown curls while your tongue slowly slides against his bottom lip.

Fighting back a groan, Spencer eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue drags against his, exploring his mouth at a torturous pace. Spencer can feel his cock, begging for some friction, jump inside his pants as you softly suck on his bottom lip. He’s breathing hard, your mouth swallowing most of his groans and sighs, until your teeth pull at his bottom lip and he lets out a sweet, quiet whimper.

You pull away, and Spencer can feel himself spiraling before you push his hair back and whisper a breathy, “So good, baby.” His genius mind is out of commission after that, and whatever energy, whatever brain cells he has left over are now yours to use as you like. “Lean against the headboard.”

It’s a direct order that he immediately follows. He’s kicking off his shoes as fast as possible, moving around on your bed until his back hits the headboard.

His enthusiasm both excites you and amuses you, your eyes rolling with a playful shake of your head. He watches as you crawl over to him on the bed, swallowing hard as his eyes take you in. He’s waiting for his alarm to go off and for him to wake up in bed, without you, alone, and painfully hard.

You let out a short laugh, seeing his wide-eyed expression, “You’re sure you still want this?” You ask as you reach him, your eyes on his.

Spencer’s answer is a quick, “Yes!” which makes you smile wide at him, “Are you?” His fingers are itching to touch you, but he keeps them in his lap, fidgeting.

You let out a playful hum as you swing a leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. “Yes," you answer, looking down at him. You lean in, teasing his lips with a light brush, leaning away whenever Spencer tilts his head up in a vain attempt to kiss you thoroughly.

“Patience is a virtue.” Your lips brush against his as you whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, much to his dismay.

Spencer would say he’s not usually this needy, but he doesn't have ample experience to draw from anyway. He can only blame his neediness on you. You who is grinning from ear-to-ear as you kiss his cheek, you who is hovering over his lap, you who is laughing when you see his pleading expression. You mutter something that Spencer can vaguely make out as disappointed, “Greedy.” Before your lips press firmly onto his.

He could spend hours kissing you. In fact, if nothing else happens tonight, he’d walk home happy knowing he kissed you like this. Your languid kisses easily turn hungry as Spencer slides his hands to your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap. He can feel a ghost of a smile against his lips, his hands squeezing gently at your sides as you resume your earlier task of exploring his mouth with your tongue.

You swallow a groan from Spencer as you take a moment to suck on his tongue, his hand gripping your waist tighter. Letting out a muffled hum of pleasure, you grind your hips down on his with almost perfect precision.

Spencer’s back goes rigid, feeling the way your hips grind against his, unsure if it’s okay for a moment before lust wins out against logic. His large hands tighten around your clothed hips, pulling your hips down against his until he’s rutting his hips against yours like a dog in heat. He can feel your grin against his lips again, and he’s already whining by the time you pull away from him. Your hips lean away from his, sitting up on your knees.

His eyes look dazed, lust and confusion dancing in them as he tries his best not to come off as anxious, “Why’d you stop?” His breathy voice sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core.

“You want to take my clothes off, don’t you?” You leave his lap, moving to the side of his outer right thigh to properly strip.

His parted lips snap shut, nodding as fast as he can, immediately playing to your whims. You raise an eyebrow, “You need to learn to let a girl have her fun with you.” You muse as your hands reach for the edge of your top. Spencer’s heart rate doubles as he watches your fingers curl around the bottom hem.

His gaze darts between your fingers and your face, but his brows knit together, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” You’re pulling your top off painfully slow, and he’s debating asking you if he can do it for you.

Your top is passing your midriff. “If I’m on top,” His breath catches in his throat as he sees the bottom swell of your breast, “And if I want to tease you, learn how to take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” He shifts under you, your words reminding him how his erection is going ignored. “I’m going to need a good teacher.” It’s meant to be witty, but his tone sounds so strained that he’s surprised that you aren’t laughing at him right now. His eyes, not knowing what to stare at, barely meet yours before the sight of your lace-covered breasts enthralls him.

His strained, whiny voice has your body feeling hot all over. Making a mental note to make this man whine some more, you throw your top off to the side of the bed, hands making a beeline for your pants. “Oh, how exciting.” You slide out of them, leaving you in your bra and panties. “Your first lesson.”

Spencer, feeling awkward that he’s still fully clothed, begins to pull his shirt off. But when he goes to undo his pants, your fingers cover his. Your fingers are quick to pull his pants down to his thighs, and Spencer kicks them off without needing to be told.

You were a professional; you didn’t sleep with coworkers, no matter how tempting. Spencer Reid, however, is your forbidden fruit. His hazel eyes, wide and soft with need, make your chest clench with affection. You can feel some part of you salivating for another taste of him, knowing you’re too far gone to listen to reason.

Your gaze is slow to drop to his lap, eyes flickering across his bare chest, then down to the bulging outline of his cock against the thin material of his boxers. You hesitate, just for a moment, hand hovering in the air before you gently trace the outline of his cock through his boxers— undeniably pretty.

“Just for me?” Your head is bowed, eyes looking up through your lashes. Spencer lets out a shaky sigh, nodding a wordless response. You drag your index fingers roughly against the tip of his clothed dick. “Words, Spence.”

“Yes,” He whines, groaning as your hands pull down his boxers. “It’s all for you.”

“Very good.” Then, you're pulling his boxers down, gaze hungry as you expose Spencer’s hard cock inch by inch. You shift slightly to help him pull his boxers off, but your eyes are locked onto his cock. Red, hot tip with a slight curve towards his stomach, thick and twitching. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth slowly, and millions of ways to tease him immediately come to mind.

He tries to stop himself from feeling hot under your intense gaze, fighting the urge to beg you not to stare. He’s about to cave when you reach your left hand into your panties. A gentle groan leaves your lips as you swipe your fingers along the entrance of your warm cunt, “I can do that—” Spencer begins, but you’ve already stopped touching yourself, pulling your left hand away from your heat, fingers covered in your slick. You wrap your hands around his length, and Spencer has to stop his hips from immediately bucking at the feeling of your slick-covered hand.

“What was that, pretty boy?” Your hand slowly begins to move up and down the length of his cock.

Usually, Spencer would say something in rebuttal to that nickname, but the only thing you can hear right now is the sounds of him letting out tiny moans. He sputters, trying to reply, but your grip grows tighter as your hands move down his length, and all you get is a pathetic-sounding whine.

Leaning in to press a wet kiss to his shoulder, you watch as Spencer’s hips jolt when your index finger does a quick sweep over the pretty pink head of his cock. “Feels so much better than your hand, huh?” You read his mind, looking up at him.

Spencer’s head nods, breathing picking up as your lips suck on the sensitive skin of his neck as your hand steadily strokes him. “I–” You pick up the pace, teeth dragging against his pulse point. “Mmm, I’ve fantasized about you touching me like this.” He has no reason to lie, not now. He has pictured what it could feel like to have your fingers wrapped around his cock instead of his own, how you’d spread the pre-cum around the head of his cock, how you’d look licking his cum off of your hand.

His breathy admission earns him a soft groan, “Often?” You sound excited as you pull away from his neck. The idea of fulfilling one of his fantasies leaves you with an oddly triumphant sense of pride. Truth be told, he was fulfilling your fantasy: having Spencer Reid whining and moaning at your touch—a guilty pleasure on lonely nights.

Spencer doesn’t want to look you in the eyes when he answers, but he does anyway, your lustful gaze making it hard for him to look away. “Yes.”

You let out a satisfied sounding hum, looking away from him to lean down closer to his cock, for a second he’s sure you’re about to take him into your mouth. But, he isn’t disappointed when he sees a long trail of spit leaving your lips and coating the head of his cock.

Your hands helps coat your spit all around his cock and he’s in heaven. His head leaning back against the headboard as your hand brings him closer to the best orgasm he’s ever had. “ I-I’m, oh god,” He pants out, head rolling to the side to catch your gaze. “I won’t last very long if you keep this up. I’m not as experienced as,” His mouth falls open mid-sentence as you move your hand faster, letting out a cry of pleasure.

“I’m not, shit—” He swallows hard, “I’m not as experienced as I’d like to be, can–can’t last that long with you doing that!” He practically shouts at the end of his sentence.

“With a cock this pretty,” You give his length one last pump, “I find that hard to believe.” Carefully letting go of his cock, after all you want to have fun too. If Spencer thought his cock was being ignored before, he wasn’t expecting this. He whines, feeling the warmth of your hand leave him, his breathing heavy.

Your hand, covered in remnants of spit, dips into your underwear where you haphazardly smear the spit against your folds. Spencer’s heart skips a beat, enjoying the show you make of pulling your panties off your body. He almost sobs when you straddle his lap again, carefully sitting with your dripping core pressed directly onto his aching cock.

You let out a shaky groan when Spencer’s hips buck into yours, a wild look in his eyes that makes him seem more animalistic than needy. You can feel your walls squeeze around nothing as the head of his cock slowly grinds up into your clit. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a low moan, shuddering above him.

Your lips part, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as Spencer’s brows furrow and eyes flutter shut with every needy rock of his hips. His hands grab at your hips, pushing and guiding you down to meet his. It’s not nearly enough and the both of you know it, the desperate urge to fill your sopping cunt to his heart's content growing with every pleasured sigh that leaves your lips.

“Please,” Spencer’s hands move to swell of your ass, gripping the skin hard as he uses your pussy lips as his personal toy. His breath is hot against your chest, lips leaving sloppy kisses below your collarbone. To him, you’re ethereal, a seraph, as you grind your pussy lips against his length and he desperately needs to be inside you. He needs to know how the cunt of an angel feels as soon as possible. “Let me fuck you.”

Fuck. It’s not a question, nor a demand, but a plea. His wording makes you groan, the idea that he has to beg to fuck you like this, that you have control over him like this. You’ve imagined Spencer in bed a handful of times, assuming that he’d be timid, yes, but fantasies are nothing compared to hearing that desperate plea.

You reposition your knees, pressing your chest into his face as you reach between your legs to guide him to your entrance. Spencer’s hands knead against the plump skin of your ass as you slowly sink down on him, a shaky exhale can be heard from the both of you. The fact that you haven’t been stretched out on his fingers dawns on you as you struggle to relax around the girth of his cock.

And Spencer seems to have the same thought, his hands snaking up your back to unlatch your bra. Once off, his lips sucking and nipping at the skin around your right nipple before his lips latch around its aroused bud. Your discomfort is partially forgotten as the flat of his tongue drags against the sensitive bud. A gasp, followed by a small, “Mhmm, that’s it.” Your hands leave his shoulders to push his hair back and away from his face as he focuses on his task, threading your fingers into his brown locks.

Your core swallows the rest of him whole, and you experimentally grind your hips down on his cock. His eyes, previously half-lidded, widen for a second before looking up at you. His lips still attached to your breast, eyes silently pleading for more, for anything, he has you teasing him with a light clench of your walls around him.

“Remember what I told you, Reid,” Spencer remembers… well, practically everything. But memories are hard to conjure when he’s buried deep inside you, velvet walls pulsing around him. Leaning away from your breast, a trail of spit still connects your skin to his tongue. “Learn how to take it.” You playfully scold, right thumb trailing down from his hair to swipe at the spit on his lips. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a soft smile, your thumb tracing a soft pattern against his bottom lip. “I can do that.” He confirms with a gentle tone, eyes searching yours. The man beneath you looks lovesick, drunk on your touch, perfectly content to spend his days doing whatever you tell him, obedient.

The thought that he’ll do anything you say. The first move from you is a gentle roll of your hips, followed by a slow exhale. The sting of discomfort readily gets replaced with pleasure as you begin to ride him. Your palms move to grip the headboard behind Spencer’s shoulders, tilting your head to the side to carefully observe him, getting off on every little reaction he shows you.

A quick, lust-filled smile graces your lips as you move your hips up and down at a slow and steady pace. Spencer’s head tilts back slightly, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his parted lips everytime your hips sink down on his cock. “Is that good?”

You're teasing him, and he’d be dumb not to notice it; he knows that you can see—feel— how much he’s enjoying this, hear it even. Nevertheless, his head nods quickly as he rasps a mewl of a “Yes, so good.”

Canting your hips closer, you pick up the pace. The slight change in your position has his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you shivering ontop of him, electricity coursing down your spine. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing after that feeling, panting as you use Spencer’s cock to bring yourself closer to your climax.

Spencer’s hips meet yours now as you ride him faster, the slapping and squelching of skin meeting skin can be heard alongside a cacophony of sinful-sounding moans and pants. Spencer’s head is thrown back, brows drawn together as he staves off his orgasm, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. “Oh, god,” your name falls from his mouth in a string of pathetic-sounding moans, “Oh, Mommy—” He squeaks as he realizes the words that have escaped the dirtiest parts of his mind. His rosy cheeks turn slightly pale, eyes peering open to see your reaction.

Your cunt squeezes him tighter when his worried eyes reach yours. Your gaze isn’t filled with disgust, but darkened with desire. “What was that baby?” You gasp out, hips expertly snapping down onto his. Spencer’s mouth falls open to shamelessly repeat himself, but it’s too much for him. His words choking in the back of his throat as cries of pleasure replace them.

Pouting, you snap your hips down onto his with an abrupt stop. Spencer lets out a strangled sounding sob as you tilt his chin up, “Oh, Spencer, baby, do you need to say something?” You’re breathless and so, so, so, so close, but you need to hear him repeat those words before you cum.

Spencer’s chest softly heaves, blinking away the confusion in his eyes as you squeeze your tight walls around him, his hips struggling against yours. It’s hard to tease him properly as the head of his cock keeps grinding into your g-spot, your mind becoming hazy with pleasure. But you can’t risk stopping, not when you’re this close. Your lips part, a whine threatening to leave them as you speak, “I’m so s’close, you can handle a little more. Just a-a little longer.” Your voice trembles for a second, but it coaxes a gentle moan out of him nonetheless.

His cock feels desperate to empty into you as you deny him his orgasm with another sharp, “Not yet.” He feels he must obey your demand, his head becoming lightheaded whenever you order him around. He can feel tightening around him, walls fluttering against him with every second you get closer to your climax.

Spencer can feel his eyes prickle with tears, his bottom lip trembling, “I need to cum. Need to cum, let me cum, Mommy.”

You let out a broken laugh as he finally says the words you were so desperately waiting for, “You’re the one who asked for this, Spence.” You managing to speak so coldly to him while vigorously bouncing on his cock has him letting out another weak sob, “Look at you, you can barely handle it.” Your moans are becoming louder and slightly animalistic. “Let me use you while I can.”

You do exactly that, using him as you feel your orgasm crashing on you, your hands move to his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you loudly cry out for him. When your hips stutter against his, your body shuddering and melting into pleasure, Spencer is quick to buck his hips erratically up to yours, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest.

Spencer is quick to follow, grabbing your hips tightly to pull himself out of you with a curse, his seed coating your pussy lips and inner thighs. “I’m sorry,” He pants out, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m–”

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You exhale, panting lightly as you look down at him with a lazy grin.

He’s quiet after that, his grip of your hips loosening as you dip your head to look at him, forehead slowly pressing against his. You let out a little laugh, exhausted and giddy, “You good?”

He lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that tells that all his energy has left him. You can’t judge him; your body is suspiciously close to crashing. You can hear him mumble your name, and you move your head away from his, “Yes?”

“Are you—” He stops, licking his lips, “I’d like it if we could be—” He struggles to find the right words, anxiety and exhaustion making him into a simpering fool.

But you’re grinning, so he must be doing something right. He’s about to attempt his messy request to be the only man in your love life when you mutter a soft, whisper-like, “I’d love to be exclusive with you, Dr. Reid. On one condition.”

You smooth his hair back, out of his face, “We keep this between us until we’re ready to tell the team, I don’t need a team of profilers in my love life— not while we’re together.”

Spencer can feel his chest tighten, watching as you move to hold your pinkie finger towards him. He links his pinkie around yours, “Deal,” He laughs. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Spencer finds acting normal around you increasingly difficult, especially when you keep leaving flirty notes telling him to meet you in the supply closet in ten minutes on his desk (for the fourth time this week). Ever challenging when you insist that your ‘innocent’ little rendezvous won’t lead anywhere, but your plump lips kiss his so hard that they’re swollen in seconds.

He knows the team knows something is amiss, but he can’t think to worry about it as his head finds a place between your hips, your fingers threading into his hair as you bite your swollen bottom lip in a weak attempt to quiet yourself.

JJ and Emily note your absence this fine Wednesday morning, something Derek doesn’t find too interesting until he sees that Spencer is also missing. But who is he to ruin it for Spencer? He’s sure the boy genius has you on a mini-coffee date at some café across the street.

Well, he was sure, until he rounded the corner to see you stumble out of a supply closet, your hair ruffled and makeup smudged. He almost calls out your name when he notices Spencer tailing behind you, his cardigan ruffled and hair equally tousled. Derek’s jaw drops open, waiting and standing in awe as you blow Spencer a kiss and head in the opposite direction toward the bathrooms.

The second Spencer turns to see his friend, the smile drops away from his face, and the color leaves his cheeks. Morgan’s smile is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s as he draws out a proud “My man!” and Spencer feels dread fill his soul. He’s never going to live this down.

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gatoru-sojo · 14 days ago

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the cutest thing ever i might cry😭

Devil May Deliver - He Understands It Now✝️

Summary: Nero doesn’t really understand what you see in Dante

A/N: A/N: Cross posted on Ao3 & Tumblr.

You: Be nice. Nero: I’m finding it. Nero:…… You: It take you that long to find it?

There was a lot of information that Nero had to come to terms with. One of them being where he and Kyrie were going to live.

Fortuna was no longer an option in terms of living, especially with the orphans they were now taking care of.

Luckily with your help, they were able to find a place with enough space. But then that left him time to think about the information he knows about you now.

You weren’t a member of the Order of The Sword. You never had any intention of following through with whatever they were doing. You only wanted information.

He learned you were actually a courier. The story about you being a wayward Sparda worshipper was just that…a story.

Those moments during sermons where you sat there with your eyes closed ‘taking in the good word’ was actually you either zoning out or sleeping.

But it’s not like all of you were a lie. You were always kind to Kyrie along with the children from the orphanage.

More importantly, that moment when Dante first burst into the church and looked towards you and Kyrie, Nero appreciated you attempting to protect her.

But in hindsight, neither of you were ever in danger…and you knew that but put on a good show. Cause the man that was seemingly threatening you, was none other than your fiancé.

That was truly the biggest shock. You liked that dickhead? He was so childish. He talks too much. He was cocky (as if Nero could talk). After months of knowing you, he seriously can’t believe that there’s something about Dante that woo’d you.

“Maybe she finds those traits charming.” Kyrie once told him.

Charming? He didn’t see it. So every time Kyrie wanted to visit you. He watched. And it was as he expected. Dante was a man child.

He listened to you lecture him about the wounds on him that weren’t healing fast enough. Any time you had a come back some sort of demon relic, he heard you countless times tell Dante not to touch it. He even talked like a pervert and he’s so handsy. He doesn’t care who’s around.

It was you who made sure that Dante didn’t play too rough with the orphans. And while Dante treated him like a nuisance (according to Nero), you were very gentle with him. Like a big sister he didn’t know he wanted.

Nero was beginning to think you just had poor taste in men. He even suggested it to Kyrie.

“I just don’t think you see what I see.” She told him. “Go talk to her, I promise she’ll help you understand.”

“Why are you being so understanding?”

“Let’s just say I know what it’s like for people to misunderstand the charm of someone you care about deeply. Try letting go of your frustrations with him.”

He merely assumed Kyrie was just doing her best to see the good in Dante. Not good as in noble considering how much he’s helped Nero but good as in ‘a good partner’.

But then he noticed something one day. While you and Dante were visiting, Nero had went upstairs to get a toy for one of the younger kids who had left it in the bathroom.

With the bathroom having a window view to the backyard, Nero was able to catch you and Dante taking a break from playing airplane with the kids who were now being fed snacks by Kyrie.

You looked like you were about to walk away until Dante softly pulled you back. He was making it clear that he wouldn’t let you go without a kiss.

You gave him a peck on the cheek but that wasn’t enough as Dante indicated that the other cheek felt left out. You obliged, but then it kept going.

Forehead, nose, and then lips. With you giggling after every one. Then some words are exchanged before Dante returned the favor. It wasn’t until he spotted Kyrie looking over at the both of you with a smile that he realized…oh wow, Kyrie wasn’t just being nice to Dante.

So he did what Kyrie suggested, and went to ask you personally what you see in Dante…after explaining his reasoning as to why you shouldn’t.

“Listen, there’s a very good reason you don’t see him the way I do. But I don’t see those as bad things. Yeah, they can be annoying on my off days but those are apart of his charm. I think you guys just had a bad first meeting is all. After all, you thought he was gonna kill everyone.”

“And you knew he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think he’d make an entrance like that but then again, subtly was never his thing. That’s one of the reasons I like him.”

Nero watched the pleasant smile on your face grow as you kept going. “I love how he’s always trying to make me laugh. Even with his healing factor, he always wants to come to me to get patched up. He’s very affectionate. He’s seen parts of me that I’m ashamed of about and still smiles at me. He pretends to have this devil may care attitude, but he’s a sweetheart. I guess qualities that could put him off for others, I just find endearing.”

And Nero kept that in mind whenever he caught Dante’s “soft” side. A side he seemed to specifically avoid showing Nero.

Those moments where Dante would bring you back little trinkets from gigs or even just your favorite treats.

Moments of him being the lucky taste tester for your food.

Him just making excuses to cuddle with you.

Him looking for reasons to initiate any physical contact with you on missions like offering to catch you even when you didn’t need it.

Sometimes while walking, he opted to hold your hand. Going on missions with you and Dante often made Nero feel like a third wheel to high school sweethearts.

He felt like such an idiot. Kyrie was right, he was letting his own frustrations with Dante cloud his judgment.

You really did find that motor-mouthed man-child endearing. And tt wasn’t a matter of your standards being in the gutter at all.

Pretty much in the same way that every flaw people saw in Nero, Kyrie found endearing.

The young woman in question catching sight of him coming back home with a look of defeat. He approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and staring lovingly into her eyes.

“You were right.”

She smiled. “I know. I have experience defending you after all.” She gave him a kiss.

#tooth rotting fluff #devil may cry

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gatoru-sojo · 19 days ago

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Made this shitpost cuz they're both groups of three girls(?)

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gatoru-sojo · 23 days ago

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GAWWWDDD DANTEEEEE

Take my money....

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gatoru-sojo · 23 days ago

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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.

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gatoru-sojo · 23 days ago

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Ahhh I need Dante and reader babysitting Nero so bad!🥹🫠

A/N: Oh my god, anon, yes!!! I've had some ideas on this for a while and would love to share some of my ideas! Especially with baby Nero hsjshssksh, I imagine young Nero being left in Vergil's care in this one, rather than him being abandoned in an orphanage in Fortuna– try to bear with me with this one since I love, love, LOVE domestic/slice of life Dante fics. Also, this has a lot of inspiration from all those Vergil & baby Nero fanarts– no deadbeat father here SSHSISHSJSH. A bit of friends to lovers in this one 🤭 ENJOY!! Also a bit suggestive in some parts, I couldn't help myself– this is Dante.

"Yeah, yeah, we know, Verge, no sugar for this little shit after 8.." "Dante, don't call him that, he's your nephew."

Dante and you were in charge of Nero for the weekend, Vergil having had 'business' to attend to somewhere out of the city and needed someone to take care of his son. He didn't really trust his younger brother to take care of Nero, but you were around, so he didn't think it'd be the worst to put him in your care.

You were one of Dante's closest friends, working in the shop as his presumed assistant and secretary. You didn't mind doing the paperwork as long as you got paid in some sort of way (which was mostly dinner rather than money).

Taking care of Nero was pretty easy, considering how Dante was twins with Vergil, so to a level, they looked alike. The kid was affectionate, and you were pretty good with children.

During the day, you and Dante decided to take Nero to the playground not too far from Devil May Cry and took him out for ice cream. You watched as Dante carried Nero on his shoulders and sometimes held him upside down, making Nero laugh.

"You'll dislocate his hip– Dante-!" "Nahh, he'll be fine, he's a Sparda!"

In the late afternoon, you went to buy some groceries, and some older people mistook Dante and you for a couple.

"Oh, what a sweet family you are.. how old is your son?" "Oh– er, uhm.."

It's mostly awkward on your end, but Dante didn't seem to mind and looked like he liked entertaining the situation.

"Oh, he's four." "That's so cute, he looks just like his dad.." "Oh, yeah, haha, he's a carbon copy of me, but he got his sweet personality from his mom– ow- babe!" "Dante, shut up.."

After the seemingly awkward grocery run, you made dinner for Dante and Nero, your mind occupied with the whole situation from the market.

How was Dante acting like it was normal between you? How was he so.. comfortable with it? Shaking the thoughts away, you focused on preparing your dinner before serving it to them.

When it got late, you decided to start getting ready to head out and back home before Nero tugged on your pant leg whilst looking up.

"Are you leaving?" "Oh– uhm, yeah, Nero.. but I'll be back tomorrow–" "Can you please stay? Uncle Donte and me want you to stay.. pretty please, miss Auntie?"

He gave you a small pout and those puppy dog eyes, making you chew on the inside of your cheek before looking at Dante who was leaning against his desk, a knowing grin on his face. You were weak. You couldn't just say no to the kid when he was making such an expression.

"Look at him.. isn't he adorable? Come on, doll, stay. Not like you haven't slept over before." "Dante, I had clothes with me, and I won't be sleeping in jeans–" "I can give you one of my shirts.. it's no big deal. Come on, you can't just say no to that face, can you?"

You decided to finally relent after a few minutes, gently shaking your head as you smiled when Nero beamed at your approval of staying for the night.

"Yayy!! Sleepover with Miss Auntie and Uncle Donte!"

Dante handed you one of his T-shirts, letting you get changed in his room before entering. The shirt ended at your mid-thigh, slightly pulling it down since you didn't have anything else underneath except for your underwear. His jaw went slack at the sight before closing his mouth, clearing his throat and looking away.

"I'll, uh.. I'll give you some sweatpants, give me a sec." "Don't you have any shorts or something? It's too hot for sweats." "Nope. Don't have any."

Obviously, he was lying, he did have some shorts somewhere, but you didn't need to know that. He was gonna take every chance to look at you like this. In his shirt. Smelling like him. It was messing with his head, and he couldn't do anything about it as he helped you get Nero ready for bed.

While you were reading a story to Nero after bathing him, Dante was in his room getting changed into some sleep pants and leaving himself shirtless. He went downstairs after a bit, seeing you in the kitchen, brewing some tea.

"The kid fell asleep?" "Mhm.. it wasn't too hard since you practically exhausted him in the park earlier while playing pirates."

You turned to face him, and saw how he stood there, leaning by the doorframe. Your eyes couldn't help but trail from his face to his chest down to his abs and happy trail–

Nope. You mentally slapped yourself, your brain reminding you that this was Dante. The goofy, stupid, smooth-talker Dante. You were NOT going to ogle your closest friend, whom, for the record, did not see in such a way before now.

"Mind if I sit around here with you?" "What? Yeah, of course, why would I not want you to?" "Eh.. I don't know."

Dante sounded... awkward. He was never awkward. And if you were being honest with yourself? It was a little cute. You poured the hot water into a mug, brewing the tea before throwing away the tea bag.

After you drank your tea, the two of you decided to head upstairs, your body instinctively heading towards the guestroom, only to see that it was filled with random shit and boxes.

"Oh, uh, yeah... I kind of turned the guestroom into a storage space. You can sleep in my room, I'll just sleep on the couch or something.."

You shook your head, your mouth opening before even thinking of your response and offered him to sleep in his room with you. His eyes went wide for a brief second before a familiar grin formed on his face.

"Oh, yeah? You wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with me?" "Shut up, it's not like that.. your couch is uncomfortable and– and I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable or something.." "Mmhmmm, sure."

Dante seemed cocky on the outside, but he was practically imploding. There was no way you just offered that. But he wasn't going to complain. Not in a million years.

After giving you a spare toothbrush, Dante and you got ready for bed. The two of you brushing your teeth next to each other in one bathroom shouldn't have made you feel anything, but the stupid fluttering in your stomach wouldn't stop.

Dante couldn't help but glance at you every few seconds, quietly admiring how you just.. fit in. In his life. In his home. He couldn't help but just feel something, even after years of just being friendly with each other.

The bed was spacious enough for two people, surprisingly. You lay down on the further end on the left side of the bed before Dante let out a soft scoff, making you turn your head towards him.

"What?" "You're literally going to fall off the bed. Do I stink that much that you don't want to be close to me? That hurts my feelings, doll." "Oh, shut up.."

You grumbled, deciding to scooch a tiny bit closer to him under the comforter. The bed was more comfortable than you thought.

Silence filled the room for a couple of moments before Dante decided to speak up at the same time as you.

"So, uh–" "The grocery thing–"

The both of you laugh softly, Dante has decided to stay quiet and let you start. He was curious about what you wanted to say, and he could wait for what he wanted to tell you.

"I, well– you seemed really comfortable telling that elderly lady about, uh, you know.." "Hmm? What? The couple thing? I was just playing along, you know.. not make things awkward." "Ah–"

Your lips thinned, Dante noticing how you seemed to tense up before he immediately corrected himself and spoke up again.

"Don't get me wrong–! I, uh, God, I can't believe I'm going to say this in such a stupid way."

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hand while chuckling awkwardly. Dante avoided your gaze, a subtle hint of a blush creeping to his ears.

"I've.. I kinda liked you. For a while now– well, more than a while. I was just too much of a pussy to admit it until now, and us being friends 'n all.."

Silence followed his confession like a weighted blanket, his eyes darting around the room before finally looking at you.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You racked your brain, trying to remember every possible interaction that might've hinted anything about Dante's feelings, a few of them dawning on you.

"I suck at this, I know– I'm sorry, if I made it awkward, just– just forget about it, haha–" "Dante, I like you too." "What."

Dante, taken aback by your reply, almost got whiplash from how fast he whipped his head to look at you. It was his turn to be surprised, his brain buffering before he let out a laugh.

"You're serious, right? You're not pulling my leg on this?" "Dante, no, why would I joke about-"

He cut you off before you could say anything else, his heart not being able to wait any longer as he crashed his lips onto yours. Dante was surprisingly gentle, not pushing himself onto you as he tilted your head a bit so he could delve into the kiss a bit more, his hand finding itself on the back of your head.

Pulling away from the kiss, Dante rested his forehead against yours with a small flush on his cheeks.

"Sorry.. I just really wanted to do that."

The two of you got woken up by Nero the next morning, the young boy climbing over the bed and gently patting Dante's head that was buried in your shoulder, while your leg was draped over his hip.

"Uncle Donte! Get off, Miss Auntie-!" "Mmmm.. how about no?"

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! Pls reblog and like, I'd appreciate it! <3

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gatoru-sojo · 26 days ago

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I like drawing soft Miguel🥹

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gatoru-sojo · 26 days ago

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gatoru-sojo · 26 days ago

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When I say “I love men in uniform” this is what I mean.

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gatoru-sojo · 28 days ago

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Death Wish: Bi-Han x Reader

summary: You, a princess from a rival clan was harder to resist than Bi-Han could have anticipated. But what was even harder to predict was your willingness to strike a deal, which soon led to a night of passion in your bed, right where you wanted him to be. (ao3)

warnings: drinking, SLIGHT voyeurism + exhibitionism, smut, pnv, unprotected sex. The usual, the works, you know how it be. essentially smut with plot. i had to cut it off or i could've kept going;; to the 20 Bi-Han fans out there, i hope you enjoy!!

word count: 9.5k

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

All it took was one glance at you to make his heart beat faster.

Across the lounge, you stepped inside alone. A smile appeared on your face as the staff warmly greeted you. There was a familiarity between you and them, and Bi-Han considered it respectful friendliness.

Yet he noticed how it disappeared once they were out of sight. And then it appeared again as you approached the bar, calculated and aware.

Aware of everyone and everything besides him. At least, that was what he assumed. But maybe just the sight of you scrambled his instincts.

The rumors of your beauty were proven true. The way your hair fell perfectly around your shoulders, the subtle tattoos that decorated your arms, and the elegance of your dress only furthered your mystifying nature.

As the head of the Lin Kuei clan, Bi-Han was raised to think that feelings were forbidden. Having a sudden interest in the princess of an enemy clan felt foreign and wrong—it was a death wish. But there was just something about you he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just your beauty that intrigued him; it was how you held yourself, as if you knew how strong you were. A sign of an influential leader, what a princess should exude.

For the first time in many years of war, Bi-Han wanted to end the enmity to have the slightest chance of getting to know you.

A frown etched across his face as he watched you sit at the bar. It had only been a few months since you’d taken a position in your father’s clan, not only as a princess but as one of their best fighters, a woman blessed with terramancy.

And he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your body, unable to ignore how he could see the outlines of taut muscles through the fabric of your dress.

A shiver ran down his spine.

This high-end bar was on neutral grounds, providing the perfect place to mingle with friends and foes. Despite that, you had to be confident to come there alone and without your entourage.

Bi-Han nursed his drink, leaning back against the couch, content with watching you from afar. He knew he had to stay away from you, but with each passing moment, you were more challenging to resist. Every move you made entranced him, and the Grandmaster felt a sharper desire to cross the lounge and offer you company.

You were the most beautiful woman there. And others were taking notice. The lingering eyes of other men did not go unnoticed by Bi-Han. Those who knew your title were respectful, some politely nodding at you as they passed. But others, like the clearly inebriated man heading right toward you, wanted something more, something he could never be entitled to.

As the man attempted to grab your shoulder, one of your arms simultaneously shot out and pushed him back before his hand made contact.

Drunk, he stumbled backward and grumbled. “What the hell was that for?-”

“-I’m in no mood to get out of my chair,” you interrupted, not even glancing in his direction, continuing to watch the bartender make your drink, who seemed just as unconcerned as you, as if this was a regular occurrence.

The man took one unbalanced step closer.

“Touch me, and you die,” you warned, tone light with annoyance at the inconvenience. But still, your pretty lips softened the blow of your threat as a smirk graced your face. The female bartender rolled her eyes but chuckled knowingly.

You may have sounded sweet, but that only made it clear that your words weren’t empty. Of course, you didn’t look threatening tonight, but it would be foolish to assume you weren’t. If your beauty was deadly, surely other parts of you were, too.

You frustrated Bi-Han. But what frustrated him more was that he didn’t want to resist you like he knew he should. Seeing another man in your proximity alone threatened to boil his blood. And when the drunkard stumbled forward again, Bi-Han’s resolve vanished as he moved at lightning speed, closing the distance between him and the stranger within seconds.

It was too easy, and Bi-Han exhaled in annoyance. He squeezed the man’s wrist hard, refraining from using ice to burn against his skin. The Grandmaster wanted to snap his wrist clean off with a simple twist, but knew it was best not to. Incompetent, pathetic. This poor excuse of a man thought he could get away with this? Never.

“She said no,” Bi-Han sneered, shoving him backward so roughly that he slammed against the tile with a loud thud.

Immediately frightened by the sinister look in the Grandmaster's eyes, the drunkard desperately scrambled back when Bi-Han took another step forward.

“Leave.” Bi-Han's voice was rough and undoubtedly final. The man didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly rose to his feet and rushed for the exit.

Bi-Han exhaled deeply; part of him wanted more of a fight, but the other part was satisfied with how easily the situation was diffused. It was to protect you, after all.

Slowly, his gaze shifted back to you.

You raised your eyebrows when you realized who your protector was. The Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei? He was the last person you expected to be there, as his reputation was known to be cold, aggressive, and relentless. Your eyes drifted to where the creep had once lain splayed across the floor. The aggressive part definitely checked out.

“Thank you,” you said to cover up your surprise and hesitation, offering him a polite smile. “I didn’t want to get my hands dirty tonight.”

Bi-Han was immediately enraptured by your smile, accompanied by a voice so light that it was almost like a whisper. The sincerity of your words caressed him, causing a shiver to ripple down his spine. How was this possible? He’d never felt like this before… so weak and willing.

He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed by his hesitation. “It was the right decision to interfere,” he replied, his voice deep and matter-of-fact. “I couldn’t allow him to touch you.”

When he said allow, it hinted that the Grandmaster did know who you were. And despite that, he still came to your rescue.

Your eyes trailed across his body, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek somewhat nervously as you realized how handsome he was. It was an instant attraction. Maybe it was confidence or your naivety, but your gut insisted he was feeling the same pull.

“Buy me a drink?” you asked. Though inviting, your tone left little room for him to refuse.

Bi-Han paused, surprised at your boldness but realizing how open the two of you were to the rest of the crowd. You weren’t just flirting with him; you were warning him.

More intrigued than before, his gaze momentarily lingered on you before answering. Up close, you looked even more ravishing, the dress fitting perfectly and accentuating your curves. A work of art, he presumed.

Forcing himself to look away, he met your eyes again. “Of course, Princess,” he said before gesturing to the bartender, who seemed to be knowingly smirking at the two of you. “Another of what she has at table 77.”

Smart. You thought. A genius tactic. What woman would want to say no to such respectful assertiveness?

Pleased, you rose from your seat as Bi-Han held out his arm for you. You took it, staring at him intensely, almost as if your eyes were dissecting him through your gaze alone, noting the curvature of his muscles before brushing your fingers against them.

He towered over your smaller frame, a man built for kombat, built for leadership and domination. But instead of fear, excitement was coursing through your veins. What you wanted was to dominate him. To have him underneath you. Lustful thoughts swirled in your mind. It was ridiculous and so unlike you. But it made you giddy.

Tonight wasn’t about making connections for your clan. Every once in a while, a princess could indulge… right?

So, you followed him into a more secluded part of the lounge, which was seemingly empty. The lights were dimmer, and the atmosphere was calmer and intimate.

“You came here alone?” you asked the Grandmaster, smoothing out the wrinkle in your dress before sitting across the table from him. As you crossed your legs, your heels brushed against his legs.

“Yes, I came alone.” Bi-Han exhaled deeply. “And you?”

“Against my father’s wishes,” you sighed, then chuckled as the bartender rounded the table and handed you a martini. Once she left, you leaned forward and inspected your drink, dipping your finger in the liquor and tasting it quickly for any hints of poison. “Don’t get me wrong,” you hummed, pausing to take an elongated sip. “I understand why, but I’m not a little girl anymore. If he wants me to lead in the future, he must let me make my own decisions.”

Bi-Han raised his drink to his lips, taking a few sips as he listened to you.

“He’s worried about you,” he replied calmly as his gaze returned to your figure. “That’s natural,” he said, seeming to get distracted before reeling himself back in. “But you strike me as the type of woman to challenge such wishes.”

Giggling into your glass, you playfully rolled your eyes. “I listen to my father plenty. He’s a wise man, but nobody can get everything right.”

You leaned back in your seat, gazing at the Grandmaster. “I think you, out of everyone, would know what that pressure feels like, no?”

A slight shadow fell over the Grandmaster’s face. “I know. I’ve carried the weight of this clan on my shoulders for many years, and it hasn’t been an easy path.”

Admittedly, Bi-Han hadn’t expected such wisdom and insight from you. Though you weren’t much younger, you were a new leader. Perhaps it was his own bias, but you far exceeded his expectations.

"Why?" He put the bottle aside and leaned forward. His gaze met yours. "What do you wish to know?"

"Anything you'd like to reveal…” You offered, tone suddenly sultry and inviting. To close some of the distance, you leaned over the table, your dress revealing more of your cleavage from the angle, right under his lingering gaze. And for a moment, he indulged greedily.

It was intentional, and he knew it. But you weren’t stopping him. What man wouldn’t want to enjoy such a pretty view?

“You’re smart,” he sighed. It was tempting, indeed. You were tempting, witty, and calculated. Most men wouldn’t even notice or care what you were trying to do, only that you were giving them attention.

“I appreciate the compliment,” you said quickly, knowing you’d been caught. “I’m glad you can enjoy something else about me besides my looks.”

His intense gaze refused to lose yours. “I prefer to know what type of woman the rivaling clan leader is,” he said, his response smoother than you anticipated. “The rumors of your beauty ring true… but your competence is still undetermined.”

You took another sip of your drink to suppress the smile that threatened to break your mask. Once you set it down, your finger slowly traced the edge. “I haven’t heard rumors about your appearance… But I happen to like what I see.”

When you finally met his gaze again, your eyes were darker than before, hungrier than he could anticipate.

“But I’ve heard how cruel and cutthroat you can be, with no hesitation to kill. You want more power, and you want to lead. Your abilities, too, are frankly unbeatable. You’re rarely seen in public, let alone in an establishment like this. And I happen to frequent this place,” you paused, pretending to be deep in thought, when all you were thinking about was how he would taste and feel against you. It felt naughty, risky, yet undeniably intoxicating.

The Grandmaster thought he was being subtle, but you sensed his lingering gaze the moment you stepped into the bar.

And tonight, you had time. Not only to entertain a sworn enemy, but also to convince.

“You know your facts quite well,” he grunted in response, but kept his expression neutral.

“You came here to see me, didn’t you?” you asked, tilting your head, the glisten of your eyes hinting that you found it amusing. The lengths he went to see you, even from afar, impressed you. Your father would undoubtedly have his head if he knew about it, so his initiative could only be applauded.

It also meant that whatever Bi-Han wanted from you had to be worth it, and he had to be desperate.

“I shouldn’t have underestimated your knowledge of me, Princess,” Bi-Han replied, the only hint of his surprise being the slight quirk of his eyebrows. But his deep brown, almost black eyes gave him away. The way he looked at you made it hard for you to resist him, and you didn’t know why. You shouldn’t even be speaking to him, but you wanted to. It was forbidden and irresponsible, but damn, was it exciting.

“Keep your enemies closer, they say, right?” you simpered.

Bi-Han knew what you were doing, but he wouldn’t stop you. Not when you looked so ravishing, sitting across from him so pretty, with such a clear and lustful stare for him in your breathtakingly beautiful eyes. When was the last time he’d been able to sit with a woman like you and enjoy his drink? Though calculated on your end, Bi-Han knew and didn’t care.

And he let his eyes roam, following the curve of your breasts, the dips of your collarbone, the way your hair swayed across your shoulders as you moved. How gorgeous your skin would look covered in his hickeys.

After a long moment, he forced himself to look back up at your face. Bi-Han reached for his beer and swallowed hard, finishing the rest before continuing.

“That’s right,” he replied in a low voice, trying to hide the desire infusing his tone. “And are we enemies?”

“I don’t want to be,” you mused before you became distracted and flagged down a waiter for another drink. As they approached, you plastered a bright smile despite the conversation. “Another martini for me and a beer for him. Can you also bring two shots of your most expensive sake?"

Smirking at your request for something stronger, Bi-han questioned you once the waiter was out of earshot. “Are you sure you can handle that, Princess?” he asked.

“I intend to drink longer with you anyway,” you said matter-of-factly, though your smile deepened when you glanced back at him.

Bi-Han chuckled in response, his way of accepting your invitation. “I don’t think I’ve ever kept a princess company before,” he replied smoothly, trying to conceal his relief. He wanted to spend more time with you and was surprised by how easily you tore down his walls and resolve.

"Do you not want to?" you replied coyly. "It seems like you're enjoying yourself."

Before Bi-Han could say anything else, the bartender from before returned with a tray containing your drinks.

“Thank you.” You smiled as she handed you the drinks. “We won’t be needing anything else. The Grandmaster will come up to pay when we’re done,” you said, purposefully mentioning his title to ensure you wouldn’t be bothered.

She nodded in agreement, flashing a wink that only you could see. “Of course, Princess.”

You chuckled in response and focused your attention back on Bi-Han. Delicately, he began to pour the sake into a shot glass for you.

Successfully, you’d gotten him alone, but he didn’t mind. It was quieter on this side of the building, more secluded. And having you all to himself was making him bolder. Your flirtations, too, were intriguing.

“Does it amuse you to drink with my money?” he asked as he raised his glass to you.

Clinking your glass with his, you giggled at his question. “And what if I said yes?” you replied before tipping your head back, exhilarated as the liquor burned down your throat.

Bi-Han smirked, watching you down it with ease. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint a woman like you.”

You could feel his eyes all over you, and it was exciting. A feeling blossomed in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and you knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. But still, you remained slightly cautious of him even if you didn’t show it. There was a fine and dangerous line to balance when it came to the Lin Kuei. Though you didn’t know or understand why, the strained relationship between your clan and his had happened long before you came into power.

Watching him pour another shot, you brought the conversation back before you were interrupted. “So why did you come to see me?” you asked.

“Curiosity,” he admitted, sliding the cup before you. “Some of my most trusted allies speak highly of you. And when I got word of your father stepping down, I wanted to see for myself.”

“Well, I’m not preparing any armies, since you’re so curious.”

Bi-Han chuckled. “As if you could defeat the Lin Kuei.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in your seat and took the shot he poured for you. A shiver rippled through your body.

“I also never had any intentions of defeating the Lin Kuei,” you sighed, locking eyes with him again. “I feel that would be a waste, no?”

“Agreed.”

“I’m optimistic that we can strike some sort of deal to end this decades-long feud that neither of us particularly cares about. In fact, I think our factions could be stronger together. What really matters is outworld threats…”

You paused, eyes drifting to his bulging, crossed arms. “Would you consider peace? Or a mutually beneficial merger?”

Bi-Han listened as you spoke, staring directly at you. He was slightly surprised to hear your words. Peace? What a strange thing to admit. You were so optimistic and positive... he wanted to say naive, but he couldn't. You were anything but that, and you played your games well. Good enough to intrigue him, to lure him.

Despite all those warning signs that blared in his mind, Bi-Han could only concur that you were being genuine with no hidden agenda. If anything, he respected the boldness you exuded. Most people were too timid in his presence to ask.

“You truly are different from your ancestors,” he mumbled, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

His eyes were fixed directly on yours.

“You really want peace between our clans?”

“Don’t you?” you asked, your gaze flickering with hope. “We can sit here and share a drink together, a Princess and a Grandmaster.” You took a slow sip of your cocktail before continuing, trying to gauge his reaction. “I think that’s a step in the right direction, probably more than anyone else has bothered to take in decades.”

Bi-Han fell silent. Somehow, he could decipher that your words were honest and sincere. It was something he didn't expect.

“A fair point.” He paused. “But that’s to say if you get what you want from me.”

“Bingoooo,” you drawled.

“So what do you want?” he scoffed, a displeased grunt leaving him as he watched your smirk deepen.

“I want to merge our clans. Organization and the division of power can come later, but I expect to remain queen. I want the authority to continue training the women of both your and my people. Neither of us can decide without consulting the other,” you paused. "Quite simple."

“Sounds awfully like marriage.”

“That could be arranged.” You shrugged. “Would that be your preference?"

A vixen, you were, presenting yourself as awfully innocent, speaking sweet nothings, and offering a better life, a united front that could not be overpowered by another. You made it seem so simple. And perhaps, it could be that way under your rule.

“I’ll admit it has a nice ring to it," Bi-han said.

Satisfaction crept into your expression, and so did your desire. "I'm thrilled you think so." A moment passed as you collected yourself, encouraging your lucidness for a bit longer. It was so easy to slip away and become infatuated with the Grandmaster before you.

Another sip of your drink settled your wandering thoughts.

“No man will ever strip me of my power.” You smiled sweetly, masking the previous pondering. “That is the one rule you will have to respect.”

Intensely, his eyes met yours again. In a deep, enticing tone, he whispered, “I can conquer you in other ways, dear princess.”

You hummed lightly in response. "So is this a deal?"

Bi-Han slightly tilted his head, trying to determine the cause of your excitement. “Does the idea of peace please you so much?”

“Yes,” you conveyed, reaching across the table and taking his hands in yours. The Grandmaster didn't shy away; you felt him relax from your touch. And as you decided to intertwine your fingers with his, they surprisingly fit perfectly. “We can be stronger this way, instead of fighting amongst each other. If we are unified, we can take on stronger outworld opponents.”

When was the last time Bi-Han allowed someone to touch him so casually? He couldn't remember, and his reaction betrayed his inner thoughts. It only fueled you further, but you remained still, waiting, your thumb brushing his knuckles.

“You’re very passionate about this,” he finally said, his dark, apprehensive gaze focused on your delicate hands.

One thing you were good at reading was body language, and Bi-Han had one unlike any other. When you showed happiness or touched him, he was shocked and almost uncomfortable, but then he wasn’t. For some reason, he allowed your advances. His eyes told you what you needed to know—desire.

What type was still unknown. But you would figure it out. You’d already gotten this far, and his compliance was easier to gain than you thought. A man rumored to be aggressive and stubborn was holding your hands and agreeing with you. He’d helped you even if it would be wise of him not to.

It felt like fate. Some would call it a death wish, but you persevered.

“I’m passionate about many things, Grandmaster…” you replied, voice faint and alluring as your thumb ran over his knuckles again. “But yes, I have dreams of something better for myself and your people.”

Something about how you touched him sent unfathomable jolts throughout his body. What was he supposed to do? The last thing he imagined was having a woman like you by his side. Yet, that was what he craved, despite all his training and how he was raised.

Your voice was soft and almost suggestive, but each word had meaning. Bi-Han knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hands away from yours.

From his silence and hesitation, you studied him further. A battle was ongoing in his mind, betrayed by his lack of eye contact, which had been so obvious before. What you missed was that confidence. That drew you to him initially, not just the rumors, but seeing him in action. He was a warrior and a leader, and you knew he was missing a woman's touch.

“You do not have many moments of peace, do you?” you whispered, encouraging him to meet your eyes.

Bi-Han knew you were perceptive, but he hadn’t expected you to be able to read him so easily. His face betrayed no expression, but his eyes spoke volumes.

The Grandmaster swallowed harshly.

“No,” he replied in a low voice, his hands finally curling around yours. “Few and far between.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Bi-Han.” You frowned, this time genuinely. It saddened you to hear that someone as strong and powerful as him could also be suffering.

Had anyone ever been gentle with him? Did he ever smile or feel even fleeting moments of happiness?

“Let me help ease your stress.”

He didn’t know how to react to your words. No one had spoken to him like this in a very long time.

“How could you help relieve my stress?” he asked, his voice taking on a strained edge.

“In whatever way you want,” you trailed off. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be for quite some time…”

Bi-Han was silent, staring at you. He could feel the tension rising between you. Your words were seductive, a way to entice him. And to his own surprise, he couldn’t resist their power.

He could feel his self-control slowly slipping away; he could practically feel the alcohol rushing through his veins. The Grandmaster flexed his jaw, his eyes searching your face.

“And if I said I wanted you?”

“I know you do,” you replied with an all-knowing smirk, desire darkening in your eyes. What better way to soften a deal of peace than to have him all over your body?

Leaning forward across the table, the hemline of your dress sagged down slightly to reveal your cleavage once again. You watched his eyes move with your body, entranced.

“I haven’t had company in a long time… and I’m quite needy.”

Bi-Han's gaze was fixated on your body, hungrily scanning every inch. He swallowed, feeling a strange heat rising in his chest. He hated losing control. He should be the one in control. He should be giving the orders.

But there was just something about you that entranced him, that made him act differently… kinder… softer. All Bi-Han could do for a moment was close his eyes and exhale heavily. It took too much willpower to resist your temptation. And now that there was an invitation, all his fortifications crumbled.

“Do you want me to satisfy your neediness, Princess?”

“Please,” you whispered honestly.

Bi-Han opened his eyes, studying you carefully for any signs of deception. But no, he wasn’t wrong; it was clear that you wanted him badly. Your alluring voice and the look of desire in your eyes caused his blood to rush to the lower half of his body.

“Then come here. Sit on my lap," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, but there was a demand.

A sudden wave of heat tightened in your abdomen from his tone. For no other man were you so keen to submit to.

With a lustful gleam in your sparkling, fox-like eyes, you stood up and walked around the table, heart pounding as you sat sideways in his lap. One of his hands immediately latched onto your waist to support you, pulling you closer with ease. He could hear you inhale sharply as he positioned you on his covered, hardening length.

“Is this what you imagined, princess?” he asked, somewhat cockily, as if he recognized his advantage, not only over you physically in this moment, but also over the average man. Perhaps over any man you’d been with before.

He wanted to be the best. And how quickly you nodded in response only fueled his ego more.

Gently forcing you to still against him, one of his hands slid forward to feel the soft warmth of your inner thighs while the other crept teasingly slow up your waist, pausing just below your bra.

Biting down on your lip to suppress a moan, you leaned back into him, the sweetness of your perfume and the plushness of your curves engulfing him.

He grunted, feeling his cock throb. “Are you this obedient for any man that comes along, princess?”

“N-No…” you stuttered as his finger teasingly played with the wire of your bra, his hand cupping your covered breast, beginning to fondle you excruciatingly slow.

“Must have caught me at a bad time,” you whimpered as you felt his hot breath fan down your back. Bi-Hans’s free hand reached up and beckoned your hair over your shoulder, giving him access to your uncovered neck.

“I wonder what a pretty girl like you is doing without a man to satisfy her desires,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and entirely consumed with lust. A need he'd been suppressing since the first time he heard your name. “Is that why you come here?” he asked. “You want men to look at you?”

“I…” you almost moaned from his teasing touch and tone alone. He knew what he was doing, nearly as payback… making you squirm like you had with him before. “I want to be satisfied,” you whined. “Only by a man like you.”

Bi-Han enjoyed the sound of your desperately pathetic whimpering. Having this power over you, having control over the clan leader’s daughter, drove him crazy. But it was more than that. He wanted to, almost feeling like he had to.

His hand continued to move, finding the edge of your panties. Pulling them back, the strand snapped against your skin when he released. “Then let me satisfy you, Princess.”

In public? Your cheeks flushed red, but your pussy pulsated with need in response to the fabric lifting off your neglected clit.

“Grandmaster…” you whispered in warning. “We can’t do that here…”

Bi-Han chuckled at your weak attempt, warning against what he was about to do. He knew it was too risky, too dangerous. If someone saw you like this, it could ruin all diplomacy between your clans.

But he didn’t care.

His fingertips only danced lower, moving against your delicate lace panties.

“Are you telling me what I can and can’t do, Princess?”

Before you could answer, his thumb pressed into your clothed clit, causing you to curse weakly under your breath.

“S-Shit…” you stuttered as he began to run agonizingly slow circles against your sweetest spot. It has been so long since you’d been touched like this. It was too much, and you were still paranoid. What if someone saw the two of you? Then what?

A part of you didn’t care, and a piece of you was turned on by the fact that the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei would make love to you in front of a crowd, but you knew better than that.

“A princess needs privacy…” You bit down on your lip to stifle a needy moan. “We can’t be seen doing this…”

He knew you were trying to maintain some control, but he wouldn’t let you do that. “A smart princess would follow the Grandmaster’s command,” Bi-Han replied in a low, husky voice, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on your throat, placing a slow kiss there. So much pleasure was being derived from him at the sound of your whines alone.

“Please, Grandmaster,” you whimpered. “I want you so bad…”

“Quiet, Y/N, and let me satisfy you here first.” It was the first time he’d used your name, but it barely crossed your mind before he pushed a finger inside your leaking cunt.

A moan attempted to leave your lips before his free hand clamped over your mouth. "Shh..." he cooed, kissing your neck and beckoning you in. Silenced, you melted against him. “I won't let anyone see you.”

Instinctively, your legs spread open wider. As you did so, he added another digit, which your cunt granted eagerly.

“Shit,” he muttered, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, able to feel how you clenched around him. “So needy from being so neglected.”

For a moment, all you could feel was him. The way he played with you was all you could focus on, and you were completely engulfed. You writhed against him, whimpering into his hand, wishing you could lament about how amazing he was making you feel, wishing you could beg for his cock. It was torture, but you knew you couldn't release.

Not yet... not here…

A sudden wave of euphoria panged hard in your abdomen, and you twitched against him, whining loudly.

You were so close, and he was greedy, but you managed to break free from the hedonistic trance. A weak attempt was made to pull his hand away, and Bi-Han obliged.

He almost protested, but you obviously couldn't handle much more. You stood up immediately and pulled down your dress.

"Follow me," you said, masking the need you craved to convey.

Reputation was important, but you also deserved satisfaction. Every once in a while, you could live a little. For once, you didn't care what your clan would think. And you were inclined to believe that Bi-Han agreed. Despite your desire to have sex with him, you knew you would get what you wanted from him regardless.

And right now, all you could think about was how he would feel inside you.

The Grandmaster rose from his chair hastily, lightly smacking your ass before pulling you closer to him. An erotic, surprised squeal etched from your lips, unheard by others under the blaring music.

You were confident that nobody important would see you leave with Grandmaster Bi-Han, but you didn’t want to take any chances or give anyone leads.

Nobody else needed to know about a passionate and consensual night between two adults who happened to be leaders. Perhaps it was true of what your clan often said about you—that you were impossible to resist.

That was precisely what Bi-Han was thinking as you grasped his hand and pulled him through a secret back exit. Every rational part of him was screaming to resist and not trust or follow you, but he couldn't help himself. At the end of the day, he was just another man who couldn't pass up the opportunity to take you to bed.

Despite his stoic demeanor, his mind was consumed by thoughts of what would come and what he planned to do to you. Bi-Han felt a strange desire for you growing within him, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Once the two of you were outside, you turned around to look at him and released his hand.

"I'm renting a room at the hotel," you rushed out. "You're welcome to come with me, or I will see you later."

Bi-Han’s dark gaze settled on you as the night air enveloped you. He was utterly entranced by the sight of you that he hardly heard what you said. You radiated beauty so heavenly in the moonlight that the last of his composure faltered.

In fact, he seemed frozen. And you gently set your hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a sudden concern about his lack of response. There was a primal undertone in his stare, one that you found hard to resist and ignore.

“Bi-Han?” you asked hesitantly, trying to gauge his reaction.

But instead, he leaned down and took your lips in his.

You tasted precisely as he imagined; it was so sweet, so temptingly submissive, and so his. A spark ignited within Bi-Han that he’d never felt before. An intensity, a reverence he knew could not be found elsewhere.

"Talk after," he mumbled against your lips, his hands finding your waist and holding you against him like you would escape too soon. His tongue slipped into your mouth, desperate for more, for whatever you would give him.

Giggling into the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down slightly so you didn’t have to reach as far.

Bi-Han groaned in the back of his throat at how eagerly you responded to him. He could feel the heat coming from your body, and he felt like he was going crazy with desire.

Eventually, you pulled away after making out with him in the alleyway for what felt like hours.

His thumb glided over your swollen lip. His mouth parted as if to say something, but he was too lost in admiring you.

“Come with me,” you said gently, taking his hand and leading him down the alleyway. Once you reached the next block, you stopped and pointed. “I’m on the second floor. I’ll meet you at that window.”

Bi-Han shook his head, releasing a light laugh. Your urgency was evident in your voice and demeanor. “I can do that, Princess.”

“Give me one minute,” you said, pulling out your room key and flashing it at him. “I would bring you through the front, but my father knows the staff.”

And then you turned around and headed toward the front entrance. Bi-Han observed you until you disappeared into the building, watching how your hips swayed, knowing blades were strapped underneath your dress. You flipped your hair over your shoulders, looking back at him briefly before the doors slid open. God, was he lucky to spend the night with you.

Bi-Han would make it worth your while. Quickly, he scanned the fire escape and calculated the swiftest way up. With a deep breath, he climbed the wall and found you already waiting by the window once he reached it.

Sliding it open, you stepped aside as he crawled through. Hardly a moment passed before he went for you, crashing his lips back onto yours.

Bi-Han lifted you into his arms, and you gladly wrapped your legs around his waist. He easily supported your weight and reached back quickly to slam the window shut with a satisfactory thud.

Then, he smacked your ass as he groped you, lips curling against yours in a raffish smile.

"May I have you, now?" he mumbled against your lips, pulling away to gaze at your face to ensure you wanted this. A part of him still couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of trick or ploy. It was rare for a woman like yourself to hold so much power yet indulge in such a hedonistic way.

It excited him; it intrigued him. You were a woman who knew exactly what you wanted and needed. And you were unafraid to demand it of him. You deserved to be ravished, and you knew it.

All Bi-Han could think about was granting and exceeding your desires. He had fallen entirely under your spell.

A moment passed as you gazed into his dark, glossed-over eyes. "Show me why you're so deserving of your title," you dared, somehow knowing how to rile him even further, how to make him absolutely crumble underneath your touch, yet still wholly intent on your pleasure.

It made him break.

"You'll never think of another man again when I'm done with you, Y/N," he whispered as he lured you back to his lips.

The confidence in his words and the all-consuming taste of him caused you to shiver. And all you could manage was a satisfied whimper before he set you down on the bed.

Gazing up at him, you bit down on your lip. "Gentle," you cooed. It had been quite some time since you'd been with a man of his physique, let alone strength.

Of course, he would start out gently. But soon, he would have you begging for more.

Bi-Han lowered himself to his knees, watching you with lust-filled eyes as he first reached for your heels and slid them off with ease.

A hum of approval left you as he first kissed your ankles and moved up to your thighs, leaving light-peppered kisses that seared across your skin. As he rose further up you, his hands came to the back of your dress, and he pulled the zipper down.

"Bare yourself to me," he beseeched, hoping you would submit to him in turn.

His tone and the desperation in it made you still. Your eyelashes fluttered as he slowly slid your bra straps down your shoulders.

Your chest heaved as your breasts were revealed. Bi-Han swallowed hard as his eyes lingered, more than pleased at your endowment. Perfect—his for the night and eventually forever. That was what he was going to do. No other man deserved to see you like this. No other man would be able to enjoy your body like he was about to.

The Grandmaster couldn't wait, could hardly control himself as he leaned forward and attacked your breasts, leaning against you until you laid flat on the mattress.

"Don't rip it," you moaned, head tossing back as his tongue swirled around your nipple. In the next movement, your dress had been shimmed down your body and discarded to the floor. The dress would be fine, but as for your panties, he smirked against your skin before ripping them off you.

"Grandmaster!" you gasped, jolting briefly, legs spreading as he snaked between them, hovering over you.

"I can spoil you with something better."

Reaching forward, you fidgeted with his belt as he pulled his shirt off. He tossed it aside, and you were entranced by his contorting muscles, causing a rush of desire to pang in your abdomen again. By the elder gods, how badly you wanted to be dominated by him.

How sinful was this? Was it too indulgent?

As his cock sprang free, you hummed in approval, reaching out for it before you could stop yourself. Bi-Han had made you feel appreciated all night, and it was your turn to give him something unforgettable.

You knew that was what he wanted as your hand ran across the veins of his swollen shaft. His breath was sparse, and for a moment, he froze, only watching you, waiting, okay with letting you take the lead for a moment.

Leaning forward, you placed a kiss, beginning to tease him with tantalizingly slow pumps.

"So big..." you murmured, staring up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, rolling your tongue over his tip, already leaking with pre-cum.

"Too big for that pretty little mouth of yours?"

"Never," you whined through your exhale, hot breath searing down his shaft before your mouth covered him.

Instantly, his head tossed back as he groaned deeply, clearly relishing in the warmth of your mouth that enveloped his throbbing desire.

But it wasn't enough; nothing but your everything would be enough. Bi-Han watched you suck him, bobbing your head and trying to take all of him, eyes trained on yours as you brought him closer and closer like you weren't even trying.

Pumping the length you couldn't fit in your mouth, you moaned, batting your eyelashes, growing more desperate by the second.

"Y/N..." he groaned your name deeply as if in a trance.

If anything, he was wrapped around your finger. The Grandmaster knew you were his for the taking from the moment he glimpsed you. A perfect fit. And what he needed, what he craved, was your sloppy, desperate pussy. Watching you struggle against him was vivifying.

What wonders he would find when he was connected to you.

He shoved himself far and hard into your mouth, and you choked, pulling away in a gasp. Bi-Han was close and knew it, but he didn't want to risk it. The absence of your warmth pained him, and he was desperate to get it back.

"Lay down," he commanded.

And you listened, perhaps too eagerly, but it was what you needed.

"Can't let another man have you," he grunted, hands continuing to worship your body, squeezing and groping in a perfect balance of domination and attentiveness. It was like Bi-Han was trying to make you fall in love with him. This somehow felt like a promise, a glimpse of a potential future.

"Too perfect to let an unworthy man taint you," he added, leaning forward to gently take your lips with his. Your eyes widened, but you kissed him back, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, the need for all of him panging deeper.

It was like he knew exactly what you wanted. What you craved.

“And do you think you’re worthy?” you asked, hardly above a whisper, eyes too filled with desire and anticipation to stop yourself, getting off on his words alone.

So selfish… so desperate and needy.

The Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei had already conquered you like he boasted he would, yet he was unable to take his eyes off you as he ran his hands across your waist again, positioning his cock at your entrance. Nothing mattered in this moment but you.

“I know I am, Y/N…” he tried to say confidently but faltered as he ran his cock teasingly through your slick folds. “Let me satisfy you.”

Meeting his eyes again, you nodded slowly, heart pounding inside your chest. “Please…” you whispered. So flustered, so incredibly desperate for a cock you shouldn’t have. You were pathetic, but you didn't care.

Watching you beg, Bi-Han could only grant your wish.

A whimper of elation escaped your lips as he pushed himself inside you slowly, letting yourself sink against his throbbing cock, feeling the length stretch your walls until it was impossible to go further. Watching you struggle against him made him grunt with satisfaction. Your pussy felt too good, a prize he'd been pining over for months. The best he ever had and will only have from that night onward.

“Feel good?”

"Y-yes, Grandmaster…ah!" you cry out again, back arching against the mattress as he continues to pump in and out of you greedily.

It was so good, like a drug, and now that Bi-Han had a taste, he could no longer go without you.

Your pussy was pulsing erratically, so wet and welcoming for him. What Bi-Han really wanted to do was fuck you senseless, claim each and every inch of your body. Teasing him all night, making him consent to deals that would benefit you more than him... what a vixen you were.

A low, possessive growl rumbled from his chest as his pace increased, losing himself in your arms, lips ravishing your neck, wanting to cover you in him. To mark you, to claim you.

Bottoming out, Bi-Han hoisted you farther up, and you compliantly wrapped your legs around his waist. He hummed in response as your walls squeezed his cock. A whimper escaped your mouth as your hands fell to your sides, hair fanning across the silk pillowcases. A fiery blush dusted your cheeks.

Angelic.

"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, staring down at you with a feral gleam in his dark eyes.

It was hard to think about anything else as you tried to adjust to his length. He was huge, and you were already a stuttering mess.

"Y-You, Grandmaster,” you forced out, followed by a pathetic, needy whine. Hardly able to reply before he pulled his cock all the way out and then slammed it back in, burying himself deep inside your pussy, a groan of ecstasy leaving his lips at the way your walls coddled him so tightly, so perfectly, like you were made just for him.

Moaning, you stared deeply into his eyes as he pounded into you over and over again, to the point where you swore you could see stars. Bi-han was huge, fucking you until your moans were mixing with his, the sound of your pussy squelching, taking him fully until he was balls deep, causing a devilish grin to spread across his face.

He was consuming you, feeling his cock twitch inside of you as he glimpsed your breasts bouncing wildly underneath him. You felt too good, heavenly, the best he'd ever had.

"B-Bi-han!" you cried, hardly able to choke out his name in your euphoria, climbing higher and higher, your walls constricting, building. "I can't take it—ah—yes!" you choked out, unable to control yourself from the relentless pace, causing you to orgasm all over his unyielding cock.

He smirked, satisfied at how quickly he could make you unravel. "Look at you, Princess, loving the way my cock splits you open," he groaned, not slowing his pace or relenting, helping you ride out your high before he was going to throw you into another body-shaking orgasm.

"More...." you sobbed, tears clouding your vision, the sound of his skin slapping against your now-drenched pussy causing blood to pound louder in your ears. You could barely breathe, completely cock drunk and fucked-out.

"This is what you wanted the whole time, huh?" Bi-Han teased, barely, feeling himself lose control as he glimpsed the look of intoxication on your face. "What a harlot you are, princess."

His sensuality was music to your ears, and all you could do was moan, nodding with parted lips, body rocking back and forth against his relentless pace.

Your beauty enraptured the Grandmaster. How well and eager you took his length, how your nails scratched down his back, only edging him on further. "M'gonna breed your pretty little pussy, gonna make you mine..."

"Please, Bi-Han," you whimpered, grasping onto his arms that caged you underneath him for support. You were unraveling in his grip, and he couldn't be more satisfied. "S-so much..."

"Take it," he groaned an order, ramming into you over and over again. Your back arched against the bed as the Grandmaster hoisted your legs up higher around his waist, your ass cupped in both of his hands, thrusting right into your already inflamed g-spot.

All you could feel was him; all you could think about was him. Opening your eyes, you saw his eyes narrowed, determination in his expression. He looked so handsome above you, focused on ruining your body for his pleasure. He was finally all yours. And the memory of it caused the pressure in your abdomen to tighten once again.

“Fuck-oh-Bi-han!” Another cry was loudly called into the night, as you came again. It was hard. Violent. Bi-Han watched as your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling as you squirted against him.

At your quick and vocal release, Bi-han found himself unable to breathe, unable to even mutter a word as he plunged into euphoria, releasing his load into your sanctified cunt just seconds after you finished for the second time.

It felt too good, it felt like heaven. You must have put a spell on him, for he realized there was no other way to feel so... enraptured. These emotions, this feeling, having you in his arms...

You were so pretty for him, so angelic. You were the type of woman men went to war for.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, so needily that his desperate tone only elongated your orgasm.

Your legs dropped from his waist, but he remained inside of you, his hands still gripping your waist.

"That was..." you trailed off, chest rising and falling in deep, recolecting breaths. Your body and mind were on fire, still trying to reconcile what had happened.

Amazing. Bi-Han wanted to say, but all he could do was sink farther into you, hands massaging up your sides before pressing a kiss against your forehead.

As he pulled back, you gazed up at the Grandmaster with rapture in your eyes, satisfaction pulling at your lips. When he pulled out, his load started to leak from your core.

He simpered, admiring how beautiful you were like this, a smile on your face, skin glistening with sweat, his cum painting your pussy alabaster.

And finally, he spoke. "How beautiful you are."

For the first time in a long time, he was satisfied. Having you like this, a princess who submitted to no one, relieved his stress, it made him optimistic for the future. His prize, his greatest conquest.

It wasn't just your reputation or what you'd just given him. Deep in his heart, he knew it was more than that, even if he struggled to clarify precisely what.

The understanding that rang true in his mind, was that if you were by his side, the two of you would be unstoppable. And perhaps he was lovestruck enough to ensure that happened.

The same epiphany coursed through your body.

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

When the sunlight peeked through the single window in your hotel room, you groaned in displeasure.

Your muscles were sore, your hair was a mess, and your head was aching from the remnants of last night. But at least the bed was cozy, so soft that you didn't want to reach for the glass of water beside you. You wanted to fall back asleep, forget your duties for one more day, and pretend your entire clan didn't depend on you.

A heavy, warm, and muscular body stirred beside you.

“Grandmaster?” you gasped, immediately shooting up from the bed and disregarding your previous thought. You hadn’t expected him to stay the night.

A sleepy, content smile etched across his face before he opened his eyes. Clearly, he found your reaction amusing. "Princess."

“Why didn't you leave?” you questioned, gesturing your hands out exasperatedly, though your urgency landed on deaf ears. You were still naked, after all, and it was a sight for him to see the first thing in the morning. "What if others see?"

Bi-Han wanted to get used to it.

“Let them.”

Your eyebrows narrowed, tone slightly sharper than before. "You don't get it; unless there's rumors of an engagement we cannot be seen together-"

"Do you want to marry me?" he interrupted, rising from the bed, the sheets sliding down his broad chest, making you fall silent. God, you were no better than a simple man when gazing at Bi-Han. Your thoughts seemed to wander, your control slipped, and your intent would falter. It was irritating how much power the Grandmaster had over you.

In turn, he was also irritated that you assumed he wouldn't understand your position and intentionally disrespect it. "Or did last night not mean anything to you?"

"Of course it did," you replied, crossing your arms over your breasts. "But we cannot be hasty in our decisions. Last night was fun, but my proposal was serious. If your intentions are elsewhere, I cannot be seen leaving with you."

How stubborn you were. But also smart. Bi-Han must not have shown you how serious he was about making you his. You didn't just want to submit to him without him doing the same in turn.

"My intentions are with you," he replied. For no one else would he be this honest, so open and irrecoverably entranced. Could you not see that he was trying? It was harder to admit than he would have thought. His life had been harsh and cruel; there was no gentleness or compromise. But you gave him a taste of something better, something he always wanted but thought he would never get. What he'd assumed would be a death wish, had now turned into a hopeful promise.

Bi-Han didn't care if it was too soon, hasty, or foolish. He wanted you by his side as his equal.

You analyzed him carefully, realizing he wasn't one for much expression. But it was in a slight way that his eyes softened as he glanced back at you. It was as if he meant everything he said, as if he was offended you were cautious.

“I will send a marriage proposal to your father by tomorrow.”

Surprised, your eyes widened. "Marriage?" But a faint pink dust darkened your cheeks, like you were hoping for him to agree to that alternative.

"I don't like to share," he huffed. To hell with all the formalities. What you'd proposed initially was precisely what he wanted and needed.

You chuckled softly, sitting back down on the bed beside him. A moment passed when you just stared at him in comfortable silence, taking his features in entirely for a second time. It was unforeseen that someone as cautious and headstrong as you, a respected and fawned-over warrior princess, would align yourself with the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.

But you liked to keep your enemies on their toes.

"Do you trust me?" you asked, knowing you were asking a lot. But if you were to also pledge your loyalty to him in the future, you needed to know if that potential was there. That mattered most. "You really want me to be your wife?"

Bi-Han's expression hardened, trying to suppress the embarrassment that threatened to be revealed without breaking your gaze. His eyes exposed what he struggled to say aloud. "For some reason," he managed to whisper.

A giggle escaped you as you tilted your head. "We'll work on that."

Reaching out, Bi-Han tucked some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. He couldn't fully see your face or sparkling, beautiful eyes. The back of his hand trailed down your cheek as he appreciated your features, a stunningly ravishing woman who deserved whatever she pleased.

And if you wanted him, the Grandmaster would accept that blessing.

"For you, I'll try," he said before leaning in to capture your lips.

Sighing blissfully, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you back to the mattress, lips tethered to yours, bodies melting back together in their rightful place.

That morning was filled with a slow, appreciative passion, unlike anything you had experienced before. A promise, a unity, a vow.

One that soon came true and remained until your dying breath.

142 notes · View notes

gatoru-sojo · 1 month ago

Text

Doubt

one punch man characters x reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, reverse comfort.

all gn, except saitama, i didnt use any fem prns or nothing but theres mentions of reader wearing a bra and having breasts, soo..

saitama, genos, tatsumaki, metal bat, sonic, garou, fubuki

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

In the Quiet, You Hold Me

It was a quiet day.

A still, unmoving day.

The kind that Saitama usually didn’t mind.

No monsters were terrorizing the city. The world wasn’t falling apart. Genos was out running errands, and the Hero Association hadn’t contacted him for any low-level jobs in over a week.

So in that little apartment that was still too small for how much love filled it, the air was calm. No explosions, no emergency alerts. Just the hum of the fridge, the occasional passing car, and the sound of you flipping a page in the book you were reading.

Saitama was lying across the couch, his head comfortably nestled between your breasts. You’d long since stopped wearing a bra around him at home—it was one of those silent love languages between you. He liked the softness. The warmth. The steady beat of your heart. And you… well, you liked spoiling him.

He never asked for it out loud, but every time he sat down and glanced at your chest with that soft, subtle flick of his eyes—just once, never twice—you knew exactly what he wanted.

And you always gave it to him.

His face was buried slightly against your skin now, warm cheek resting against your bare cleavage as he laid there like a lazy cat. One of your hands combed gently through his scalp, dragging your nails across it with soft, rhythmic scratches. The other held your book steady, reading lazily while his breath fanned against your chest.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured.

Saitama hummed, almost inaudibly. But it was lacking something. The usual weight in his hum—the relaxed, content sound he made when he was completely at peace—wasn’t there.

You paused.

Your fingers moved slowly down to the side of his face, cupping it gently. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t lean into it like he usually did either. That made your stomach twist.

“Babe?” you asked softly, lowering your book.

His eyes were open, staring at nothing across the room.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“Something wrong?” you tilted your head, peering down at him.

He hesitated for a second. Just a second too long.

“No,” he said.

You frowned.

“Try again. This time without lying.”

He shut his eyes, sighed out through his nose, and let the silence settle again. That was the problem with him sometimes—he didn’t know how to talk. He could say the most off-handed things without realizing how much they weighed. And other times, when it really mattered, he got stuck.

You set your book down, both hands cradling his face now.

“You’re thinking a lot,” you said. “Too much. And not in your usual ‘What should I eat for lunch’ kind of way.”

He grunted again.

“C’mon. What’s going on in that shiny little head of yours?”

“…It’s nothing,” he muttered.

You gave him the look. He cracked one eye open, met your gaze, and immediately shut it again like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“…It’s really not a big deal,” he tried.

“That’s not what your face is saying.”

He was silent again. But this time, you could feel something shifting in his expression, something subtle and vulnerable. You could feel the tension in his jaw under your thumb.

“I don’t get you,” he finally muttered. “You know that?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

He shifted just enough to tilt his face up at you, resting his chin now between your breasts instead of his cheek, and for once, his eyes were serious. Really serious. It almost caught you off guard.

“I’m… boring.”

You blinked again. Your lips parted, confused, waiting for more. He sat up slowly—not too far, but enough to leave the comfort of your chest—and stared at the floor.

“I’m not romantic. I’m not interesting. I’m not even cute.”

You stared at him.

“Saitama…”

He laughed once. Not bitter, not mocking. Just… hollow.

“I think about it a lot. How you could be with anyone. Anyone more exciting. Someone who knows how to flirt, or take you on real dates, or has more than three facial expressions.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and kept going.

“You could’ve fallen for a guy with a personality. Or a hobby that isn’t grocery sales. Someone who doesn’t kill monsters in one punch and come home with blood on their shoes. Hell, someone with hair.”

You felt your heart twist, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. This wasn’t something fleeting. These were thoughts that had been building. Heavy and festering, tucked away under his nonchalant tone and lazy smiles.

“You really think I care about any of that?” you whispered.

He looked away.

“That’s just it. I don’t know what you care about,” he mumbled. “I never asked. I just assumed one day you’d get tired of… this. Of me. And I guess I started wondering why you haven’t yet.”

Your eyes stung.

God, he was so stupid sometimes. Stupid in the most lovable, heartbreaking way.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his jaw and turning his face back to you.

“Saitama. Look at me.”

He did. Reluctantly, hesitantly. His eyes were uncertain, something aching sitting just beneath the surface.

“I love you,” you said plainly. Firmly. “Not because you’re romantic. Or interesting. Or even for your looks. I love you. The man who lets me hold him like a teddy bear on the couch. Who gets excited about discounted leeks. Who lets me see him like this—quiet, vulnerable, soft.”

His breath caught slightly.

“I love how your voice sounds when you’re half-asleep. I love how you get genuinely confused when someone compliments you. I love how you try to act like nothing matters, but the moment someone insults a friend, your fists are already clenched.”

You reached forward and pressed your forehead to his.

“I don’t want dates. I want you. I want lazy days and dumb jokes and holding you like this until the world disappears. I want to be here when you wake up, when you’re moody, when your hoodie smells like garlic and soap and I still pull you into bed anyway.”

His hands slowly reached up, settling against your waist like he was afraid to touch you. Like he was afraid he might lose you if he held too tight.

“…Really?” he asked softly.

You smiled. A small, watery one.

“Really. I’d scream it from the rooftops if you wanted.”

He snorted—finally—a real laugh this time, and you felt his grip tighten just a little.

“…Can you do something better?” he said.

You raised a brow. “Better?”

He leaned in closer, his face burying itself back between your breasts, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you gently into him like you were the last pillow in the universe.

“Just stay like this,” he mumbled. “Forever.”

You melted.

“I can do that.”

Your fingers resumed their soft combing through his scalp, your other hand rubbing gentle circles along his back. He was warm. So warm. Not in the heat-of-a-fire way, but in the way a bed feels after you’ve been snuggled in it for hours. Familiar. Safe.

“…Do you know what I think?” you whispered.

He mumbled something into your chest. You took that as a yes.

“I think you don’t realize how much you’ve saved me.”

He looked up slightly.

“I’ve had other relationships,” you said. “Ones where I was constantly trying to be enough. To do enough. Say the right things. Wear the right clothes. But with you? I can just be. And you never make me feel like I have to be anything else.”

He blinked at you, his eyes wide. He didn’t speak, so you cupped his cheek and leaned down until your lips brushed his.

“You’re more than enough, Saitama. I wouldn’t trade your one-punch ass for the world.”

He chuckled into the kiss, lips pressing against yours with a quiet desperation. Not heated. Not lustful. Just… needing.

When you pulled away, he sighed against your skin, forehead still pressed to your sternum.

“…What if I forget this tomorrow?” he mumbled. “What if I start doubting it again?”

You kissed the top of his head.

“Then I’ll tell you again. And again. Every time you need to hear it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, turning to the side and pulling you with him until the both of you were lying on the couch, tangled together. His head was still resting between your chest, arms wrapped tight around your middle like you were the only anchor in a sea of doubt.

“…You’re warm,” he murmured.

You smiled against his crown.

“So are you.”

And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.

No grand gestures. No romantic getaways. Just the feel of his weight against you, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the knowledge that no matter how many monsters he could punch away in one hit—this was the one thing he couldn’t destroy.

Your love for him. Constant. Steady.

And entirely his.

When Circuits Slow Down

The heater clicked softly in the background.

Your apartment smelled like clean laundry and warm tea, with a faint edge of metal and engine oil. It always did when Genos was around. That subtle, sharp scent of burnt circuitry and ozone—like he’d been pushing himself too hard again. Like he hadn’t powered down properly since his last mission. Like he couldn’t stop working, couldn’t stop trying.

He was seated on the edge of your bed now, legs spread slightly, posture perfect—always perfect, always stiff like he didn’t know how to relax in a space that was built to hold comfort. His hands rested on his thighs, metal fingers twitching once in a while. A nervous tic he didn’t even realize he had.

The TV played something faint in the living room. You’d left it on as background noise. Just voices, something human, something real to fill the silence he carried in with him.

You leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed lightly. Watching him.

He was looking down at the floor like it was going to give him answers.

“Genos.”

He didn’t lift his head. His voice was low, even. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” You took a step forward, then another. “I was waiting for you.”

Silence.

The kind that made your chest feel heavy.

You crossed the room slowly, dropping to your knees in front of him. His eyes lifted, finally—those glowing irises catching the low bedroom light. Even now, even like this, they were steady. Controlled. Every movement he made was deliberate. Calculated. He didn’t move an inch unless it was serving a purpose.

You reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away.

“Bad fight?” you asked.

He shook his head once. “It was routine. No casualties.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He hesitated.

You rubbed your thumb gently over the back of his hand, you’d learned a long time ago how to read his tells. He never really relaxed. But you could tell when he was close. When he let himself be vulnerable. When he needed you.

And right now, he needed you, he just didn’t know how to say it.

“…I saw a couple today,” he said quietly. “At the station. Before the mission.”

You waited, not interrupting.

“They were just… talking. She was laughing. Touching his arm. He was smiling at her like nothing else in the world existed.” His voice dropped, mechanical but somehow fragile. “And I realized I’ve never looked at you like that.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to,” he said, a little too fast. “I want to give you those things. That kind of life. But I’m not—” His jaw clenched. “I’m not human.”

Your stomach sank.

You sat back on your heels, hand still holding his. “Genos…”

“I can’t give you warmth,” he said. “Or grow old with you. Or hold you with real arms. Or kiss you without you tasting metal. I can’t give you a family. Or safety. Or—” He shut his eyes. “I’m trying to be something better. I’m trying so hard. But I’ll never be enough for someone like you.”

Your heart squeezed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this. But it was the first time he’d meant it like this.

So raw. So still. Like if you moved the wrong way, he’d shut down entirely.

You stood slowly, easing yourself into his lap, straddling his thighs with your hands resting on his shoulders. He stiffened out of habit but didn’t stop you.

“Genos,” you said softly. “Look at me.”

He did.

You cupped his face gently, his expression was blank, but you could feel the tension in him, the confusion. The pain of not knowing how to feel something and the fear that if he did, he might break apart.

“I don’t need a normal life,” you said. “I don’t need someone with a heartbeat or a future carved in stone or a perfect smile. I don’t even need to be looked at the way strangers do on TV.”

Your fingers traced along the side of his face. “I need you. The person who sits up with me when I can’t sleep. Who remembers exactly how I like my tea. Who keeps spare clothes in his chest compartment just because he knows I’m forgetful. The man who lets me hold his hand when he’s short-circuiting and lets me kiss him even when he’s terrified I’ll think he’s cold.”

His breath hitched.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not broken, Genos. You’re trying. That means more to me than anything else ever could.”

His hands came up slowly, hesitantly, resting on your hips like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you right now. Like he was afraid he’d ruin the moment just by existing in it.

“You could have anyone,” he whispered.

“I chose you.”

That made something inside him shift.

You felt his grip tighten, the lines in his shoulders ease just a little. You kissed the corner of his mouth, then leaned into his chest, letting your weight fall into him until he finally—finally—wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat there, breathing with him. Letting the quiet settle between you like a blanket.

After a while, he spoke again. Softer.

“I’m scared I won’t be enough.”

“You already are,” you murmured.

“And if I lose you—”

“You won’t.”

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder.

You held him tighter.

That night, you let him power down beside you for the first time in days. He laid still while you traced every plate of metal, every scarred seam, every line he didn’t see as beautiful.

You made tea.

You left the window open a crack so the cold air would make it easier to snuggle under blankets.

He laid beside you, quiet, stiff, uncertain.

And you reached for him.

Draped your arm across his waist, rested your cheek against the smooth plate of his chest.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” you asked softly.

He looked down at you, hesitant.

You smiled against his chest. “I see someone who makes me feel safe. Someone who tries. Who never gives up. Someone who holds my world together even when he thinks he’s falling apart.”

“…That doesn’t sound like me,” he whispered.

“It is.”

You pulled the blanket tighter.

“You just haven’t learned how to see yourself the way I do yet.”

Eventually, you both fell asleep like that.

You, breathing slow and steady against the cold metal of his frame.

And Genos, curled slightly around you, engines quiet, arms secure, systems dimmed low in the warmth of someone who saw him—and loved him anyway.

Gravity Doesn’t Hold Me Down, You Do

Tatsumaki wasn’t known for being gentle.

Or soft.

Or warm.

She was chaos in a small, compact frame. All power and sharp words, hair as wild as her temper, eyes glowing with authority. The world knew her as the Tornado of Terror, the psychic prodigy, the fearsome S-Class heroine who could rip apart entire cities with a thought if she was pushed far enough.

But you knew her differently.

Because behind closed doors—when the world stopped demanding her strength, when she didn’t have to pretend to be invincible—Tatsumaki could melt.

And she melted only for you.

It was a slow, lazy afternoon. Rain tapping lightly against the windows of your shared apartment. The city below was muted, bathed in grays and mist, and even the usual sirens and chaos of hero life felt distant.

Tatsumaki hovered mid-air lazily, sprawled belly-down just a few feet above your couch. Her tiny frame was wrapped in one of your oversized sweaters—green, of course. Her bare legs kicked aimlessly in the air as she watched the television screen with half-lidded eyes, arms folded beneath her chin. She was pretending not to be sleepy, but you knew better. That sweater had always made her drowsy.

“You’re gonna fall asleep midair again,” you teased gently from where you sat beside her, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your legs.

She gave a little huff and squinted at you over her shoulder. “Am not. I’m just… recharging.” Her voice was clipped but not cold, and you caught the way the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Mmhm. Last time you ‘recharged’ you nearly dropped into the ramen bowl.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound angry. In fact, she floated down until her head settled on your thigh, face half-buried into your lap, arms flopping limply. Her hair tickled your stomach, and her aura calmed until it was nearly imperceptible.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just ran your fingers through her wild, mint-green curls, letting the silence fill with softness. Tatsumaki let out a small sigh—so soft you almost missed it—and nuzzled closer to your warmth.

These moments were rare. The world expected her to be a weapon. Unshakable. Alone. She was told she didn’t need anyone, that attachments were weaknesses. She had told herself the same, once.

And then… you.

You, with your steady hands, warm smiles, and refusal to fear her. You, who looked at her not like a ticking bomb but like a woman who got tired sometimes. You, who never tried to fix her or push her. Who let her float when she needed to float and held her when she needed anchoring.

Still, even in moments like this, when she was quiet and open and practically purring into your lap, you could feel it—that little coil of tension beneath her skin. Something twisting. Something uncertain.

You traced a slow path down her spine, feeling the rigid set of her back despite her soft exterior. “Talk to me,” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately, voice muffled by your sweater.

Liar.

“Okay,” you said, letting the word sit there. You didn’t push her. She hated that. But you kept petting her, slow and rhythmic, grounding.

“…You’re being weird today,” she mumbled after a while.

You raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“I dunno. You’re just… looking at me all soft.”

You smiled. “I always look at you soft.”

“Tch. Gross.” But her cheeks were tinged pink.

“Maybe I’m allowed to be a little gross with the person I love.”

There it was. The flicker. Her body went still for a heartbeat too long. You didn’t stop running your fingers through her hair. You didn’t press. But you saw her eyes flick to the TV, then to the wall, then finally down to her own fingers as they toyed with the hem of your sweater.

“…Hey,” she said eventually, voice quiet. “Do you… think I’m hard to love?”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned off the TV with the remote and looked down at her, but her eyes wouldn’t meet yours. “Tatsu…”

She shifted on your lap, voice tight. “I don’t mean just now. I mean… in general. Always. I know I’m short and loud and annoying and kind of a bitch—”

“You’re not—”

“—And I know I don’t act like other people do in relationships. I don’t say nice things all the time, I don’t really like touching people—except you—and I’ve done terrible stuff. I lose control. People hate me. I can feel it when they look at me. Like I’m just this… dangerous thing they’re forced to tolerate. Even other heroes treat me like I’m some weapon they can’t point the wrong way.”

She laughed, and it was hollow.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just the only person dumb enough to think I’m worth it.”

The words hit like cold water, and your chest ached just hearing them. You moved gently, urging her to sit up, and to your surprise, she let you. You cradled her face in your hands, her cheeks warm and pink, eyes glassy but defiant.

“Tatsumaki,” you said, voice firm. “you are not hard to love. You are hard on yourself.”

Her eyes flickered, lips parting slightly. You pressed your forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“I love you when you’re loud. I love you when you’re quiet. I love you when you’re mad, when you’re smug, when you curl up in my sweaters like they’re your emotional support items. I love you when you’re throwing meteors at monsters and when you’re falling asleep on my lap. I love you.”

She blinked quickly, trying to disguise it as irritation, but you saw the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t have to act a certain way to deserve love, Tatsu. You are loveable. Exactly as you are.”

Her lower lip trembled, and for a terrifying second, you thought she was going to float away. But instead… she launched herself at you, burying her face into your chest and wrapping her arms around your waist like a vice.

“…I don’t want to lose this,” she whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know how to be… normal.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Silence. And then, muffled into your shoulder: “…You really love me?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her small frame, rocking gently. “More than anything, baby. You keep me grounded.”

Tatsumaki snorted, the tiniest of laughs bubbling up. “That was cheesy as hell.”

“And you loved it.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, clinging tighter. “…Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” you promised.

The rain kept falling, a soft lullaby for the two souls curled up together—one a storm of power barely contained, the other the eye of that storm.

And maybe Tatsumaki didn’t know how to say I love you in a thousand words. But she didn’t need to. Not when she said it in every act of trust, every moment she let herself be small, every time she let her guard down just for you.

Because some people love like sunshine.

Some love like spring rain.

But Tatsumaki?

She loved like a natural disaster—loud, wild, destructive—

And you loved her with the kind of quiet that could hold all that power and still never flinch.

And together, you made your own kind of calm.

Too Fast to Catch, Except By You

Speed-o’-Sound Sonic was a blur.

A name whispered like a warning.

A blur of purple, danger, and death.

The shinobi no one could touch, the assassin who turned battle into ballet, the rogue who could outpace anyone but his own thoughts.

He was known as a ghost in the wind. Elusive. Untouchable. Cold.

Except with you.

With you, Sonic wasn’t a storm. He was a still night. A silent snowfall. A breath between heartbeats. The fleeting softness he never let the world see.

Because you… you caught him.

And he let you.

It was the kind of night you could only get away from the city. Quiet. Crickets chirping lazily in the tall grass, moonlight bleeding silver across the forest floor. You sat outside the small cabin he’d whisked you away to for the week—hidden, safe, and far from the chaos of heroes, villains, and Saitama-related rage fits.

You wore one of his tops, perfect for sleeping in. Your legs were curled beneath you on the wooden porch, a cup of tea warming your hands as the breeze tugged gently at your hair.

Then—like always—he was suddenly there.

No sound. No footsteps. Just one moment empty air, and the next, Sonic crouched in front of you, sharp eyes scanning your face.

You didn’t flinch. You never did.

You simply smiled, soft and knowing. “Hey.”

He blinked once, twice. His expression didn’t change, but you saw it—the tiny, nearly imperceptible release of tension in his shoulders. The faintest shift from combat-mode to something… gentler.

“…Hi,” he said at last, his voice low, quiet.

You reached out, brushing a piece of windblown hair from his cheek. “Rough night?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you. That kind of long stare he only gave you when his head was full and his throat was heavy with unsaid things.

Then, without a word, he moved—and sat beside you, back against the porch railing, legs stretched out. His arm brushed yours. Close, but not clinging.

You waited. You always waited. And after a few minutes, he finally spoke.

“…Sometimes I think I’m a fool for this.”

Your heart gave a small jolt. “For what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely toward you—your shared quiet, your closeness, the warmth of your hand near his. “You. Us.”

You turned to him fully, blinking. “Why?”

He didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed somewhere deep in the trees. “Because it’s not what I’m built for. I’m a weapon. I was raised to kill. I sleep with a blade under my pillow. I’ve slit throats for less than the way you smile at me.”

You were silent. You knew better than to interrupt. Sonic didn’t open up easily. His heart was a trap-rigged room, and you were one of the few ever invited in.

“I’ve spent my life running. Fighting. Being feared. I don’t know how to be someone’s… person. Someone’s comfort. I don’t know how to stay.”

He swallowed. His voice lowered.

“And I think… one day, you’ll realize that. That I’m not normal. That I’m not good for you. That you deserve someone softer, safer.”

Now your hand reached for his. He flinched at first, always a little shocked by gentle contact, but let you lace your fingers through his.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly.

His head snapped toward you, alarmed. “No—!”

“Then why are you trying to convince yourself I should?”

That shut him up.

You scooted closer, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Sonic… loving you was never about finding someone normal. I don’t want soft and slow. I want you. All of you.”

His throat worked in a tight swallow, and his brows drew together like he couldn’t decide if this was comforting or dangerous.

“I know you’ve been through hell. I know you weren’t raised to be held. I know you see yourself as a weapon. But you are more than that. You are capable of love, of softness, of choosing something besides survival.”

You looked up at him, and he looked like he was about to crack wide open. Not with tears—he didn’t cry. But with ache. The kind that crept behind the ribs and sank its claws in.

“And I’m not scared of you,” you whispered. “Not your speed. Not your skills. Not your past. I’m not scared of the person you were, or the one you’re still becoming.”

You kissed his knuckles. He was stone-still.

“You don’t need to run anymore,” you whispered. “You’ve already made it home.”

And that—that was the breaking point.

Not a dramatic sob. Not a trembling gasp. Just Sonic slowly, cautiously, folding in on himself and letting his head rest against yours.

“…I don’t know how to be loved like this,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said, pulling him gently into your lap, your fingers carding through his dark hair. “You just have to let yourself be.”

He clung to you tighter than any blade.

Later that night, when the cabin was wrapped in darkness and your heartbeat was a lullaby in the silence, Sonic lay in bed with his head on your chest. Your fingers trailed lightly over his back, and he breathed—slow, even, like someone learning peace one inhale at a time.

You felt his lips brush your collarbone.

“…I’m still dangerous,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed the top of his head. “Then be dangerous for me.”

And for once, Speed-o’-Sound Sonic—the untouchable, the lightning bolt, the living blade—didn’t run.

He stayed.

He chose to stay.

With you.

Even Monsters Need Love

Garou never really figured out how this happened.

Not the monster stuff—that part he knew. He had reasons, motives, a whole philosophy tattooed into the marrow of his bones. The world was rotten, heroes were glorified bullies, and he’d made it his personal mission to flip the damn system on its head. He was going to show the world what it really looked like when the "villain" won.

No, what he didn’t understand was you.

You, with your soft voice and stubborn patience. You, who somehow saw past the blood and the bounties and the entire list of Class S heroes who wanted to take his head off like a prize.

You, who fed him when he was starving, patched him up when he should’ve been dead, and told him—straight-faced and infuriatingly sincere—that he wasn’t a monster.

You’d stayed.

Even when he told you to leave.

That was months ago now.

Now you were living in some busted, half-forgotten hideout he’d fixed up with stolen supplies and calloused hands. The place looked like hell from the outside, and the inside wasn’t much better—except for the couch you insisted on cleaning, the half-functioning kitchen you somehow made magic in, and the pile of blankets on the mattress where you slept tangled up in each other every night.

It wasn’t romantic in the storybook sense.

Garou didn’t whisper poetry. He didn’t make grand gestures or write love letters or light candles for dinner. What he did do was pull you behind him when trouble showed up. What he did do was fight harder when he knew you were watching. What he did do was come home—bloodied, bruised, bone-tired—and collapse into your arms like you were the only safe place left in the world.

He never said “I love you.”

But he looked at you like the words were burning in his throat.

Tonight felt heavier than usual.

He hadn’t said much since he stumbled through the door, and that wasn’t too out of character—Garou didn’t talk much after fights—but this time was different. You could tell from the way he moved. Not just tired. Dragging.

His shoulders were hunched. His eyes weren’t focused. He dropped his jacket on the floor, didn’t bother with food or water, and slumped onto the couch without a word.

You approached slowly, carefully, like you would a wounded animal. Which, honestly, wasn’t far off.

“You’re back early,” you said, keeping your voice quiet.

He didn’t answer.

You sat down beside him, close but not touching, giving him space to come to you on his own. Sometimes he needed that. Sometimes he didn’t know how to ask for comfort.

Minutes passed like hours.

Finally, his voice cracked the silence.

“I got my ass handed to me.”

You blinked. “Garou…”

“Didn’t even stand a fuckin’ chance.” His voice was low, tight, almost hoarse. “Didn’t matter how fast I was, or how hard I hit. They wiped the floor with me.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just… bruised. But it’s not about that.”

You waited.

He exhaled—harsh, frustrated—and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his silver hair. He looked like he wanted to rip it out by the roots.

“Tell me something,” he muttered. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

That made you freeze.

“…What?”

He looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were tired. Raw. No bravado. No smirk. No sarcastic quip. Just Garou, stripped down to nothing but skin and scars.

“I keep coming back half-dead, covered in blood, talking about tearing down the whole goddamn world. I scare people. I scare myself sometimes. And you… you just keep being here.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he clenched his fists, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t get it. I don’t deserve it. I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good person. I don’t do flowers, or dates, or soft bullshit. I’m angry all the time. I’ve killed things. People. You know that.”

You moved before he could spiral further, climbing into his lap and cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t scare me, Garou.”

His jaw clenched. “You should.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?” he barked, voice rising. “You should! I’m the fuckin’ Human Monster! I’m—”

“You’re Garou.”

You didn’t yell. You didn’t match his volume. You just said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“You’re Garou. You’re stubborn, and reckless, and too proud for your own good. You don’t know how to sit still, and you punch holes in walls when you’re mad, and you act like you don’t care even when you care so damn much it eats you alive.”

Your voice softened, but your hands didn’t leave his face.

“And I love you for all of it. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re soft. But because you fight so hard to be something different, even when the world tells you you can’t.”

He stared at you like you’d cracked open his ribcage and were holding his heart in your palms.

“I love you when you win. I love you when you lose. I love you when you come home limping and pissed and bleeding, because you came home. Because you chose me. Again and again.”

Tears weren’t something Garou did. Not really.

But his throat bobbed like he was swallowing back something big and painful, and his hands gripped your waist like if he let go, he might fall apart.

“I’m not good at this,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t know how to be… enough.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re already more than enough. Just like this.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just breathed. Let it wash over him. And then, slowly, his arms slid around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your neck like he was hiding.

“…Stay with me.”

“Always.”

You didn’t move for a long time. You stayed there with him on the couch, the night stretching around you both like a blanket. Eventually, he started to talk—not about the fight, but about the thoughts that kept him up at night. The way he never felt like anything he did mattered. The way people looked at him like he was broken. The way he wanted to believe you, but didn’t know how.

And you listened.

You didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t tell him to stop feeling it. You just stayed. Held him through the worst of it. Let him fall apart in pieces instead of shattering alone.

And in that moment, he realized something.

You weren’t a weakness.

You weren’t a distraction.

You were the only thing in this whole shitty, bloodstained world that made him want to be something more.

Not a monster.

Not a hero.

Just… a man.

Your man.

And that, maybe, was the scariest thing of all.

But for once, it didn’t make him want to run.

It made him want to stay.

More Than a Pretty Face

People called her The Blizzard of Hell.

Sharp. Commanding. Beautiful in that untouchable, ice-queen way. Her reputation stormed ahead of her—calculated, driven, deadly.

And when you first met her, she was all those things.

Fubuki didn’t let people in. She didn’t need to. Not when she had psychic prowess, designer heels, and a perfectly tailored reputation.

But then you… happened.

You, with your warmth. Your laughter. Your stupid nicknames. The way you called her “pretty lady” drove her insane. Until it didn’t.

Until she found herself missing the sound of your voice when she went a day without hearing it. Until she started saving you the best parts of her favorite pastries. Until her team started whispering about how she actually smiled now and then.

And now, she was yours.

Fubuki—The Blizzard of Hell—was yours. Lip gloss kisses and all.

It was supposed to be a lazy evening. Just the two of you tangled up on her couch, some trashy drama show playing in the background, your head in her lap and her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

You were mid-sentence about something dumb—probably that actor you claimed was “definitely into older women and you could fix him”—when her touch faltered.

You blinked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

Fubuki hesitated, fingers frozen on your skin. Her eyes weren’t on you—they were distant, unfocused.

“…Do you ever feel like I’m just… a package?”

Your eyebrows drew together. “What?”

She swallowed. Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter than you were used to. Like it was fighting past the steel-reinforced pride in her chest.

“I mean, like—just something nice to look at. Big boobs, pretty face, expensive clothes. Like that’s all people see when they look at me. When they talk to me. Even when they date me.”

Your heart twinged.

You sat up slowly, the show still playing forgotten behind you. “Fubuki…”

She turned her face away, eyes locked on some invisible thread of thought across the room. “Everyone treats me like I’m a prize. Like I’m just this image. If I’m not perfectly put together, I’m failing. If I’m not powerful enough, pretty enough, impressive enough, then I’m… disposable.”

Her lip trembled. Just barely.

“And sometimes I wonder if… even you will start to see me that way, too.”

And damn, didn’t that shatter you.

You reached for her hands—those perfectly manicured, strong hands—and held them between yours.

“Fubuki. Babe. My beautiful gorgeous little drama queen.”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

You leaned in, cupping her face gently. “You think I fell in love with you because of your looks? Your clothes? Your titties?”

She gave you a sharp look. “Don’t call them that when I’m being vulnerable.”

You laughed softly. “Okay, okay. I’m serious though.”

Your voice dropped, gentle but firm.

“I love you because you’re you. Because you fight like hell to protect people—even when they don’t say thank you. Because you pretend you’re fine when you’re not, and still find a way to win. Because you let your team believe you’re invincible so they can feel safe.”

You brushed your thumb along her cheek.

“And because when it’s just us, you let yourself rest. You let yourself be. You let me see the real you. The scared you. The messy you. The one who steals my hoodies and talks shit during movies and eats dessert first.”

Her lashes fluttered, tears trembling there but not falling.

“I don’t want the image of Fubuki. I want you. The woman who gets overwhelmed. Who doubts herself. Who cries sometimes, and still wakes up the next day in six-inch heels and runs a team of psychics like a goddess.”

You kissed her knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not for the glamour. Not for the boobs. Not even for the killer legs.”

She sniffed. “They are killer, though.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. They’re criminal. But that’s just the icing. You? You’re the whole damn cake.”

That did it.

She finally smiled, watery and fierce and beautiful. And then, without warning, she leaned in and hugged you tight—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

“I hate when you say corny stuff like that,” she muttered.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But it makes you feel better.”

“…Yeah. It does.”

You held her close, running your fingers down her back, feeling the tension bleed out of her bit by bit.

Later, you’d help her take off her makeup—something she never let anyone do—and she’d lean into your hands like it was the first time in her life someone had ever touched her like she was soft instead of strong.

And as you climbed into bed together, her curled against your chest with her eyeliner faint on your pillow, she whispered:

“Thank you.”

You kissed her forehead.

“Always, baby.”

And if your hand drifted a little to those famous..assests while you cuddled?

Well. You were only human.

All This Steel, Still Soft for You

You’d seen him take down monsters the size of buildings with nothing but a metal bat and a whole lot of bad attitude.

You’d watched him charge headfirst into fights with blood in his mouth and a wild grin like he dared death to try him.

You’d seen the bruises. The limps. The bloody knuckles. The stubborn tilt of his chin as he spat red and swore he was fine.

But this—this right here?

This was the softest you’d ever seen Metal Bat.

Flat on his stomach on the couch, cheek squished against your thigh, hair sticking up in all directions, mumbling complaints while you gingerly dabbed antiseptic on a cut across his back.

“This stings worse than the fight,” he grunted, flinching slightly.

“Maybe if you dodged once in a while, you wouldn’t need me to patch you up every other day,” you said, voice teasing but gentle.

He glanced back at you with one eye, the red of it still a little bloodshot from the last punch he took. “Can’t dodge. That’d be like… insultin’ the guy. I gotta take it head-on, y’know? Respect.”

You gave him a look. “Respect doesn’t mean letting yourself get turned into street pizza, Badd.”

“Eh,” he grunted again, but there was a little smile tugging at his lips now.

You’d been dating Metal Bat for over a year. What started as flirty banter in a ramen shop turned into real dates, and those turned into slow mornings, dumb arguments over laundry, falling asleep with his arms around you and his snoring rattling your skull.

He was a lot. Loud, brash, bold. The kind of guy who punched first and didn’t even bother with questions later. Protective to a fault. Loyal beyond reason. And when he loved—god, did he love hard.

But tonight… something was off.

You noticed it after you finished patching him up. He didn’t bounce back like usual, didn’t sit up and demand snacks or tug you into his lap like a human teddy bear.

No. He just stayed there, head down, cheek still pressed against your leg. Quiet.

“…Badd?” you asked softly, brushing your fingers through his wild black hair. “You okay?”

He let out a long sigh through his nose.

“Do you ever think I’m not… enough for you?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What?”

He finally turned, sitting up slowly. His battered body creaked in protest, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes—always full of fire—were dimmer now. Heavy.

“I mean…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “You’re this smart, sweet person. You’ve got your shit together. You don’t need someone who comes home covered in monster guts and smells like alleyway blood. You could have some doctor or a lawyer or—hell, a normal guy.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Badd, where is this coming from?”

He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “I dunno. Just… was watchin’ you clean up the apartment earlier. You’re always takin’ care of me. I don’t bring much to the table besides bein’ strong and, like, really good at swinging bats.”

You reached out and cupped his face before he could spiral deeper.

“Badd.”

He glanced at you.

“You bring everything to the table.”

He looked skeptical. You didn’t blame him. You knew how he saw himself—just muscle, temper, and instinct. A big brother first, a fighter second, and somewhere way down the list, a man worthy of love.

But you weren’t letting him believe that tonight.

“You think I care about some guy in a suit? I chose you. Loudmouth, reckless, headstrong, bat-swinging you. You know why?”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because no one’s ever made me feel as safe as you do. No one’s ever fought for me the way you do. You show up. You listen—even if you suck at it sometimes. You protect what’s important. And you love with your whole damn chest, Badd.”

You brushed your thumb over the edge of a bruise on his cheekbone.

“You love me like I’m something worth protecting. And that means more to me than any calm, clean, normal guy ever could.”

He was quiet for a long time. His lips parted like he was gonna say something, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Then he grabbed you.

Not roughly—not like his usual grab-you-and-toss-you-on-the-bed kind of hug. No, this was different. Slower. Almost hesitant. Like he was worried you might change your mind mid-squeeze.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down into your lap.

“Stay here tonight,” you whispered, knowing damn well he’d already planned to.

His arms tightened around you like steel beams.

“…I love ya,” he mumbled into your shoulder, voice rough.

“I love you too,” you said. “Even when you smell like monster guts.”

He snorted. “Hey, that’s my cologne.”

“Ew.”

“Limited edition.”

You giggled, and he nuzzled deeper into your neck, the kind of sigh falling from his lips that only came when he truly let himself relax.

Later, you’d fall asleep with him wrapped around you like a human furnace, his bat leaning against the nightstand, your fingers tangled in his messy hair. You’d wake up to him cooking the world’s ugliest pancakes and trying not to burn the apartment down.

But tonight, all that mattered was the weight of his heart finally resting in your hands. And you’d hold it like the precious thing it was.

Because even steel could feel soft.

Especially when it was loved right.

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gatoru-sojo · 1 month ago

Text

DADDY WILL KISS (fuck!) IT ALL BETTER!

pairing: ex-best friend’s dad!sukuna x bitter!reader content tags/warnings: smut! minors dni, cheating (reader gets cheated on by her boyfriend), age gap- reader is in her early 20’s and sukuna is in his late 30’s/early 40’s, sukuna is uraume’s bio dad, uraume’s a shithead in this- oops, taboo, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, light degradation (just sukuna calling the reader brat and a history of him being an ass), female reader, piv sex, rough, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos!), dilf!kuna, size kink/difference, huge cock, daddy use/daddy kink, choking, hair-pulling, thumb sucking/biting, light dumbification, sukuna gets fuckin pussydrunkkkkksummary: after you make a surprise visit to your boyfriend, hakari's, apartment, you catch him balls deep inside your best friend, uraume, and leave before they catch you. later on, you decide to confront uraume, only to end up disappointed when only sukuna is home, and uraume is still off, busy fucking your boyfriend. but it’s fine. uraume can have your boyfriend. you’ll just have to keep yourself busy getting stuffed by their dad instead!author’s note: i always see dilf!nanami with yuji and dilf!toji with megumi and this that and the other thing… but how about dilf!sukuna with uraume? under-represented! so, as a thank you for so much love on my last sukuna work… instead of great dad sukuna, here’s a nice one shot of sukuna being a… well, not so great dad, kinda, haha. but hey! barely anything else matters (in fiction!!!) when there’s cock to be had, yeah? anyways, enjoy!!! word count: 4k words

—————

to say you were angry was an understatement. you were seething. you were pissed. your fists were shaking so violently as you slammed your car door shut and marched up to your ex-best friend’s front door, that it was a highly possibility the next thing you touch might cause a whole fucking earthquake from how strong the vibrations of your rage were. it was too much for you. it was too much to feel so suddenly. too much time wasted on a little boy who couldn’t appreciate you. too much time wasted on a nobody.

and to make matters worst? it was with your best friend.

you never thought uraume would betray you so deeply, much less with your boyfriend. the two of you had been through thick and thin together. friends since childhood.

well, until you stopped by your boyfriend’s apartment to drop off soup and medicine for him since he’d cancelled your date night because he was “sick”... only to see uraume’s car in the lot… and then hear your boyfriend balls-deep inside uraume, very clearly not sick like he’d claimed he was.

they didn’t know you saw them. you didn’t say a word. you just left. and cried. for hours. and then you’d decided to go to uraume’s house to question them. you were ten times hurt by their betrayal than your stupid boyfriend’s. boys came and went. weren’t friends supposed to be forever?

as you banged on the front door, your fist slamming over and over on the door like it’d been the one to fuck your boyfriend, your face was red. it was raining, dripping outside, causing your hoodie to drench and cling to your skin, your boots squishing slightly in the puddle at the front door of uraume’s house.

you didn’t expect uraume’s father, sukuna, to open the front door with a scowl on his face. tears were dripping down on your face at the point, and maybe to anyone else, it would’ve just looked like your face was wet from the rain, but ryomen sukuna wasn’t a fucking moron. he could tell right away. you were crying. you weren’t just crying, even. you were angry sobbing.

“why the fuck are you banging on my door, brat?” sukuna’s gruff voice came out, harsh and raspy, like you’d just woken him up from his sleep. his attire, a black wife-beater shirt that exposed his massive biceps and ink-stained skin, and a set of red and black plaid pajama pants with black socks padded over his big feet, supported your theory.

you were shaking. you’d never quite gotten along with uraume’s father. when the two of you were children, he was tolerable. he’d never gotten along with his wife, you noticed, well aware that he’d only accidentally knocked up the woman and wouldn’t even consider marrying her, until she finally left both him and uraume and never looked back. and then he was just worse. especially as you got older, constantly making comments about why you would wear the things you did and why you were so fucking loud and why you were always in his house… but he’d never ask you to leave. and when you even insinuated it? he’d always just shut up, grumble incoherent obscenities under his breath, before eventually just trudging back off to his room and leaving both you and uraume be.

“i don’t have the energy to deal with your fucking attitude, sukuna. where is uraume?” you snapped, your entire body shaking now, your fast twisting in rage. a flash of lightning snapped across the sky, wind whipping your hair behind you, causing you to quickly brush your hair out of your face with an aggressive huff, the rain only pouring harder.

clearly, sukuna could tell by the expression on your face and the way you spoke, that you hadn’t been joking. instead of answering, sukuna just stepped to the side with a grunt, opening the door a little more. “just come in the fucking house before you get struck by lightning or swept away by the wind.” he grumbled.

without missing a beat, you stormed right into the house. sukuna watched you storm past without another word. he let out a low grumble as you went right up the stairs, making him huff in annoyance. “you’re tracking mud throughout my house, brat. take your shoes off.”

you stopped at the top of the stairs. you looked down, before you unlaced your boots. sukuna walked halfway up the stairs, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you, before he finally spoke up. “i know you’re not expecting me to bring your fucking shoes at the door-”

“URAUME, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” you didn’t even let sukuna finish, bringing your foot up, before you kicked in uraume’s bedroom door, caving it in and sending it flying right open, slamming against the wall next to it with a hard thud. you walked into uraume’s room, raising the boots like you were going to throw them right at uraume, but you paused after you turned the bedroom light on… uraume was gone.

and then you felt a gruff of confusion and annoyance behind you. sukuna leaned in the doorway behind you, arms crossed, before he reached up and calmly snatched your boots right out of your raised hand. he placed them in his hands, about to turn and bring your shoes downstairs (even though he said he wouldn’t), when he lowly grumbled, “uraume’s not home. they’ve been at a friend’s all day. why are you so pissed at them anyway? they steal your hairbrush or something?”

sukuna was not expecting you to suddenly fall to your knees, shaking, and release a loud, devastated, unbearably broken sob. sukuna paused in the hallway, turning back, looking at you when he heard the thud of your knees hitting the ground. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, watching your head hang low as you cried, your tears dripping down your cheeks and off your face, onto your already soaked jeans. sukuna furrowed his eyebrows, pausing, before he lowered your shoes. he just sighed. he used his free hand to open the door a little more, looking down at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

he’d never ever seen you cry before, in all the years he knew you. he’d seen his kid cry. even as an adult. and you were always there. but he had never seen you cry. what the hell did his kid do?

“hey,” sukuna said after a moment, his voice slightly softening, not quite a bark but not moreso with sternness and concern. “what’s going on?”

after a moment, you bring your hand up. you sniffle, defeated, wiping your cheeks and your eyes with the hells of one of your hands as you let out a soft whimper, feeling nothing but defeated. the rage had left your system, now draining out of you, your heart shattered and in millions of pieces all over uraume’s floor. you sniffle, trying to collect yourself, before you push yourself up off the ground with a soft, weak grunt. “nothing.” you whisper, your face barely above a whisper. “i’m sorry.”

as you reach forward to take your boots from sukuna, so you can just leave and go home and cry, sukuna suddenly pulls his hand back, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at you. immediately, you look up at him, your fingers outstretched. you timidly pull your hand back, looking up at sukuna, your face softening as you feel a weak throb in your chest.

“you nearly punched my front door to bits, kicked my kid’s door in, and assaulted them with… these.” sukuna held up your heavy and worn black boots still dripping with mud and rainwater from the outdoors, looking at them and scrunching his face a bit, before looking down at you. “clearly, it’s not nothing. and i think you owe me an explanation because this is my house you just barged into and busted.” he said, before gesturing to uraume’s bedroom door, then down to you.

you looked back, looking at uraume’s bedroom door, which was now just barely hanging on by one of the hinges, before you looked back up at sukuna, and then down. “i’m sorry.” you murmur, the realization of your rage hitting you, before you reached up to grab your shoes. “i wasn’t thinking. i’ll leave now. and i’ll pay to fix uraume’s door.” you murmur, only for sukuna to hold the boots back up higher now, dangling them over your face. sukuna was much taller than you were, but then again, he was taller than everyone, staggering at over seven feet tall and beefy. uraume was taller than you, as well, but it was clear that they inherited their height from their normally-sized mother.

“i didn’t ask for an apology or reimbursement. i asked you what the hell is the matter with you.” sukuna insisted, furrowing his eyebrows. “you gonna answer me or not?”

you looked up at sukuna, lowering your hand down again, letting out a small, weak breath. you looked at him, at your shoes, back at uraume’s door, and then at the ground by your feet. “...i caught uraume fucking hakari.” you murmur weakly, your voice barely above your breath.

sukuna’s eyebrows furrow, and he lowers your boots a bit, though he doesn’t release them or let you take them yet. “your little boyfriend?”

you nod your head weakly, staring down at your feet. sukuna falls silent. and so do you.

after a moment, sukuna lets out a small breath. “...you got any clothes in uraume’s drawers or anything?”

“no.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “any of my belongings i have here, uraume can keep though. i don’t care anymore.”

“i was asking because you’re drenched in rain water and i don’t want you getting it all over my house.” sukuna comments back with a gruff huff, before he turns, keeping your boots in his grasp. “go take a shower. i’ll bring you a change of clothes. i’m ordering chinese.”

———

while you didn’t expect to end up in your soon-to-be ex best friend’s dad’s bed, empty chinese containers clattered n the ground, sheets tangled and in nothing but his oversized black t-shirt, your thighs spread and a much older man with his head between your thighs, devouring you between your legs like a pussydrunk beast…. you weren’t exactly unhappy about it.

you gasped, your back arching off the bed as sukuna pushed two of his fingers between your gaping, empty hole. your knees bucked, your heels digging into ryomen sukuna’s bare back, your thighs squeezing his head mercilessly as he shoved his thick fingers deep inside your walls, his tongue repeatedly lapping as your clit like a starved man. “stupid fucking boy.” he murmured into your overstimulated bud, sore from your repeated orgasms. you’d lost count at five, and that’d been a long while ago.

you let out a loud cry, your thighs shaking as you felt another orgasm crashing over you, our fluids squirting and splashing onto sukuna’s fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, your mind lost in a daze. “r-r-ryo-” you sobbed, your tears dripping down your face as sukuna’s fingers dug into your g-spot over and over again, finger-fucking you through your orgasm as he tongue licked up and down your pussy, sucking on your folds so he could devour every last bit of your flavoring. “ahhhh! can’t… can’t take anymore!” you sobbed out, your fingers digging at his disheveled pink hair, which you’d been tugging at for over an hour now.

suddenly, after coming down from your orgasm, you felt your sore legs shift, your legs pushing up so your knees were now flat, your legs up, your ankles just barely brushing against sukuna’s broad shoulders as he looked down at you, his face soaked with your fluids. he leaned down, immediately crashing his lips into yours, one of his hands resting next to your head while the other kept your face, holding your cheek and cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. his tongue swirled around your mouth as you parted your lips, granting him access, your body shaking as you eased your fingers in his hair, smoothly rubbing the nape of his neck, before he pulled away.

“been wanting this pussy for too long now.” sukuna murmured in your ear, before he began to kiss your neck, your jaw, your ear, biting, nibbling, tugging, pulling, kissing and licking, sucking on your skin like he was trying not to devour you whole.

“r-r-really?” you panted, your voice trembling softly, your fingers shaking as you looked up at the ceiling, before you gasped as sukuna bucked his hips up into yours, his bulge hitting right against your hips, your soaked fluids and sukuna’s saliva on your pussy immediately wetting the fabric that was snug so tightly to sukuna’s throbbing cock.

sukuna nodded his head into your neck, rolling his hips forward, causing a needy whimper to escape your lips as your toes curled, your feet threatening to fold inward as you attempted to arch your back off the bed again from the pressure of him directly up against you. okay, so maybe you could take a little more- scratch that! you needed it.

“mhm. four summers ago.” he answered, panting, his own voice slurred from just how absolutely wrecked he was after devouring your cunt for almost two hours straight. “walking around my backyard in that string you called a swimsuit.” he grunted, rolling his hips up against your pussy again, causing you to gasp again with need. one of your hands moved down, fumbling to try and push his pajama pants down so he could just fuck you already, your fingers trembling and pushing at him to try and free him to no avail as he kept speaking. “and then you saw yuji fall in the deep end of the pool and you jumped right in and saved him.”

your eyes widened a bit, your heart thumping at the memory. it was clear as day. uraume had a big pool in their backyard, and their family would often host barbecues during the summer, sukuna’s side of the family stopping by to join them- you were always the only non-family member who was got invited, apart from yuji’s older brother choso’s girlfriend, Yuki, who was his wife at this point and so was now actually family.

you and uraume had been by the pool, tanning in the beach chairs after eating, when you heard a sudden splash. nobody had even noticed it or had been paying attention, even the boy’s father- jin- who was always usually watching his son like a hawk. but you’d seen it. the little splash of sudden pink, and then watching it float down to the bottom of the deep-end, the little boy struggling. you were diving into the water and carrying him back up to the top moments later, dragging you both out of the pool and sitting on a beach chair as uraume rushed to grab towels and the rest of the family rushed over to the little boy who was shaking and crying and clinging to you like his life depended on it (and he’d clung to you ever since).

“spent too many nights up thinking about how i wished it was my face stuffed into your chest instead of his,” sukuna grunted after a moment, before he reached down, lifting your (his) shirt up just rough to expose your heaving, bouncing breasts as he swatted your hand away from his pants, desperate to take his time with you. sukuna leaned down, pushing his face between your chest, letting your tits hug his face as he began to kiss down the valley of your breasts, before beginning to bite down into the plushy flesh, marking up your skin as he murmured into you, “i think i prefer doing it this way, though.”

you gasp, arching your back, whining as your pussy throbs, desperate for more of him, your legs shaking. “r-r-ryo! need you!” you cry out, moving your hands back to his hair, before feeling him reach down to his pajama pants and push them down, feeling the violent thwack! of his cock springing up, slapping your ass and overstimulated pussy, before hitting his stomach, some of his pre-cum splattering down onto you.

immediately, you look down, your eyes growing wide as you look at him, watching as his cock twitches and pulses, big enough to poke out above his own belly button, thick and hard and violently red, dripping with pre-cum and what you soon make out as cum, your cheeks turning red at the realization that he’d cum while eating you out, making sukuna chuckle as he grabbed your face with one hands, pinching your cheeks and redirecting your gaze up at him.

“see something you like?” sukuna chuckled, before pushing his thumb into your mouth as his hand cups and squishes your cheeks, his other hand pumping his cock a few times as he preps himself to stuff your needy cunt full of him. “you gonna be a good girl and take daddy’s cock, yeah?” he snickers down at you, watching as you weakly nod, your pussy throbbing at the word daddy, your stomach doing backflips as it becomes invaded by perverted butterflies.

sukuna leans down, pressing his lips gently to your forehead, before he tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eyes and keeping your gaze up on him. “good girl. keep your eyes on daddy, okay? wanna see the look on your face when i fuck you stupid.” he murmurs, before watching as your eyes grow wide as he pushed the tip into you, your hips bucking up, a scream from the sting escaping your lips, muffled by sukuna’s thumb and his grip on your chin. “aw, i know, brat… daddy’s big, isn’t he? it’ll be okay. just suck on daddy’s thumb. bite down on it if you have to. daddy’s gonna go nice and slow for his needy little thing, okay?” he hummed down at you.

you weakly nod your head, the tears flooding out of our eyes and down your cheeks no longer a signal of pain and betrayal from your best friend and your boyfriend, but rather by the pain and pleasure of fucking your best friend’s sexy father and adjusting to such a big cock that was borderline inhuman. you whine, feeling as sukuna pushes a little more into you, stretching your walls open, and yet you can’t help but want to push and buck your hips up into him, desperate for him to fill you even more.

“keep your hips down and be patient, brat. you are going to take all of me, don’t worry.” sukuna grunts as he lets go of his cock, moving his hands to shove your hips down into the bed as he pushes himself deeper into you, causing you to see stars as he stretches your raw pussy open. you can feel his heartbeat with each throb, each curve of his pulsing veins, and every little drip of cum and pre-cum spilling into your pussy as he pushes himself into you, before finally he bottoms out, his head pressed snug against your deepest and most sensitive areas, before he ruts his hips, a sudden flooding feeling exploding inside of you as he cums the moment he bottoms out, a low groan erupting from his throat.

you gasp, sucking on his thumb as you feel how angrily and needily his cock pulses inside you as he fills you up, his fluids already dripping out of your bright red, straining hole. sukuna leans down, kissing your tears off your face, cooing down at you before he pulls his hips back slightly, only to push deeper into you. his hand swaps from your hips to your stomach, pressing down on your stomach- and the bulge he’s creating in it from his cock pushing so deeply into you- causing him to chuckle as he twists his hand just enough for his fingers to spread out across your swollen tummy and his thumb to press right up against your clit, rubbing circles on your needly bud as you suck harder on his thumb, biting down harshly on it when he starts to fuck himself into you, his thrusts growing meaner and more brutal as he speeds up his face, his bright red eyes growing wider and his pupils dilating as he pants slightly, chuckling to himself, his muscles sensing and squeezing and bulging from his arms and his hand as he loss himself in lust, staring down at where your bodies are so intimately intertwined.

“fuck, baby- such a filthy, tight fucking pussy you have for daddy,” he growls out, his hand

holding your face tensing as he begins tp pummell his cock in and out of you, thrusting and slamming his hips against yours as your ankles manage to finally hook over his shoulders a bit, your feet turning so that they lock around the back of his neck and on the back of his head. “bastard’s a fucking idiot for missing out on this- fuck, you are squeezing me so tight, brat. this pretty pussy deserves so much better, baby… she doesn’t want a boy. no, she needs a man.” sukuna grumbles to himself, pushing himself deeper into you now, causing you to see stars as you cry and pant, sucking and biting on his thumb as your muffled moans and screams fill the room, your heart pounding as you feel your innards practically explode from how hard you cum on sukuna’s cock, your legs shaking as you sob, feeling him spill inside you again, pumping you full with yet another load of his thick, creamy cum.

as he pulls out of you, you pant, your head spinning from your intense orgasms, before you gasp, your body suddenly flipping as sukuna tosses you over so you’re laying flat on your stomach. one of his hands wraps around your throat from behind, squeezing onto you and restricting your air for a moment, making you see stars as you babble incoherently while he pushes back inside of you, his free hand snaking between your legs as he lifts you just enough for his second hand to return to its previous position, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers and his palm take in just how deep inside of you he is while he brutally fucks up your guts with his insatiable cock.

“don’t give up on me yet, brat. i’m not even close to done with you.”

———

the next morning, the sun gently peeks into sukuna’s dark bedroom, his bedroom door just barely cracked open. sukuna’s bed is a mess, and you’re long out cold, covered in hickeys and bruises and handprints, your hair an untamed mess from sukuna tugging and pulling on it, your neck slathered in his marks, your entire unconscious body sore as sukuna spoons you from behind, clinging to you as the two of you sleep, tangled together after the night you spent together.

uraume, wearing far less markings than you with a tired face, drained and displeased from a night of unsatisfactory sex and then getting dumped since hakari can’t sneak around anymore and bought a ring for you and needed to be an honest man and settle down, walks up the stairs, pausing when they see their door hanging on barely by the hinges. they pause, walking past the bathroom, noticing clothes in the laundry hamper that are half-soaked and definitely belong to you, before uraume finally stops when they see your boots, coated in dried-mud, sitting right outside their father’s door…

uraume picks the boots up off the floor, huffing and grimacing, before they push open the rest of sukuna’s door, looking down at them, “dad, why are my best friend’s things there?! was she here last nig-”

uraume freezes, looking up as sukuna’s red eyes stare right in uraume’s own, your bare, sleeping body curled up into sukuna’s, still deep in a fucked-out sleep. sukuna just huffs, rolling his eyes, before he simply grumbles, “since you and her ex boyfriend are apparently so close, you can let hakari know not to worry. she’s in much better hands now.”

—————

masterlist! not proofread. please do not copy, steal, repost, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.

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gatoru-sojo · 2 months ago

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What I look like at the function knowing I should be in bed reading a reader insert rn

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gatoru-sojo · 2 months ago

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We All Need Joel’s Help .𖥔 ݁ ˖

joel miller x f!reader

summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.

warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]

You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.

Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.

That’s when everything fell apart.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.

The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.

"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.

You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…

"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.

He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.

You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.

"She hates me."

You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."

"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”

“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”

He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.

"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.

You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."

Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.

"Come here.”

You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.

"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."

You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.

He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."

You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”

There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.

"Let's get you home, yeah?”

He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.

As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.

"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.

He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”

It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.

“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”

“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”

Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.

“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”

“It’ll work out.”

Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.

"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.

You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.

"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."

Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."

You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."

He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.

"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"

You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.

"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."

Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.

"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."

He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.

He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.

It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.

He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.

His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.

The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.

He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.

His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.

He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.

“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."

You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"

You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”

His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.

“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”

He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”

You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.

His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.

He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.

You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.

Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.

You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.

“Never been better.”

There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.

His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.

“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.

You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.

You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.

Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.

Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.

“Yeah?”

You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.

You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."

"Oh, my god..."

You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.

"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."

"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"

He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.

"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.

"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.

“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”

“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”

Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.

“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”

You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”

“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”

Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”

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